the barred faceplate, Ray looked puzzled, then annoyed. From the corner of his eye, Farmer could see Milton Berle still cavorting silently on the television screen, and this seemed to add the final touch of insanity to the scene. Farmer finally succeeded in pointing, and Ray clumped slowly in a half-circle, just as the nonapus dropped to the deck with a plank-shivering thump.
The scene assumed some of the aspects of a bad movie comedy. The background was an out-of-focus blur, although Farmer was dimly conscious of motion in it somewhere—something else breaking the surface of the water as it emerged. In the foreground, the boat and its occupants were sharply etched, but seemed to have gone into slow motion.
The nonapus crept forward ponderously, and Farmer searched dazedly for a weapon. It was Ray who first started stumbling in the direction of the boathook, but John Andrew, in a sudden fit of bravery, shoved past him and grabbed the fragile-looking thing from its cleats.
He swung to face the monster with a sick feeling in his stomach, and got another surprise. The thing had stopped moving. Straddling the rail behind it, and similarly dripping, was a—migawd!
It—he—looked almost like a man, but that only made the difference worse. The details resolved as Farmer stared at him. The oddness about head and shoulders became finny crests; what had looked at first like a red skin-tight costume became a scaly hide. Farmer realized with a shock that the creature wasn’t wearing anything.
Farmer crouched. The point of the boathook wavered, aimed first at the nonapus, then at the fishman. To the editor, both were alien—but he couldn’t decide which one was more dangerous. For a long moment, neither of them advanced, and he wondered if they could really be frightened of his puny weapon.
He doubted it. He was beginning to notice, among other things, that the nonapus was more fearsome than it had seemed at first—in addition to nine tentacles, claws, fangs and antenna became apparent. So did the big glassy-red disks of the eyes—and Farmer aimed the point of the hook at one of them, started to thrust.
It was wrenched from his hands and forced downward to stick quivering in the deck. The development took Farmer completely unawares. Neither of the aliens had moved; it was Judge Ray who had disarmed him.
*
Judge Ray was now frantically trying to remove his diving helmet again. Excitement made his motions ineffective, and he signaled for Farmer to help him, then continued to fumble with the fastenings himself. John Andrew turned, feeling completely doomed, to aid the man, and they started getting in each other’s way and slowing down the operation even more.
They finally succeeded, though; the helmet swung back, and Ray promptly shoved Farmer aside. Some of Farmer’s fear gave way to amazement at the little inventor’s audacity and what seemed to Farmer at least to be foolishly optimistic scientific detachment.
Ray said: “My name is Ray. It is indeed fortunate that you have met me immediately upon your arrival here, since I am the world’s greatest genius, and thoroughly equipped to tell you anything you wish to know about my people and civilization. I take it you come from Atlantis?”
Amazingly, his tongue only got tangled once in the middle of this speech, and he regained control of it quickly then. John Andrew felt a touch of jealousy at the little man’s capability in assuming control of the situation. That, and a sudden idea of his own, forced him to speak for himself.
It was a sad attempt. “Venus.... Spaceship....” he managed to croak, before giving it up.
The launch rocked gently. The nonapus crouched motionless; the fishman stood firmly, as if untouched by anything around him, his arms folded and a faint smile upon his damp lips.
Finally he spoke too. What he said was: “Venus. Spaceship. My name is Ray. It is indeed fortunate that you have met me immediately upon your arrival here, since I am the world’s greatest genius....”
He broke off. Apparently he interpreted the looks of consternation on the faces of his audience correctly, for his smile became more friendly and he continued in a casual tone.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I didn’t speak your language before I arrived here, and I had to learn it and become accustomed to its use through analyzing what you just said. I really didn’t mean to puzzle you or make you feel inferior by mimicking you.”
Farmer’s mind worked chaotically. This was puzzling, he decided, and did make him feel inferior—that is, it did if the man in the red scales had really picked up English so quickly. And if not, why lie?
*
The fishman came forward. His step was bouncy, as if he were used to a higher gravity or greater pressure (that, Farmer complimented himself on his cleverness, made sense at least), but he extended his hand and said “Put ‘er there!” like any ladies’ wear buyer at an annual convention. Ray and Farmer shook with him in turn. His hand was damp and webbed, but felt fairly human for all that.
“My name is Garf,” he said cheerfully. John Andrew tried not to stare at him too noticeably, but Ray made no bones about it; apparently the fishman thought nothing at all of his state of nudity. Farmer shivered.
It was Ray who brought the conversation back to earth—or sea—again. He asked Garf, directly, exactly where he did come from.
Garf looked hesitant, then waved the two to the rail with him. “See those?” he asked. They looked, and saw what seemed to be a flight of steps, carved from stone, old, and worn, starting abruptly just below the water level and leading downward. There was nothing on either side of the steps, or underneath them as far as could be seen, but ordinary ocean. “I came up those,” Garf said.
Farmer stared, and Ray stared. The stairway shouldn’t be there—it certainly hadn’t been there before. Garf’s explanations, it seemed, only compounded the confusion caused by his presence.
Farmer, muddled, looked again at the nonapus, which had apparently gone to sleep. Even so, it looked deadly.
Something bit him on the arm. He discovered Ray’s fingers, in the diving glove, digging into his flesh in an amazingly powerful grip. Farmer hunched his shoulders, trying to break loose, and then he saw what Ray was staring at.
Garf had left them, and was strolling around the launch as if he had just bought it—looking down his nose at it; at the same time, acting as if he could afford not to give a damn how badly he’d been stung. But the startling thing was that he had picked up the boathook and was twirling it unconcernedly. He had not only picked it up, however—he had also tied it in a knot.
It should have splintered in his hands, assuming he was strong enough to bend it at all. It hadn’t; it was in perfect shape, except for the knot. Or so it seemed, at least, for even as Ray started forward with outstretched hand, obviously hoping to examine the thing, Garf gave it a final twirl and scaled it carelessly overboard.
John Andrew began to feel quick-frozen again. Being alone at sea in a rickety craft with a possible madman had been bad enough. To have a weird creature with superhuman powers, and an impossible pet monster, added to the crew was a little too much.
*
Garf turned his attention to the television set, which was still presenting its hysterical vaudeville. “Great-uncle’s gills!” he exclaimed, and lapsed into a fascinated silence. He studied the proceedings carefully, holding the arms-crossed pose again. Finally he turned to Ray.
“Weren’t
