Spacesuited men clinging to the Argonaut’s life lines gripped the net tighter as their prey floated into it. A reddish-white globe ten feet in diameter, it evidenced life only by a rhythmic swelling and shrinking of its bulk, like an animated bellows there in the airless reaches of space.

“Hold all! Close around now — ”

The exultant voice of Matt Brend, captain, fell silent in astonishment. For the thing had breasted the net — and was flowing through it like water through a sieve. Whereupon eight men held slack lines, and upon the ether was borne a, torrent of spaceworthy oaths. Men who knew Matt Brend, smiled grimly and reached for the repulsors at their belts.

“Follow me. Blast!” The words cracked like shots. “Ahoy, Argonaut! Two inductors full tension on the net lines. We’ll see if the thing can eat juice.”

(Catching net from 'The Scrambler' (1941) by Harry Walton)