The alien stood between us and the ship. It was a great pot-bellied
lizard as tall as a man. Its sound came from a flat, vibrating beaver
tail. Others of its kind were coming into view behind it.
"Stand your ground," I warned the others thickly. "They may be
dangerous."
Quade sat up on our crisscross litter of arms. "Aliens can't be
hostile. Ethnic impossibility. I'll show you."
Quade was delirious and we were drunk. He got away from us and jogged
toward the herd.
"Let's give him a hand!" Farley shouted. "We'll take us a specimen!"
I couldn't stop them. Being in Alpine rope with them, I went along. At
the time, it even seemed vaguely like a good idea.
As we lumbered toward them, the aliens fell back in a solid line except
for the first curious-looking one. Quade got there ahead of us and made
a grab. The creature rose into the air with a screaming vibration of
his tail and landed on top of him, flattening him instantly.
"Sssh, men," Nagurski said. "Leave it to me. I'll surround him."
The men followed the First Officer's example, and the rope tying them
to him. I went along cheerfully myself, until an enormous rump struck
me violently in the face. My leaded boots were driven down into fertile
soil, and my helmet was ringing like a bell. I got a jerky picture of
the beast jumping up and down on top of the others joyously. Only the
stiff space armor was holding up our slack frames.
"Let's let him escape," Hoffman suggested on the audio circuit.
"I'd like to," Nagurski admitted, "but the other beasts won't let us
get past their circle."
It was true. The aliens formed a ring around us, and each time a
bouncing boy hit the line, he only bounced back on top of us.
"Flat!" I yelled. "Our seams can't take much more of this beating."