Keith Laumer - The Compleat Bolo

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 the 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.