Boone died a thousand times in that one moment. Then, shouting a warning to the four remaining crewmen, he caught up an axe from the rack of emergency equipment and crept towards converter-room and monster.
The thing had withdrawn now, dragging the dead man's body with it—for what awful purpose Boone could not even guess.
Yet the question that lay implicit in the thought made him pause just short of the door for the fraction of a second. It turned out to be a pause that saved his life.
For in that same instant a claw-hand snaked back through the hatchway. Filth-encrusted nails scraped along his arm, endeavoring to seize him.
Boone jerked back with a hoarse, involuntary oath. Wildly, he swung the axe.
The keen blade bit into the monster's extended arm. A muddy sludge of blood gushed forth. The claw-hand jerked back.
Yet the thing made no sound—not a single groan or snarl or murmur.
Boone hesitated, even more wary than before. He kicked a fallen spanner towards the doorway.
Like lightning, the monster lunged from its hideout—and now Boone saw why it had made no outcry.
The thing had no head! It consisted of arms only—six hairy, humanoid arms radiating out from a central core that looked like an enormous mushroom button.