"Knock 'em down," he ordered. Booger took a rolling start and smashed into the ranks of pins with the enthusiasm of a runaway space tug. The earth-quaking impact shook Jon off his feet. He lay stretched on his belly laughing hysterically at the ludicrous sight.
Steady lad, some sane corner of his brain whispered. Steady. This is no time to go to pieces.
What the hell, he retorted to himself. At least the condemned man had a hearty laugh. But he pulled himself to his feet and trudged back to the ship.
Doc silently busied himself with the storage of the new reels after they had eaten.
"I found out how they do that disappearing act," he said finally. "It showed up on the high-speed shots. They shoot out a long pseudopod—like a wire. Then they snap back into a sphere at the other end. It's simply darned fast locomotion."
"Yes," agreed Jon, "and they can shape themselves into bowling pins and stuff too. And hold it. Their shape, I mean."
A thought was uncurling in Jon's mind. "Doc, do you suppose ... by golly, it's got to work!"
And Doc was watching with astonished red-rimmed eyes as Jon slid through the neck of his space suit in its stand in the corner. Jon's voice faded out and came in over the speaker as the wrench settled the helmet in its seat and fell away.
"Warm up the converter, Doc. You'll have to handle that end this time. When I give the word, throw everything on—mains, auxiliaries, steering, everything. I'll have to do my end from the air-lock. And whatever you do, don't cut acceleration until we're out of orbit and on course away. Chop chop, chum."