The two floating men drew toward each other, one rising, the other descending microscopically faster with each passing moment. Saul turned away after one glance down at what awaited the falling spacer. It was more than his stomach could bear.

Oh God, please let me have done this right.

But no. Saul realized that his trajectory was too low! He would pass under Ustinov. It looked as if there was nothing in this world to prevent the man from dropping back into the spreading, pulpy mass.

Suddenly, he was as near as he was going to get. “Ustinov, wake up!” he shouted. “Stretch out!”

The man might have understood, or maybe it was just a spasm. But a booted foot kicked forth and struck Saul’s outstretched hand stingingly. He fumbled for a grip and the momentum exchange sent him rocking over. The cavern whirled as he held on for two seconds, three, and then was kicked free by Ustinov ’s next jerk.

Was that enough? Did I divert his course? Or am I Maybe on my way to meet a crowd of purples up close myself?

The floor came up toward him. Everything might seem to happen in slow motion; but he had to land with energy equivalent to his takeoff, and he had taken off in a hurry. His right shoulder struck hard, knocking the wind out of his lungs in a burst of pain.

He rolled over onto his hands and knees. It took a moment to blink away the dizzy whirling, and another to catch his breath. Then he saw Ustinov, lying only two meters away, moaning, shaking his head, and apparently unaware of the small, crawling things that wriggled toward his warmth from only a few feet away.

Saul gasped for breath and put everything he had into scrambling toward the man, racing to get there first. He lunged, grabbed the folds of Ustinov ’s insulsuit, and fought for traction to drag him backward.

“Don’t move any farther, Dr. Lintz!” It was Vidor calling out to him. “There are two more behind you! The electric blanket must’ve shorted out. The ones not eating Garner are fanning out across the floor now.

Saul had never before felt this way toward any living things—even the fanatics in the mob that had burned down Technion. Right now, though, he wished looks really could kill. He stared at the horrible things closing in on him from all sides, and knew what loathing was.

He gathered the quivering Ustinov into his arms. What is wrong with the man? I thought spacers were built of stronger stuff than this.

My God. I’ll bet he’s been bitten!

Ustinov wasn’t heavy, of course, not in Halley’s gravity. But he massed nearly the same as he had on Earth, and that made the Russo-Canadian’s inertia and bulk awkward. Still dizzy and disoriented, Saul knew he wasn’t ready to jump out of here holding this unwieldy burden.

It was one thing or the other, though. Jump or throw. He crouched.

“I’m tossing him to you! Get ready!”

“No! Wait! I’ve almost got a lamp—”

“No time!” Saul insisted. He uncoiled, heaving with all his might. The helpless man flew out of his arms, sailing over the writhing mass that had erupted through the fibercloth floor in search of heat.

It was a good throw, but recoil sent him drifting backward. He craned to look. Clearly, he was going to land between two of the pulpy, hungry heterotrophs.

Strangely, part of him was less concerned than curious. It was his first chance to look at one of the higher Halleyforms up close and not already pickled for dissection. The nearest one tracked him waving a pulpy maw rimmed with red, glittering needles of primordial nickel iron. There was no face, per se. But he could sense the thing’s regard.

Probably track by infrared, he thought.

They were odd creatures indeed. Though perhaps no less odd than those worms that live down in deep, undersea vents, back on Earth. They, too, dwelled in total darkness, under immense hydrostatic pressures, living off sulfide-transforming bacteria. Lord, thy handiwork never ceases to amaze me.

Marvelous, yes. And mysterious. But ugly was ugly, and death was death.

He fumbled at his waist for something to throw, to change his trajectory, but the belt loops were empty. All he accomplished was to set himself turning awkwardly, still drifting toward the creatures.

No doubt he could squash any number of them in his bare hands, but he had no wish to tangle with them if he could help it, not after Samuelson and Conti had suffered such agony from their poisoned wounds.

Saul writhed around, catlike, somehow bringing his feet to the fore. His left boot caught and the right stabbed out at an awkward angle to compensate, striking a waving, grit-lined orifice. There was a sick, squishy impact as he skidded and began to tip over again.

“Jump, Saul!”

It was his chance. But as he bent his knees, pain lanced up his left ankle and that leg gave way. He swerved to avoid falling into a crowd of open-mawed worms, and in so doing tripped.

The slow-motion illusion helped as he landed on his fingertips and somehow walked across the floor on his hands—hopping from arm to arm to avoid the damned things. There was no other way. If he stopped to turn over or gather his strength, they would get him.

At last, there looked like an open space ahead, where he might flex and really push off…

“Saul!” someone shouted. “Shut your eyes!”

He heard a loud, grating noise.

Oh great! Just when I need to see where I’m going!

His eyes squeezed closed at the very last instant. The last thing he saw was a dirty, segmented mass of pulpy mauve tissue turning toward his heat, bringing forth a round glittering of sharp, primordial stones.

Then the world disappeared in brightness. Saul cried out and his arms convulsed as he pushed away from the floor, drifting off in the direction of who knew what. He wrapped his arms over his eyes and rolled up into a ball, hoping his spacesuit would protect him when he next landed among the ravenous creatures.

The ratcheting sound groaned louder in counterpoint as another lamp joined the first from a new angle. The brilliance could be felt as heat on his skin. Saul couldn’t open his eyes enough even to seek shelter from the beams, designed to be visible across thousands of kilometers of open space, against the diamond-bright stars.

He hit the ground again and rolled to a stop against something hard. Saul tried to keep still, not to move, and imagined himself an icicle.

—Saul? This is Virginia. Can you be more specific? What’s the matter? All of a sudden my remote pickups in sleep slot one have gone out.—

Another voice broke in, —Lintz, Osborn. On our way in. Four with sprayers and torches. E.T.A. two hundred seconds.—

Saul realized then that it must have been no more than a couple of minutes since he had reported the purple breakout. Time had telescoped. The cavalry was coming, but would he last long enough for help to do any good?

Over to one side he heard Spacer Vidor mutter surprised oaths, then shout into his own mike.

“Carl, Jim. Intense UV sends them into retreat! They dissolve if they can’t get out of the light fast enough!”

Saul lay curled in a ball, but his breathing came easier. If only…

There was a loud pop, and the level of hurting brilliance penetrating his tightly closed lids suddenly cut in half. There was cursing, then Vidor spoke again.

“One of the bulbs just blew, but I don’t think it matters any more. They’re all dead or fled. Hang on, Saul. I’ll bring you a set of goggles.”

In a moment Saul felt a hand on his shoulder, and a shadow blotted out the remaining sunlike brilliance. Gratefully, eyes still closed, he lifted his head and helped Vidor fit the covering over his upper face.

“Congratulations, Saul. Damn fine weapon.”

He blinked through tears and blue entopic spots to see the young spacer offer his hand. He reached up and accepted help getting to his feet.