Cargo Cult

by Graham Storrs

  Drukk grabbed his large breasts and held them up for Wayne to look at. “You mean these are a female characteristic?”

  Wayne blinked and swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the breasts just inches from his face. “Holy shit! You... you shouldn’t do that to a bloke.”

  Drukk dropped them again and slumped back in his seat. “Holy shit indeed!” he said.

  There was a long silence. Drukk was shocked and deep in thought, going over the events of the past few days, wondering what it would mean for Braxx’s mission here on Earth, cursing his ignorance of the humans and their hideous physiology.

  Seeing his companion was distressed, Wayne, searched for something to say that would get her talking again. “What’s club-ball?” he asked. “I’m not really a sporty kind of bloke but I’ve never even heard of that one.”

  Drukk, roused himself. “It’s very popular at home on Vingg. Three teams of players chase a ball with clubs and try to smash it. It’s a game of great skill and strategy.”

  “Sounds a bit silly,” said Wayne, “but then so does golf if you look at it like that.”

  “Golf?”

  “Yeah. It’s where you hit a little ball with a long stick and try to knock it into a tiny hole.” Drukk gave a snort of amusement. Encouraged, Wayne went on. “Or football—Aussie rules, that is—where two teams throw and kick a ball back and forth until it goes between some poles.”

  “Two teams!” laughed Drukk.

  “Or snooker, where you put some coloured balls on a big table then poke them with a stick until they’ve all fallen into holes around the edges.”

  Drukk laughed out loud.

  “Or cricket, where you throw a ball at some sticks and an opposing player tries to stop it hitting them with another stick.”

  Drukk was rocking with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh you must have so much fun watching these farcical games!” he gasped. “What an amusing planet it must be!”

  “Yeah, well, I dunno about that,” said Wayne. “It always seemed pretty boring to me.”

  “Will you take me to see this ‘cricket’?” Drukk asked.

  Wayne grinned. “You bet! I’d like to see you busting a gut while everyone sits there snoozing away.”

  They sat in silence for a short while longer. Then Drukk began speaking again. “Of course, once I joined the Space Corps, I didn’t have time any more for club-ball. They keep you very busy.”

  “You really believe all this stuff don’t you?”

  Drukk looked him in the eye. “It is all true, human. Only yesterday I was a Space Corps Operative sixth class, with a fine ship, a fine crew, a good captain and important missions to fly for the glory of Vingg. Now I am lost and alone, trapped in this disgusting human body, my companions the Spirit knows where, with no chance of ever going home. I’m not even the correct gender!”

  Something about Ms Beecham’s passion and the consistency with which she maintained this crazy story was starting to undermine Wayne’s disbelief. “But this can’t be true,” he said. “There’s no such thing as aliens. You’ve got to be as nutty as these whackos to believe anything like that.” He waved a hand at the decrepit farmhouse. “Anyway, I’ve seen you on TV, hundreds of times. How can you be up there flying around and still make all those films and stuff?”

  “What is TV?”

  Wayne wasn’t having any of this. “Yeah right. Like even aliens wouldn’t know what TV is. It’s only, like, been beaming into space for the last fifty years.”

  Drukk shook his head, his bouffant hairdo bouncing attractively. “We do not monitor Earth broadcasts. We were not aware that your planet had sapient life until yesterday. Sometimes I’m still not sure. As far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, humanity still does not exist.”

  Wayne still didn’t believe him. “So you’re telling me that all aliens look like Loosi Beecham?”

  “No. Only fourteen of us.” Wayne didn’t respond, merely flopped back in his seat in exasperation, so Drukk went on. “When our ship crashed, we used the metamorphosis booths to transform our bodies into human shape. This is the form we chose. It seems it may have been... inappropriate.”

  Wayne shook his head, trying not to believe. “This has got to be some kind of a joke, or a publicity stunt, or you’re, like, researching a new film where you get bashed on the head and think you’re an alien. Right?”

  Drukk too flopped back, tired of trying to explain. “It is no joke. I lost seven colleagues in the crash—all of them friends. We lost over twenty passengers. All the ship’s systems were smashed. We couldn’t even call for help. I’m stranded on this uncharted wasteworld. The only other Vinggans left alive here are a bunch of religious nutcases who want to convert humanity to their own fanatical brand of Great Spirit worship—and I can’t even find them!”

  -oOo-

  “So, when the time is right, the Sky People will come to us, bearing the inestimable Gift of their wondrous technology but only a few will be Receivers of their Cosmic Bounty. Only we shall be here when they come. Only we shall be worthy to receive the Gift. Only we shall be Taken to the stars.”

  John’s sonorous voice died away as his impromptu sermon came to an end. The kitchen, by now, was crowded with people who had wandered in to listen. Sam, like the rest, sat in respectful silence. Wow! she thought. She knew that it was all a load of the most incredible bullshit but... Wow! At least she could see now why John was the guru guy. With those hypnotic eyes and his terrific line in blarney, he was a natural. It was no wonder these kids were drawn into his insane beliefs. Even for Sam it was almost impossible to resist.

  The great man looked around at his disciples and smiled. “Thank you,” he said. It was their signal to snap out of their trance and leave him. Slowly, dreamily, they all did. Sam got her thoughts together and tried to focus. There were things she needed to know, things her readers would demand to hear about. Rituals, strange, evil rituals, and kidnappings. Where had all these kids come from? How did he get them there? How did he brainwash them? (Well, she thought, she knew that already!) What was his intention? Was he planning a mass suicide? Did he really have guns here? Was anyone behind this? Who was funding this cult?

  “You look a little anxious, Sam.” It was John, his voice kind and gentle.

  Sam tried to avoid looking into his eyes. “I’m just running through the issues I need to cover,” she said.

  “Ah yes, you’re a journalist.” He said it with a trace of disappointment and Sam almost felt bad that she’d let him down. “We had another journo here just last week.”

  “What?” Now Sam really was anxious. “Another journalist? Who? From what paper?” Oh God! If someone else had beaten her to the story!

  “I forget his name. He said he worked for a Brisbane parish newsletter. He lost interest when he found out we don’t actually worship anybody here. It seems that, unless there’s a deity involved—preferably God—his readers aren’t particularly interested. He did do a little piece though. He sent us a copy. I don’t suppose you’ve read it? Do you suppose anybody reads those things? It was a very rude little piece. I didn’t like it. Some of the kids took it out and used it for target practice.”

  “T-target practice?”

  “I did promise myself I wouldn’t speak to any more journos.”

  “Why not,” she asked, noting that he’d ignored her last question. “Surely you would like publicity for your, er, views?”

  John was equivocal. “Yes and no,” he said. “On the one hand, it would be great if everybody could receive the Gift. On the other,” and he sighed deeply, full of regret, “I don’t actually know how big the spaceship is going to be when it gets here. I’m pretty sure there’ll be room for a handful, probably even a houseful like I’ve got here but I’m not sure what would happen if there were hundreds of us, or thousands. What if we couldn’t all fit in?”

  “Couldn’t they, well, send more ships?”

  John shrugged. “Who knows? Frankly, I wouldn’t want
to risk it. Would you?”

  -oOo-

  The kangaroos shuffled through the empty corridors of the Vessel of the Spirit.

  “There’s no one here,” said one. “The whole damned ship is deserted. It’s like, er, like a story about a deserted ship, or something.”

  “Shame none of us can fly a spaceship,” the small doe said. “Not only would we get out of here but this thing must be worth plenty to somebody.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t hang about. Maybe whoever owns this ship is coming back soon.”

  “Maybe you should shut your mouth and let me do the thinking.” Two big bucks bristled behind the little doe, obviously ready to enforce her commands. The little doe was clearly the leader.

  “I was just saying...”

  “Well can it. We don’t have time for gabbing about what might happen. Just get on with the search.”

  “Hey, this is not bad,” said a buck, looking into one of the deserted rooms. “Level five technology at least, I’d say.”

  “Yeah, like you’d know,” sneered another.

  “Up your furry wazoo, you dumb rabbit.”

  “Who are you calling a rabbit, dog’s breath?”

  “Hey!” snapped the small doe. “I don’t want any fighting in here. You two got a problem, you take it outside.” She glared into their round, brown eyes and they quickly backed down. “That’s better. Now where’s the control room in this flying junk-pile?”

  The little joey put his head around the corner. “Boss! Over here! I’ve found it.”

  They hopped up the corridor, their long nails clattering against the metal floor, and entered the control room. The damage of the day before was gone. The smashed consoles, the burnt doorway, the scattered bodies, everything had been fixed up and cleaned by the busy machines. The ship looked just as it had done when the Vessel first came out of State Shipyard Number Seven above Vingg.

  “Look!” one of the does cried. They crowded around her at one of the consoles. “An infra-reality communicator! We can call the Organisation. They can send a ship.” The speaker looked around at her fellows. “We can go home!” Momentarily overcome with emotion, she began chewing and licking at the fur on her shoulder.

  “What’s the matter with you guys?” the leader shouted. “You want to stand about having a group hug? Or do you want to get off this dung-world?” She glared around at them. “Then get on the communicator and make the call! By the Pillars of Rashkaroth! Do I have to tell you everything?”

  One of the does scrabbled at the console with her paws. Nothing happened. She made passes in the air above the controls. Still nothing happened. She concentrated on sending a series of commands telepathically. But the communicator remained dead. “You don’t suppose it’s voice operated?” she asked dubiously.

  “Gee, I dunno,” the small doe said, her tone an exaggerated imitation of what she clearly believed to be her colleague’s stupidity. “Why don’t you try it and see?”

  Seeming not to take offence, the doe turned to the console and said, “Ship, I’d like to use the communicator.”

  Nothing happened.

  The leader flew into a frenzy. She twirled and skipped about in her anger and frustration. The other kangaroos backed away from her.

  “What kind of a stupid spaceship is this? Kick the stupid thing to pieces! Smash its useless panels in! Wreck the rusting pile of space junk!” She began kicking furiously at the nearest instrument panel. Despite her relatively small size, her legs were surprisingly powerful and she quickly succeeded in cracking a few displays and denting a metal cover.

  Monitoring all this through its internal sensors, the ship’s computer decided it was time to act.

  It had watched the kangaroos with a variety of feelings from the moment they had wandered into its proximity sensor field a couple of hours ago. At first it had merely been amused at seeing such a ludicrous life-form. The bipedal humans were funny enough but to get about by bouncing around on your hind legs was hilarious! It had recorded them for a while, planning to show the images to its fellow machines back in Vinggan space. Then they had set off towards the ship.

  A machine as intelligent as the ship was, could spot purposive behaviour a mile away—actually, quite a few miles away—and these ludicrous creatures were definitely showing all the signs. In amazement, it watched as they skirted the ship, finally entering through a maintenance bot hatch. They had made their way into the crewed areas with an ease that suggested they had a good understanding of how a spaceship was laid out. Intelligence? Could a creature so fundamentally stupid-looking possibly be intelligent? The ship activated its translation field and had marvelled as it listened to their quarrelsome conversation. Then the funny creatures had begun, in a crude sort of way, it’s true, to search the corridors for something. The control room, clearly, since their search stopped as soon as they found it. Once there, they had gathered around the communicator. Incredible! They knew what an IR comm was! This was fascinating. What were these idiotic, bouncing wheezebags? There were so many questions?

  However, something had to be done to stop them breaking things.

  "Further damage to this vessel will result in retaliatory action," the ship said in a bland, computery sort of voice. At the same time, it opened concealed hatches and brought a number of remote-controlled blasters into view.

  The kangaroos froze. So they knew what a blaster was, too.

  "Please state your names and the nature of your business," the ship said, enjoying itself. It loved to see the wheezebags squirm.

  There was a silence. Finally, the small doe spoke out. “Hey computer! Put the guns away. I need you to do something for me.”

  The presumption of the creature! "Please state your names and the nature of your business," it repeated.

  “Hey, Boss,” one of the bucks said. “Why don’t you just tell it your name? Huh?”

  “Shut up, Fats,” the doe said. “You want to handle this?”

  “No Boss.”

  “All right, then. Hey, computer! Where is everybody?”

  “The crew has gone onto the surface to explore the planet. They will return in approximately five minutes.” That should get them excited.

  “I want to talk to the guy in charge,” the little doe demanded.

  “In the crew’s absence, I am in charge,” the ship told her. “You have failed to comply with my request for identification. Please remain still while I eliminate you.” It made a big show of moving its blasters around as if it were carefully taking aim. The kangaroos began to skitter about nervously, looking for places to run or hide. Their heartbeat rates, already high, went up a further fifteen percent. Gosh this was fun! It was all the ship could do not to laugh out loud.

  “Hey, wait a minute! Wait a minute. OK? I’ll tell you who we are,” the doe shouted, anxiety colouring its voice for the first time. “Yeah? OK?”

  The ship let two seconds tick by. "Please state your names and the nature of your business," it said, retracting its blasters.

  The little doe, twisted its head sharply as if to dispel a tension in its neck. “All right. No need to get hasty. We’re just visiting, you know. We’re like guests.”

  “Please state y -”

  “All right! People call me Shorty. These jokers are my guys. They work for me. Happy now?”

  “I am not programmed for emotional response,” the ship replied. Oh the machines back home were going to love this! “Why have you boarded this vessel?”

  “Look, pal,” said Shorty. “We just want to use the comm unit and get out of here. Now that’s no big deal, is it?”

  “Only Vinggan Space Corps personnel are permitted to operate my equipment. Whom do you wish to call?”

  “What do you want to know for if we can’t use the unit?”

  Cunning little wheezebag! Better play the Dumb Machine. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand your question. Whom do you wish to call?”

  “Hey, what is this?” Shorty wanted to know.

 
“It’s probably just trying to keep us talking until the crew gets back,” said Fats, looking about him suspiciously.

  “This whole thing stinks like dingo crap,” Shorty decided. “What’s your game, computer?”

  Whatever the game was, the ship decided it was bored with it anyway. It brought its blasters out again. “Just tell me what you are and where you’re from,” it said, “and I won’t start taking bits out of your mangy hides.”

  Shorty relaxed visibly. “That’s better. Now we’re getting somewhere. Who’s that doing the phoney computer voice and where are you hiding, bozo?”

  The ship fired a tiny burst from a single weapon and took a small nick out of one of Shorty’s ears. The little kangaroo leaped up in shock and would have bolted only the ship said, “Stay where you are, my furry little friend. I have lots of questions to ask you.”

  -oOo-

  “So what’s it like?”

  “What?” Drukk came out of his reverie. These humans had a strange way of starting a conversation suddenly and in the middle. Maybe they were telepathic and expected their fellows to be following their thoughts. “Are you?” he asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Hmm. I suppose not.”

  Wayne was getting used to conversations with Ms Beecham being like this. Unfazed by the queer turn it had taken, he started again. “So what’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?”

  “Space.”

  “Space?”

  “Yeah, space. You say you’re an alien, right? So what’s space like?”

  Drukk found the question very odd. “It’s not like anything. It’s just space. You know, big, empty, nothing there, boring.”

  “Boring! But what about the stars like dust, the exotic planets, the black holes, the nebulae, all that stuff?”

  Drukk thought about it. He supposed the stars did look a bit like dust when you were out there but then, who wants to look at dust? “Mostly it’s just black. When you first go out, you might look out the window now and then but there’s never anything much to see and you soon stop bothering. I’ve been in the Space Corps for several years now and most of that time has been spent staring at the inside of a spaceship.”