 What makes the protagonists become less concerned about being trapped by the beasts?
For Click and Irish were marooned on the pirate's asteroid—their only weapons a single gun and a news-reel camera. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Spring 1944. The picture of Marnagan hunched huge over the control-console, wrenching levers, jamming studs with freckled fists. It made a spiked fist and knocked the rear-jets flat, and the ship spun like a cosmic merry-go-round. Hathaway only knew he was picked up and hurled against a lever-bank, and that Marnagan wasn't long in following, swearing loud words. A sweeter one still of Marnagan beating hell out of the controls and keeping his words to himself until just now. It got so quiet you could almost hear the asteroids rushing up, cold, blue and hard. You came hunting for a space-raider and you ended up cradled in a slab-sized Irishman's arms, diving at a hunk of metal death. "Is this what ?" yelled Marnagan inside his helmet. They both waited, thrust against the shipside and held by a hand of gravity; listening to each other's breathing hard in the earphones. Hathaway felt himself grabbed; he and Marnagan rattled around—human dice in a croupier's cup. The best scenes in life never reach film, or an audience. "Low angle shot; Interplanetary Patrolman emerges unscathed from asteroid crackup. They stood in the middle of a pocked, time-eroded meteor plain that stretched off, dipping down into silent indigo and a rash of stars. Overhead, the sun poised; black and stars all around it, making it look sick. Upon the sharp meteoric rocks Hathaway saw the tangled insides of the radio, the food supply mashed and scattered. Or was suffocation a better death...? Space-meteors are never hot and glowing. "It's not proof we need now, Click. Oh, God, this would make great news-release stuff if we ever get back to Earth. I.P.'s Irish Marnagan, temporarily indisposed by a pirate whose dirty face has never been seen, Gunther by name, finally wins through to a triumphant finish. There wasn't much to see, but it was better than standing still, waiting. Marnagan said, "We're working on margin, and we got nothin' to sweat with except your suspicions about this not being an accident. After that—right or wrong—you'll be Cosmic Films prettiest unmoving, unbreathin' genius. It's times like this when we all need words, any words, on our tongues.
 They realized the beasts were not actual beasts, but were meant to seem real.
 They realized that the beasts were not actually interested in hurting them, so they were able to calmly leave their hiding spot.  They realized that the beasts were too big to fit into the space they were in, so they could camp out in that spot indefinitely.  They realized the beasts were not actual beasts, but were meant to seem real.  They realized that the beasts die when their photo is taken, and they had captured many of the beasts on camera.