"I chose what I believed to be the lesser of two evils, sir," Langford said, stepping closer to the desk. His eyes rested briefly on the metal insect; then they returned to Gurney's face.
"There were two metal insects in that capsule, sir. I'm going to show you exactly what happened to the one I experimented with."
Langford's forefinger whipped out as he spoke, striking the little statue sharply on its folded wing membranes. For an instant nothing happened; then, with appalling suddenness, the metal insect came to life. It spread its wings and ascended straight up into the air.
Gurney leapt to his feet with a startled cry. As he did so the flying insect's wings blurred and another pair of wings came into view behind them. The wings were shadowy at first, but they quickly solidified, taking on a glittering sheen. Preying arms sprouted from them. Then, even more quickly, a big-eyed head and a writhing, salmon-pink abdomen.
The instant the second shape became a complete insect it whipped away from its parent image with a furious buzzing. As Gurney stared up in horror the original insect gave off eight more buzzing replicas of itself. They darted swiftly up toward the ceiling and circled furiously about, their wings gleaming in the cold light.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light. The flying replicas vanished and the original insect thudded to the floor. For an instant the little horror squirmed; then lay motionless.
"It's playing possum!" Langford said.
Langford advanced as he spoke and raised his foot. The instant he started to bring his heel down the metal insect shivered convulsively, lifted its huge eyes and stared up at him.
Then an incredible thing happened. There was no need for him to crush the insect; methodically and with cold deliberation it began to dismember itself, tearing off its wings with its own sharp claws, and ripping its abdomen to shreds. After a moment, it lay still.