The Compleat Bolo

For a time (.01 nanoseconds) I am stu

"I await your orders, Commander."

"Mick!" Dub almost yelled, jumping back. "Did you hear that? Joh

"Name's 'Jonah,' " Mick replied disparagingly. "And it never said nothing. You're hearing things."

"Just stands for JNA," Dub said doggedly. "Could be 'Joh

Again I hear my secret name spoken. I must try once more to reassure my commander of my readiness to attempt whatever is required of me. "Unit JNA of the Line reporting for duty, sir," I manage, more clearly articulated this time, I compute.

"He ain't dead," Dub blurted. "He can still go."

"Sure," Mick said in the lofty tone of One Who Already Knew That. "If he had his plates recharged and switched on. Must be pretty boring, jest setting and thinking."

"What ya mean, thinking?" Dub demanded, withdrawing a few inches. "That'd be terrible jest sitting alone in the dark thinking. Bet he's lonesome."

"We better get out of here now," Mick blurted, looking toward the front of the building, from which direction someone was shouting outside. Dub moved close to him.

"Scared?" Mick challenged.

"Sure," Dub replied without hesitation.

Back outside the enclosure, the boys again heard raised voices, outside the building, but nearby.

"We can't stay in here," Dub almost whispered. Mick pushed him aside and went to the corner of the partition. He glanced quickly around the angle, then beckoned impatiently to Dub, who followed obediently. Now Mick was studying another sign painted on the wall in red. " 'Absolutely No Admission Beyond This Point.' " he read hesitantly. " 'Authorized Perso

"What's that mean?" Dub demanded.

"Means we ain't spose to be here," Mick explained. "Especially where we already been," he added.

"We already knew that," Dub said. "Come on." He started past the older boy, but halted and faded back as the sound of an opening door came from ahead, followed by the clump of feet and a wheezy voice he recognized as that of Hick Marlowe, the town marshal.

"Prolly drunk, Mr. Davis, I'd say. I'd say forget it's what I'd say."

"I'm afraid it's not quite that simple, Marshal," was the reply, in the precise tones the boys recognized as those of Mr. Davis, the big gubment man.

"Gosh," Dub said faintly, to be shushed silently by his older friend. Brilliant light glared abruptly from the office ahead, dimming the dusty sunlight.

"As planetary representative here on Spivey's-that is, GPR 7203-C," Davis went on solemnly, "it is my duty to report this incident to Sector." There were clattering sounds that the boys realized, with excitement, represented the uncovering of the big gubment-owned SWIFT machine. Mick crowded Dub, edging forward for better hearing.

"No use getting the gubment all excited about nothin," Hick was saying. "Time Henry sleeps it off, he won't even remember nothin about it."

"Possibly, Marshal," Davis conceded calmly. "But his description of a Deng trooper was remarkably accurate."

"Prolly seen a pitcher o' them spodders someplace," Marlowe muttered. "All I done was report what ol' Henry said, like I'm spose to do."

"You acted quite properly, Marshal," Davis reassured Marlowe. "And I assure you that I assume full responsibility for any report.

"This is a moment of some solemnity, Marshal," Davis went on. "This is the first time in my fifteen years on Spivey's that I have had occasion to use this equipment." There followed the crackle and clatter of keys as Davis activated the big SWIFT transmitter. The lights flickered and dimmed.

Abruptly, I am bathed in induced energies of a kind which I am easily able to convert to Class Y charging current, with an efficiency of 37 percent. The flood of revivifying radiation flows over my power plates, and at once I feel a surge of renewed activity in my Survival Center. Thus, suddenly, I am able to reassess my situation more realistically. Clearly, I have fallen prisoner to the Enemy. It could only be they who stripped me of my capabilities as a fighting machine. For long have I lain thus, imprisoned and helpless. But now, unexpectedly, my basic vitality is to a degree renewed, doubtless by my new commander who has sought me out, and thus both confirms his identity and demonstrates his effectiveness. Now am I indeed ready for action.

"That there SWIFT machine'll punch through to Sector quicker'n Ned Sprat got religion, right, Mr. Davis?" the marshal said excitedly. "Pulling all our pile's got to give, too."

"The Shaped-Wave Interference Front Transmitter is capable of transfer of intelligence at hyper-L velocities," Davis confirmed. "Excuse me." His voice changed, became urgent and level.

"Davis, Acting PR Station 316-C," he rapped out. "Unconfirmed report Deng activity at grid 161-220. Special to CINCSEC: In absence of follow-up capability, urge dispatch probe squad soonest." The SWIFT unit buzzed as it transmitted the signal in a.02-picosecond burst, at full gain. The lights dimmed again, almost went out, then sprang up.

Again I receive a massive burst of Y radiation. The revived flow of energies in my main ego-gestalt circuitry bestows on me a sense of vast euphoria as I become aware again of long-forgotten functions-at an intensity still far below my usual operating level, but remarkably satisfying for all that. Once more I know the pride of being Unit JNA of the Line, and I thirst for action. Surely my commander will not disappoint me…?

"That ought to fetch 'em," Marlowe said in a satisfied tone.

"Either that, or we've committed a capital offense," Davis said soberly. "But don't be alarmed, Marshal. As I said, I assume full responsibility." He was interrupted by a brief clatter from the communication machine. Davis bent to read the message.

"Maybe I oughta jest head for the hills, jest in case," Marlowe said. "But I'd prolly run into them spodders, luck I have. What's Sector say, anyways?"

"Don't panic, Marshal," Davis said sternly. " 'Deng activity confirmed,' " he summarized. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have further work to do before the meeting. Only ten minutes now."

"Jest leavin'," Marlowe muttered. "I got my own work to tend to." The boys heard two sets of footsteps, then the door open and close.

After a moment, Dub moved close to Mick. "I heard him say about them spodders," he said in a small voice. "Did Mr. Davis mean they come back?" He paused and looked around fearfully.

"Naw, said old Henry was drunk," Mick assured shortly. "We beat 'em good in the Big Battle. Come on." He entered the sacrosanct office and looked around hesitantly.

"But what'd that mean?" Dub persisted. "Bout 'Deng activity confirmed' and all?"

"Nothin. Jest the answer come in on the SWIFT. Let's take us a look at it."

Dub followed reluctantly: he halted and gazed with awe at the glittering console when Mick removed the cover.

" 'Penalty for unauthorized use IAW CC 273-B1,' " Mick read. "Well, we ain't using it, jest looking. Come on. Let's go."

"Where to?" Dub objected, hanging back.

"You heard what Davis said, about some big meeting," Mick reminded his friend. "Let's go hear what's happening."

Dub objected, but weakly. He was still staring at the imposingly complex SWIFT console. An impressively thick, black-insulated cable led from the apparatus to disappear into a complicated wall fixture.