*The Outpost and the Aliens*

* * * *

I began sweeping the floor again.

"That's the fifth time you've swept up in the last hour," said Willie the Bard. "How much cleaner does the place have to be before you're happy?"

"It's just nervous energy," I said. "They're fighting a war out there, and we're stuck here at the Outpost."

The Bard glanced out the window.

"Uh ... I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings," he said nervously, "but we're not as far from the war as you think."

"What's happening?" I asked.

"A ship just landed." He continued staring at it. "It's not like any other ship I've ever seen."

"Damn!" I said. "We'll just have to defend the place as best we can."

_"We?"_ repeated the Bard. "I'm a historian. I've never held a weapon in my life."

"I can't stand them off all by myself," I said. "Einstein's blind, deaf and mute. You're elected."

"Get Reggie to help."

"He's a robot," I said. "A robot can't harm a sentient being, or, through inaction, allow harm to come to one."

"Stupidest thing I ever heard," muttered the Bard.

Then Reggie spoke up from his position behind the bar. "On the contrary, I have absolutely no moral or ethical compunction against harming Men or aliens."

"You don't?" I said.

"None whatsoever."

"Good. Then grab a weapon and -- "

"However," he continued, "the only thing I know how to do is make drinks. I am totally ignorant of firearms and military tactics. If you would like to take the necessary fourteen hours to reprogram me..."

"I don't think there's time," I said.

"There isn't," confirmed the Bard. "They're already marching out of the ship. Seventeen -- no, eighteen -- of 'em."

"Okay," I said. "There's no way I can take them out with standard weapons. This calls for something special."

I reached behind the bar and pulled out the molecular imploder.

"I didn't know you had an imploder," said the Bard.

"I've never had occasion to use it before."

"It's an impressive-looking weapon," he said admiringly. "What powers the damned thing?"

"Fission, fusion, who the hell knows?" I said. "I just know that it turns things into jelly -- aliens, humans, spaceships, buildings, everything."

I walked to the doorway, aimed the imploder, and activated the trigger mechanism.

And nothing happened.

"Isn't it loaded?" asked the Bard.

"You don't _load_ an imploder!" I snapped. "You just aim and fire it!"

"Maybe it's not getting any power," he suggested.

I checked the gauges. "Everything reads right. Everything should be working. What the hell is wrong?"

"Let's ask the expert," said the Bard. "Toss me the computer."

I did as he asked, and he tapped out the problem for Einstein, who replied a moment later.

"He says that they've probably got some kind of atomic neutralizer that's messing up your power source, and that you should use a laser cannon or a pulse torpedo instead."

"This is the Outpost, not a fucking military vessel!" I yelled, as the aliens approached to within two hundred yards. "I don't have that kind of weaponry!"

Another exchange of messages.

"He says it's an interesting problem."

"That's _all_ he's got to say?" I said frantically.

"He says he's never seen an insoluble problem. He just doesn't know if he can solve this one in the time remaining."

The aliens seemed to sense that we were defenseless and increased their pace.

"Well?" I demanded.

"He says he's working on it."

"Tell him he'd better finish working in ten seconds!"

He finished in eight seconds. I followed his advice, and that was the end of the alien invasion, and, for all I knew, of the whole damned war.