Text 3304, 101 rader
Skriven 2005-12-28 07:56:54 av Greg Sears (3:633/104)
     Kommentar till en text av George Pope
Ärende: A story
===============
                          BUGGY

                   1991, Andrew P. Varga

    My car door closed with a soft ca-thunk.  Another happy day at the
happy office was over, complete, finished, and somehow survived.
Customer complaints, parts out of tolerance, a project that would take
six weeks to complete if I hurried tossed on my desk by the boss on his
way out to the golf course at noon, and a meeting with an unbearably
verbose salesman bent on selling me unnecessary equipment at exorbitant
prices.

    I was glad to be home.

    I was following the walk to the steps leading to my back door, my
book-laden briefcase pulling at my fingers.

    I took stock of the evening as I trudged toward the house.  It was
too late to replace the broken window in the garage.  This morning's
overflowing trashcan is still overflowing, let it go until tomorrow.
Changing the oil in the car tonight was too much to even think about.
Even the dust on my shoes could wait another day.

    Sunshine dodged a cloud for a moment.  This section of sidewalk
needs replaced someday too, I thought.  Something flashed, making me
half-step and stumble to avoid it.

    Obviously metal, it gleamed rainbow colors, like a small piece of
well-polished stainless steel dipped in oil.  Maybe it was something
that had fallen from my daughter's bike.

    "Oh goody," I said, "something else needs fixed."

    Bending, I reached for it, to put it in my pocket so it wouldn't get
lost before I reattached it, wherever it went.

    It moved!

    "Honey!"  I shouted, taking the back steps two at a time, my
briefcase released somewhere in between. "Quick! I need an iron box!
With a lid!  And a lock!  Do the kids have any miniature electronic
toys?"

    "Why no," she said, reaching into a cupboard. "Why?"

    "Then we've been invaded!" I panted.  "Probably extraterrestrials
traveling on reduced fuel through self-miniaturization!  I read about it
once!  Assimov or Vonnegut or somebody.  Where's that iron box?  Do we
maybe have one lined with lead?"  I remembered the words `death ray'.
Orson Wells, maybe.

    "Will this do?"  She calmly handed me a quart canning jar and a lid.

    "We don't have a very small lead-lined iron box with a heavy locking
lid?"

    "No, we don't."

    "This will have to do," I bravely took the future prison of the
interstellar invader.

    "Let me see it," she said as I turned for the door.

    "Stay inside!"  I called over my shoulder.  "I'll tell you when its
safe."

    Crouching low, I hunted it down the back steps, a not-too-easy feat.

    It had traveled a few inches from where I had first seen it.  Its
iridescence orange, blue, green, and gold shone so, I swear that it
glowed.  Probably some new special super metal alloy, discolored by the
heat of entry into Earth's atmosphere.

    I moved to one side, carefully tilting the jar into its path.  No
little space ship's gonna lazer-zap me!

    It stopped at the lip of the jar!  I quickly gave it a nudge with
the lid.

    :Caughtcha!"  I announced to my prisoner.  It gleamed and glowed its
little rainbow colors.  Maybe its rays can't penetrate glass I thought.

    "I've got it!"  I shouted, proudly showing my wife. "Quick, call the
papers!  Call NASA!  Call Mom!"

    Looking up from the jar, she gave me one of those kind,
understanding smiles like she does.

    "And tell them what?  That you've managed to bravely hunt down and
safely capture a Japanese beetle?"

Salutations from --Christchurch-+
  ICE-man in      /\            |          \ | /   Mountains, Sunshine
 New Zealand     /  \/\         |  /\     -- O --   Forestry, Farming
-^-^-^-^-^-^-^-^/      \!!ii,,..@-/==\---^-^-^-^-^ Beaches and Surfing


... I C E-man.. I'm a mere dabbler compared to some of the wizards in here.

--- EzyBlueWave V2.01b006 00F90257
 * Origin: Afraid of the competition? We ARE the Competition! (3:633/104)