Nothing at all happened. The eye was immovable and hard as glass. Gallegher tried the thing’s bluish, sleek skin. It felt like metal. Repressing his mild panic, he tried to lift the beast from the floor, but failed completely. It was either enormously heavy or it had sucking-disks on its bottom.
“Eyes,” Gallegher said. “No other sensory organs, apparently. That isn’t what Harding wanted.”
“I think it clever of the turtle,” Joe suggested.
“Turtle? Oh. Like the armadillo. That’s right. It’s a problem, isn’t it? How can you kill or capture a…a beast like this? Its exoderm feels plenty hard, it’s immovable — that’s it, Joe. Quarry doesn’t have to depend on flight or fight. The turtle doesn’t. And a barracuda could go nuts trying to eat a turtle. This would be perfect quarry for the lazy intellectual who wants a thrill. But what about adrenalin?”
Joe said nothing. Gallegher pondered, and presently seized upon some reagents and apparatus. He tried a diamond drill. He tried acids. He tried everyway he could think of to rouse the blue-eyed beast. After an hour his furious curses were interrupted by a remark from the robot.
“Well, what about adrenalin?” Joe inquired ironically.
“Shut up!” Gallegher yelped. “That thing just sits there looking at me! Adren…what?”
“Anger as well as fear stimulate the suprarenals, you know. I suppose any human would become infuriated by continued passive resistance.”
“That’s right,” said the sweating Gallegher, giving the creature a final kick. He turned to the couch. “Increase the nuisance quotient enough and you can substitute anger for fear. But what about the little brown animal? I’m not mad at it.”
“Have a drink,” Joe suggested.
“All right, I am mad at the kleptomaniacal so-and-so! You said it moved so fast I can’t see it. How can I catch it?”
“There are undoubtedly methods.”
“It’s as elusive as the other critter is invulnerable. Could I immobilize it by getting it drunk?”
“Metabolism.”
“Burns up its fuel too fast to get drunk? Probably. But it must need a lot of feed.”
“Have you looked in the kitchen lately?” Joe asked.
Visions of a depleted larder filling his mind, Gallegher rose. He paused beside the blue-eyed object.
“This one hasn’t got any metabolism to speak of. But it has to eat, I suppose. Still, eat what? Air? It’s possible.”
The doorbell sang. Gallegher moaned, “What now?” and admitted the guest. A man with a ruddy face and a belligerent expression came in, told Gallegher he was under tentative arrest, and called in the rest of his crew, who immediately began searching the house.
“Mackenzie sent you, I suppose?” Gallegher said.
“That’s right. My name’s Johnson. Department of Violence, Unproved. Do you want to call counsel?”
“Yes,” said Gallegher, jumping at the opportunity. He used the visor to get an attorney he knew, and began outlining his troubles. But the lawyer interrupted him.
“Sorry. I’m not taking any jobs on spec. You know my rates.”
“Who said anything about spec?”
“Your last check bounced yesterday. It’s cash on the line this time, or no deal.”
“I…now wait! I’ve just finished a commissioned job that’s paying off big. I can have the money for you—”
“When I see the color of your credits, I’ll be your lawyer,” the unsympathetic voice said, and the screen blanked. The detective, Johnson, tapped Gallegher on the shoulder.
“So you’re overdrawn at the bank, eh? Needed money?”
“That’s no secret. Besides, I’m not broke now, exactly. I finished a—”
“A job. Yeah, I heard that, too. So you’re suddenly rich. How much did this job pay you? It wouldn’t be fifty thousand credits, would it?”
Gallegher drew a deep breath. “I’m not saying a word,” he said and retreated to the couch, trying to ignore the Department men who were searching the lab. He needed a lawyer. He needed one bad. But he couldn’t get one without money. Suppose he saw Mackenzie—
The visor put him in touch with the man. Mackenzie seemed cheerful.
“Hello,” he said. “I see the police have arrived.”
Gallegher said, “Listen, that job your partner gave me — I’ve solved your problem. I’ve got what you want.”
“Jonas’s body, you mean?” Mackenzie seemed pleased.
“No! The animals you wanted! The perfect quarry!”
“Oh. Well. Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
“Get over here and call off the police!” Gallegher insisted. “I tell you, I’ve got your ideal Hunt animals for you!”
“I dinna ken if I can call off the bloodhounds,” Mackenzie said, “but I’ll be over directly. I will not pay vurra much, you understand?”
“Bah!” Gallegher snarled, and broke the connection. The visor buzzed at him. He touched the receiver, and a woman’s face came in.
She said, “Mr. Gallegher, with reference to your call of inquiry regarding your grandfather, we report that investigation shows that he has not returned to our Maine sector. That is all.”
She vanished. Johnson said, “What’s this? Your grandfather? Where’s he at?”
“I ate him,” Gallegher said, twitching. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”
Johnson made a note, “Your grandfather. I’ll just check up a bit. Incidentally, what’s that thing over there?” He pointed to the blue-eyed beast.
“I’ve been studying a curious case of degenerative osteomyelitis affecting a baroque cephalopod!”
“Oh, I see. Thanks. Fred, see about this guy’s grandfather. What are you gaping at?”
Fred said, “That screen. It’s set up for projection.”
Johnson moved to the audio-sonic recorder. “Better impound it. Probably not important, but—” He touched a switch. The screen stayed blank, but Gallegher’s voice said, “We know how to deal with spies in this house, you dirty traitor.”
Johnson moved the switch again. He glanced at Gallegher, his ruddy face impassive and in silence began to rewind the wire tape. Gallegher said, “Joe, get me a dull knife. I want to cut my throat, and I don’t want to make it too easy for myself. I’m getting used to doing things the hard way.” But Joe, pondering philosophy, refused to answer.
Johnson began to run off the recording. He took out a picture and compared it with what showed on the screen.
“That’s Harding, all right,” he said. “Thanks for keeping this for us, Mr. Gallegher.”
“Don’t mention it,” Gallegher said. “I’ll even show the hangman how to tie the knot around my neck.”
“Ha-ha. Taking notes, Fred? Right.”
The reel unrolled relentlessly. But, Gallegher tried to make himself believe, there was nothing really incriminating recorded.
He was disillusioned after the screen went blank, at the point when he had thrown a blanket over the recorder last night. Johnson held up his hand for silence. The screen still showed nothing, but after a moment or two voices were clearly audible.
“You have thirty-seven minutes to go, Mr. Gallegher.”
“Just stay where you are. I’ll have this in a minute. Besides, I want to get my hands on yourfifty thousand credits.”
“But—”
“Relax. I’m getting it. In a very short time your worries will be over.”
“Did I say that?” Gallegher thought wildly. “What a fool I am! Why didn’t I turn off the radio when I covered the lens?” Grandpa’s voice said, “Trying to kill me by inches, eh, you young whippersnapper!”
All the old so and so wanted was another bottle, Gallegher moaned to himself. But try to make those flatfeet believe that! Still — He brightened. Maybe I can find out what really happened to Grandpa and Harding. If I shot them off to another world, there might be some clue—