Bolts

by Alexander Key

  “I’m putting all I got into it,” Bolts told him. “My legs are too short. Looks like we’d better start using our heads instead of our feet. Can’t you think of something?”

  “There’s a cactus forest ahead of us,” the burro said. “That’s our best chance. The dogs can follow us in there—but the men and horses can’t. The cactus stands up too high; the thorns would tear them to pieces.”

  “Lead on,” growled Bolts. “I’ll handle those dawg varmints.”

  The lion dogs were very close by the time they reached the first tall clumps of cactus. The little burro lowered his head and plunged into the tangle. A few feet above the ground the thick branching cactus made an almost impenetrable cover. It stopped the galloping horsemen, but the lion dogs came on, barking furiously.

  When they reached a small open area deep in the tangle, Bolts whirled and faced the dogs. The first close sight of them here in the dimness rather dampened his confidence. Each one looked three times as big as himself, and forty times as mean. He decided at once that even his worst growl wouldn’t help him too much with such ornery critters. If they were used to tangling with mountain lions, they probably thrived on snarls and growls.

  Mebbe I’d better talk to ’em with my trimmed-off brain, Bolts thought to himself. There’s a lot of power in the right kind of words.

  The huge dogs bared their teeth and leaped toward him, snarling.

  Bolts sidestepped very neatly, and said, “What’s the big rush, fellers? You lose something?”

  It was the wrong approach, as he found out instantly. All they did was back up for a moment in surprise, then come at him again, this time using language that no self-respecting dog would think of using. It was positively shocking. Bolts decided it was time he taught them a lesson.

  “Why, you mangy, low-down, flea-bitten, knuckleheaded tramps,” he roared fiercely, snapping out his trick teeth and raising the sharp hackles on his neck. “I’ll show you who’s tough! I’m the toughest critter alive! I’m all steel, and armor-plated! I’m a rip-rarin’ thunderbolt, full o’ dynamite and lightning! I’m gonna cut you both down to size, unzip you good, and chaw you up for the buzzards!”

  He whirled upon them, using teeth and talk.

  Whether it was his outrageously tough talk or his very tough teeth that did the work, Bolts didn’t know. But in less than a minute his opponents gave up trying to damage his metal hide and fled with frightened yelps.

  Now Bolts could hear angry shouts from the horsemen. “What are we going to do?” cried Comrade Pang in his sharp voice. “If we don’t catch that little monster, we’re in trouble. Whatever he is, he knows entirely too much about us.”

  “Get more dogs!” bellowed Major Mangler. “Get more men! He’s got to be stopped!”

  Bolts couldn’t help a slight shiver as he heard these ominous plans. Then he told himself, “Aw, I’ll worry about that later. If I can handle a couple no-account curs, I can sure take on a few more.”

  Feeling quite proud of himself, he turned to hunt for the little burro. But in his pride he forgot about his tail, which naturally snapped up straight. Instantly the light on the end of it flashed, and a sizzling scorpion seemed to sting him again.

  “Yipe!” he burst out, turning another somersault and landing hard on his sniffer. Shaken, he got to his feet. “Looks like pride goes before a fall,” he mumbled. “But it sure is queer. Seems like a feller oughta be able to hold his tail up in proper fashion without getting himself stung. Guess I got short-changed in more ways than one.”

  Carefully holding his tail down, Bolts hurried through the cactus and caught up with his companion.

  “I don’t know what you did to them,” said the burro, still twitching with nervousness. “But it sounded ghastly. Perfectly ghastly. Did you completely unzip them?”

  “Aw,” Bolts said modestly, “it was mainly talk. There’s all kinds of power in the right sort of words—but you sure gotta choose ’em carefully for the occasion. Where do we go from here?”

  “On to the mountains. They are not far ahead.”

  “Ump!” muttered Bolts. “I didn’t figger on mountains. Do we have to cross ’em to reach Battleship Lane?”

  “I would imagine so. Since the place you seek isn’t on this side, it almost has to be on the other side. But you’ll have to cross over alone. I’m staying in the cactus.”

  Bolts’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Naw! How can you live in a prickly place like this? Thought a critter like you had to have grass and water.”

  “Not when there’s cactus to eat.”

  “You eat this stuff?”

  “Certainly. If you know how to nibble it, tender young cactus is perfectly delectable. Furthermore, I’m quite safe here. You see, there are lions in the mountains.”

  “Lions!”

  “Indeed, yes. Mountain lions. Unfortunately, they find burros delectable. I’ll miss your good company, but I’d prefer to remain here and eat—instead of going on to be eaten.”

  Live and learn, thought Bolts. This sure was a tough world for a tin dawg to be lost in. Mountains and hungry lions ahead of him, Comrade Pang and the major and all Lumpy’s cutthroats behind him, and not a friend save the burro this side of Battleship Lane. On top of it the factory had shortchanged him all around, and doubled his misery by putting a scorpion in his tail. What was a poor dawg going to do?

  At this moment Bingo and the commander were hovering over their special radio. “I’m sure I heard him a couple times,” said Bingo. “But he always cuts me off. Doesn’t he know he’s got a built-in radio?”

  “Dumb dog!” squawked Pirate. “Dumb dog! No brains!”

  “He’s not a dumb dog,” Bingo told the parrot. “He’s a lot smarter than you. He’s supposed to have one of the best brains the factory can make.”

  “Ha!” cackled Pirate. “They had to trim it. Trimmed off the smart part. Left all the dumb part.”

  “Oh, no!” Bingo cried. “They wouldn’t do that to him.”

  “Oh, but they did,” Pirate said smugly. “He’s not worth having. Who wants a dumb dog?”

  Commander Brown said, “I’m going to call the Inspector at the robot factory and find out about this. If Bolts had his brain trimmed, it could be a very serious matter.”

  While the commander was on the telephone, Big Butch came clumping in from the kitchen. “Bingo, don’t you know you’ve got that thing turned up too high? We robots got mighty tender circuits. How can that poor puppy dog answer when he gets himself sizzled every time he turns on his receiver?”

  “B-but I had to get his attention, Butch.”

  The commander came back from the telephone, shaking his head. “It’s true about his brain,” he said sadly. “They had to trim it to make it fit. The factory wasn’t at all satisfied with him, but they said it was the best they could do. From the way they talk, I’m afraid Bolts isn’t worth saving.”

  Bingo looked sick. “B-but, Pops, we can’t abandon him!”

  “I’d really hate to do it,” the commander admitted. “But if Bolts isn’t very smart, we can’t afford to take him along in the Space Jumper. It could be very dangerous.”

  Fortunately for his peace of mind, poor Bolts had no idea that his fate was hanging in the balance. He had enough worries as it was, even though he was not one to fret about the future. Already the burro had led him to higher ground. The mountains were close, and the cactus forest was beginning to thin.

  “I’m stopping here,” the burro said at last. “I do hate to part with you, but being edible rather limits one’s travels. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll go as far and as fast as you can while you have the opportunity. If you can get high enough in the mountains, the major won’t be able to follow you on horseback.”

  Bolts stood blinking uneasily at what lay in front of him. The ground was sloping steeply upward, rising so high that it seemed to scrape the stars. He hadn’t realized that mountains could be so big—and so dark and threatening.

&nb
sp; “Sure gonna be lonesome without you,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, with your personality,” the burro assured him, “you’re certain to make friends. Just hold your teeth back, and keep your growl down.”

  Bolts thanked him for his good words and sound advice, then gave himself a little shake to stiffen his courage, and set out for the unknown dangers ahead.

  It soon occurred to him that he’d forgotten to ask the burro what country this was, but he decided it didn’t matter. All that mattered was to get out of it as soon as possible—and the only way to do that was to keep moving. If a dog kept moving long enough, he was bound to reach Battleship Lane.

  4

  He Is Partially Located

  Far away on Battleship Lane, the fate of Bolts was still being decided. “I don’t like to abandon him,” Commander Brown was saying, “but what else can we do? If he won’t answer us, we can’t find him. And if he’s not worth saving anyway—”

  “B-but we need him!” Bingo cried. “We’ve got to find him! How can we make that space trip without him?”

  “We’ll have to change our plans,” growled the commander. “Even if we found him, I’d hate to be caught in space with a fool robot dog that’s got a trimmed brain and a mouth full of stainless-steel teeth!”

  “Aw, Pops,” poor Bingo wailed, “a little trimming wouldn’t hurt his brain. If they trimmed it, they’d just snip off some useless knowledge on the outside. That wouldn’t make him dumb!”

  “Would too! Would too!” cackled Pirate.

  Big Butch glared at the hateful bird. “Button your beak,” he muttered threateningly. “Everybody knows you don’t like dogs. Honest, Commander, don’t you think it’s awful unchristian-like to abandon a poor little lost puppy dog that never—”

  “Pipe down!” ordered the commander, swallowing hard in spite of himself. “You know I don’t want to treat a dog that way, even a stupid tin one. And, as you say, Bingo, there’s a possibility that a slight brain-trimming wouldn’t hurt him too much—though I have my doubts. Anyway, I’m willing to give Bolts a chance—if we can locate him.”

  Bingo almost collapsed with relief. In the next instant he had darted to the radio and his red hair was flashing all around it as he went swiftly to work. “I’m sure I can locate him,” he said. “This time I’ll cut down the power and rig up a direction finder. If he answers at all, we’ll have a compass bearing on him. Then we can go hunting for him in the Space Jumper.”

  Big Butch looked doubtful. “If that poor dog’s been sizzled,” he began, blinking worriedly at the commander, “he sure won’t answer now. There must be another way we can find him. Can’t you think of something, sir?”

  “There is another way,” the commander said miserably. “But I’ve been so upset by all this I can’t remember it. You’ve got a brain, Butch. Start using it!”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Big Butch began clumping back and forth, scratching his metal head. The scratching always helped, for it seemed to loosen his circuits and jiggle his memory banks.

  “Oh, stop clumping!” fumed the commander. “How do you expect me to remember anything when you clump?”

  “S-sorry, sir.” Big Butch stopped and stood blinking his eye lights unhappily. It took both clumping and scratching to jiggle an idea loose in his head. “What we need,” he grumbled, “is some special super thought. But I sure don’t see any around.”

  “Super thought?” said Bingo, turning. Suddenly his eyes widened. “Jiminy! I’d forgotten we have the Super-Thought Machine here! Why don’t we try it out?”

  Before the commander could give him the order, Big Butch had the Super-Thought Machine unpacked and ready for duty. It seemed to be only a simple metal box on the outside, but inside was the most ultra-super-special thinking apparatus the robot factory could make. It had taken Bingo, Big Butch, and the commander all winter to design it.

  The moment it was turned on, the Super-Thought Machine began to hum. In a metallic voice it said aloofly, “State your problem. I am capable of solving anything.”

  “Our problem is a robot dog named Bolts,” the commander began. “He has been stolen by persons unknown, who thought they were stealing you. Please locate him.”

  “I doubt if the creature is worth my consideration,” replied the metallic voice, “but as a favor to my designers, I will find him. Describe the dog. Give his serial number, brain rating, battery power, exact time he was stolen, all details of the theft, and the latest weather information.”

  The commander did so.

  “Very elemental,” said the Super-Thought Machine. “Ordinarily such a simple problem would be solved in four seconds. But since my circuits are still warming, it will require exactly seventeen minutes and nine seconds. Kindly maintain absolute silence.”

  Everyone said, “Sh-h-h-h-h!” and stood very still.

  At that moment three Navy cars, bristling with guns and guards, roared into the lane. A half dozen worried officers and men sprang out and dashed to the door. Big Butch was forced to open it, and they poured through the house and into the shop.

  “Commander,” said the officer in charge, “we’ve just discovered that the new secret Super-Thought Machine was delivered to you by mistake. The Admiral is tearing his hair. He’s ordered us to pick it up immediately.”

  “B-but we’re using it!” exclaimed the commander, dismayed. “We—we’re trying it out on a problem of great importance.”

  “Sorry, sir. This is an emergency. There’s been more Mongolian skulduggery, and things are in a ticklish tangle with their space fleet. We have hopes the machine can solve it, but there’s not a moment to lose, sir.”

  In practically no time the Super-Thought Machine was crammed back into its box, rushed out under guard, and the Navy cars were roaring away with it.

  Big Butch was so upset that he had to be turned off before he blew a fuse. For long minutes the commander raged while Bingo sat biting his knuckles.

  When everyone had calmed and cooled a bit, Bingo turned Big Butch on again. “I’ll bet it was the Mongolians that stole Bolts,” he said. “It just had to be. And I’ll bet they think he’s the Super-Thought Machine in disguise. If he’s escaped, they’ll never stop till they catch him.”

  The commander was more upset than ever. “Great guns, if the Mongolians are behind this, it becomes a Navy matter. Why, Bolts may have learned the secret of the Mongolian spy organization. Get busy on that radio, son. That dog must be found.”

  Big Butch said, “B-but suppose he’s in Mongolia?”

  “He’s not there! He’s not there!” cackled Pirate.

  “Can’t you tell us where he is?” begged the commander.

  “Not tonight,” replied the infuriating parrot. “It’s long past my bedtime.” He tucked his head under his wing and pretended to go to sleep.

  At the radio, Bingo was repeating over and over, “Bingo calling Bolts! Bingo calling Bolts! Please answer, Bolts!” …

  Bolts didn’t answer because he was very carefully keeping his tail down as he climbed the mountain. He was in a terrifying up-and-down region that grew steadily worse the higher he climbed. There were boulders bigger than houses that he had to scramble around, not to speak of sudden cliffs and ledges that had to be avoided, and great black ravines that seemed to have no bottom. In the dark, it was no place at all for a dog to take chances, especially a tin dog with a scorpion in his tail.

  But in spite of his watchfulness, he almost went tumbling when his feet slipped once on a rock. Instantly his tail shot up as he fought to keep his balance. There was a moment of pure horror when he was sure the scorpion was going to sizzle him again. Instead, there was only a faint buzzing, and just before his tail jerked down he heard a voice, as clear as anything, say: “… calling Bolts!”

  He was so astounded his teeth snapped out accidentally and he almost cut loose with his Number Two growl.

  Bolts looked fearfully around, blinking his eye lights. Seeing no one, he slid his teeth back in place and tried
his sniffer. He discovered some interesting smells ahead, but the critters they belonged to were too far away to have spoken. Anyway, how would they know his name?

  “Hey!” he demanded loudly. “Who’s that calling me? Come out and show yourself!”

  The only reply was the faint moaning of the mountain wind.

  “By Joe,” he muttered, “this is mighty mysterious.”

  He shivered suddenly, though not from cold. That moaning wind had a real ghosty sound, and it occurred to him that the voice he had heard might easily have come from a mountain ghost.

  The very thought sent a prickling through his circuits. The idea of mountain lions was worrisome enough, but if there were mountain ghosts around, his predicament was ten times as bad. Suppose one got into his circuits and started to sizzle him?

  “I’d better find me a safe hole for the night,” he told himself. “I’m too wore out to tangle with mountain ghosts.”

  The shallow cave he presently found wasn’t at all to his liking, but it was the best that a tired dog with a weak battery could do. What with all his running, growling, fighting, and climbing, he’d used up a fearful amount of energy. Now it was time to recharge.

  He took a final uneasy look around, hoped that neither lions nor ghosts would notice him here, then curled into a tight ball in the corner of the cave. Instantly his circuits clicked off and he was sound asleep.

  On distant Battleship Lane, a despairing Bingo stayed by the radio until his voice grew hoarse, then the commander took over. Butch relieved the commander at midnight, and continued to call until it was time to put on his chefs cap and fix breakfast.

  “I’m afraid we’ve lost him,” the big robot said sadly, when Bingo relieved him. “Didn’t get a peep out of him all night.”

  “We’ve got to keep trying,” Bingo said stubbornly. “His radio switch is in his tail. He’s bound to raise it some time and hear us.”

  Bolts was just beginning to twitch and stir as Bingo began calling him again. Ordinarily, a recharged robot pops up with his eye lights blinking, wide awake on the instant. But Bolts, having a trimmed brain, not only had taken longer than usual to recharge, but now he was dreaming—something no other robot could possibly do. He was dreaming that his trials were over and that he was safely home on Battleship Lane. It was such a pleasant dream that he was doing his best to hang on to it.