The Ghosts of Rabbits Past. John R. Erickson
that’s a big word.”
“Any volunteers for a scout patrol?”
“I don’t think I could even spell it.”
“Spell what?”
“That word you just said.”
“It’s easy. S-C-O-U-T.”
“No, the other word.”
“P-A-T-R-O-L.”
“No, the other one, the big one.”
I stuck my nose in his face. “Life is not a spelling bee and we have serious work to do. We’re looking for volunteers to make a scout patrol.” Silence. Drover’s eyes avoided my steely gaze. “The payoff could be huge: stripes, medals, stars, bars, certificates, promotions, double dog food…you name it. We’re talking about hitting the jackpot.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Drover, in this time of crisis, the ranch needs us.”
“You’ll go too?”
“Huh? Well, I…someone needs to stay here to coordinate the mission.”
“Yeah, that’s for me.”
“That’s not for you!” I paced a few steps away and tried to control the swirl of my thoughts. “All right, you little slacker, I’ll go too, but you have to promise me one thing.”
“Okay, I promise.”
“I haven’t said it yet.”
“Oh, sorry.”
I marched back and glared down into his face. “Promise you won’t take off running and hide in the machine shed.”
His eyes grew round with surprise. “How’d you know that’s what I was going to do?”
“Because I know you. Because you do it all the time.”
He grinned. “Gosh, I thought I was being sneaky.”
“You’re not smart enough to be sneaky, and besides, you’re doing business with the Head of Ranch Sneakurity. I’ve seen it all, son. Now, promise on your Solemn Cowdog Oath that you won’t run off and hide in the machine shed.”
He stood up straight and raised his right front paw. “I promise NOT to NOT run off and hide in the machine shed.”
“Good. It’s done. Let’s move out.”
We grabbed weapons and ammo belts, left the barracks, and marched off to the northeast, the direction from which the horrible sounds had come…if we’d actually heard any horrible sounds. Let’s be honest. Things get confusing when we’re jerked back and forth, from asleep to alert. Add Drover to the mix and you get something close to sheer chaos.
Remember what he’d said about loading the kitchen sink into a lifeboat? It was all crazy nonsense, but that’s the kind of mess I have to deal with every day. Sometimes I can laugh about this stuff, but…well, remember the Wise Old Saying?
“Once in a while, it really matters that everyone on the team has the same grasp of reality.”
That’s a very wise Wise Old Saying, and you probably ought to write it down.
So there we were, marching through darkness, on a mission to gather reconnaissance about whatever had interrupted our sleep. By the time we arrived at the yard gate, we had seen nothing suspicious, and I had pretty muchly decided that we had dreamed the entire episode.
That’s when I ran into something in the dark, something that shouldn’t have been there. I reached for the radio. “Cottage Cheese, this is Chainsaw. We’ve encountered something in the dark. Description: large and hairy. What is your location? Over.”
The radio crackled, then I heard a faint reply. “I’m outa here!”
“Cottage Cheese? Repeat that, over.” The radio went silent. “Drover? I need your coordinates at once. Drover?”
Dead silence. My mind was tumbling. Was it possible that the little sneak had…wait a second! Remember Drover’s Solemn Pledge? I hit the replay button and listened to it again.
“I promise NOT to NOT run off and hide in the machine shed.”
Do you see the meaning of this? Let’s go to the blackboard and write down the equation.
Not + Not = 0.
Do you get it now? Two nots cancel each other out. Remove the knots from a knot hole and you get empty space. Remove the nots from Drover’s so-called pledge and you get, “I promise to run off and hide in the machine shed.”
Are you shocked? I was. Maybe I should have expected some kind of treachery, but old, trusting Hank had gotten himself blind-sided. The magnitude of Drover’s corruption left me dizzy and speechless, and don’t tell me that I should have been listening more carefullier. Care-full-lee-er. More careful. Don’t tell me that I should have…phooey.
Hey, I knew what he was supposed to say, and he knew what he was supposed to say, only he used a cheap trick and didn’t say it. Before my very eyes and ears, he promised on his Cowdog Oath to run off to the machine shed and hide. And then he did it!
How did that make me look?
Oh brother. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by the wickedness of this world—lies, cheating, dirty tricks, friend against friend, comrade against comrade. It almost broke my heart.
But I had bigger problems than a broken heart. If you recall, I had walked into something big and hairy in the darkness…and I wasn’t anxious to find out what it might be.
Chapter Three: Yipes!
Are you feeling nervous about this? Good. I was scared out of my wits.
All the evidence in this case suggested that I had either bumped into a cannibal, a Charlie Monster, or a Hooligan Mole. If you were in that situation, which would you choose?
Those were the choices I faced, only I really didn’t have a choice, because whatever I’d bumped into was whatever it was, regardless of my opinions. That doesn’t make sense, so let’s move along.
The point is that I was out there alone in the darkness and had encountered some living thing that wasn’t supposed to be there, and fellers, I had a real bad feeling about it. I tried to calm myself and plot a response. Should I bark the alarm, run, fight, or try to establish communication with the creature? Or creatures. For all I knew, there might be hundreds of them lurking in the darkness.
I ran these options through Data Control and got a green light for Communication. That made sense. Communicating with alien beings is much better than any of the other things you can do with them.
Trying to hide the quiver in my voice, I sent out a message.
“Hello there. This is the voice of the ranch’s Security Division. You seem to be walking through a secured area without permission. If you’re here by mistake, this doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just turn around and leave the compound, and don’t come back.
“If you came with hostile intentions, you should understand that we have snipers on the walls and three divisions of heavy infantry standing by. Any hostile action on your part will be met with deadly force.”
I waited for a reply. Nothing, not a word, but I could hear raspy breathing, so I knew he was there. Suddenly it occurred to me that the creature might not speak Ranch English, so I tried another approach.
Have I mentioned that I’m effluent in many languages?