WHEN WHIRLYBIRDS CALL
by Frank Banta
Five-Gun DeCrabbe was the terror of
every planet—especially to his friends!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1963.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Those of the city of Featherton, on Grimes Planet, were with him to aman. Feathertonians cheered and waved from their windows that morning,not daring to come out for fear of the whirlybirds, and admiringFive-gun Charles DeCrabbe all the more for riding down the main stemof the town with the bubble of his convertible space coupe slidback—ignoring the menace from the skies.
Five-gun Charles DeCrabbe rode down the exact center of the street,looking neither to right or left, not acknowledging the screams ofadulation that poured from the windows. His bare head was up, hismouth was pressed into firm, haughty lines of self-confidence and evenhis battle dress of dark green seemed to exude the aura of a competentkiller.
Five-gun Charles DeCrabbe had come to clean up the town. Of whirlybirds.
He stopped his space convertible in front of the white stone buildingtitled City Hall on its facade. The two men waiting to greet him stayedsafely under the bullet-shaped marquee as he alighted. He jumped overthe side, checked his two holstered needle pistols, slung his explosivepellet rifle over one shoulder, his N-ray flashburn gun over the othershoulder and picked up his rocket-powered stun-gas spray gun in hishands. He strode over to the waiting men.
"I'm Alson Prince, Mayor of Featherton," said the older man shakinghands with the one DeCrabbe stuck out from under the spray gun. "Andyou are Five-gun Charles DeCrabbe?"
"Yes yes yes!" exclaimed DeCrabbe impatiently in his clipped speech.
"I'm the mayor's son," introduced the younger man with admirationshining in his eyes. "You sure look like you're ready to whip thosewhirlybirds."
"Yes yes yes!" exclaimed DeCrabbe haughtily. "Always dislike longconversations you know. Supposing you tell me what you know so canexterminate them without further delay. No doubt solution before dusk."
"Before dusk?" asked the mayor, dumfounded. "Oh, no, not today, I'mafraid. They've been around too many years to whip in one day."
"Perhaps shall require two days then," said Five-gun Charles DeCrabbegraciously. "But doubt it. Tell me what you know of them."
"Very well," assented the older man. "Perhaps the best place tobegin is with their name. When we first occupied this planet, abare twenty years ago, we called them wolfhawk-whirlybirds andtigerhawk-whirlybirds because they preyed on vicious animals. Thewhirlybirds were our best friends in those days. The only trouble isthat they ran out of tigers and wolves to eat."
"Presumed they are now called peoplehawk-whirlybirds?" DeCrabbefrowningly asked in his clipped speech.
"Exactly!" answered the older man. "Although that isn't their fullname. From the way they attack—"
"Most important," interrupted Five-gun. "Give to me in detail."
"They prefer to attack strollers, although they have attacked on citystreets when there is little traffic. They fly with amazing speed,considering they are an untidy ball forty feet in diameter, and theyare on top of their victims before the unlucky ones are aware of themenace. Blowing their victims down with a rush of air from theirfeathers, they grab them up by the heels, carry them high aloft anddrop t