"Nope," grunted Hodge, plainly mystified. "Nor one who'd let a newsreel man photograph him. They call 'em the ghost pictures. Say—!"
"There you are. They fight shy of the films because they don't get the illusion of motion, as we do. All they see is a quick-fading succession of stills, because the natives don't have persistence of vision, as we have. The films don't fool them as they do us. Nor do those things out there. To us they look solid. To D'loo they flicker constantly—ninety-nine percent of the time they literally aren't there. They have a vibratory existence, like the image we seem to see on the cinema screen. Back in the twentieth century it was shown that the probability wave representing an electron extended, theoretically, to infinity. In these things free will—the life force—enters to control that mathematical probability. They can literally be two places at once—on the bottom, three miles down, and on our deck—at the same time.
"They're here only at intervals, and persistence of vision bridges the time gap between those intervals. The blaster bolts last only a few micro-seconds, a far shorter time than their natural period. A bolt comes and goes while the thing you fire at actually isn't there. It would be sheer luck if the bolt should coincide to hit it at the instant it's actually materialized—sheer luck, because our eyes can't help us. Even a Venusian wouldn't be able to synchronize a bolt—there isn't that quick co-ordination between brain and muscle. The odds would always be against us."
The seamen looked blank. Hodge drummed the chart table with a huge fist. "If you're right, we need a faster bullet or a slower bolt."
"Or timing!" finished Kort. "Have Sparks rig a stroboscope out of spare parts. You know how moving parts can be made to look as if they're standing still, in an intermittent light that flashes only when they are at one point in their movement. With all other lights off, a stroboscope wouldn't show us the things at all, except when we have it exactly synchronized with their vibratory period. Rig the blaster in series with the light circuit, and it would have to fire at exactly the right time. That'll get them."
One of the seamen cleared his throat. "Maybe it would—or maybe not. This is no time for theories. We're speaking for all the men now. We don't mean to stay aboard to be blasted by the Kilwanni or strangled by these damned snakes. We want to take the launches."
"Supposin' you did," Hodge countered. "You'd last just till the Mermaid's hit. Then the potential would flatten out, with the launches stickin' up in it like sore thumbs. There ain't no anti-grids on them, and you couldn't get away quick enough."
"We'd rather take our chances than go down with this tub," snarled the other man. "You ain't going to stop us!"
Hodge shrugged, then stared in amazement at Kort, who stood by the door with a leveled electro-gun.