The Understudies
Knowing the Callistonian's reputation for inquisitiveness, Verger fully
expected that some of them would follow the band into the space-ship.
They surprised him, however, by moving away from the Goddard instead of
toward it.
In a cleared space which was some distance away but close enough so
that the occupants of the ship could see them clearly, the natives
of the satellite gathered together, forming a huge circle with their
heads all pointed toward the center. Apparently they were holding
a conference or town meeting to decide what to do about these
unprecedented eventualities.
Verger took advantage of this interlude to make a thorough examination
of the weird tentacle which was still coiled about the Goddard,
shackling it firmly to the unfriendly satellite.
Calling to Anderson, he said, "You're a scientist, Professor. Suppose
you give this thing the once over and see if you can make anything out
of it."
The inventor inspected the snake-like object minutely, using the
magnifying glass to supplement his naturally keen vision. Finally he
remarked: "It looks like protoplasm."
"You mean you think it's something living?"
Anderson nodded.
"But how could anything living be so enormous?" Verger doubted. "Surely
you don't believe that an underground monster could have a tentacle as
big as that?"
"Perhaps the satellite itself is a living organism," Anderson suggested.
LeDoux, who had overheard the conversation, remarked, "How utterly
ridiculous!"
"I wouldn't say that," Verger disagreed. "I've seen too many strange
things in my time to call anything ridiculous."
"But if this satellite was really alive, we'd certainly know about it,"
LeDoux protested.
"Not necessarily," said Anderson. "Do you think the fleas and microbes
that crawl the hairy forests on the surface of a Saint Bernard dog have
any conception of the living thing which they inhabit?"
While LeDoux and Anderson were talking, Verger had disappeared into
the space-craft, from which he presently emerged brandishing a large,
razor-edged axe.
"We'll soon find out whether it's alive or not," he cried, as he swung
the powerful weapon over his head and slashed it with a mighty effort
into the thing.
The axe penetrated the substance as easily as if it had been made of
jelly, in fact the blade sank completely out of sight. Almost instantly
the wound closed, leaving the outer surface intact. When Verger tried
to withdraw the axe, he found that he did not have strength enough to
do so.
"Here, fellows, give me a hand!" he yelled.
All three of them tugged at the axe-handle without being able to
dislodge the blade. Finally they strained so hard that the hickory
shaft cracked and the portion which was attached to the blade was
sucked out of sight.
For an instant Verger stood with his mouth open, gazing foolishly at
the broken rod in his hand. Then he swore and exclaimed, "Now, just
what does that prove?"
Anderson shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
"If you ask me," said LeDoux, "it proves that we're stuck here for
the rest of our lives--which probably won't be long enough to become
tedious."
* * * * *
Meanwhile, the natives of Callisto had apparently completed their
conference, for they started back toward the space-ship. When he saw
them approaching, Verger rushed inside and shouted, "Play, girls. Your
customers must have liked your routine, because they're coming back for
more."
Taking the lead, one of the saxophone players blew an introductory
measure of an old, familiar dance tune, and the rest of the band
lustily joined in.
If it had not been for the seriousness of their predicament, the three
men would have derived a great deal of amusement from the subsequent
behavior of the Callisto natives.
First they marched, or rather crawled, around the space-ship in single
file, keeping time to the music with graceful movements of their
sinuous bodies. Then they separated into groups, performing some
remarkable, rhythmic maneuvers, which seemed to be both spontaneous and
original.
"They're dancing!" LeDoux exclaimed. "It's sort of an ancient square
dance--I believe it was called the quadrille."
"Looks more like the Big Apple to me," Anderson remarked.
"Big Apple?" Verger questioned. "What in the Solar System is that?"
"It's the name of a dance which was popular back in the Twentieth
Century. I remember seeing the dance depicted by some motion pictures
which were kept in a museum to show the customs of human insects called
'jitter bugs' who lived in what they called the 'terrible thirties'."
"Very interesting," was Captain Verger's comment. "All I can say is,
'On with the dance! Let joy be unrefined!' If it will keep the minds of
those slug-men out of mischief--more power to rhythm!"
"Looks as if they won't bother us for a while at least," Anderson
remarked. "I believe I shall take advantage of this interlude to make
the final adjustments on my invention. It is practically completed, you
know."
"Go to it, by all means," Verger urged him. "And, by the way,
Professor, just what is the nature of that contraption of yours?"
"I call it a High Frequency Sound Projector. If you're interested, just
step into my laboratory and I'll explain it to you while I am working
on it."
A moment later, when they were in the tiny stateroom which Anderson
facetiously called his laboratory, the scientist began: "My High
Frequency Sound Projector is merely a device for producing, focussing
and projecting supersonic vibrations, or waves which are similar to
sound, but have enormously greater frequencies. No doubt you know that
vibrations which are audible to the human ear range from 24 per second
to about 40,000 per second. My device develops frequencies as high as a
million vibrations per second."
"Did you originate the idea?" Verger asked.
"Indeed not," Anderson hastened to state. "All I did was to carry on
the work of other scientists. Early in the Twentieth Century, during
the so-called 'World War,' supersonics were used to detect the presence
of hostile submarines. While these high-frequency sound-waves were
being employed for this purpose, thousands of dead fishes were found
floating on the surface of the ocean. It was suggested that these
fishes might have been killed by the supersonic vibrations, and this
assumption was subsequently verified by laboratory experiments."
"And is that what your dohickey is for--just to kill fishes?" Verger
asked.
"It ought to do a great deal more than that," Anderson smiled.
"The supersonics which killed small fishes had relatively low
frequencies--only about 50,000 vibrations per second. My device
develops frequencies of over a million vibrations per second."
"Does that mean that your gimmick will kill larger animals?"
The scientist answered, "I haven't tested it yet. But, reasoning by
analogy, I believe it would be absolutely fatal to any larger animal,
such as a human being, an elephant, or--"
"Or one of those Callisto devils!" the captain exclaimed. "Jumping
Jupiter! Maybe you've got something there, Professor! No weapon that
has been tried so far has been able to stop one of those babies; but
perhaps your supersonic thing-a-ma-gig will do the trick!"
"That is a possibility," Anderson agreed. "However, since we have only
one Super-Sonic Projector, I'm afraid we cannot wage a successful war
against the entire population of Callisto."
"Not very well," Verger had to admit. "Nevertheless, I still have a
hunch that your little dohickey is going to enable us to make our
getaway."
* * * * *
Professor Anderson was about to ask Verger what he had in mind, when
he heard a knock on the door of the stateroom. In response to his
invitation to enter, one of the women came in. It was Helen Green, the
bass-drummer.
Startled by the expression on her face, the scientist said, "What's
wrong, Mrs. Green? Why aren't you playing with the rest of the band?"
"I got fired!" was her astonishing statement.
"You got fired?" Anderson exclaimed. "What in the Universe are you
raving about?"
"You know how it is," she grinned. "Unskilled labor is always the first
to feel the pinch of unemployment. Anyone can play the bass drum.
That's why I lost my job."
In a tone of exasperation which he tried hard to disguise, the
professor said, "Please be more explicit, Mrs. Green. This is no time
for facetiousness."
"I'm not trying to be funny," she assured him. "If you don't think I
meant it when I said I got fired, take a look at the individual that
copped my job!"
Following her suggestion, Anderson and Verger stepped to the door
and looked into the main cabin. Just beyond the entrance they
were astonished to see one of the slug-men. Armed with the padded
drum-stick, it was pounding lustily on the bass drum.
Nine or ten more of the Callisto natives were crowding the musicians.
With their weird, telescopic eyes, the slug-men were intently watching
all the movements which the girls were making.
"I believe I get the idea," Verger remarked. "Apparently they think
that if they watch the musicians closely enough, they will learn how
to play all the instruments themselves. Then they will organize a band
of their own. As soon as they are able to get along without the human
musicians, they will--"
Anderson kicked him in the shin just in time to stop him from finishing
the sentence. If Helen noticed this by-play, she did not mention it.
Instead she said, "Why don't you toss those kibitzers out, Captain?"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Verger couldn't help smiling.
"We can't very well toss them out, Mrs. Green, any more than a hired
orchestra could evict the sponsor of a television program who took a
notion to play with the instruments during a broadcast for which he was
footing the bill."
By that time the enormous, fantastically glowing globe of Jupiter, upon
which the daughter-moon of Callisto depended for light and warmth,
had rolled down the sky until only a small portion of it was visible
above the horizon. Evidently the slug-men abhorred being away from home
after nightfall. At any rate, they departed as soon as the light began
to wane, leaving behind them twenty tired, frightened girls and three
worried men.