Page 50 - Three Adventures

Deflator Mouse

the continental shelf with hundreds of dormant mechanisms:
Salamanders. They are protected by self-destructing mines, make no
sound, and do not show up on sonar scans. Each has been pre-
programmed depending on its location; all it awaits is a long-wave
radio command to become active.”
Suddenly the water around the ramp became agitated. Then the
surface broke and a black object clambered upwards. It moved
slowly, on short stubby spatulate limbs, weaving back and forth as it
ascended the incline. Oscar could feel the onlookers tense with
excitement as Salamander, dripping and gleaming, left the pool of
water and reached the center of a pool of light on the platform.
Oscar hit STOP.
“Unmanned, impervious to radiation, undeterred by irregularities
in terrain, Salamander establishes its own beachhead. Where? The
answer: everywhere. Why? Salamander will show you itself.”
And the director pushed the button marked MAST. Immediately a
tiny plastic bulkhead popped off the model’s back. Whirring audibly,
an electric automobile radio antenna began extending vertically. On
its tip was a small American flag. Official reserve collapsed and
patriotic applause broke out in the audience, as Oscar had intended;
the perfect ending to a beautiful sales pitch. But the simulated
flagpole kept telescoping toward the ceiling. And out popped two
more flags below the stars and stripes: first, the black-and-white
insignia of piracy, the skull-and-crossbones; then, the equally-familiar
face of America’s favorite cartoon mouse, on a bright green field.
Oscar dropped the remote control. Cries of dismay and outrage
assaulted his ears as he fumbled on the floor. No provision had been
made for retracting the mast. In haste and error he punched START;
Salamander, its three pennants waving gaily back and forth, began
advancing toward the edge of the platform.
“Please, please. I can explain everything!” burst from the director’s
lips before his brain reminded itself he could, or should, in fact,
explain nothing. But it was too late: a human tide of olive green and
pinstripe blue was washing over him, drowning further tergiversation.
Dimly he heard Salamander go over the edge of the ramp and crash
on the cold, hard concrete floor of the old dirigible hangar.

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