IV

Adam Pierce had an idea. It had begun to grow in his mind while the

woman was running the miniature spaceship, but he had thought it over

until he was certain it wasn't so silly as to make them laugh at him.

Now he felt sure he'd hit on the truth; too many evidences for it, and

nothing much that he could see against it.

"I have an idea," he said.

"To get out?" asked the woman.

"No, ma'am. I think I know where we are."

"Where?" asked everyone, except the big man, Summersby, who was sitting

on the tire looking away from them.

"In a lab! This is a laboratory, and those big things are some kind of

scientists!"

"You could be right," said Watkins reluctantly. "My God, what a spot, if

you're right!"

"Sure. That's why we were snatched off the coaster, however it happened.

They wanted to experiment on us, and study us. They got this lab

someplace where it's secret, and they make tests--"

"There was a contrivance like a milking machine," said Full.

"You don't know _what_ it's used for," said Adam darkly. He imagined it

might be an especially nasty way of picking over a man's brains or body.

"Look, it all fits. That stool, that's a funny way to punish a person,

but all their stuff is a little cockeyed."

"By our standards," added Watkins.

"That's what I meant. Look, you punish a guinea pig when it does

something wrong, if you're trying to teach it some trick or other; I

mean, suppose you want to determine its intelligence, you give it a

problem, and if it does the thing wrong it gets a shock, maybe, or a bat

on the nose. That stool was punishment. If you hadn't crashed the

rocket," he said to Mrs. Full, "it might have given you a reward."

"Maybe some food," said Villa.

"Here's another angle," said Watkins, who obviously knew something about

lab work. "They may be trying to give us neuroses. Scientists induce

neuroses in all kinds of critters, by punishment and complex problems

and--"

"What is that?" asked Villa.

"Neuroses?" Watkins rubbed his chin. "Well, say they want to make an

animal nervous, anxious, worried." Villa nodded.

"You mean they might be trying to drive us mad?" said the woman in a

high scared voice.

"I doubt it," said Calvin Full.

"They might be," said Watkins.

"Then let's get out of here," said his wife. She went trotting to the

wall. "Didn't anyone shove a barrier into this?"

"I forgot," said Full. She gave him a dirty look.

"Anyway," Adam went on, "that could explain why we were fixed up before

they woke us--it was like quarantine. They wouldn't want sick animals."

"Who was fixed up how?" asked the Mexican suspiciously.

"My astigmatism," he said to Villa, "and this gentleman's sinus trouble,

and his wife's headache."

"And they pulled a rotten wisdom tooth for me," said Watkins. "I just

discovered it a minute ago. Hole's healed up neatly."

Villa was peeling away the bandage on his hand. Now he gave a glad

shout. "_Madre de Dios!_ Look, the burn has gone!" He showed them his

hand. "Tuesday, a terrible scorched place; today, behold, it is well!"

The woman said, "You know, this _might_ be a laboratory. When I taught

kindergarten we had simple tests for the children that were somewhat

like that remote control apparatus."

* * * * *

Watkins pushed the big man, Summersby, on the shoulder. "I wish you'd

get into this," he said irritably. "We need all the brains we have to

get out."

Summersby looked at him. "You think we'll get out?" he asked.

"Why not?"

"Why?" Summersby sounded tired, and as if his mind was a long way off.

"If these are scientists, they'll keep a fairly close watch on their lab

animals."

"You're a forest ranger, man. Don't you have to meet emergencies all the

time?" Watkins was exasperated. Adam thought, I wouldn't talk to the big

fellow that way; he looks as wild as a panther.

"I'm sorry," said Summersby, turning away again. "I don't think we can

escape, or plan to, until we have more information."

"You needn't inflict your morbidity on us," said Full. "Because you're a

defeatist is no reason for us to be."

Summersby stood up. He looked as tall to Adam as one of the monsters.

"If we're guinea pigs, we'll end up as guinea pigs," he said. "And what

do experimenters do with guinea pigs, finally? They infect or dissect

them. Now leave me alone!" He walked to the farthest corner and sat down

on the straw, staring at his feet.

Adam reached up automatically to push at his glasses, found them

missing, and was confused for an instant. Then he said, "There's a

thought. We better bust out as quick as we can."

"Summersby won't help," said Watkins. "Anybody else feel fatalistic

about this mess?"

"I must get back to my chili stand," said Villa. "And my wife," he

added.

"Adam, you're nearer to college courses than I am," said Watkins. Adam

nodded. "How many places in the world are there, big enough and

unexplored enough to hide a race of giants like these?"

"I guess parts of Africa and South America, maybe the Arctic, some

islands. I don't really know."

"Neither do I."

"Perhaps we aren't on the earth at all," said Mrs. Full. They all looked

at her. "I read a book once in which a party of people discovered a land

beneath the earth's surface," she went on, actually blushing a little.

"It was a trashy sort of book, but--but I thought possibly there might

be something in the idea."

"There might," said her husband.

"Wherever we are, we've got to get out of this box before we do anything

else," said Adam. He felt panicky, as the realization sank into him of

what they might be in for, in this alien lab, under the care of

scientists that looked more like apes than anything.

"Look!" shouted Villa. Adam whirled and saw the small panel, that

Watkins had discovered earlier, just sliding open. A large platter came

through, heaped with what looked like a collection of junk. The huge

hand which had pushed it in withdrew, the panel slipping shut after it.

Villa was the first to reach the platter. "_Santos_," he muttered.

"_Santos y santas!_"

* * * * *

The platter was two feet square, of sky-blue plastic, and on it lay

seven pies, several dozen cupcakes, a double handful of macaroon

cookies, and a quantity of glass shards. Some of the pies were upside

down.

"What on earth...." said Mrs. Full.

"Looks like the contents of a bakery window," said Watkins, leaning over

with his briefcase clamped to his thin chest. "Window and all, I might

add."

Villa picked up a custard pie. It had been smeared up by rough handling

but it looked good to Adam. He chose one for himself, and Watkins handed

Mrs. Full an apple pie. She thanked him. They all took tentative bites.

"What do you make of this?" Watkins asked Summersby, still trying to

drag him into their group. The big man shrugged. "The glass," went on

the blond fellow, "that doesn't make sense. Do they think we eat glass?"

"Possibly," said Calvin Full.

Among the six of them, they consumed all the eatable contents of the

tray. Almost immediately Adam felt his eyelids drooping. "I'm sleepy,"

he said, yawning.

"So am I," said Villa. He lay prone and closed his eyes at once.

Adam sat down, more heavily than he had meant to. He was vaguely

disturbed by the sudden tiredness.

"Someone ought to stand guard," said Mrs. Full.

"I will," said Summersby unexpectedly.

"I'll do it," said Watkins. He started to pace up and down. "I'm a

little groggy myself, but I'll take first trick."

V

When they were let out of their prison box next morning--nine o'clock

Friday, by the chronograph, and they had slept another fifteen

hours--there were five of the gigantic beast-creatures waiting for them.

Any hopes that Tom Watkins had had of rooting around the big hall for a

way of escape died with a dejected grunt. There must be well over a ton

of enemies there, with their caverned red eyes peering down at the

humans. No chance to explore under those gazes.

The boss of the alien scientists--Watkins recognized it, or him (or was

it her?), by the clothing and by certain differences in facial

structure--came and bent over them. Watkins was smoking a cigarette he

had bummed from Villa, Summersby's having given out the day before. He

took a hearty drag and blew out the smoke, which unfortunately lifted

right into the creature's eyes. It shook its head and made a squawking

sound, "Hwrak!" and flipped its green prodder into his belly. He

abruptly sat down, with the sensation of having stuck his finger into a

lamp socket. "My God!" he said. Cal helped him up.

Summersby walked off toward a twenty-foot-high door. None of the beings

tried to stop him. The boss motioned Watkins to go with it, so he rather

shakily followed it across the room.

Before him was a gadget that resembled a five-manual organ console. The

banks of keys were broad and there was a kind of chair, or stool, fixed

on a horizontal bar in front of them. The giant indicated that he was to

get onto it.

"Now what?" he said, when he had been stopped directly in front of the

apparatus. "Expect me to play this? Look, Buster, I'm tone deaf, I

haven't had my coffee yet, and I'd just as soon dance a polka as play

you a tune."

The thing pressed down two of the keys--they were of an amethyst color,

longer and more tapered than those of an organ--and looked at Watkins.

"Drop dead," he said to it. He was always bitterly antagonistic to

everything and everybody if he didn't have three cups of coffee before

he got out of bed. "Go on, you big ape, make me play."

It hit him on the head with a couple of its big rubbery fingers. He felt

as if a cop had sloshed him with a blackjack, and all the hostility went

out of him. He leaned forward and pushed down half a dozen keys at

random.

There was no sound, at least none that he could hear, though he

remembered the whistle he had at home to call his dog, and wondered if

the notes of this organ were sub- or supersonic. Certainly there was no

reason to suppose this race of creatures was limited to the same range

of hearing that humans were.

The thing went down the hall some yards and folded itself into a sitting

position before a large white space on the wall. When Watkins did

nothing, it gestured angrily with its goad. He pressed more keys. It

jerked its head around and stared at the white space.

Accidentally he discovered that by pressing with his calves on certain

pedals below the stool he could maneuver the seat to either side. The

gadget began to intrigue him.

He had never played any musical instrument, but had always had a quiet

desire to produce music. He couldn't hear this organ's sounds, but he

could go through the motions with fervor. He did.

The boss scientist gazed raptly at the wall screen; was it concentrating

on what he played? Did his random selection of keys indicate something

to it, something about his mental powers or emotions or--what?

Or was it possible that the playing produced images or colors on the

blank space? He craned his neck, but could distinguish nothing. Pounding

on, he called over his shoulder, "Come here, somebody!"

No one answered. Pushing keys at random, he turned to look for them.

Each of them was doing something under the supervision of a twelve-foot

beast, except for Summersby, who was still examining the door. "Hey,

High-pockets!" he yelled, knowing the big man hated the nickname, but

not giving a damn. "Summersby! Come here!"

"What is it?" said Summersby in a moment, standing below his seat.

"Take a squint at that screen the old boy's gaping at. I want to know

what the devil I'm doing."

Summersby walked over and stood beside the scientist.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

"Well, the screen's mottled gray and white, and the pattern's swirling

slowly; but that's all."

"Is it particularly beautiful?" asked Watkins.

"No. It's hardly distinguishable."

* * * * *

Sliding right and left on the bar, striking first one and then another

of the manuals, Watkins said to Summersby, "What do you figure these

scientists are, anyway?"

"Mammals," said the big man.

"I suppose so--"

"They have navels. They weren't hatched."

"Oh." Watkins hadn't noticed that. "Where are we, then?"

"I don't know."

Another scientist wandered over and sat down beside the first. Shortly

they seemed to get in each other's way, and there was a lot of shoving

and squawking. At last one of them hit the other in the face with an

open hand. Then they were rolling on the floor, snatching at one

another's hair and pummeling the big bodies and heads with those

gargantuan fists. It sounded like a brawl between elephants. Watkins

swiveled round to watch. Mrs. Full said to someone--Watkins heard her

distinctly in a lull in the ruckus--"If these are scientists, what are

the common people like?" For the first time that day he grinned. He had

stopped playing the organ. The other scientists had gathered around the

fight and were uttering strange cries, like wild geese honking. Cheering

them on? he wondered.

Adam came over. "Mr. Watkins," he said, "could we have been wrong about

them? Do you think a scientist would act like that?"

"They sure seem to be a quarrelsome race, Adam," he said, "they're not

noticing what we do. Suppose you go look for a way out."

"We want to get away as soon as we can," nodded the boy. "Dangerous

around here!" He ran down the hall.

The giants arose and straightened their clothing. They had patched up

their argument in the midst of fighting over it. The leader walked

toward a tall device of pipes and boards and steps, motioning Mrs. Full

to follow.

Apparently Watkins had been forgotten. He took his briefcase off his

lap, where he had held it all the time he played, and dropped it to the

floor. Then he hung by his hands and let go. He picked up the case and

went to investigate the room.

Before he had done more than glimpse the enormous door, he was picked up

kitten-fashion by a scientist, who carried him off, dangling and

swearing, to another infernal machine.

For a couple of hours they were put through paces, all of them;

sometimes one man would be working a gadget while all the scientists and

humans watched him, at other periods they would each be hard at work

doing something the result of which they had no conception of.

* * * * *

Several of the machines could be figured: the pink maze, one or two

others; and Watkins had at least a theory on the organ. The sleek

modernistic machinery which directed the airship was plain enough. There

were certain designs and arrangements to follow that flew it up and down

the room. They were hard to memorize but Mrs. Full and the somber

ranger, Summersby, became adept at them.

Then there were the others....

There was a remote control device that played "music," weird haunting

all-but-harmonies that sounded worst when the creatures appeared most

pleased, and earned the punishment stool or a brutal cuffing for the

operator when he did manage to produce something resembling a tune.

Evidently bearing a relation to this was the sharp slap Adam got when he

started to sing "The Whiffenpoof Song" while idling around a pile of

outsize blocks like a child's building bricks. What the human ear

relished, the giant ear flinched from.

There was a sort of vertical maze that verged on the four-dimensional,

for when they thought they were finding a way out the top they would

come abruptly to the side, or even the bottom, and have to begin anew.

This one was obviously impossible to figure out, thought Watkins. It

must be one of the ways in which the scientists induced neuroses in

their experimental subjects. He had a quick mind for puzzles and

intricacies of any kind, but this one stumped him cold.

"You think it's calculated to drive you crazy?" he asked Cal.

The New Englander considered for a minute. Then he nodded. "Possibly,"

he said.

"You think it might work?"

This time Cal pondered longer. At last he said, "Not if we don't let

it."

"I could develop a first-class neurosis," said Watkins to Mrs. Full, "if

I let myself really go."

"We must all keep our heads, Mr. Watkins," she told him. "Those of us

who have not given up--" She glanced at Summersby with a frown--"must

hold a tight rein on ourselves."

"That's right, ma'am," he said. They all called her "ma'am" or "Mrs.

Full." Nobody knew her first name. He wondered if she'd be insulted if

he asked her, and decided that she would.

Capriciously, then, on the heels of a series of punishments, the head

scientist went out of the room and came back with food for them. It

flung the food--three chickens--on the floor. Villa snatched one of them

up with a happy shout, but at once his dark face soured. "Raw? How can

we cook them?" His hand with the fowl dropped limply to his side.

"We can make a fire," said Calvin. Watkins was a little surprised that

it was Cal who made the suggestion first, but the Vermont man added,

"I've made enough campfires to know something about it."

"Mr. Full is an enthusiastic hunter," said his wife.

"A fire of what?" asked Villa, managing to look starved, helpless, and

wistful, all at once.

Summersby said, "There are plates of plastic over there, and plenty of

short rods. I don't know what these beasts use them for, but if they're

fireproof, we can construct a grill with them." He went without further

talk to a stack of the multicolored slabs and dowels, which lay beside a

neat array of what looked like conduit pipes, electromagnets, and coiled

cable. He picked up an armload. One of the giants put a hand down before

him. He pushed it aside and strode back to the group. Gutty, thought

Watkins, or just hungry? Or is it his sense of kismet?

"I'll cut some kindling from the trees in our room," said Calvin. "Who

has a knife?"

Summersby handed him a large pocket knife, and set about making a grill

over two of the plastic slabs. It was a workmanlike job when he had

finished. He held his lighter under one of the rods, which was

apparently impervious to fire. He nodded to himself. Looks more human,

thought Watkins, than he has yet.

Villa was plucking one of the chickens, humming to himself. Mrs. Full

was working on another, Adam on the third. Watkins felt useless, and sat

down, running his fingers along the smooth side of his briefcase.

Cal made a heap of chips and pieces of wood and bark under the grill.

Summersby lit it. The giants, who were grouped around them at a few

yards' distance, mumbled among themselves as the shavings took flame.

The plucked and drawn fowls were laid on the grill. Watkins' mouth began

to water.

"Now if we only had some coffee," he said to Adam. "One lousy pot of

greasy-spoon coffee!"