"More bad news," Gotch reported somberly. "Burning Sands picked a package out of Drone Able just before launch time. It's just been identified." "Check," he replied, trying to assimilate what Gotch was telling him. Gotch stated flatly. "It was a time bomb. Here's a description. Bomb was packaged in a flat black plastic case about one by four inches. Probably not big enough to wreck the drone but big enough to destroy the controls. It was found tucked in the wiring of the main panel. Got that?" "Check." "The bomb squad hasn't come through with full details yet. If you find a mate, don't try to disarm it. Dump it, pronto!" "Can't. It'll stay with us." "It's size indicates it wouldn't be fatal if it exploded outside the hull," Gotch rasped. "It was designed to wreck controls. If you find one, dump it. That's an order." The earphones were silent. Crag was swiveling toward Prochaska when they came to life again. "One other thing." Gotch was silent for a moment. Crag pictured him carefully framing his words. "It means that the situation is worse than we thought," he said finally. "They haven't left anything to chance. If you have a bomb, it was carried there after the final security check. Do you follow me?" "Yeah," Crag answered thoughtfully. He sat for a moment, debating what to do. Prochaska didn't ask any questions. Gotch was telling him that the Aztec might be mined. Wait, what else had he said? _The bomb was carried there after the security check._ That spelled traitor. The Aztec had been shaken down too often and too thoroughly for Intelligence to have muffed. It would have to have been planted at the last moment. If there was a bomb, he'd better keep quiet until Gotch's suspicions were proven false--or verified. He turned toward Prochaska, keeping his voice low. "Search the console panels--every inch of them." He looked around. Nagel and Larkwell were back in their seats. Nagel seemed asleep, but Larkwell's face was speculative. Crag's eyes swept the cabin. Spare oxygen tanks, packaged pressure suits, water vents, chemical commode, the algae chamber and spare chemicals to absorb carbon dioxide in case the algae system failed--these and more items filled every wall, cupboard, occupied every cubic inch of space beyond the bare room needed for human movement. Where was the most sensitive spot? The controls. He sighed and turned back to the panels. Prochaska was methodically running his hands through the complex of wiring under the instrument panels. His face was a question, the face of a man who didn't know what he was looking for. He decided not to tell him ... yet. His earphones gave a burst of static followed by the Colonel's hurried voice. "Burning Sands reports packaged timed for 0815," he snapped. "That's eight minutes away. Get on the ball. If you've got one there, it's probably a twin." "Okay," Crag acknowledged. "Adios, we've got work to do." He swung toward Nagel.