That wasn't the ventilator. He knew that sound. Automated Patrol Droids? At least two of them. Billy had been avoiding them for days. Through his headache the noise was like a quarter million bees, all gunning for his blood. The sounds continued the increase in volume. He tightened his grip on the wrench, and shifted his body slightly. And knocked over a quarter-filled bottle of booze. It tingled loudly, but not loudly enough to be heard over the droning of the APUs. Mentally cursing his luck, and loss of lubricant, Billy curled into a ball and hoped they wouldn't find him. A shadow passed over the spilt booze ...