A scream: the scream of a soul in torment.
The com-box went dead.
The ensign at his heels, Boone raced for the lift-shaft.
The top level, "A" passage. The lights at the far end were out.
Boone snatched the ensign's nerve-gun. Cat-footed, he moved forward.
Ahead, something shifted in the shadows. He became aware of a vague, phosphorescent glow.
A whisper of sound. A floundering wallow of movement.
Raw-nerved, Boone flicked on his light-rod.
Its beam sprayed out across a creature like nothing ever seen before in earth or heaven. A bulbous thing, a nightmare of pseudopodal horror.
But before he could fire, it began to change.