Standing in the air lock, he forced the outside door against the wind. He looked down at the cable, caught firmly on the hook, dangling under the plane. He reached out, got his hand on the cable and swung out over the jungle far below. The door clanged shut behind him.
He started down the cable hand over hand. Guided by the automatic pilot, the ship moved slowly ahead. He got down the cable and into the dangling tree.
It was like climbing a tree in a cyclone as he fought his way through the branches to a limb he could lock his legs around. Then, with a scissors hold on the limb, he sat upright and drew the ice pistol from its holster.
Down below, the bat had smashed a wide area of trees and was hunting Greeno and Karen like mice in the tall grass. When it heard the plane, it twisted up, circled suspiciously. The tree and the cable confused it for a moment. But only for a moment. Then its tiny brain sent it toward its persistent enemy, the plane.
It came by so close and its hairy mass was so immense, Flint caught his breath. There was nothing to aim at with a pistol. It was too big. He just pointed the gun at the expanse of hair and pulled the trigger as fast as he could work his finger.
Instantly, one great wing of the creature went rigid. It was the wing nearest Flint and the bat slid that way. The black mass of hair, each hair a full yard long, swept upon him. The branches of the tree caved in. The cable was snatched from the plane. Flint clawed at the monster's side blindly. He caught a handful of hair. The bat flailed the air wildly with its other wing, a hundred tons of solid flesh falling—
Then the whole world exploded around Flint. Tree trunks cracking, green vegetation whirling past him, then a stunning thud as the bat struck the ground, shaking the whole forest.
Like a man fleeing some horror in a nightmare, Flint tore his way through the stalks of hair, leaped to the ground and ran into the jungle.
When he finally stopped running, safely away from the bat's hammering wings and claws, he saw he was now permanently safe. It had beaten its good wing to shreds in the trees. When the effect of the ice gun wore off, it wouldn't be able to fly.
Slowly, Flint grinned. He glanced down, saw his ice pistol dangling the length of its wire against his knee. Almost tenderly, he picked it up, untied the wire, and stuck the gun into its holster.