by Keith Laumer
"Way I figger, critter had to get here someways: got to be a vessel o' some sort the suckers soft-landed in the night, prolly over north o' town in the hills. We gotta be careful not to get between the spodder and his base. Come on."
Mick forged ahead, pushing into a clump of dry yelloweed.
"Slow down, boy," Henry warned. "Don't want to spook the sucker."
"What were you doing out here, anyway?" Mick demanded, falling back.
"Hadda pump ship," the old fellow replied shortly. "Thought I seen something, and come on over and checked." He set out toward the trees.
"How much further we going?" Mick asked.
"Not far," Henry grunted. "Hold it, boys. Duck."
Obeying his own command, he dropped into a crouch. The boys followed suit, looking around eagerly.
"Lower," Henry said, motioning before he went flat. Dub promptly obeyed, while Mick took his time. A moment later, he hissed. "Looky yonder!"
"He seen you, boy, dammit!" Henry charged. "Keep your knot-head down and freeze. The suckers can see like a yit-bug."
Hugging the powder-surfaced, hard-rutted, weed-thick ground, Mick peered through the screen of dry stalks, probing the dark recesses of the clump of trees twenty feet from him. Something stirred in the darkness, and sunlight glinted for an instant on something which moved. Then a harsh voice croaked something unintelligible. Off to Mick's left, Henry came to his feet with a yell; a pale beam lanced from the thicket and the old fellow stumbled and went down hard.
"Run, boys!" he called in a strangled yell.
Dub saw something small, ovoid and dark-glittering burst from the thicket, darting on twinkling spike-like legs. It dashed directly to where Mick hugged the ground, caught the boy by the collar as he tried to rise, threw him down and did something swiftly elaborate, then darted to where Henry was struggling to get to his feet. Mick lay where the alien had left him. With a deft motion, the creature felled Henry again and spun to pursue Dub, now halfway to the shelter of the nearest outbuildings behind the street-front structures. When the boy reached the shelter of a shed behind the barber shop, the Deng broke off its pursuit and returned to take up a spot close to its prisoners.
Emerging from his office in the former theatre now serving as public school, Doug Crawford nearly collided with Dub who, sobbing, had been at the point of knocking on the principal's door.
"Terrence!" Crawford exclaimed, grabbing the little fellow's arm. "Whatever are you doing in the street during class? I assure you your absence was duly noted-" He broke off as the import of the gasping child's words penetrated his ritual indignation.
"-got Mick. Got old Henry, too. Spodders! I seen 'em."
"You saw them, Terrence," Crawford rebuked, then knelt and pulled the lad's hands away from his tear-wet face. "It's all right, Dub," he said soothingly. "Spiders won't hurt anyone; they're harmless arachnids. And just where is Gerald?"
Dub twisted in Crawford's comforting grip to point across the street, apparently indicating a faded store-front.
"Yonder," Dub wailed. "I run. Old Henry told me to, and I was awful scared, too, but now we got to do something! It's got Mick!"
"You mean in Lightner's store?" Crawford queried, puzzled. He rose while holding the sobbing boy's wet fist in a firm grip.
"No-out back-over by the woods," Dub wailed. "Got to hurry up, before that spodder does something terrible to Henry… and Mick."
"Some of the spiders that we have here on our world can give mild stings, rarely poisonous," Crawford attempted to reason with the lad. "I don't understand all this excitement about a little old spider. Most are completely harmless; descended from fruit-eaters inadvertently brought in by the early settlers. Buck up, Dub! What's this all about?"
"Not spiders," Dub tried frantically to explain. "Real spodders; them big ones, like in the war. I saw one. Right over there!" He wilted in tears of frustration.
"You're saying you saw a Deng trooper here?" Craw-ford echoed, his tone incredulous. "You mean a dead one, a corpse, just bones, perhaps, a casualty, possibly, who hid in the fault and died there, two hundred and ten years ago. Well, if so, I can understand your being upset. But it can't hurt you-or anyone. Now, come along, show me." He urged the boy toward the street.
"Got to get a gun, Mr. Crawford," Dub protested. "It's got one. Shot old Henry, but he ain't dead, just kinda can't move good, is all. You got to get some more men, Mr. Crawford! Hurry!" Dub pulled away and ran into the adjacent alley. Crawford took a step after him, then let him go.
The school teacher looked around as the town marshal and the mayor hailed him, coming up puffing as from a brisk run.
"Doug, boy, we missed you at the Council," Marlowe blurted.
"You didn't miss nothing," the other contributed. "Lotta talk, no ideas."
"I didn't hear about it, Mr. Mayor," Crawford replied, puzzled. "Special meeting, eh? What's the occasion?" He looked after Dub, already a hundred yards distant and running hard. Crawford wondered idly what was really troubling the little fellow.
"You ain't heard, Crawford?" Marshal Marlowe asked eagerly. "Lissen: no rumor, neither. Davis got it confirmed with Sector. It's a fact! Durn spodders is here-!"
"I don't understand, Marshal," Crawford interrupted the excited officer's outburst. Then, as the significance of the word "spodders" struck him, he side-stepped the two men and ran the way Dub had gone.
"Looks like Doug took the news none too good, Hick," Kibbe commented, rasping at his shiny scalp with a well-gnawed fingernail.
"Never thought the boy'd go to pieces thataway," Hick agreed, wagging his head sadly. "And him a educated man, too," he added. "Countin' on Doug to help us figger what to do."
Crawford overtook Dub as the latter slid to a halt at the rear corner of the relatively vivid blue museum. The man caught the boy's arm as he attempted to lunge past.
"Hold on, Terrence," Crawford said as gently as his out-of-breath condition allowed. "I'm sorry I didn't listen carefully, but now I think I understand. You say it wounded Mr. Henry and Mick too. Where are they?"
"Yonder in the field out back of Lightner's. Don't know as they're what you call wounded, didn't see no blood. Jest kind of knocked-out, like."
"Come on, Terrence." Crawford urged the boy back toward the street. In silence they crossed the still-deserted avenue, traversed the alley, and emerged into the littered alley, the open field beyond.
"Mr. Crawford!" Dub almost yelped. "I only see old Henry-can't see Mick. He's gone!"
"Mister Henry," Crawford rebuked automatically. "I don't see anyone-only a heap of rubbish, perhaps. Are you sure-"
"Sure I'm sure, Mr. Crawford. Come on." Dub started across the field at a run; Crawford followed, less frantically.
"Slow down, Dub," Crawford called and fell back to a walk. Dub waited, scanning the space ahead, allowed Crawford to overtake him. He grabbed the man's hand.
"He was right yonder, just past old Henry," he wailed.
"Easy, Dub." Crawford tried to soothe the clearly terrified lad. "We'll find him." In silence they made their way across to where Henry lay, looking like a heap of discarded rags. The old fellow opened bleary eyes as Crawford knelt beside him.
"Better head for cover," Henry said blurrily. "Durn thing's still around here somewhere. More of 'em, too. Seen 'em hopping around 'mongst the trees yonder; got a better view down here at ground level, see under the foliage. They're busy over there, doin' something. I'm all right, just kind of tingle like a hit elbow all over. Durn spodder zapped me-with a zond-projector, I'd say. Better see to young McClusky." His voice faded off into a snore. Crawford rose briskly.
"He'll be all right," he told Dub. "I wonder what he meant about a zond projector. Probably just raving. But where-?"
"Look!" Dub blurted, pointing. Now Crawford saw motion at the edge of the thicket. He halted, uncertain.
"It's the spodder! It's got Mick!" Dub wailed. "Come on!" He started off at a run, but Crawford caught his arm. "Wait here," he ordered t
he boy, and ran across to where the limp form of young McClusky was being tugged with difficulty through the thickening bush, pulled by something blue-black, shiny and ovoid, with multiple jointed limbs, one of which aimed what was clearly a weapon. Crawford promptly stepped in and delivered a full-swing kick which sent the pistol-like object flying. Then he stooped to grab Mick's arm, set himself and jerked the boy free of the alien's grip. Mick stirred, muttered something. Crawford dragged him back as the chastened Deng scuttled away.
"I'm sorry I doubted you, Terrence," Crawford said to Dub as the boy met him, looking up searchingly to catch his eye.
"Never knew you was a hero and all, Mr. Crawford," Dub said solemnly.
"Nonsense," Crawford said shortly. "I simply did what anyone would do."
"I seen you kick his gun," Dub said firmly, now looking fearfully at Mick's limp form.
" 'Saw,' " Crawford corrected absently.
"Is he kilt, Mr. Crawford?" Dub quavered.
"Hell, no," Mick spoke up.
"Don't curse, Gerald," Crawford said, "But are you all right?"
As Crawford and Dub watched anxiously, Mick rolled over and twisted to look back over his shoulder toward them.
"Oh, hi, Mr. Crawford," he said strongly. "Glad it's you. Durn thing hit me and run off. Guess I was out of it for a while. Woke up, jest now, when it was pulling at me; seen 'em over in the scrub yonder. Must be a couple dozen of 'em. Better go back and warn the mayor and all. Must be getting ready to 'tack the town." The boy lay back and breathed hard. Crawford examined him swiftly, saw no signs of injury. "Can you move your legs?" he asked.
"Sure. Guess so," Mick answered promptly, kicking his legs in demonstration. "Just feel kinder sick-like." He paused to gag.
"Apparently its orders are to take prisoners, Crawford said. "I understand Mr. Davis has received confirmation that the Deng have, in fact, carried out a hostile landing near the town."
Mick nodded. "Yeah, Mr. Crawford; me and Dub heard."
"Dub and I," Crawford corrected. "How did you hear?"
"We were there," Mick told him. "Heard Davis read off the message he got on the SWIFT."
"You should have come to me at once," Crawford rebuked him mildly. "But never mind that. See if you can stand." He helped the boy get to his feet; he rose awkwardly, but quickly enough. Mick took a few steps. "I'm O.K.," he stated. "What we going to do now?"
"I'd better reconnoiter," Crawford said shortly, staring toward the thicket. "You boys help Mr. Henry; we'll get him to Doctor Grundwall. He seems weak; he's older than you, Mick."
"Better get down low so's to see under the branches," Mick suggested. He crouched and peered toward the woods. "Yep," he said, "I can still see 'em, only a couple of 'em moving around now, but they got some kinda thing set up over there. Might be a gun to shoot at the town."
Crawford went to one knee and stared hard, caught a flicker of movement, then made out a tripod arrangement perched among the tree trunks.
"They're up to something," he agreed, rising.
"All right, let's go back and report," he ordered. Mick and Dub went to Henry and in a moment the old fellow was on his feet, wobbly and cursing steadily, but able to walk. Crawford joined them and all four headed back the way they had come.
"You boys have done well," Crawford told them. "Now we'll have to inform Mayor Kibbe of this, see what can be done."
After turning Henry over to old Doctor Grundwall at his cramped office over the hardware store, Crawford shepherded the lads along to the feed store, where the mayor met them at the door, Marshal Marlowe behind him.
"Mr. Crawford, sir," Kibbe said solemnly, with a disapproving glance at the two untidy urchins, "I'd value your opinions, as an educated man, sir, as to how we should best deal with this, ah, curious situation which has done arose here so sudden, taking us all by surprise-"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Mayor," Crawford cut in on the windy rhetoric, suppressing the impulse to correct the mangled grammar and syntax. "Mr. Henry, the boys and I have just observed what I judge to be signs of imminent hostile action to be directed against the town," he told the two officials. "What appears to be a small scouting force has taken up a position in the woods west of town. They seem to be preparing some sort of apparatus-a weapon, I think we can assume-"
"What are you grownups going to do when them spodders comes?" Dub inquired.
" 'Those spodders'," Terrence," Crawford corrected, " 'Come'."
"Hold on, Doug," Hick Marlowe cut in. "Boy's right. We gotta do something, and in a hurry. Durn spodders is setting up cannons like you say right here on the edge of town."
"It may well be a party of harmless picknickers," Kibbe said quickly. "After all, what evidence have we? The testimony of two children and the town derelict?"
"I was there, too, Mr. Mayor," Crawford said in a challenging tone. "And any incursion here on Spivey's is contrary to treaty. We have to mobilize what strength we've got."
"And just what strength is that, sir?" Kibbe inquired skeptically. "There are forty-one able-bodied men here in the Orchard, no more."
"Then we'd better get moving," Crawford stated as if Kibbe had agreed with him.
"Doing what?" Kibbe came back angrily.
"Gennelmen, gennelmen," the marshal spoke up in a hearty tone. "Now, no use in flying off the handle here, fellows; what we got to do is, we got to think this thing through."
While his elders wrangled, Mick eased away unnoticed, hurried across the dusty street and went along to the end of the block, turned in at Ed Pratt's ramshackle wood-yard, crossed between the stacks of rough-cut grayish-green slab-wood planks, and dropped to all fours to advance in traditional Wild Injun style toward the straggling southern end of the thicket. From this angle he had a clear view of a steady stream of quick-moving aliens coming up in a long curve from the east, laden with bulky burdens. As he came closer, he could see the apparatus on the tripod he had glimpsed earlier. As he became accustomed to the difficult conditions of seeing, the boy was able to make out ranks of spidery aliens arrayed in depth behind the cryptic apparatus, forming a wedge aimed at the town. He could also distinguish, approaching in the distance, a convoy of armored vehicles, advancing on jointed suspensions, not unlike the legs of the Deng themselves.
"Huh, wouldn't make a wart on old Jonah," Mick commented silently. Then he made his way back to Main Street and sought out Mr. Crawford, found him still in the mayor's office, now joined by half a dozen village elders, all talking at once.
"… call out the milishy!" one yelled.
"… ain't even drilled in a year," another commented.
After listening with open mouths to the boy's report, and properly rebuking him for meddling in adult affairs, the assembled leaders called for suggestions. Mr. Davis spoke up.
"This is clearly a matter for Sector to handle," the government man informed the local sachems. He rose. "And I'd best get a message off at once." Amid a hubbub of conjectures he took his leave. Mick and Dub slipped out inobtrusively and followed him.
With the confidence born of experience, the boys made for the rear of the museum, slipped inside, and were waiting out of sight when Davis entered his office. The phone rang; Davis replied with an impatient "Yes!"
"Very well," he responded to someone at the other end. "I'll be along presently. I'm quite aware I'm adjutant to Colonel Boone-though I can't see what good calling out the militia will do. We're not equipped to oppose a blitzkrieg."
The boys followed the sounds of Davis' actions as he recorded the call, cut the connection, and uncovered and switched on the SWIFT gear. Again the lights dimmed momentarily.
Now once more I feel the flow of healing energies washing over me. I attune my receptors and experience the resurgence of my vitality as the charge builds past minimal to low operational level. Instantly I become aware of radiation in the W-range employed by Deng combat equipment. The Enemy is near at hand. No wonder my commander has returned to restore me to service-readiness. I fine-tune my surveillan
ce grids and pinpoint the Enemy positions: a small detachment at 200 yards on an azimuth of 271, and a larger force maneuvering one half-mile distant on a bearing of 045. I can detect no indication of any of our equipment in operation within my radius of perception. Indeed, all is not well; am I to wait here, immobilized, while the Enemy operates unhindered? But of course my commander has matters well in hand. He is holding me in reserve until the correct moment for action. Still, I am uneasy. They are too close. Act, my commander! When will you act?
Standing close to the old machine, his ears alert for the sounds from the adjacent office, Dub started as he heard a deep-seated clatter from inside the great bulk of metal.
Dub gripped Mick's arm. "Didja hear that, Mick?" he hissed urgently. "Sounded like old Johnny made some kinda noise again."
"All I heard was Davis telling somebody named Relay Five that old Pud Boone is all set to play soldiers with, he says, 'a sizable Deng task force' is what he said, 'poised,' he says, Tor attack,' says they better 'act fast to avert a tragedy.' Sounds like we won't get no big Navy ship in here to help out, like he figgered."
"It done it again," Dub told Mick, even as the glare-strips in the ceiling far above dimmed to a faint greenish glow. The boy stepped back and this time he was sure: the Bolo had moved.
"M-Mick, looky," he stammered. "It moved!"
"Naw, just the light got dim," Mick explained almost patiently. "Makes the shadders move." But he eased back.
