The Messers

by Geo' W. Smith © 2001

It took only ten seconds for Peewee Scarlet to jump off his horse and face them.

'Don't ask question's son, just bop 'em!' His old man had told him.

So he did. He brought both fists up together, and bopped both of them at once. They crumpled, hitting the soft earth with a double thud.

'And don't pick 'em up either just let 'em rot, it'll do the ground a power of good.'

Peewee looked around at the field of broken stalks and shook his head. The red ball which had been perched on the edge of his spread had lifted, and hung like a big orange from a billowing cloud. In the early glow he could see movement in places, and hear their twittering voices, but he knew pursuit would be useless, so he jumped on old Creaker, and galloped home.

'Get any?'

'Yea two, the other four are still at it, but I left 'em. Got a coffee maw?'

'One in the kitchen son, and I've still got 'em on the screen if you feel like another run at 'em.'

Peewee glanced at the screen, went into the kitchen, and came out a few minutes later with a steaming mug of coffee. He pointed it at the screen.

'The satellite co-ordinates want adjusting maw. I aimed old Creaker towards the centre four, but my mobile settings were way out.'

She sat down and started twiddling the controls.

'What annoys me son is, old Jesse next door doesn't get any of this trouble. Year after year he runs his land and he's never bothered by them, and we....'

'Oh! Come on maw you know why. It's been going on for years now, and until the government alter the laws of immunity we will just have to carry on best we can as the old man did. Just as well they turn a blind eye to our own methods of elimination.'

She frowned and nodded in agreement as she manipulated the control buttons. 'It's a pity they didn't squash it two hundred years ago when it all started, instead of looking on it as some form of cultural thing. Them thar scientific dipso's have a lot to answer for son.'

The day passed, and things got done. Peewee Scarlet straightened out the fields again, and maw got the satellite settings in order. Routine was again the order of the day.

The Sun was on the edge of his top field when Peewee Scarlet aimed old Creaker to the great outer edge of his spread. He'd had a shout from maw at 4.30 A.M.

'Six of 'em in a heap son all goin' crazy like in long meadow on the outer edge.'

Maw had put the co-ordinates on his mobile, and away he went on Creaker. Quickly finding the centre of activity Peewee Scarlet jumped off old Creaker's back, and gripping the wooden fence post tightly in both hands flattened them all to the ground. He looked down at their pale dead expressionless faces and spat. Then he spat again.

'How many son?'

'All six. Any coffee brewin' maw?'

'In the kitchen son.'

Peewee Scarlet glanced at the satellite screen as he came out of the kitchen, and pointed to it with his steaming coffee mug.

'Bit of a mess they made this morning maw.'

She slowly shook her head from side to side. 'One hell of a mess I'd say son. There seems no rhyme nor reason to it now'

Peewee stared at the screen intently. 'They were good when they first arrived on Earth two centuries ago. Their messages meant something, and were real artistic, but they're just a lot of messers now. It's no wonder they're now called "crap circles".'

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