kicked through the port in front of him. Someone thrust a
crossbow into his hand.
“What?” Shar blurted. “What’s the matter? What’s happen-
ing?”
“Eaters!”
The cry went through the ship like .a galvanic shock. The
rotifers back in Lavon’s own world were virtually extinct, but
everyone knew ‘thoroughly the grim history of the long battle
man and Proto had waged against them.
The girl spotted the ship suddenly and paused, obviously
stricken with despair at the sight of this new monster. She
drifted with her own momentum, her eyes alternately fixed
upon the ship and jerking back over her shoulder, toward
where the buzzing snarled louder and louder in the dimness.
“Don’t stop!” Lavon shouted. “This way, this way! We’re
friends! We’ll help!”
Three great semi-transparent trumpets of smooth flesh bored
over the rise, the many thick cilia of their coronas whirring
greedily. Dicrans, arrogant in their flexible armor, quarrel-
ing thickly among themselves as they moved, with the few
blurred, pre-symbolic noises which made up their own lan-
guage. ‘
Carefully, Lavon wound the crossbow, brought it to his
shoulder, and fired. The bolt sang away through the water. It
lost momentum rapidly, and was caught by a stray current
which brought it closer to the girl than to the Eater at which
Lavon had aimed.
He bit his lip, lowered the weapon, wound it up again. It
did not pay to underestimate the range; he would have to wait.
Another bolt, cutting through the water from a side port,
made him issue orders to cease firing “until,” he added,