"Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident—" Click stopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head and felt a film slip down over his eyes. He spread his legs out to steady himself, and swayed. "I—I don't think my oxygen is as full as yours. This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick."
Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. "Hold tight, Click. The guy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach."
"Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animals came from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to come back!"
"Come back? How?"
"They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if we believe in them again, they'll return."
Marnagan didn't like it. "Won't—won't they kill us—if they come—if we believe in 'em?"
Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. "Not if we believe in them to a certain point. Psychologically they can both be seen and felt. We only want to see them coming at us again."
"Do we, now?"
"With twenty minutes left, maybe less—"
"All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it?"