Grimly, Pid let out the last breath he had taken with his Man-lungs, and dissolved the lungs.
What shape to take?
Again he studied the gate, the Men standing beside it, the building beyond in which was the all-important reactor.
A small shape was needed. A fast one. An unobtrusive one.
He lay and thought.
The bush rustled above him. A small brown shape had fluttered down to light on a twig. It hopped to another twig, twittering. Then it fluttered off in a flash, and was gone.
That, Pid thought, was it.
Sparrow that was not a Sparrow rose from the bush a few moments later. An observer would have seen it circle the bush, diving, hedgehopping, even looping, as if practicing all maneuvers possible to Sparrows.