"He's getting ready to go in. We're gonna need a trap runner. Where's that guy? The mil'try guys said the brought some some savage to take lumps for the pencil pushers."
The Kark gave a broad, alchemical smile. With it, he could transmute lead into solid terror. Slowly his hands seemed to take on a life of their own. Thumbs like hammers moved slowly and deliberately amongst the fingers, pressing or lifting; pops and cracks accompanied each alien gesture. There was something uncomfortably prophetic in those noises. The dockhands shifted, and somehow, the Kark's smile got broader.
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