'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 surveillance 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.
'Mick, if it's anything we done, we'll catch it for sure!'
'Even if we did, who's gonna find out?' The older boy dismissed Dub's fears.
Then, with an undeniable groan of stiff machinery, the Bolo advanced a foot, crushing the white-painted curbing.
'We better go tell old Davis 'bout Johnny,' Dub whispered.
'You mean 'Jonah',' Mick corrected. 'And when he arrests you for trespassin', what you going to do?'
'Don't know,' Dub replied doggedly, 'but I'm going to go anyway,' he crept away, shaking off Mick's attempt to restrain him.
Mick followed, protesting, as the small boy ran along the partition to the forbidden office door, and without pausing, burst in. Davis, seated at the SWIFT console was staring at him in amazement.
'Mr. Davis!' the boy yelled. 'You gotta do something! We was jest looking at old Johnny, and he moved! We didn't do nothing, honest!' By this time Dub was at Davis' side, clutching at the government man's arm. Patiently Davis pried off the grubby child's tear-wet fingers.
