“Oh-oh,” said Timbie. “More fireworks!”
Before them loomed a vast cliff wall, so high that they could not see its top. It had not been there an instant before. Somehow, they could not feel the horror of a few moments back, yet they braced themselves again for a shock.
A sudden jolt wrenched them away from the stanchions; the ship came to a stop as a warning light flickered ominously on the control board. Yet, as they picked themselves up, the cliff had disappeared; it was not behind them, and before them stretched the familiar surface of Hastur, above them the velvet of space, flecked with pinpricks of light.
“A puncture!” cried Nick. He grabbed the speaker.
“Nick,” came the voice of Marquis. “There’s a hole about the size of a soup plate in sector seven. Don’t worry; we’ll be sealing it off directly, and we’ve locked it off. Call you back when it’s done.”
“Okay, be careful.”
He turned to the others. “We’ll be on our way shortly. Anybody see that pit we turned off our course to avoid?”
“It’s gone, Nick,” said Hartnett, “but the show’s still on.” He nodded toward the port.
Something was coming over the horizon, something that looked partly like an arm, and partly like a molten river. It was both a flow and a wriggling, and, as they watched, another glowing thing snaked up from behind the distant ridges. This second thing went straight up into the sky, curving out as if looking for something upon which to swoop.