Jimsy and the Monsters

factor--the smaller of these creatures seems the moredominant--suggesting that on their home planet smaller beings are moreagile and therefore better able to take care of themselves."

  "There, you see?" interrupted Mr. Untz, slipping into a pause. "That'sall there is to it. So now let us please get down to business."

  So they got down to business. And it was not easy business,photographing these monsters. Keeping the cage wires out of focusrequired a critical distance for each lens but whenever a camera cametoo near a fibrilla would shoot forward--at the glass, no doubt--andscare the wits out of the cameramen.

  The shorter lenses got too much of the surrounding area into thepicture. The crew tried and tried. One technician muttered darkly thatthe organization contract didn't cover this sort of thing. Mr. Untzpleaded and cajoled and heckled and moved about and tried to keepthings going. Somehow, anyhow.

  Eddie Tamoto, the chief cameraman, finally came up to him and said,"It's no use, Max. These cages simply don't allow us to do anything.Why don't we put them in the cages they use for jungle pictures?They're big and camouflaged, and the mesh size is right."

  "So maybe we'll have to do that," said Mr. Untz.

  Dr. Mildume dipped his head. "I don't know. I'd like to see theseother cages first."

  "Look," said Mr. Untz. "Don't worry about it. If they hold lions theywill hold your whatever-you-call-thems. I'll get the animal trainer,Flaubert, to stand by. He practically talks to animals--except horses,which is his hard luck."

  The jungle cages were duly summoned and so was Etienne Flaubert of theGolden West Animal Education Studios on Sunset Boulevard. While theywaited Mr. Untz stood aside with Harold Potter. He mopped his brow--hegestured at the whole group. "This," he said, "is the story of mylife."

  "It is?" asked Harold.

  Mr. Untz nodded. "Me, I am an expert on musicals. Musicals I can dowith my left hand. But ever since I am in Hollywood I do everything_but_ a musical. And always something gets fouled up. Always there istrouble. You will not believe this, Harold, but I am an unhappy man."

  "I believe it," said Harold.

  Mr. Untz looked at him sharply and said, "You don't have to believe itso quickly. You could give me a chance to explain."

  "Look," said Harold--now being truly interested and forgetting some ofthe first principles of buttering-up one's boss, "take the scientificattitude. Everything is _relative_."

  "Yes," said Mr. Untz, "In Hollywood everything is relatives, believeme."

  "No, no--I wasn't referring to nepotism," said Harold. "I was thinkingthat you and many others, of course, prefer musicals. But there arevast other groups who prefer westerns, detectives, comedies or whathave you. One man's meat is another's poison.

  "But nourishment stays the same in principle. The artistic demandsstill hold and a good picture is a picture, whatever its field. Now,if you, as a producer, can shift to the other fellow's viewpoint--findout why the thing that terrifies you amuses him--or vice versa."

  "Harold," said Mr. Untz, not without suspicion, "are you an assistantproducer or a philosopher?"

  "Sometimes to be the one," sighed Harold, "you have to be the other."

  The big jungle cage arrived presently. While it was being set upanother assistant came to Mr. Untz and said, "Jimsy LaRoche isoutside, yelling to get in, Mr. Untz."

  Mr. Untz whirled on the assistant and said, "Tell that overpaidbrat--who I personally didn't want in my picture in the firstplace--tell him in the second place the President of the United Statescould not get in here this afternoon. No, wait a minute, that wouldn'tmean anything to him--he makes more money than the President. Justtell him no."

  "Yes, sir," said the assistant. He left.

  About then the animal trainer, Etienne Flaubert, was admitted. Hewalked right up to Mr. Untz. Flaubert was nearly seven feet tall. Hehad tremendous shoulders and none of it was coat padding. He had achest one might have gone over Niagara Falls in. He had a huge goldenbeard. When he spoke it sounded like the bass viol section of the LosAngeles Symphony tuning up.

  He said to Mr. Untz, "Where are these monsters I hear about? I'd liketo see the monster that isn't just a big kitty, like all the rest. Bigkitties, that's all they are. You gotta know how to handle them."

  Mr. Untz led Flaubert to the cage and said, "There."

  Flaubert gasped. Then he steadied himself. The monsters had beenmaneuvered into the bigger cage by now--Dr. Mildume had enticed themwith broken electric light bulbs and slammed the drop-doors behindthem by a remote-control rope. They had finished their meal of glass.They were curled in a corner of the cage now, tentacles wrapped abouteach other, squeaking contentedly.

  Flaubert recovered a bit.

  "Kitties, just big kitties," he growled.

  Eddie Tamoto called, "Hey, Max, we'd like to get 'em in the center ofthe cage for a shot." He was gesturing from the camera boom seat."Only moving around. You know--looking fierce."

  "Can you do it, Flaubert?" said Mr. Untz, turning to the big trainer.

  "Just big kitties," said Flaubert.

  He had brought his own whip and blank cartridge pistol. His assistantstood by with a .30-30 rifle. Dr. Mildume opened the door quickly andFlaubert slipped into the cage.

  "Okay--get set, everybody!" yelled Mr. Untz. People scurried. Anattendant switched on the warning light and rocker arm that warnedpeople outside of the stage not to barge in. "Quiet!" yelled Mr. Untz."Quiet--_quiet_!" yelled several assistants. The order went down theline. Through channels.

  And there stood Etienne Flaubert, huge and more or less unafraid, inthe middle of the cage. The monsters in the corner began slowly touncoil their tentacles from about each other. Their eye-stalks roseand began to wave slowly. Their red saw-toothed mouths worked intopouts, gapes and grins.

  The smaller of the two suddenly shuddered all over. Its angrychirping noise shrilled through the sound stage. Its tough skinvibrated--blurred. It sprang suddenly to its multipods and chargedFlaubert.

  Flaubert screamed an unholy scream. He threw the chair and the whipand the gun at the monster and dove from the exit. Dr. Mildume openedthe cage door with his rope and Flaubert went through it--himself ablur. The monster, in his wake, slammed into the door and stayedthere, trembling, still chirping its rage.

  "Hully gee, what kitties!" said Flaubert, pale and sweating.

  Mr. Untz groaned.

  "I got some of it!" yelled Eddie Tamoto from his camera. "It wasterrific! But we need more!"

  Then--simultaneously--there were several loud screams of alarm. Mr.Untz looked at the cage again. The smaller monster had found a crack,and was moving the cage door and squeezing through.

  "Harold!" shouted Mr. Untz. "_Do something!_"

  Harold stepped forward. "Back everybody," he said in his best calmvoice. "Walk--do not run--to the nearest exit."

  The second monster was already vibrating across the cage and thesmaller one was holding the door open for it. Dr. Mildume had tried tomaneuver the control ropes to close the door again, but hadn't beenable to work them--and now he had left his post.

  Harold pointed to the man with the rifle and said, "Fire!"

  The rifleman fired.

  Nothing--nothing at all happened. He fired several times more. Themonsters didn't even jerk when the bullets hit them.

  "They're--they're impervious yet!" cried Mr. Untz.

  After that it was every man for himself.

  Moments later Harold found himself outside of the sound stage and onthe studio street, bunched with the others and staring at the thickclosed door. Nobody spoke. Everybody just thrummed silently with theknowledge that two alien monsters were in there, wreaking heaven knewwhat damage....

  And then, as they stared, the thick door began to open again. "Itisn't locked!" breathed Mr. Untz. "Nobody remembered to lock itagain!"

  A tentacle peeked out of the crack of the door.

  Everybody scattered a second time.

  Harold never remembered the order in which things happened amidst theconfusion that fo
llowed. It seemed he and Mr. Untz ran blindly, sideby side, down the studio street for awhile. It seemed all kinds ofpeople were also running, in all kinds of directions.

  Bells were ringing--sirens blew--a blue studio police car took acorner on two wheels and barely missed them. Harold had a glimpse ofuniformed men with drawn pistols.

  They ended up somehow at Mr. Untz's office-cottage. They went insideand Mr. Untz locked the door and slammed his back to it. He leanedthere, panting. He said, "Trouble, trouble, trouble. I should havestayed in Vienna. And in Vienna I should have stood in bed."

  The door of the shower and