Bending him over, the thing ran his hands over Grimes. It felt Grimes' wrist, then felt his, then felt Grimes' again. Suddenly it released him and he sank limp and exhausted across Grimes' body. Perhaps it wanted to see if he could help Grimes, bring him back to life, otherwise, why this solicitude? He considered making another grab for it, but he knew it would be on guard. He would be smarter to co-operate. He went through the motions of artificial respiration, then shrugged. What would it make of this gesture? He began to talk to the thing, then to tap out morse code on the floor, finally to trace out triangles, squares, pentagons with his fingers: no response. Without warning he grabbed with both hands.
It did not even bother to punish him. It set his hands to gathering the small cold bodies of its species. When he was through they made only a double handful that he carried up a twisted ramp, through doors that creaked automatically in the darkness, to a warm, faintly sweet smelling room. Here he laid the bodies on a corrugated ledge.
In darkness he knelt and beat his knuckles on the floor. Rising, his fingers pressed a button. Something clicked and it began to swing its weight rhythmically as if it danced to a sound he could not hear. Or could it be rhythm received through some other sense perception unknown to man? After a while he pressed several buttons in rapid succession. A blinding electric arc leaped from the ceiling, turning the heap of bodies into a crackling funeral pyre.
The smoky light revealed row on row of strangely carved figures, model dome-structures and cylindricals, shapes strung from wires resembling fish, toys like the one in his pocket, and many-creased forms resembling walnut meats or possibly brains. As the light died away, it jabbed the Captain's eye as if to make him feel pain in honor of its dead companions. It jabbed with increasing savagery until he fainted and ended the ceremony.
When he regained consciousness it set his hands to scraping the ashes into a smooth bowl. His hands placed this on a shelf and his feet carried him back down the twisting ramp. As he reached the bottom he heard the excited voices of Spencer and Kwatahiri, then Ives' deeper voice as his feet hesitated in the corridor. It clutched his rifle hard. Turning into a side room it snatched up something that felt like wire netting. Then it made his feet walk softly down the main corridor toward the voices, and he mentally cursed his men for their ill caution. All three fools had crowded into the refrigerator room. But to his relief his body hurried up the ramp, through the power room, then up the second ramp to the control room and the surface.
As the glare of the sun struck the thing, it made a long shudder pass through the Captain's body. Then it prodded his blind eye as though it somehow blamed him for the desolation out there. But it prodded him with finesse as it drew him back out of the sun, for his efficiency was essential, no matter what its next move.
From below drifted Hogan's hoarse voice crooning of a red-haired baby with two great big hums. The thing unbuttoned the Captain's shirt and drew it over his head like a cowl. Then it slung the rifle and opened out the wire net. After innumerable vacillations and quiverings it sent him sliding down the rope, unconscious that the rope was burning through the skin of his hands.