Down in the inner prison cells of the Magic Island of Euclidia, the Little Gregory Party is beginning to realize that their escape from the island will not be as easy as it was the first time. Their lives are apparently in no immediate danger, though the Euclidians have many ways of making life unpleasant for their prisoners. One of these methods is now being tried on Captain Tex Bradford. When the captain went into the steel corridor to answer a knock at the door, Joan felt that something was wrong, as the Euclidians do not knock on prisoners' doors. Her fears were well-founded, for Tex was slow in returning, failed to answer their calls, and then a Euclidean ray gun was heard. We find Mrs. Gregory, Jerry, and Joan standing over the unconscious captain, as he lies in a crumpled heap on the floor of the corridor. Oh, Tex, Tex, what have they done to you? One of those ray guns. I could hear it plain as day. We know that, Jerry. The important question is, what type of ray gun? You know something of these guns and their actions, Joan. What would you say? The reaction is the same to all types of ray guns. There is no way to determine how long the captain will remain asleep. Asleep? Are you sure that's all he is? Joel, are you positive Tex is only asleep? To be sure, Mother. Surely you must know something of the action of the human body, even in a world so woefully lacking in scientific understanding as yours. And the beat of a pulse must be the same, whether it beats in California or on Euclidia. Oh, pretty wise, aren't you, Joan? Well, maybe we should have noticed that ourselves. Of course we should have, Jerry. But I'm so nervous I'm not thinking clearly. Well, gee whiz. How long do those big guns keep you asleep? The larger ones will incapacitate the average human for the space of an earthly revolution. 24 hours? As time is computed in your world, yes, Mother. Well, I wish you'd get it into your head that we're figuring things our way. And when you mean 24 hours, say 24 hours. Don't wander off taking the sun for a stroll around the earth to let us know how long you mean. If your understanding persists in wallowing in the depths of such ridiculous child's play, I will confine my remarks to the more simple combinations of phraseology. Yes, do that, and stick to what we're talking about. Joan, dear, is there nothing we can do to make the captain more comfortable? But he is not uncomfortable, Mother. Well, it seems rather awful to me. But if you say he isn't suffering any discomfort, we may as well carry him to the bed in his cell and let him rest easily until this wears off. Okay, Mrs. Gregory, you take his feet and Joan and I'll take his head. We will find him very heavy. Tex isn't a small man to begin with. And now that he's in a sound sleep, why, why, I can't even move his legs. I'll bet you can't. I'm not having any luck just trying to raise one of his arms. We will not be able to move the captain for some time. What's the matter, Joan? Magnetic paint. Magnetic paint? Where? On the captain's hands and face and clothing. Oh, I know that. But where did it come from? Yes, Joan, dear. How did that magnetic paint get on Tex? We've been right with him, or at least one of us has, every minute since we came in here. Yeah. How do you answer that one? Was not the captain alone when he came out here to answer a knock on the door? Yes, he was, but that was only for a minute. Sixty seconds encompass a definitely valuable element of time to the active mind. Well, maybe I'm a little slow upstairs, but I still don't see how Tex got himself all covered with a static enamel and laid out here on the floor all in one minute and without even opening that door. Opening the door? I wonder. You are thinking very clearly now, Mother. Well, how do you figure anything so clearly thought out in that? Mother was mentally questioning the opening of the door. Yes, Joan, I was. That door opens in toward us, and from the position in which Tex is lying, I should say that he could not have opened the door. We would have heard it close again. Golly, Whiskers, you're right. I believe Mother is correct. That door was not opened. Then where did that paint come from? Yeah, and how did they shoot him with that ray gun? The paint would be very simple. As you have observed, this transparent steel is fabricated with countless small holes. The paint might well have been sprayed through one or more of those holes. Why, so it might. It might. Well, I'll bet it wasn't. Jerry, you do not know what you are saying. Let Jerry advance his theory if he has one, Joan dear. Thanks, Mrs. Gregory. Well, I didn't exactly mean that the paint didn't come through one of those holes. I meant that I didn't think it was sprayed there by anybody. But how else? Oh, you mean the paint was injected through the steel by some automatic device when the door opened. That's my idea. And you are more than possibly correct, Jerry. Though if you are, we are in a more dangerous position than I could have believed. Well, come on, give us the bad news. I believe that Captain Bradford was sprayed with magnetic paint, and that the ray gun was fired when he touched that door to open it, and that no human hands had a part in it. Then, then that is the Euclidean method of guaranteeing our safe confinement here. But why should they bother to do that with guards roaming their corridors? We couldn't go far enough to do their mad island any damage. They don't take any chances here. Maybe they wanted to take a little nap and wanted to make sure we'd all stay here while they slept. Hardly anything so elementary is that, Jerry, though you made a step in the proper direction with your reasoning. Well, go ahead, Joan. What's your idea? It is more than an idea. I think the reason we are now being guarded entirely by scientific devices is necessitated by the absence of all human agencies. Absence? From where? I believe we are now the only human beings on Euclidia. Why, Joan dear? I mean just that, Mother. I believe we are alone on the island. But these 250 Euclideans, or whatever they have in this crazy place, where did they all go at once? I'm sure it isn't obvious to me, Joan. We are prisoners here, perhaps the most utterly helpless, hopeless prisoners in the world today. We can't harm them. And G-47 knows that. Why should they escape from us? Not from us, but from some outside danger threatening the island. You mean somebody might be attacking the Sinus right now? I mean someone might be attacking this island, believing the scientists were here yet. But Joan, what you're suggesting... We may be here, all alone, somewhere in the depths of this fantastic island, and at this moment the island is being threatened with destruction. It is possible, Mother. But gee, Mrs. Gregory, here's Captain Bradford lying on the floor, sound asleep and magnetized there. We can't move him, and we couldn't get out of here if we did. Joan, surely you must be mistaken. Why do you say that, Mother? How often have you told us that Euclidia, this magic island as Jerry named it, was impregnable, and that it was impossible for any nation in the world to destroy Euclidia with the weapons we now have? What about that? Yeah, answer that one, Cleostra, and let us in on the secret. I do not wish to be called Cleostra. Okay, Joan then, but let's have the answer. We of Euclidia are the greatest scientific organization in the world, in the universe. And we have the utmost faith in our ability to cope with and overcome anything developed in the crude laboratories of your world. Huh. Nevertheless, our very perfection in science has taught us that the only true science in your world is mathematics. And your eccentric methods might lead to an accidental discovery of something unheard of in a colony where everything is perfection. That seems slightly ambiguous to me, dear. No, Mrs. Gregory, I know just what Joan means. She's afraid somebody in our world might stumble onto the answer just because he was a dumb amateur. And these guys here wouldn't be ready for it, because it wasn't figured out like a smart scientist would do it. Then our position appears to be that of having no choice but to hope that nothing serious happens to this island. That is my view of the predicament. You sure take a sour look at it. And there's nothing we can do about it? Nothing, Mother. When we heard the tapping sound which Captain Bradford interpreted as a knock at this door, it was merely the automatic electrical devices actuated from the central control chamber, taking over their positions as mechanical guardians of our chambers. Then, then there wasn't anybody at the door at all? No one. Is there any way of being sure that the island is deserted except for ourselves? If the automatic controls are active, there is no Euclidean on the island. And to find out if these things are still working, we've got to open that door and get shot with a ray gun? No, that would be very silly, Jerry. It is the only way. The island is no longer moving. That would seem to indicate that it was impossible to change the location of the island quickly enough to escape the impending attack. And that the scientists have retreated to observe the action from the ocean floor city. From the what? The ocean floor city. Joan, these Euclideans have other quarters? To be sure. Under the ocean floor? Yes. It requires but a few hundred seconds for everyone on Euclidia to seek refuge in the walled city below the ocean floor. And the principal control and chemical systems are taken also. Entire rooms are submerged as units. Six hundred seconds is the time required, I believe. Oh, boy! Ten minutes to take everything valuable from this island into an underground town? I'm forced to believe that, Joan, after all the other things we've seen around here. But I'd just as soon not learn any more of the power of these men. It only makes our position worse. Our present position is not particularly enviable indeed. And then some. We're in plenty deep. We are on the ninth level of the island. That wasn't what I meant, but it'll do. I'm going to try opening that door. I wouldn't. No, Mother. I'm going to open that door. I can't stand helplessly still and let all these things around us go on merrily on their way. Well, the only difference will be that if you open that door, you'll be asleep. And you wouldn't know anything about all these things that are going to keep right on merrily on their way just the same. You will accomplish nothing, Mother. And as Jerry has said, we will be deprived of your conversation and advice. Conversation that doesn't accomplish any more than ours has done isn't very profitable. And I haven't a single word of advice to offer. More than that, I have a small idea. And the only way to put it into use is to open that door. Very well. Stand back, Jerry, so that we will not be put to sleep if Mother insists on doing this foolish thing. Okay, Joan. Go to it, Mrs. Gregory. Gee. Peculiar. Well? Was that your idea, Mrs. Gregory? Did you have it figured out? Well, I wasn't any too sure, Jerry. But the thought occurred to me that there was at least a possibility the ray gun could only act once. Of course. How stupid of you not to think of that, Jerry. Huh? Me? What about you? I was more at fault. Never mind worrying about who thought of it. We have the door open and nothing has happened to us. Now, what is the next move? Well, it's a cinch we can't all go out of here and leave text there on the floor alone. So how about Joan and I taking a quick look around some of these passageways before any of those Euclideans get back? I'm not sure, Jerry. I think it advisable, Mother. You remain with the captain and Jerry and I will attempt to learn more of our position here. Very well then. But you will be careful, dear Walter. Hey, look out! Oh, close the door! What is it? Mother, water! Help me slam this door! Quick! Oh, it's too late, Jerry! It's too late!
