John Andrew’s brain had finally resumed normal operations; he was thinking slowly, but clearly. He examined the evidence with care. He decided that Garf’s superior attitude and powers boded no good; that if the fishman once became slightly irritated he would sic the nonapus on Ray and himself. (Probably, in fact, Garf would try to conquer the world anyway; that was how it went in stories as corny as this situation.) Farmer further decided that Ray was too egocentrically eccentric to be trusted to get them out of this fix; he decided he’d have to do something himself.
Having decided all this, Farmer went back over the territory to see if he could find any flaws in it—or any other way out. It still made sense, and he added a decision to get the boat back to shore as fast as possible. He approached the engine.
As he did so, the engine melted into a solid, irregular lump of metal. John Andrew gulped, and put out a tentative hand toward the fused mess. It was not particularly warm—but it had melted.
Farmer looked at Garf again with fear and awe, and the fishman looked back with cold amusement. But not for long. Garf turned to the Judge’s invention—and started to show some genuine interest for the first time since he had showed up.
He stood over the thing, webbed hands on scaly hips, peering at it intently. After a long silence, he knelt, and started feeling over the machine with his webbed hands. Finally he placed his fingers on the largest of the control switches—then changed his mind and gestured imperatively to Judge Ray.
“You—the ‘intelligent’ one,” he said. The quotes around ‘intelligent’ were clear in his intonation. “Explain this to me. It’s obviously what reactivated the gate—but whoever made it did a screwball job. There are all sorts of things that don’t seem to belong, and even the parts that should be there seem wrong, somehow....”
He paused. “Of course,” he added, smugly, “I’m not a transportation expert. If I were, I’d have made my own activator long ago, and done some visiting on the closed worlds before this. Not that they’d have kept me from getting bored for long, but yours looks as if it’s going to be slightly amusing, at least.”
A struggle showed in Ray’s face. Farmer saw insulted anger, hurt pride, a desire to brag about his gadgetry, a question about Garf’s last words, and a caution that was not too far from fear. John Andrew had stopped trying to hide his own fear, and though he had plenty of questions of his own, he was mainly concerned with looking for a means of escape.
Garf was rising again, looking impatient. Ray reached a decision, said “Go to hell!” , and turned his back on the fishman. Garf looked astonished, then angry, and raised a hand. Ray jumped, not very far because of the heavy diving suit, stumbled on oddly twisted legs, and collapsed on the deck, writhing, moaning, and turning red in the face. The diving helmet clattered on the planks.
Farmer got mad. He started to charge across the deck at Garf, but his own feet went out from under him and he landed flat on his nose. There were waves of fire chasing each other around his body, and his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.