 Why didn’t the proton gun hurt the monsters?
It made a spiked fist and knocked the rear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. Hathaway only knew he was picked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn't long in following, swearing loud words. A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out of the controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattled around—human dice in a croupier's cup. They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain that stretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars. Marnagan, firing his proton-gun.
 The monsters had thick, resistant skin.
 The monsters ran too fast.  The proton gun was damaged in the crash.  The monsters had thick, resistant skin.  Irish wanted to negotiate a peace.