All Judgment Fled by James White

flip-flopping along the net

away from them. McCullough still could not see what it used for hands.
     
     
"Got it," he said, replacing his camera and hurrying on.
     
     
Drew had taken up a classic defensive position outside the open door,

crouching with one leg hooked into the net to steady himself. The haft

of his ski stick was wedged against the wall plating with the business

end pointing back the way they had come. A little self-consciously,

Morrison took up a similar position on the other side of the opening

and waved the others through.
     
     
McCullough entered first, then Hollis. They turned to assist Berryman

then, and had a hand under each armpit when it happened.
     
     
His radio went into a howl of oscillation as four voices tried to use it

at the same time, and McCullough saw aliens swarming toward them out of

the dark spaces between the supposedly solid masses of equipment. Morrison

and Drew he could not see at all. The colonel had lost his spotlight,

and Berryman was being pulled away from them.
     
     
One of the aliens had anchored itself to the combing with two of

its tentacles while the other two were wrapped around the pilot's feet.

Another e-t had swarmed onto his back, its sting jabbing furiously --

McCullough could hear it clanking against Berryman's air tanks. He knew

that it had only to shift its position by a few inches for the pilot to

be very horribly dead.
     
     
     
     
chapter eleven
     
     
For several seconds McCullough could do nothing except stare in fascination

at the colonel's spotlight as it was sent spinning to and fro by the

struggling, colliding bodies around the entrance. Lit by that wildly

rotating beam, the scene took on the flickering, unreal quality of

an old-time silent film. The spotlight was blinding and confusing the

men as much as the aliens, because it was some time before McCullough

realized that Berryman had freed one foot and was using it to kick at

the tentacle holding the other -- he had been viewing the operation as

a series of disconnected stills.
     
     
Hollis was mouthing at him -- the suit radio still emitted a constant

howl of oscillation because too many people were trying to use it at

the same time -- and pointing at the wall net. The physicist was on his

knees beside the sliding door and had worked his feet and lower legs

between the net and the wall. McCullough got the idea and did the same,

and together they took a firm, two-handed grip on each of Berryman's

arms and pulled hard.
     
     
Berryman came free of the first alien so suddenly that his visor cracked

against the edge of the opening and the force of the pull sent him shooting

past so quickly that they had to grab his feet. The second alien was still

clinging to his back, still stabbing at his air tanks.
     
     
A pair of legs were coming through the opening. McCullough gave one of them

a tug to help whoever it was on their way. There were long tears in the

fabric covering one leg and blood was oozing out of one of them.
     
     
The constant howling made it difficult to think.
     
     
They pulled Berryman down between them, hooked his legs into the netting,

then concentrated their efforts on the alien clinging to his back. Its

tentacles were still wrapped tightly around the pilot's chest, and Hollis

pushed the butt of a ski stick between the alien's underbelly and

Berryman's back and tried to lever it away. The alien jerked violently --

Hollis must have prodded a sensitive area -- but did not let go. Then

McCullough discovered the answer. If they reached under Berryman's

chest and gripped the tentacles by their tips, they could be peeled back

relatively easily.
     
     
There was a muffled clang. McCullough looked round quickly and saw that

everyone was inside. Drew was slotting his weapon into the piping which

ran along both sides of the sliding door and through the ring handle

so as to form a bar. Possibly the aliens could open it, but not