"He didn't have to appear, Irish. He sent--them." Hathaway nodded at
the beasts. "People crashing here die from air-lack, no food, or from
wounds caused at the crackup. If they survive all that--the animals
tend to them. It all looks like Nature was responsible. See how subtle
his attack is? Looks like accidental death instead of murder, if the
Patrol happens to land and finds us. No reason for undue investigation,
then."
"I don't see no Base around."
* * * * *
Click shrugged. "Still doubt it? Okay. Look." He tapped his camera and
a spool popped out onto his gloved palm. Holding it up, he stripped
it out to its full twenty inch length, held it to the light while it
developed, smiling. It was one of his best inventions. Self-developing
film. The first light struck film-surface, destroyed one chemical,
leaving imprints; the second exposure simply hardened, secured the
impressions. Quick stuff.
Inserting the film-tongue into a micro-viewer in the camera's base,
Click handed the whole thing over. "Look."
Marnagan put the viewer up against the helmet glass, squinted. "Ah,
Click. Now, now. This is one lousy film you invented."
"Huh?"
"It's a strange process'll develop my picture and ignore the asteroid
monsters complete."
"What!"
Hathaway grabbed the camera, gasped, squinted, and gasped again:
Pictures in montage; Marnagan sitting down, chatting conversationally
with _nothing_; Marnagan shooting his gun at _nothing_; Marnagan
pretending to be happy in front of _nothing_.
Then, closeup--of--NOTHING!
The monsters had failed to image the film. Marnagan was there, his hair
like a red banner, his freckled face with the blue eyes bright in it.
Maybe--
Hathaway said it, loud: "Irish! Irish! I think I see a way out of this
mess! Here--"
He elucidated it over and over again to the Patrolman. About the film,
the beasts, and how the film couldn't be wrong. If the film said the
monsters weren't there, they weren't there.
"Yeah," said Marnagan. "But step outside this cave--"
"If my theory is correct I'll do it, unafraid," said Click.
Marnagan scowled. "You sure them beasts don't radiate ultra-violet or
infra-red or something that won't come out on film?"
"Nuts! Any color _we_ see, the camera sees. We've been fooled."
"Hey, where _you_ going?" Marnagan blocked Hathaway as the smaller man
tried pushing past him.
"Get out of the way," said Hathaway.
Marnagan put his big fists on his hips. "If anyone is going anywhere,
it'll be me does the going."
"I can't let you do that, Irish."
"Why not?"
"You'd be going on my say-so."
"Ain't your say-so good enough for me?"
"Yes. Sure. Of course. I guess--"
"If you say them animals ain't there, that's all I need. Now, stand
aside, you film-developing flea, and let an Irishman settle their
bones." He took an unnecessary hitch in trousers that didn't exist
except under an inch of porous metal plate. "Your express purpose on
this voyage, Hathaway, is taking films to be used by the Patrol later
for teaching Junior Patrolmen how to act in tough spots. First-hand
education. Poke another spool of film in that contraption and give me
profile a scan. This is lesson number seven: Daniel Walks Into The
Lion's Den."
"Irish, I--"
"Shut up and load up."
Hathaway nervously loaded the film-slot, raised it.
"Ready, Click?"
"I--I guess so," said Hathaway. "And remember, think it hard, Irish.
Think it hard. There aren't any animals--"
"Keep me in focus, lad."
"All the way, Irish."
"What do they say...? Oh, yeah. Action. Lights. Camera!"
Marnagan held his gun out in front of him and still smiling took one,
two, three, four steps out into the outside world. The monsters were
waiting for him at the fifth step. Marnagan kept walking.
Right out into the middle of them....
* * * * *
That was the sweetest shot Hathaway ever took. Marnagan and the
monsters!
Only now it was only Marnagan.
No more monsters.
Marnagan smiled a smile broader than his shoulders. "Hey, Click, look
at me! I'm in one piece. Why, hell, the damned things turned tail and
ran away!"
"Ran, hell!" cried Hathaway, rushing out, his face flushed and
animated. "They just plain vanished. They were only imaginative
figments!"
"And to think we let them hole us in that way, Click Hathaway, you
coward!"
"Smile when you say that, Irish."
"Sure, and ain't I always smilin'? Ah, Click boy, are them tears in
your sweet grey eyes?"
"Damn," swore the photographer, embarrassedly. "Why don't they put
window-wipers in these helmets?"
"I'll take it up with the Board, lad."
"Forget it. I was so blamed glad to see your homely carcass in one
hunk, I couldn't help--Look, now, about Gunther. Those animals are part
of his set-up. Explorers who land here inadvertently, are chased back
into their ships, forced to take off. Tourists and the like. Nothing
suspicious about animals. And if the tourists don't leave, the animals
kill them."
"Shaw, now. Those animals can't kill."
"Think not, Mr. Marnagan? As long as we believed in them they could
have frightened us to death, forced us, maybe, to commit suicide. If
that isn't being dangerous--"
The Irishman whistled.
"But, we've got to _move_, Irish. We've got twenty minutes of oxygen.
In that time we've got to trace those monsters to their source,
Gunther's Base, fight our way in, and get fresh oxy-cannisters." Click
attached his camera to his mid-belt. "Gunther probably thinks we're
dead by now. Everyone else's been fooled by his playmates; they never
had a chance to disbelieve them."
"If it hadn't been for you taking them pictures, Click--"
"Coupled with your damned stubborn attitude about the accident--" Click
stopped and felt his insides turning to water. He shook his head and
felt a film slip down over his eyes. He spread his legs out to steady
himself, and swayed. "I--I don't think my oxygen is as full as yours.
This excitement had me double-breathing and I feel sick."
Marnagan's homely face grimaced in sympathy. "Hold tight, Click. The
guy that invented these fish-bowls didn't provide for a sick stomach."
"Hold tight, hell, let's move. We've got to find where those animals
came from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to come
back!"
"Come back? How?"
"They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if we
believe in them again, they'll return."
Marnagan didn't like it. "Won't--won't they kill us--if they come--if
we believe in 'em?"
Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. "Not if we believe
in them to a _certain point_. Psychologically they can both be seen and
felt. We only want to _see_ them coming at us again."
"_Do_ we, now?"
"With twenty minutes left, maybe less--"
"All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it?"
Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. "Just think--I will see
the monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them.
Think it over and over."
Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. "And--what if I forget to remember
all that? What if I get excited...?"
Hathaway didn't answer. But his eyes told the story by just looking at
Irish.