Kimball Trent took two cautious steps forward, standing on tiptoe, staring at the cavity where the eye-head had been. And what he saw chilled the blood in his body.
For the Gharrian was a robot, a tiny control board deep in the aperture, a curved hood dropping on hinges to the back.
Kimball Trent whirled then and began to stalk the room. He didn't know exactly what he sought, but there was a singing in his mind, and the knowledge he had just gained was the answer to many things that had never been solved.
He saw the flickering movement at the corner of the room, took two long strides that way, snatched with bare hands at the monstrosity that squirmed with miniature strength against the grip of his lean fingers.
He almost vomited at sight of the weird creature that fought to free itself. It was like a pink convoluted brain, with spider legs like wormy tentacles coiling and uncoiling in mad rage. Two tiny eyes glared lidlessly at Trent, and a hole like a sucker mouth gaped, showing blue toothless gums.
Trent increased the pressure of his fingers, and the tiny eyes popped in agony, the tentacles wrapping about his fingers, trying to pry them free. And in the midst of the struggle, a thought pried its way into Trent's consciousness.
"Do not slay me, Earthman. Let me live."
Kimball Trent went to the side table where small machines and tools were scattered haphazardly. He emptied out a deep plastic jar, set it upright, then dropped the pink monstrosity into its depths. His skin crawled, and he heard Lura's gasp, as the Gharrian righted itself, trying frantically to climb the glasslike walls of the prison.
"Laura, bolt the door," Trent said without turning his head, then spoke directly at the squirming blob of flesh. "Do you understand what I am saying?" he asked.