Dicran, contracted to leap after them.
The two Protos came curving back out of nowhere. At the
same moment, the bent, shortened body of Dicran flexed in
its armor plate, straightened, came plunging toward them.
There was a soft plop and Lavon found himself struggling in
a fine net, as tangled and impassible as the matte of a lichen.
A second such sound was followed by a muttered imprecation
from Phil. Lavon struck out fiercely, but he was barely able
to wriggle in the web of wiry, transparent stuff.
“Be still,” a voice which he recognized as Para’s throbbed
behind him. He managed to screw his head around, and then
kicked himself mentally for not having realized at once what
had happened. The Paras had exploded the trichocysts which
lay like tiny cartridges beneath their pellicles; each one cast
forth a liquid which solidified upon contact with the water in
a long slender thread. It was their standard method of
defense.
Farther down, Sharand Phil drifted with the second Para
in the heart of a white haze, like creatures far gone in mold.
Dicran swerved to avoid it, but she was evidently unable to
give up; she twisted and darted around them, her corona
buzzing harshly, her few scraps of the human language for-
gotten. Seen from this distance, the rotation of the corona
was revealed as an illusion, created by the rhythm of pulsa-
tion of the individual cilia, but as far as Lavon was con-
cerned the point was solely technical and the distance was far
too short. Through the transparent armor Lavon could also