Keith Laumer - The Compleat Bolo

"Sure, sure, Mr. Davis, we know all that," the mayor hastened to affirm with an ingratiating smile. "But what we gonna do?"

"Now, no offense, Mr. Davis, sir, and don't laugh, boys, but I got a idear," Frink put in quickly, in a furtive voice, as if he hoped he wasn't hearing himself.

"Treat it gentle, Freddy," the plump fellow said lazily, and mimed puffing at his empty pipe.

"Way I see it," Frink hurried on, stepping to the sketch map on the blackboard set up by the table. "They're in Deep Cut, like Mr. Davis said, and they got only the one way out. If we's to block the Cut-say about here-" he sketched quickly "-by Dry Run, they'd be bottled up."

"Just make 'em mad," the fat man commented. "Anyways, how are you going to block a canyon better'n a hundred yard wide, so's their big Yavacs can't climb out?"

"Easy part, Bub," Frink put in glibly. "We blast-got plenty smashite right here at Kibbe's. Plant it under the Rim, and the whole thing comes down. Time it right, we bury 'em."

"You got a battalion of Rangers volunteered to plant the charges?" Bub Peterson queried, looking around for the laugh; he was rewarded with compliant smirks.

Davis rose, less casually this time. "I say again," he started in a heavy tone. "As planetary representative of Concordiat authority, I will tolerate no ill-advised jocularity. I am obliged to report the developing position to Sector, and I have no intention of relaying assays at humor. Now, Mr. Frink's suggestion regarding blasting the cliff is not without merit. The method of accomplishment, as Mr. Peterson has so facetiously pointed out, is the problem." He resumed his seat, jotted again.

"Now, boys," Kibbe said soothingly into the silence that followed the pronouncement of officialdom, "boys, like Freddy said, I got over two hundred pound o' smashite here in my lock-up. Enough to blast half the Rim down into the Cut. Got detonators, got warr, even got the radio gear to set her off long-range. Need a dozen good men to pack everything up along the ridge. It'll be my privilege, o' course, to donate the stuff till Sector can get around to settlin' up."

"Where you going to get twelve fellas can climb the ridge totin' a hundred pound o' gear?" Bob inquired as if thoughtfully. "Let's see, there's Tom's boy Ted, likes to climb, and old Joe Peters, they say used to be a pretty fair climber-"

"Say, just a minute," Fred blurted. "Mr. Davis, I heard one time old Jonah's still got some charge on his plates; never had his core burned back in Ought-Six when the gubment was tryna pick up all the pieces after the Peace. So…" Fred's strained voice trailed off. He looked uncertainly along the table and sat down abruptly.

"Durn fools," a hoarse voice said immediately behind the two boys, who first went rigid, then turned to bolt. Their way was blocked by a forlorn-looking figure clad in patched overalls who stood weaving, bleary-eyed and smelling strongly of Doc Wilski's home brew.

"Guess I know what I seen," the intruder went on. "Wait a minute, boys. I ain't going to bother you none. You're young McClusky, ain't you? And you're Bill Dubose's boy. What you doing out of school? Ne'mind. I guess you're in the right place to get a education right now. Lissen them know-alls funning each other about old Jonah. Whatta they know? Nuthin. Let me get up there." He groped unsteadily between the boys to tilt an ear toward the grimy window.

"Can't hear as good as you young fellas," he said. "They said anything except it's true, and kidding around?"

"Naw sir," Mick replied, leaning away from the old fellow's goaty aroma.

"Sure, I'm hung over to here," Henry conceded. "But I'm not drunk no more. Wisht I was."

"Yessir, Mr. Henry," Dub said respectfully.

"Just 'Henry,' " Henry corrected. "I ain't one o' them Misters. Now, boys, what we going to do about this situation? Come on, I'll show you where I seen the spodder. Won't miss nothing here. They'll set and jaw is all."

Mick hung back. "You mean them things is running loose, around here?" he challenged, looking along the narrow alley as if to detect an invading alien.

"What I tole old Marshal," Henry confirmed. "Come on. Ain't far. Seen the sucker sneaking through the brush jest west o' Jed Lightner's store yonder. In that patch o' brush, by the fault. Just seen the one and skedaddled. Must be more of 'em. Let's find out what them suckers is up to."

"What do they look like, sir?" Dub asked timidly.

"Oh, kinda like reglar spodders, boy," Henry explained as he led the way along the narrow alley toward the street. "Got four skinny legs each side," he continued, after peering out to see that the coast was clear, "move quicklike; sorta round, hairy body, couldn't see too good on account of he was wearing a uniform, all straps and bangles and sech as that. Carried a rifle or something like in the front legs-arms, I guess you'd call 'em; got big eye-goggles on, shiny helmet-thing covered his whole head and what you'd call his shoulders. Not much bigger'n a small ghoti; 'bout so high. Come on." Henry indicated a terrier-sized creature, as he stepped out and started down the deserted street.

"Never seen a ghoti," Dub said, following the old man.

"No, used to be a lot of 'em hereabouts," Henry acceded. "Never bothered the crops, o' course; can't eat Terry plants. But they trampled the corn to get at the yelloweed used to grow good where the ground was cultivated, between rows-like. So they been extink now for some years. Like I said, 'bout so high. A spodder's got brains, got them fancy guns, can blow a hole right through a feller, but don't worry. We won't let 'em see us."

The boys looked doubtfully at each other, but as Henry scuttled away toward the street, they followed.

"Pa finds out, I'll catch it," Dub said solemnly. "You, too," he added.

"Not if we come back and report to Marshal what they're up to and all," Mick rejoined.

Although Main Street was deserted except for two men disputing, with gestures, in front of the pictonews office, and a few women moving aimlessly in the market at the south end of the street, Henry went furtively along, close to the building-fronts, and the boys followed. The old man cut across to the west side of the avenue and disappeared into the narrow alley beside the opera house-cum-cathedral. His two followers hurried after him, emerging on the unused alleyway which ran behind the buildings, thence east-west across dry clods toward a stand of tall Terran-import Australian pines and squat scrub oak, mixed with native yim trees even taller and more feathery than the alien conifers. There, in a shallow fold, Henry paused, and after cautioning the boys to silence told them: "Got to go easy now. Seen him about fifty yard yonder." He pointed to the deepest shadows ahead.

"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."