... Wreckage, and the pitiful, broken bodies of the two crewmen who had been trapped inside.
A hoarse cry burst from the throat of their comrade, the man who'd followed Boone. Whipping up his blaster, he blazed bolt after bolt into the hand.
As a human might slap at a mosquito, the hand smashed down and crushed him, then started towards Boone.
Shock-rocked, quaking, he dived into the closest flower-clump's cover ... rolled and writhed through the foliage, flat against the earth.
Overhead the hand paused, searching.
Then, bare yards from him, suddenly, it fell.
But not in a blow. No. This was different. For it fell limp and sagging, as if the muscles all at once had lost their power.
Boone lay like a statue—frozen, waiting.
Nothing happened.
The tension in him grew moment by moment, till he could hold it down no longer. He surged to his feet, blaster at the ready.