electrophoretic patterns and pulling out
chunks of hair around his bald spot. He gave them a snarl and shoved a
sheaf of papers into their hands.

"Metabolic survey?" Jenkins asked.

"Plus," said Hrunta. "You're not going to like it, either."

"Why not? If it grows, it metabolizes. If it metabolizes, we can kill
it. Axiom number seventeen, paragraph number four."

"Oh, it metabolizes, all right, but you'd better find yourself another
axiom, pretty quick."

"Why?"

"Because it not only metabolizes, it _consumes_. There's no sign of the
usual protein-carbohydrate-fat metabolism going on here. This baby has
an enzyme system that's straight from hell. It bypasses the usual
metabolic activities that produce heat and energy and gets right down to
basic-basic."

Jenkins swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"It attacks the nuclear structure of whatever matter the creature comes
in contact with. There's a partial mass-energy conversion in its rawest
form. The creature goes after carbon-bearing substances first, since the
C seems to break down more easily than anything else--hence its
preference for plant and animal material over non-C stuff. But it can
use anything if it has to--"

Jenkins stared at the little biochemist, an image in his mind of the
pink creature in the hold, growing larger by the minute as it ate its
way through the hydroponics, through the dry stores, through--

"Is there anything it _can't_ use?"

"If there is, I haven't found it," Hrunta said sadly. "In fact, I can't
see any reason why it couldn't consume this ship and everything in it,
right down to the last rivet--"

* * * * *

They walked down to the hold for another look at their uninvited guest,
and almost wished they hadn't.

It had reached the size of a small hippopotamus, although the
resemblance ended there. Twenty hours had elapsed since the survey had
begun. The _hlorg_ had used every minute of it, draining the tanks,
engulfing dry stores, devouring walls and floors as it spread out in
search of food, leaving trails of eroded metal wherever it went.

It was ugly--ugly in its pink shapelessness, ugly in its slimy
half-sentient movements, in its very _purposefulness_. But its ugliness
went even deeper, stirring primordial feelings of revulsion and loathing
in their minds as they watched it oozing implacably across the hold to
another dry-storage bin.

Wally Stone shuddered. "It's _grown_."

"Too fast.