Bolts (11 page)

Sometimes he lost the scent altogether, and had to spend precious time circling before he picked it up again. Finally, with his sniffer to the ground, he discovered that the scent was stronger every twelve feet, and realized with dismay that the thing was taking twelve-foot steps.

“Great grisly grief!” he burst out, awed. “What kind of a monster critter is this?”

“Did you find something, Bolts?” Bingo called anxiously.

“Ain't come face-to-face with the varmint, and I dunno as I really want to.” He told Bingo about the astonishingly long steps.

“Maybe it's just the gravity,” Bingo offered. “If the thing's moving fast, it wouldn't have to be so awfully big to take such steps. But watch yourself!”

“You're tellin' me! I'm mighty glad I ain't edible.”

“Bolts,” said Bingo, in sudden concern. “I—I wouldn't be too sure about that. Anything's possible in a place like this. Remember, there's no metal on this asteroid—and our anchor was stolen along with the camera. Don't forget you're practically all metal yourself.”

“Ulp!” muttered Bolts, and slowed down to think things over. He could understand now how the little burro must have felt. “Aw,” he told himself. “I'll worry about that later. Anyhow, I got teeth. If there's any chawing to be done, I'll do my share.”

He went on, more cautiously than ever, pausing at every turn to examine the way before exposing himself. The critter might be lying in wait, watching for a chance to pounce on him.

The trail was becoming very hard to follow. The critter was taking longer steps, and even making great leaps from one high spot to another. Bolts stopped at last in confusion. He had made a wide circle and he could still pick up the scent now and then—but it led nowhere. The critter had outfoxed him.

“Anything wrong, Bolts?” Bingo asked.

“Plenty! I can't figger whether I got the varmint treed or not. I've lost him—but he's somewhere close.”

“Look around you carefully. He may be hiding overhead. You don't want him to jump on you!”

“He ain't overhead, Bingo. And he ain't behind nothing. I been watching mighty sharp.”

“Then he's gone underground,” said Bingo.

“Can't find a hole no place.”

“But there must be a hole!” Bingo insisted. “Unless he's fooled you and gotten away.”

“He can't fool my sniffer, Bingo. He's somewhere within fifty feet of me. Either he's turned invisible, or—by Joe! What's that?”

“D-do you see him?” Bingo asked excitedly.

“Naw, but I can't believe what I do see!” Bolts trotted forward into a slight hollow. At the foot of what may have been a wall lay a very strange object.

“What is it?” Bingo cried.

“Flowers—a bouquet of 'em!”

“Impossible!” It was Commander Brown on the radio now. “Bolts, have you lost your reason?”

“Nope. Reckon I know flowers when I see 'em. This is a mighty pretty bunch-looks like they're fresh out of the garden. Can't tell the colors in the dark, but—”

“I still say it's impossible. Flowers can't grow in a place like this!”

“Mebbe they don't—but they're here. And don't ask me what they're doing here—unless that critter dropped 'em. By Joe, I gotta look into this! Hold everything a minute.”

Bolts moved the bouquet of flowers out of the way, and turned his sniffer on the wall. The scent was strong here, stronger than it had been anywhere. The wall seemed to be of solid glass, crumbly on the surface, but when he examined it more carefully he discovered that there were long cracks in it—long, deep cracks about two feet apart. Was this a door of some kind?

He placed his flexible paws against it and pushed hard. Something gave a little. It was a door!

Suddenly Bolts paused. What kind of critter was this that went hopping around a glass asteroid with a bouquet of flowers in his claws? A critter that probably ate anchors and cameras, as well as tin dogs if he could get his nippers into one.… But no, that didn't make sense. It sure didn't go with flowers.

“Bolts,” came Bingo's voice in his radio. “What are you doing now? Watch it—those flowers may be a trap!”

“Ulp!” said Bolts, backing away from the door. “I didn't think of that! Bingo, these flowers were right in front of his den. There's a kind of a door here, and I can sniff him strong on the other side. Reckon he's trying to bait me in so he can grab me?”

“I don't know what to think! I just wish there was some way you could communicate with him.”

“By Joe, I'm gonna try it! If I can talk to Earth critters, mebbe I can get myself across to a space varmint. If he tries any tricks, I got my teeth ready to chaw him.”

Bolts faced the door again. In his fiercest voice, which naturally made no audible sound in this airless place, he demanded, “Hey, you! Come out and show yourself!”

There was no answer.

He moved closer to the door, and sang forth with all the threat he could muster, “Come out, you ornery varmint—or I'll bust the door down and give you a good chawing!”

Bolts hoped he had made it strong enough, for a tin dog on the smallish side couldn't take chances with a monster that took twelve-foot steps and probably fed on anchors.

He was astounded, therefore, when a small timid voice replied in fright, “Go away, invader! Go away! I've nothing you want!”

10

He Becomes a VID

Bolts stood blinking at the door, hardly believing what he'd heard. Then he cried, “Hey, you've got me wrong! I'm no invader!”

“You are too an invader!” replied the timid voice. “Only invaders chase and threaten. And I've seen you—you're utterly horrible!”

“Aw, I can't help my looks,” Bolts grumbled. “I know they ain't much, but I was made this way. Sorry I put you in a tizzy—I was only aiming to get acquainted.”

“I want nothing to do with you! You're a monster with strange powers. You don't even speak a proper and understandable language—yet I can understand you when speech is impossible. Go away and leave me in peace!”

“I ain't no monster!” Bolts snapped. “I'm a tin dawg with a trimmed brain, and I can talk to any kind of a critter.” He explained about his trimmed brain. “I came a long way to meet you. I was made special so I could track you down and find out about you, and I ain't leaving till I do. Now open up the door and let's get acquainted!”

There was a silence. Then the thing behind the door said slowly, “Who sent you here to track me down and threaten me?”

“I wasn't sent here to threaten you! But I had to get a rise outa you somehow—and I sure wasn't taking no chances with something I never seen before. The first time my people came here you stole their anchor and their camera, and that kinda worried 'em. By Joe, when a critter—”

“They worried
me!
I took the objects, hoping they might be presents—I did need them badly for their metal. But before I could offer anything in return, your people were gone. Why do you call them
people
? Surely there are no
real
people in this empty corner of the universe!”

“Then you don't know from nothing! By Joe, my people are real, and they don't come better!”

“I find that hard to believe,” the timid voice replied. “Good people would
never
send a horror like you on a friendly mission!”

“Aw, come off it!” Bolts pleaded impatiently. “I can't yak forever through a closed door. Time's running out, and I'll have to go soon. I dunno how reliable you are, but if you'll let me in, I'll promise not to tangle with you if you don't tangle with me. Is that a deal?”

“My honor is unquestionable,” the hidden critter retorted, somewhat miffed. “Furthermore, I find violence deplorable. I—I suppose I'll have to face you, for I have no way of keeping you out. You have my permission to enter—but please do so slowly. The sight of you is almost more than I can bear.”

“O.K.,” said Bolts. “I ain't looking forward to this no more than you are—but here I come.”

He had kept his radio on all during the conversation, and he knew that Bingo could at least hear his own part of it, if not what the other critter said. Now suddenly Bingo called worriedly, “Careful, Bolts! You don't know what you're getting into!”

“Sure don't,” he said glumly. “But I gotta do it.”

He put his paws upon the door again, and slowly, carefully, began to push. The worn section of glass between the cracks swung inward, and all at once Bolts found himself staring into a dimly lighted workroom.

In his wildest dreams he could never have imagined such a place. Flowers and parts of flowers were everywhere—on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, spilling from vases, overflowing cubbyholes and shelves, and littering the workbench. There were great glowing blossoms of all kinds and colors, delicate flowers of incredible shapes, clumps of flowers bursting into gorgeous bloom …

Bolts gaped, blinking his eye lights forty to the second before he saw a movement in the far corner. Cringing there, half hidden by the flowers, was a wispy, spindly robot who seemed to be half flower himself. The robot had a big head not unlike an unopened bud, and under it a body so slender it might have been a flower stem. Bolts saw two big frightened eyes staring back at him, and instantly two pairs of slender hands shot up and covered the eyes.

“O-o-o-oh!” cried the spindly robot. “I can't bear the sight of you! Go away! Go away!”

“Aw, for the luvva Pete!” Bolts grumbled. “I know I ain't no blooming rose—but I ain't no creep either! Why, I've been told I'm right personable!”

“Personable!” screamed the robot. “Did—did you ever
see
yourself?”

“Why-why, no,” Bolts admitted. “Ain't never been around a mirror.”

“Then take a good look!” The robot lifted a square of polished glass from the wall and, carefully averting his eyes, held it in front of Bolts.

“Ulp!” he gasped, backing away from the awful thing with gleaming teeth and raised hackles that glared back at him from the glass. He'd entirely forgotten he was still rigged for combat.

Quickly he lowered his hackles and slid his teeth out of sight. “By Joe!” he exclaimed, secretly pleased with his formidable appearance, “I bet I could curdle milk if I put my mind to it. Do I look better now?”

“I—I can hardly believe the difference!” the spindly robot exclaimed. “It's incredible. Why, I do believe you
are
rather personable.”

“Natch,” said Bolts. “Now mebbe we can yak a bit. You got a name?”

“Slimmillillibit,” replied the robot. “It's an ancient and respectable name.”

“Must be! It's sure a king-size mouthful! Reckon I'd better call you Slim. I'm Bolts—Bolts Brown, that is. You got me kinda loopy with all these flowers. Where'd they come from? You sure didn't raise 'em here!”

“I made them,” Slim said. “From the glass. There's no other material available.”

“B—but they can't be glass! They don't bust up when you touch 'em—and they bend!”

“Oh, it has to be softened. I have my methods. I'm mostly glass myself, you know.”

“Naw!”

“Oh, yes. Special glass. I'm bendable, but quite unbreakable and practically indestructible. All my family is the same way, and I expect the oldest one of us is still busy somewhere. I'll have you know I'm from a long and honorable super-glass line, and naturally would be a great credit to any proper household. But alas, I fear I'm doomed to spend eternity here.”

“For what?” Bolts asked. “You done something wrong?”

“Certainly not! Did you come here to insult me? The idea! There's never been the least suspicion of criminal inclinations in any of us.”

Bolts was becoming confused. “Then how come you're wasting your time on a runaway asteroid making glass flowers? Ain't you got nothing better to do?”

“Better?” Slim exclaimed, aghast. “If one has time to spend, how can it be better spent than in making flowers? I'm afraid you're from a very
low
order of beings. A creature that has no appreciation of flowers is lower than an insect, and I refuse to associate with it. As lonesome as I am, I must ask you to leave.”

“Aw,” Bolts protested, “I never said nothing against flowers! These are downright triple-extra. What I mean is, did you come here special to make 'em?”

“I came here,” Slim said haughtily, “to mine for glass. This place happens to be the family glass mine.”

“Glass mine! Never heard of such a thing!”

“You're distressingly ignorant. Here we mined the basic material for our super-glass. All my family is made from it. We have our own factory, you see.”

“Your own factory! You—you mean you make yourselves?”

“Who else could make us?” Slim raised his head proudly. “Don't you realize how very special my family is? Each of us comes equipped with a knowledge of the forty-seven most proper languages of the universe. After an apprenticeship in our factory, we are capable of serving anywhere—among proper people, of course. Naturally, we reserve the right to choose our household.” Slim paused, and shook his head sadly. “But I'm afraid my day will never come to serve.”