Oh God, he thought.
The tentacles swung away from the wall, lifting him high in the air, into the middle of the cylinder. This is it, he thought, but in the next moment he felt his body sliding downward past the mattress, and he slipped through the grip and fell through the air. He grabbed the tentacles for support, sliding down the giant evil-smelling vines, and then he crashed down onto the deck near the galley, his head banging on the metal deck. He rolled onto his back.
He saw the two tentacles above, gripping the mattress, squeezing it, twisting it. Did the squid realize what had happened, that he had gotten free?
Norman looked around desperately. A weapon, a weapon. This was a Navy habitat. There must be a weapon somewhere.
The tentacles tore the mattress apart. Shreds of white padding drifted down through the cylinder. The tentacles released the mattress, the big pieces falling. Then the tentacles started swinging around the habitat again.
Searching.
It knows, he thought. It knows I have gotten away, and that I am still in here somewhere. It is hunting me.
But how did it know?
Norman ducked behind the galley as one of the flat tentacles came crashing through the pots and pans, sweeping around, feeling for him. Norman scrambled back, coming up against a large potted plant. The tentacle was still searching, moving restlessly across the floor, banging the pans. Norman pushed the plant forward, and the tentacle gripped it, uprooted it easily, sweeping it away into the air.
The distraction allowed Norman to scramble forward. A weapon, he thought. A weapon.
He looked down to where the mattress had fallen, and he saw, lining the wall near the bottom hatch, a series of silver vertical bars. Spear guns! Somehow he had missed them on the way up. Each spear gun was tipped in a fat bulb like a hand grenade. Explosive tips? He started to climb down.
The tentacles were sliding down, too, following him. How did the squid know where he was? And then, as he passed a porthole, he saw the eye outside and he thought, He can see me, for God's sake.
Stay away from the portholes.
Not thinking clearly. Everything happening fast. Crawling down past the explosive crates in the storage hold, thinking, I better not miss in here, and he landed with a clang on the airlock deck.
The arms were slithering down, moving down the cylinder toward him. He tugged at one of the spear guns. It was strapped to the wall with a rubber cord. Norman pulled at it, tried to release it. The tentacles drew closer. He yanked at the rubber, but it wouldn't release. What was wrong with these snaps?
The tentacles were closer. Coming down swiftly.
Then he realized the cords had safety catches: you had to pull the guns sideways, not out. He did; the rubber popped free. The spear gun was in his hand. He turned, and the tentacle knocked him down. He flipped onto his back and saw the great flat suckered palm of the tentacle coming straight down on him, and the tentacle wrapped over his helmet, everything was black, and he fired.
There was tremendous pain in his chest and abdomen. For a horrified moment he thought he had shot himself. Then he gasped and he realized it was just the concussion; his chest was burning, but the squid released him.
He still couldn't see. He pulled the palm off his face and it fell heavily onto the deck, writhing, severed from the squid arm. The interior walls of the habitat were splattered with blood. One tentacle was still moving, the other was a bloody, ragged stump. Both arms pulled out through the hatch, slipped into the water.
Norman ran for the porthole; the squid moved swiftly away, the green glow diminishing. He had done it! He'd beaten it off.
He'd done it.
DH-8
"How many did you bring?" Harry said, turning the spear gun over in his hands.
"Five," Norman said. "That was all I could carry."
"But it worked?" He was examining the bulbous explosive tip.
"Yeah, it worked. Blew the whole tentacle off."
"I saw the squid going away," Harry said. "I figured you must have done something."
"Where's Beth?"
"I don't know. Her suit's gone. I think she may have gone to the ship."
"Gone to the ship?" Norman said, frowning.
"All I know is, when I woke up she was gone. I figured you were over at the habitat, and then I saw the squid, and I tried to get you on the radio but I guess the metal blocked the transmission."
"Beth left?" Norman said. He was starting to get angry. Beth was supposed to stay at the communications console, watching the sensors for him while he was outside. Instead, she had gone to the ship?
"Her suit's gone," Harry said again.
"Son of a bitch!" Norman said. He was suddenly furious - really, deeply furious. He kicked the console.
"Careful there," Harry said.
"Damn it!"
"Take it easy," Harry said, "come on, take it easy, Norman."
"What the hell does she think she's doing?"
"Come on, sit down, Norman." Harry steered him to a chair. "We're all tired."
"Damn right we're tired!"
"Easy, Norman, easy ... Remember your blood pressure."
"My blood pressure's fine!"
"Not now, it's not," Harry said. "You're purple."
"How could she let me go outside and then just leave?"
"Worse, go out herself," Harry said.
"But she wasn't watching out for me any more," Norman said. And then it came to him, why he was so angry-he was angry because he was afraid. At a moment of great personal danger, Beth had abandoned him. There were only three of them left down there, and they needed each other - they needed to depend on each other. But Beth was unreliable, and that made him afraid. And angry.