session, it was all off.
They'd die here, horribly, on the roof of Antrid.

And the ray pistols were useless: they could not be fired inside the
ballooning fabric of their suits without destroying it and themselves.
There were only the hooks that were attached to the bulging
sleeves--iron hooks for lifting--but these were heavy and sharp
pointed. They might be of some use, at that.

Once they were completely blinded by a deluge of ice particles, Blaine
could see neither the RX8 nor the waddling figures of the Llotta. He
clung to his companions by means of the hooks, interlocking his with
theirs, and waited for the storm to ease off. If ever it would!
Pressing the thick glass window of his helmet against that of Ulana's,
he saw that her eyes were wide with terror. But she smiled bravely and
nodded encouragement. What a girl!

There was a momentary clearing a little way from the white wall and he
saw the hull of the ship, a dim shape that loomed suddenly distinct and
near. They dashed for the open port, still holding together.

One of the bulging, helmeted Llotta had reached the port and was
scrambling inside. Blaine loosed himself and pounced on him, swinging
one of his hooks in a sweeping, clawing arc. It caught in the fabric of
the fellow's suit, ripping a foot-long slit. Like a punctured ballon it
deflated and became a shriveled, clinging thing. The Llott hung there
over the rim of the port, instantly suffocated and frozen stiff in the
vacuum and intense cold of space as the air and heat of the suit was
dissipated.

* * * * *

Blaine dragged the rigid body from the opening and flung it to the
white powdered copper surface. Wheeling, he saw that another of the
Llotta had engaged Tommy. Two of them: in fact, there were three
swollen figures in that mix-up. And the fourth was advancing on a
smaller figure that turned and ran. Ulana! In a flash he was after
them. Tom Farley would have to look out for himself, poor devil. With
two of them against him, the outcome was dubious.

And then came a second snow-like deluge of white particles. He stumbled
on, groping blindly; slipping, sliding in the precarious footing. It
was ankle deep now, that powdery carpet of ice particles. Oh God, if
that Llott devil got Ulana! He groaned aloud, a hideous mournful echo
in the confines of the helmet. Groping, staggering there in the white
silence, he gave up hope. The white-carpeted shell of A