Bowman nodded. He reached toward the button. Closer and closer, now. In
seconds the two walls of matter would coalesce. The sailors had seen
their peril. We couldn't hear their voices, but they were apparently
pleading with Johnny to let them take refuge in the one, so far
untouched, storage vault; seal that door. And he had refused. He was
forcing them to hold their ground. All four of them, like himself, were
desperately ripping corks from bottles, scattering the medical export
into the substance closing in on them.
And then one man slipped! His foot flew from under him, was avidly
seized by a tentacle of that slimy mass. His eyes and mouth opened
wide; I knew he was screaming.
Larkin stepped forward to grasp his shoulders. The skipper hoarsed,
"Look out, son! Behind you!"
It happened all at once. One minute there were two towering walls of
fleshy matter surging inexorably down upon the trapped quintet, and the
next instant--
The walls collapsed! Just like that! Collapsed into running streams of
blotched liquid scum. The sailor's leg slipped free. Johnny toppled
over backward into the slippery puddle. A foolish look spread over his
face. A look that was mirrored in the faces of his associates. His
eyes rolled. He goggled up into the visiplate, kissed his fingers to
us, and--and hiccuped! His lips formed a syllable. The syllable was,
"_Wheeee!_"
Bowman's shaking fingers sought his jowls. He cried, "My God,
he--he's--"
"He's what, Daddy? What?"
"He's as boiled," roared Bowman, "as an owl!"
* * * * *
Some time later--about twelve hours, to be exact--I dragged him back
into the control turret. He was still a little blue from the cold
shower. But the fog was out of his brain, and that was what was most
necessary. For all of us were dying of curiosity.
Bowman said, "Well, your plan worked, son. We got the ship empty, and
like you said we would, we pulled out of the goo we was in. Now we're
on our way back to tell Earth about Caltech, and--" he added proudly,
"--collect that bonus. 'Cause under that scum is a fortune in ores. But
what was the scum? An' how did you know you could bust it up with that
there zy--zy--"
"--mase," grinned Johnny. "Zymase, Skipper. Why, it wasn't difficult,
once Lorraine supplied the key. You might say I was slow in figuring it
out mainly because the disaccharose existed on such a gigantic scale
that I could net comprehend it."
"The di--which?" I said.
"Sugar," said Johnny, "to you. Or, more accurately, a form of treacle.
Honey-gum.
"Here's what I figure. Subsequent investigation may prove me wrong, of
course, but my theory must be fundamentally sound or we wouldn't have
escaped.
"Caltech VI is apparently inhabited by some sort of gigantic insect,
which may be of the bee, the spider, or the ant family. Each of these
insects, as you know, possesses the power of secreting fluids which it
adapts to its private needs. The ant seals nests and wraps larvae in
his, the bee builds hives and makes honey, the spider spins threads
wherein to trap its prey.
"We were captured in a gigantic 'trap' built by one of these insects,
that's all. From what we saw, I judge that most of Caltech's surface
must be covered by these gigantic webs. Miles in extent, hundreds of
feet deep. Webs of doom for the unwary. Being highly tensile, gummy,
irradiated with a rather unusual form of inherent energy, these traps
cannot be damaged by rocket blasts." He shook his head soberly. "I
can't help thinking of those poor devils who died there. Like human
flies in a monster's viscous web--"
[Illustration: "I can't help thinking of the poor devils who died
there. Like human flies in a monstrous viscous web."]