He spotted movement, adjusted his aim. Something erupted pink and blue. He found another target, and another, and another. His wireguns chattered busily.
He spasmed at the noise. That was a shotgun! He snapped his wrists back up again, cutting off the deadly flow of tungsten fiber. Where...
Marines were tumbling out of the Spider, landing on all fours, scrambling off in different directions. One stood nearby, sweeping his raised arms back and forth like searchlights. Another crouched with shotgun drawn, smoke oozing out the business end of it.
"Cover my nines!" Somebody shouted.
Movement on the wall, a pale purple blur. Ken raised an arm to track it, but the Waister stopped suddenly, slamming its bulk into a group of boxes. It lifted its wand, aimed down at the marines...
The man with the shotgun collapsed into dust. Ken was reminded of his parents' charcoal grill, and the way it looked when somebody kicked it over and let the ashes spill out. The Waister twisted its hand a little, and another marine turned to powder and slid apart. Shouts of alarm rose up as the men noticed what was happening.
Ken's arm seemed to be moving through thick honey.
PftPftPft! Finally, the wiregun split the creature diagonally, splashing the gray, hexagonal boxes with indigo fluid.