The sea Thing was almost out of the water now, its pseudopods
flicking to the bodies of the slain beasts, resting momentarily, then
drawing back into the main bulk. Almost instantly, the bodies had
been dissolved and assimilated; so fast, indeed, that there was no
appreciable interval of time between the flicking of the pseudopod and
the assimilation.
"Get in that ship," Kerry Blane barked. "Get the panel fixed the best
you can. Fix up a jury-rig. But fix it so that this ship can move
within seconds."
"But--" Startled knowledge came into Splinter's eyes.
Kerry Blane twisted at the gun in Splinter's right hand, tucked it into
his belt, pulled at the second. His face was like chiseled stone, and
he seemed strangely youthful again.
"No heroics!" he said coldly. "One of us has to get back. I've lived my
life."
"Listen, Kerry--"
"Get going! If you fix things in time, I'll come aboard. If that
creature ever reaches the ship, neither of us will escape."
Splinter nodded, his eyes filled with tears of mingled bafflement and
rage. He touched Kerry Blane gently on the arm, then dropped through
the port. Kerry Blane watched him go, shivered slightly, then lifted
the port and clanged it shut. His mouth was a thin gash, as he turned
to face the Venusian monster.
He felt no regrets; it was a good way to go, with flaming guns and the
surge of excitement deep in his heart. Far better than to die unsung
and unwanted in some bed on Earth.
He fired directly into the slimy body of the gelatinous mass, laughed
aloud as the flame of the shot pulsed redly deep with the monster's
bulk. The gigantic blob of protoplasm seemed to draw back a bit, then
flowed silently forward again.
Kerry Blane half-slid, half-climbed down the ladder, raced along
the beach to the left of the monster. He dodged the great blob of
protoplasm that was spat at his running figure, felt a sick faintness
creeping into his mind, when he saw the mindless horror move
unerringly toward the ruptured body of a crab.
He paused at a safe distance, blasted shot after shot of rending energy
into the glowing bulk. A crab scuttled past him, plunged into the
ocean, sank immediately to safety. The protoplasmic monster moved like
glowing tar over the beach, seeking fresh food.
Kerry Blane emptied the charge of one gun, felt a sick futility
beating at his mind when he saw how little damage had been done to the
insatiable slime. He tossed the gun to one side, drew the second, knew
its charge was already half gone.
The protoplasm flowed toward the ship, flicking loops of itself at the
few remaining bodies, then stilled to motionlessness.
Kerry Blane approached its bulk slowly, knowing he had to attract the
cohesive slime his way, if Splinter was to have enough time to finish
his repairs and make his escape.
He flicked the dis-gun aside, fumbled for a cigarette, laughed in
sudden ironic mirth when his fingers touched the boxes of vitamin
capsules. He opened one box, flipped the amber balls straight into the
protoplasm.
"A _balanced_ diet is the thing you need," he cried aloud, felt the
first fingers of insanity plucking at his reason.
The monster surged forward, great loops of itself questing for Kerry
Blane. He dodged one, felt a second touch his jacket lightly. He tore
his jacket off instantly, hurled it savagely at the towering death.
"Let's get it over with!" he screamed.
And walked directly forward into the sea-Thing.
* * * * *
In the ship, Splinter finished his wiring of the panel, wiped his
tear-streaked face with the back of a dirty hand. He tested the
installments, found they were satisfactory, turned the ship on its
belly with a brief roar of an underjet. Then he peered from the vision
port.
He swore briefly, harshly, when he saw that, except for the gargantuan
monster, the beach was empty. His hands were clenched until the
muscle-ache traveled into his shoulders.
"Damn, oh damn!" he sobbed in futile rage and regret.
He knew now how much he had revered the old man, how much faith and
reliance the years had given him in the other's judgment. He felt then
that he had lost more than he could ever regain.
"That's the trouble with the service now," a voice said disagreeably.
"Too damned many, wet-diapered squirts! Sitting around, bawling, when
they should be tailing it toward home!"
Splinter turned incredulous eyes toward the side port, stared blankly
at the grinning face of Kerry Blane.
"What the--"
Kerry Blane wriggled through the port, adjusted his broken arm into a
comfortable position, then went directly to the medicine cabinet. He
opened the door, ignored the other's amazement, proceeded to swallow
half a box of vitamin capsules.
"Bellyache!" he said succinctly.
"I thought you were dead," Splinter whispered.
"Should be," Kerry Blane admitted. "But decided to live. Guns went
back on me, I had to figure out something else." He frowned. "That's
the trouble with you young squirts, you never figure out anything!" he
finished accusingly.
"What happened?" Splinter asked slowly.
Kerry Blane jerked his head toward the vision port. "Gave that thing
a bellyache," he explained. "It assimilated two hundred vitamin D
capsules. And Vitamin D, which is _concentrated sunshine_, is as fatal
to its sunshine-denied life as arsenic would be to yours."