"And, to finish what I've deduced, the monster is as strong as a couple of men, at least." He grinned at Jerry. "Not that you needed me to deduce that."
Randy Kinkare was staring at the life-scanner screen. Now he beat a tattoo on the arm of his chair, pointed so that they all looked. The flecks of light that indicated organic life had thronged in toward the ship; not so numerous as the stars, they were still too many to count. One object on the screen was large now, large enough to be identified. It approached the ship at a slow but steady rate, and they gasped as they saw it was another of the human-like figures.
"His brothers," said Pinkham. "That must be their natural form, then."
It grew and grew. It seemed it must now be touching the scanner's outside cell; but no, it grew even greater. At last it could not be seen in its entirety, then only its face showed. It was a hideous face, twisted with sardonic malice. The face grew. When it stopped, only one enormous eye filled the screen.
Jerry cleared his throat. "Do you know what that means?" he asked. "It means that, at a conservative estimate, the critter is—"
"Go on," said Daley impatiently, when Jerry's silence had lengthened intolerably.
"It must be at least one thousand feet tall," said the O. O.
There was a long, unbroken stillness, a hush of horror and disbelief in the control room.
Finally Circe said slowly, "I think I'm going to faint."
And she did.