"No," it said. "I want you alive. Some of you. To teach us the working of this rocket."
"Spaceship," corrected Pink without thinking. Then, "Why do you want the ship?"
Its eyes glowed fire at him. "To return to Earth," it hissed. "To return to our own planet!"
"Your planet!"
"As much as yours, mortal." It leaned forward, obscuring practically all the room for him. "Show me how to open the air-locks," it said.
"In a swine's eye."
"With safety to yourself, naturally," it said impatiently, "Come, show me."
"Find the machinery yourself. Experiment. Knock us all off. You'll be stuck out here with a ship you can't operate."
It plucked him off the foam-couch and hurled him against the wall, jarring him in every bone. "Show me how," it roared. "Thou zed, thou cream-faced loon—" Shakespeare? wondered Pink—"show me the controls!"
Pink dived behind a stationary chair. He drew his useless pistol and threw it at the being's face; it rebounded to the floor. He snatched up a vase of ever-blooming Jovian lilies, sent them after the gun. The monster reached for him, snarling. He leaped over its hand, hurdling it as if he were a boy crossing a fence. On the far wall were many weapons.