Chapter IV: 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.