“So, Sam, sister of Wayne,” Drukk said. “You spoke earlier of working you to death in ‘forced labour camps’. Tell me, how does that work exactly...?”
-oOo-
With Chief Inspector Sullivan under sedation in the medical tent, Senior Sergeant Fury moved quickly to reinforce his men on the kangaroo front. He sympathised with the Chief Inspector’s point of view. Obviously, his men were not fighting real kangaroos. But terrorists—or crazy cultists—in kangaroo suits were firing on the Queensland Police and, however unbelievable that was, they were not going to get away with it. Not on Rick Fury’s watch!
He ordered every available officer to the scene of the incident, leaving only a handful to keep watch on the perimeter of the farm.
It was because of this sudden movement of personnel that the Agent and Barraclough were surprised by six police officers who almost ran right into them.
The Agent had dropped the force bubble as soon as they were out of sight of the kangaroo battle and they had moved forward slowly and quietly towards the farm. The sudden appearance of the police officers had seemed to surprise the Agent as much as it surprised Barraclough, judging by the way it reared back and snarled as they burst from the bushes.
The unfortunate policemen were a little taken aback too. Mostly, they shouted things like “Waaagh!” and “Jesus effing Christ!” and flailed their arms about as they skidded to a halt and tried to back up over the similarly astonished officers behind them. It didn’t help that the two-and-a-half metre black monster they'd happened upon threw up its arms and snarled. Only one among them, an experienced police officer who had spent most of his career with the Victorian police force, knew what to do. He drew his side-arm and started blasting away at the Agent for all he was worth.
No doubt thinking, “Oh what a good idea. I wish I’d thought of that,” his fellow officers also drew their weapons and started firing.
The Agent’s wonderful shield was automatically triggered and Barraclough saw dozens of bullets come screaming to a halt in front of them. Barraclough watched the swarm of little grey missiles hanging in the air, mesmerised by them, before it dawned on him that several strays had been heading his way when the shield had stopped them. He jumped behind the Agent with a little squeak of panic and peered round it at his colleagues still furiously blasting away at them. He shouted at them to stop but his voice was lost in the deafening roar of the guns. So he shut up and kept himself squarely behind the Agent’s massive body.
Eventually, the shooting stopped as, one by one, the police officers ran out of ammunition. The six men stood or knelt just a few metres from the Agent, all wide-eyed and gasping with shock and amazement. The bullets, at a gesture from the Agent, fell like a shower of bees to form a small, curved line at its feet. The astonished eyes of the policemen followed them down. Then Detective Sergeant Barraclough stepped out from behind the Agent and said, “G’day.” Although not in itself scary, perhaps, the sight of the Detective Sergeant seemed to trigger a general panic and the frozen officers, with incoherent yells, ran back the way they had come, scrambling and tripping as if they just couldn’t get their legs to move as fast as their bodies wanted to go.
With almost perfect timing, as the first group disappeared into the bushes, another group appeared. This group, having heard the recent firing, already had their weapons drawn and ready and, after a moment of skidding to a halt, shouting inarticulately and gaping at the gigantic black monster before them, started up their own frenzied fusillade.
This time the Agent was ready for them. With a sweep of its mighty arm, it seemed to generate a powerful and sudden lethargy in the attacking police officers. Every one of them staggered and sank to the ground, one or two letting off final, wild shots. In a moment, they were lying in a heap, completely unconscious. Barraclough, peering round at them from behind the Agent, asked; “Are they all right?”
“No,” the Agent said. “They are unconscious.”
“I mean, they’re not dead or anything?”
“They are not dead.”
Barraclough breathed a sigh of relief. “Maybe you should put up your bubble thing again. They’ll probably radio for help.”
The bubble thing appeared around them.
“Why is it a human’s first reaction to try to kill me?” The Agent seemed more curious than angry.
Barraclough had to admit, it did rather look that way. “It’s just...” he began. “You’re just...” He looked up at the sinister face, the black, scaly hide and the big, clawed hands. “Jeez, mate, you’re the bloody Bogey Man, that’s why. You’re the story that parents scare their kids with. You’re the Creature from the Black Lagoon, Frankenstein’s monster and a demon from the pits of Hell all rolled into one.”
The Agent looked down at him with its flat, grey eyes. “Bogey Man?” it asked.
“Look. Just try not to jump out at people, eh? You take a bit of getting used to. That’s all.”
Whatever it thought about this, the Agent kept to itself and they walked on in silence. Before long the farmhouse appeared and they stopped to examine it.
The farmhouse seemed deserted. A few tired-looking chickens scratched about in front of it but this just added to the air of abandonment. The windows at the front were smashed and the timber walls were pock-marked with bullet holes. The broken-down utes and a decaying tractor were in keeping with the decrepit air of the place but there was also a smart saloon car, a large bus with its front and back blown off and about a dozen white police cars with their doors open, several having suffered severe damage.
“My God.” Barraclough gazed at the smashed and burnt police cars in horror. “What on Earth happened here?”
The Agent, who had been examining an instrument on its wrist looked up. “Most of this damage was caused by Vinggan blasters. They seem to have exchanged fire with a group of humans.”
Barraclough was a little dazed. “Vinggans? Those are the guys you’re after. The ones that look like Loosi Beecham. Yeah?”
“That is correct.”
“Then who were the kangaroos back there? Were they Vinggans too?”
“It would seem likely. They too were using Vinggan weapons.”
“So the Vinggans look like Loosi Beecham and they also look like kangaroos, yeah?”
“No. The Vinggans look like Tullakian mud grubs. They’re quite distinctive.”
“Right,” said Barraclough deciding he couldn’t face even trying to understand. A surge of anger went through him then and he turned to the Agent. “Who the hell do they think they are, coming here and shooting people and taking hostages and robbing shops and wrecking buses and... and... whatever the hell else they’re up to? What kind of galaxy is this? Can anybody get away with doing anything? Why doesn’t somebody stop them? Isn’t there some kind of law out there?”
The Agent looked down at him from its great height. “Out here beyond the remotest fringes of civilisation, I am the law.”
Barraclough didn’t know whether he thought that was reassuring or not but he wanted something done and done quickly. “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s go get ’em.”
Chapter 19: Happy Ending
“What’s all the fuss out there?” Sam wanted to know. There had been a terrible stamping on the veranda and a fair bit of shouting. Now Sam could hear the awful sound of the Vinggan’s little stick-things being fired. “It must be the police. They’re making a rescue attempt.”
Without even thinking about whether it was a good idea or not, she got up and ran out into the hallway. The backs of several Vinggans in the doorway blocked her view of whatever might be going on outside. Then, suddenly, the firing stopped and one of the aliens, the one with the tiny bikini, turned and ran past her, heading for the room where Braxx was holding court. Slowly, Sam moved forward until she was in the doorway and could peer over the shoulders of the Vinggans.
“Oh my sainted aunt!” she gasped, seeing the gigantic black creature standing just a few metres away.
“Your weapons are useless against me,” it said, and Sam was sure she could see a sort of smile on its horrible face. “Desist, or I will immobilise you.”
The Vinggans stopped firing again and looked at each other nervously.
“What do you want?” one asked, tilting its cute little chin in defiance. “And who are you anyway?”
“It looks sort of human,” said Klakk, who wore a red satin night-dress.
“There is a human with it, within its shield,” said Trugg in a gold evening dress.
On hearing this, Sam peered again at the monster and saw Detective Sergeant Barraclough standing stolidly beside it. He was a big, broad man, she thought, but he looked like a child against the titanic alien.
“I will answer all questions when your leader arrives,” said the Agent who understood the hierarchical nature of Vinggan society.
“Then answer them now,” said Braxx, imperiously, sweeping forward in his wedding dress. Despite her loathing for the odious creature, Sam had to admire Braxx’s nerve as he marched past his followers to confront the giant newcomer. Sam wriggled her way in among the Vinggans to get a better view of what was happening. More Vinggans and a crowd of humans were filling the hallway behind her and a hubbub of “What’s going ons” and “I dunnos” arose from them.
Sam suddenly realised that she could hear gunfire. Lots of it. In fact, it sounded like World War Three was being fought just out of sight behind the trees. She glanced around, trying to work out whether all the Vinggans were still there in the farmhouse. As far as she could tell, they were. So who was doing all the shooting out there? Could there be more of these black giants? Perhaps fighting the police?
“I am an Agent of the Lalantrans,” the big, black creature said.
The effect on the Vinggans was striking. They were clearly impressed and even awed—an emotion that Sam had not seen from them at all. A few even seemed a little scared. They all quickly lowered their weapons, as if hoping that the Agent wouldn’t notice they’d just been trying to blast it to pieces. Sam didn’t know what to make of this. Any enemy of the Vinggans was a friend of hers, yet something powerful enough to scare a race so technically advanced was probably something she should be scared of too. The big fella spoke again.
“You have violated Galactic law and have built sentient machines. I have come to confiscate your spaceship and to judge your species.”
Braxx, much to the surprise of everybody there, laughed out loud. “If you want our ship, you can have it, Agent. If you find any sign of machine intelligence there, let alone sentience, you can slap my oral cavity with a dead offal worm.”
The other Vinggans thought this was hilarious and fell about laughing. “I am the King of Deneb Prime!” shouted one and they all screamed with laughter. “I hope you brought your space crane!” called another.
The laughter was so infectious that several of the humans present joined in too. Sam, however, was just plain annoyed. She elbowed her way to the front of the crowd and stomped down the steps to confront the Agent, who had been watching the Vinggan mirth with its usual calm inscrutability.
“If you’re here to judge them, you might want to consider that they are holding me and lots of other people here as prisoners.” Behind her, the Vinggans stopped laughing. “They’ve killed and injured loads of other people and destroyed property all over the place. Why don’t you judge them for that?”
“That’s right,” said Detective Sergeant Barraclough, stepping forward and looking up at the Agent. “I think we have grievances here a bit more bloody important than this sentient machine rubbish!” He turned to face the Vinggans. “I want to arrest these women right now. Tell them to lay down their weapons and come peacefully.”
“Agent,” said Braxx, completely ignoring the humans. “We should dispose of these humans and talk privately. I believe the Great Spirit has changed Her mind about converting this savage planet and now wishes you to convey us to the nearest Vinggan colony world.”
“Hey! I was talking here, Sheila!” shouted Barraclough, in his best scumbag–intimidating voice. “Why don’t you give your tonsils a rest and save your breath for the judge?”
Braxx gave a small shudder of distaste. He spoke past Barraclough to the Agent. “As you can see, they are completely irrational. Barely anything they say or do makes any sense. We have tried to instil some simple spirituality into them but they lack any higher cognitive functions.”
Barraclough was about to give an angry retort but Sam beat him to it. Pushing the big detective aside, she stepped up to face Braxx. “Why you pompous, conceited, god-bothering, overdeveloped bimbo! Spirituality? I’ll show you spirituality!” She drew her fist back to punch Braxx on the nose and, as she did so, every Vinggan in sight raised its weapon and pointed it at her.
“Woah! Chick fight!” Jadie exclaimed with relish.
Sam froze, knowing the end had come. A second went by, then two.
“Hey, my blaster isn’t working!” complained Klakk.
“Nor mine!” whined Trugg. “And I wanted to blast the human!”
“Silence!” said the Agent in a voice so amplified that Sam’s ears rang. “I will permit no further violence.” It looked down at Barraclough. “Human, your quarrel with the Vinggans is none of my concern. They are charged with the most serious crime in the galaxy—creating machine sapience. The murder of a few members of your species is of minor importance. Besides,” and it sort of shrugged apologetically, “causing deaths and damage to property during unlawful invasions of non-affiliated planets is a minor misdemeanour. You would need to take it up with your local jurisdiction.”
Barraclough fumed but thought better of everything he wanted to say. Sam just watched, her close shave with death having shaken her somewhat. Taking a deep breath, Barraclough said, “So you are just taking these women away with you and that’s that? We just bury our dead and forget about it.”
“You wish to know that the Vinggans will be punished?”
“Dead right I wish to know that!”
“Then consider this. If found guilty of the crime of which they are accused, the Vinggans—not just these but their entire species—will be stripped of all privileges, their technology will be destroyed, and they will be confined to their homeworld for the next ten thousand years.” The huge alien smiled. “Will that be sufficient to satisfy you?”
“What if they are not found guilty?” asked Sam, coming out of her daze.
“Then you are at liberty to raise the matter of this invasion with your Local Authority.”
“What, the Brisbane City Council?”
“No.” The Agent checked an instrument at its wrist. “That would be the High Council of Durak. It seems they are the local government out here. I daresay you could appeal to the Outer Bellarno-Hengh Association of Independent Sentient Communities if you don’t get the result you are seeking. I would need to check the local laws to be sure.”
“Just a minute!”
Everyone turned to look at Braxx, who was standing with his hands on his hips. By now everyone had managed to get out of the house so they could get a view and the crowd spilled off the veranda into the yard. The Agent, Barraclough and Sam were at the centre of the group, facing Braxx and his Vinggans. The remaining humans formed a ring around them.
“No-one is taking us anywhere,” said Braxx. “You may not realise it, Agent, but I am Braxx, Corpuscular Manifestation, third class, of the Great Spirit. These good people are members of a holy sect: The Pebbles of the New Dawn. The Lalantrans, of course, are godless atheists but they are reputed to have some intelligence. You will probably realise the folly, therefore, of offending the Great Spirit by abusing Her servants. You might also ponder the wrath of the people of Vingg should they hear of ou
r treatment. The human animals you can do what you like with, of course, but be careful how you treat the children of the Great Spirit!”
“Oh this is, like, really heavy,” wailed Laney. “You’re the Sky People, yeah? You should be all, like, wise and cool, not all...” She made a gesture that could have been a wild animal holding up its claws aggressively but, on the waif-like Laney, looked more like a curious hamster looking through its bars for a treat.
“Oh, for God’s sake, shut up!” shouted one of the old folk. “Let ’em beat each other up if that’s what they want. Bloody illegal immigrants!”
“Yeah, go home you freaks!” shouted another old lady, possibly at the aliens but equally possibly at the cultists.
In fact their new-found health and vitality seemed to have made the Kanaka Downs Garden Club outing survivors even more belligerent than most old people. Several of them began shouting insults at the aliens. Others were telling the Receivers of Cosmic Bounty they were a bunch of useless hippies and they should get a job. Two were arguing with each other and looked like coming to blows soon.
Some of the Receivers had enough spirit left to shout back, saying things such as, “Oh that’s, like, such a retro mind-set,” and “Who are these old geezers? What’s going on?” But most of them, finding their dreams of Cosmic Bounty replaced by a nightmare vision of a galaxy of squabbling, bureaucratic, power-crazed lunatics, had fallen into a silent reverie as they reassessed their lives so far and began a first, anxious consideration of a future they had thought they didn’t need to worry about.
“You will find,” said the Agent, still speaking to Braxx above the rising clamour from the humans, “that I am fully empowered to make this investigation—and to use whatever force is necessary to gather evidence.”
Braxx fumed and was about to reply when Drukk suddenly shouted “Look!”
Cargo Cult Page 20
