"You mentioned earlier, sir, that there was no way of herding the VEMs
into an isolated area. However, I think there is a way. Suppose we were
to remove all of the automobiles from the vicinity with the exception
of one, and suppose we were to park that one in the middle of Tillson
Valley as bait, with a remote-controlled A-bomb underneath it?"
"But how would they know that the bait was there?"
"Through association," Dexter said. "All of the automobiles they've
consumed thus far were in operation shortly before they began to eat
them, so by now they must have established an unconscious relationship
between the sound of the motors and the taste of the metal. Therefore,
if we keep the bait idling and set up a P.A. system to amplify the
sound, eventually they'll hear it, their mouths will salivate and
they'll come running."
General Longcombe offered no comment He appeared to be deep in thought.
"My car is in West Virginia," Colonel Mortby said.
"My car was eaten," Dexter said.
General Longcombe opened his mouth. "My car--" he began.
Sergeant Wilkins entered the room and saluted smartly. "The general's
Cadillac has just arrived, sir," he said.
* * * * *
Old man Tillson co-operated readily enough, once he was assured that
he would be indemnified not only for his ramshackle house but for the
young mountain of beer bottles that stood in his back yard, and the
command post was moved forthwith to the lip of the valley. Jeremiah
Smith was allowed to go along as an observer, and Dexter was accorded
a similar favor. By evening, everything was in place. The colonel's
Cadillac, parked in the valley's center, had something of the aspect of
a chrome-bedizened lamb resting on an altar of crab grass, buttercups
and mustard weeds. Surrounding it were half a dozen floodlights,
suspended over it was a microphone, standing next to it was a pole
supporting three P.A. speakers, and located several hundred feet away
was a TV camera. Beyond this impressive display, Old Man Tillson's
homestead could be discerned, and beyond the homestead rose his
mountainous collection of beer bottles.
Colonel Mortby came out of the command-post tent and walked over to
where Dexter and Jeremiah were standing, looking down into the valley.
He handed each of them a pair of cobalt-blue glasses. "If you watch the
blast, make sure you wear these," he said, raising his voice above the
amplified purring of the Cadillac's motor. "You'll be glad to hear that
the two VEMs are already on their way, Mr. Foote--our walkie-talkie
squad just called in. However, the creatures move so slowly that they
probably won't be here before dawn."
Dexter came out of a brown study. "One thing still bugs me," he said.
"Why should two members of a race of extraterrestrials technically
intelligent enough to build spaceships behave like a pair of gluttonous
savages the minute they land on another planet?"
"But you explained that," Jeremiah pointed out. "They just can't resist
eating American automobiles."
"I'm afraid I got carried away by my analogy. Civilized beings simply
don't go running across the countryside the minute they land, and start
grabbing up everything that strikes their eye. They make contact
with the authorities first, and _then_ they go running across the
countryside and start grabbing up everything that strikes their eye."
Colonel Mortby grinned. "You've got a good point there, Mr. Foote.
Well, I'm going to see if I can't grab forty winks or so--it's been a
trying day."
"Me too," Jeremiah said, heading for his model A.
Left alone, Dexter wedged a flashlight in the fork of a little tree,
sat down in its dim radiance, got out pen and notebook, and began his
article. _The Solid Cheese Cadillac_, he wrote, _by Dexter Foote_....
Dawn found him dozing over page 16. "There they are!" someone shouted,
jerking him awake. "The filthy fiends!"
The "someone" was General Longcombe. Joining him, Dexter saw the two
VEMs. They were moving relentlessly across the valley floor toward the
helpless Cadillac. Jeremiah came up, rubbing his eyes. Colonel Mortby
could be discerned through the entrance of the command-post tent,
leaning over a technician's shoulder.
The two VEMs reached the Cadillac and began licking off the chrome with
their long, tong-like tongues. General Longcombe went wild. He waved
his arms. "Monsters!" he screamed, "I'll blow you to Kingdom Come
personally!" and stomped into the tent.
Dexter and Jeremiah started to put on their cobalt-blue glasses.
Abruptly thunder sounded, and a shadow darkened the land. Looking
skyward, Dexter saw it--
The ship. The saucer. Whichever word you cared to apply to it. But
whichever noun you chose, you had to prefix it with the adjective
"gigantic," for the ventral hatch alone, which had just yawned open,
was large enough to accommodate the Sugardale Methodist Church.
In the command-post tent, the general, as yet unaware of the UFO's
presence, was giving the countdown in an anguished voice. "Two--"
In the valley, the two VEMs were trying vainly to extricate themselves
from a huge metallic net that had dropped over them.
"One--"
On the lip of the valley, Dexter Foote was grappling with an insight.
"Zero--"
Pfft!...
* * * * *
"It wasn't a dud after all," General Longcombe said. "They cancelled
out the chain-reaction with some kind of a ray. I wonder...." He shook
his head wistfully. "What a weapon, though."
He and Colonel Mortby and the tech were standing by the chrome-stripped
carcass of the Cadillac. Dexter and Jeremiah had just come up. "My
theory turned out to be a little bit off-center," Dexter said. "You
see, I overlooked the possibility that our children aren't necessarily
the only galactic small fry who run away from home and get themselves
in Dutch. My birthday-cake analogy still holds true, but I would have
done better to have compared our late-model automobiles to appetizing
candy bars, or Easter baskets filled with jelly beans and chocolate
chickens."
The general regarded him blankly. "I'm afraid I don't follow you at
all, Mr. Foote."
"Did you ever turn a pair of hungry kids loose in a candy store, sir?"
Understanding came into General Longcombe's eyes then, and he turned
and gazed sadly at his chromeless Cadillac. "I wonder if they have
castor oil on Planet X," he said.
"I bet they have its equivalent," grinned Dexter Foote.