Biting down a riposte, Barraclough turned away and began circling the craft. The others moved off to do the same. Thirty seconds later, they were back together again.
"There is no door," said Barraclough, flatly.
"Of course there's a bloody door!" Sam insisted, hotly.
"Well, it must be on the roof then because it sure ain't down here honey."
"Look again! You just missed it, that's all." She looked around at the others. "Try poking at things, tapping things, look for the hidden levers or buttons or whatever. It must be here somewhere!"
They all set off again, circling the alien machine, patting it and prodding it like the fabled blind men feeling their way around an elephant. They had been at it for a couple of minutes when Wayne spotted a small flap at about waist height. He lifted it to reveal a set of tiny golden buttons arranged in a circle. "Hey, everybody! I've got something!" As the others came rushing over to see, he gave the buttons an experimental prod.
Immediately a loud siren sounded and lights around the top of the ship began flashing. "Intruders! Intruders!" the ship shouted, so loudly the humans had to cover their ears. Stricken, they flattened themselves against the side of the ship. All around them, seemingly out of nowhere, surprised green heads were popping up or peering around corners. In moments, several dozen of the green aliens had formed a bemused and haphazard arc around them.
"Where the hell did they all come from?" asked Barraclough, voicing the thoughts of all of them.
'Quick!" shouted Sam, grabbing at Drukk's shoulder bag. "Give me your gun." Drukk immediately snatched his bag away. Sam struggled with him, still trying to reach it. "Give me your gun you double-D dimwit. I'll hold them off while the rest of you keep working on finding the way in." Drukk continued to resist her, driving her wild with frustration. "Will somebody please help me here, I'm trying to save our necks."
John stepped up to her and caught her by the shoulders. "It's all right, Sam," he said as she looked wildly up into his eyes. You don't really want to do this."
"Yes, but..." she began, the familiar confusion overwhelming her.
"That's right. You don't want the nasty gun now, do you? It's much better if we don't go shooting anybody, isn't it?"
Open-mouthed, she nodded slowly. "Yes, I was just..."
"She's going to kill you after she snaps out of this," Wayne warned him.
"You don't want to kill anyone, do you Sam?" John went on, calmly. "You just want to let these nice green fellas come over and have their say. Then we'll probably go off with them to talk to their boss. All nice and calm, eh?"
Sam nodded robotically. "Nice and calm," she said, dreamily. "I don't want to shoot anyone."
"Good girl."
He looked away from Sam to find the aliens had wandered closer in. The nearest of them was just a few metres away. It raised a hand and pointed a small black device towards them. For an instant, looking down the barrel of what he assumed was an alien handgun, John wondered if he had done the right thing preventing Sam from shooting them. Then the alien pressed a stud on the device and with a loud double-chirp, the spaceship's intruder alarm stopped shrieking.
In the silence, the crowd of green creatures stared at the handful of humans and their Vinggan friend.
"Hello," said the Mozbac with the key. "You must be the Vinggans."
Drukk stepped forward as the humans gaped. Now here was a situation his training had in fact covered – first contact with an inferior species. "I am Drukk," he announced. "Space Corps Operative, sixth class. I wear the orange clothing. Take me to your leader."
"Er, all right," said the Mozbac. "I was going to suggest a glass of borra juice in the canteen but if that's what you really want."
-oOo-
The Mozbac led them across the spaceport to a large shed in which a number of ground vehicles were parked. Each was identical – a six-wheeled, articulated platform with handrails around the sides and a cloth canopy above. They all got aboard. Everyone except the Mozbac had to crouch because the canopy was so low. The alien took hold of a lever at the front and the vehicle whined into life. They lurched out of the shed and onto a dun-coloured track that led away from the spaceport. They all had to hang onto the handrails because the road was so uneven and the vehicle's suspension was almost non-existent. Only the Mozbac, with four legs on the platform, seemed comfortable.
"Where are you taking us?" Barraclough asked.
"To the Palace," said the driver, cheerily. "It isn't far but I don't get the chance to drive one of these babies very often and, well, with you being VIPs and everything, I thought we'd travel in style."
“Right. And who's at the Palace?"
"Why, the big fella! The boss."
"The boss?"
Wayne goggled. "You mean Bruce Springsteen?"
"Shut up Wayne," everyone said, automatically.
"And what's the boss's name?" Barraclough pressed on.
The Mozbac laughed. "Yeah, right, like you big shot aliens don't even know the boss of the world!"
"I always thought that was you, Sam," said Wayne, smirking.
Sam was still confused. "I – I don't want to kill anybody," she assured him, “but shouldn't we jump this green guy and make our getaway? I mean, wouldn't that make more sense?"
"You know, maybe she's right," said Wayne, nervously. "Do we really want to see this warlord bloke? What if he's, like, all scary and stuff?"
Barraclough took a moment to save himself from being thrown overboard by a particularly deep pot-hole. "It's probably the best we can do now. They know we're here. We can't go back to the ship and we don't want to be the focus of a planet-wide manhunt, do we? So let's turn ourselves in to the proper authorities and let them sort it out. This warlord guy is probably a reasonable enough sort." He paused while the driver had some kind of coughing fit. "He'll most likely just call the Lalantrans and have us taken back to Earth."
John shook his head. "I don't know about these Lalantrans, Mike. I think you might be putting a bit too much faith in them."
“Bullshit! I've met them. Well, one anyway. We can trust those guys."
"What do you think?" Wayne asked the Mozbac. "Will your boss turn us over to the Lalantrans?"
"The who?"
"Where are we?" Sam's voice had the tone of someone waking in the back of a car in the middle of a long, overnight journey. Wayne, John and Barraclough all winced in unison. "What the hell is going on here?"
John quickly took her by the shoulders again and looked her in the eyes. "Everything is fine, Sam, we're just whumph!" He doubled over, gasping for air and clutching at his solar plexus where Sam had just thumped him. Barraclough had to grab the man to stop him falling off the vehicle and they both fell onto the platform as it threw them off-balance.
Drukk, crouching at the front beside the driver, looked back at them in dismay. He addressed the driver, feeling some explanation was needed. “My companions are humans from the planet Earth. Do not be concerned if they speak or act erratically. Their brains are only partly evolved or something. Somehow they function as a species, they even have a primitive kind of technology, but it is hard to see how they manage to survive."
"So you're not all the same species then? I don't mean to be rude but you all look the same to me."
Drukk made the gesture-of-shame-and-disgrace-beyond-all-endurance, which came out as a slight raising of his delicate shoulders and a pretty little sigh. "It is a long and sad story," he explained. "Something very odd is going on and I seem to be caught up in their inexplicable antics but, by the Great Spirit, I am not one of them. I am a Vinggan, part of a fine and noble race." As he spoke, he remembered his graduation from the Academy, his proud years of service to the great Vinggan Empire. He stood up straight and proud, pushing his head and shoulders straight through the cloth awning. Chagrined beyond words, Drukk closed his eyes and stayed where he was, moaning quietly to himself.
The driver looked across at what was still visible of the Vinggan
and shook his head. In the back, all four of the humans were rolling about on the floor, punching one another and yelping like pups at feeding time. Whatever the difference was between a Vinggan and a human, this Mozbac certainly couldn't see it.
-oOo-
"So all we'd like from you," Braxx was saying, “is a..." He pulled the crumpled piece of disposable screen from his bag for the umpteenth time and read from it. "A field modulator coil for the infra-reality drive phase regulator."
"And you will trade one of your personal shield generators for it?"
"Of course. Anything you like."
Chuwar smiled slyly. These Vinggan fools clearly had no idea of the value of their own incredible technology. It was like taking flegworms from a pouchling! "Then we have a deal, my little friend. Werpot! See to the exchange. Make our guests comfortable. Give them women, or..." He peered closely at what must surely be mammalian-style mammary glands on their chests. “...or men, or whatever. And fix up a meeting between me and that hag Quilquox. I will want to show her my new toy." Cheerful at the thought of frying his old enemy from behind the safety of a Vinggan force shield, Chuwar roared with happy laughter.
"Er," said Braxx, when the noise had died down. "There was just one other, small thing."
"Anything, my dear Braxx. Anything." He would have slapped the creature on its back had he not thought that would have crushed it like an insectoid.
"I'd just like to talk to you about the spiritual welfare of your people..."
Chapter 29: Leadership
The four humans and Drukk stood together in the waiting room of a low, mud-coloured office. Their driver had long-since abandoned them into the hands of another of his kind. This new Mozbac had politely welcomed them to To'egh and then disappeared through a doorway behind a long counter with a cheery, “Please wait there a moment."
"Don't they have chairs on this planet?" Barraclough grumbled, stalking up and down the room.
"I don't suppose they need them," said John, mildly. "They probably lie around on rocks, like lizards or something."
"Thank you, David Attenborough," Sam sneered.
"You don't suppose they've forgotten about us?" asked Wayne. Sam and Barraclough glared at him but he didn't seem to notice. He moved up close to his sister and said, in a low voice, "I'm worried about Loosi. She's just been standing over there in the corner all this time and she won't talk to me or say anything."
Sam glanced across at the alien and had to agree there was something wrong there, but she had no patience for dealing with Drukk's problems just then. "Just leave her alone. We've got bigger things to worry about. And for the ten thousandth time, she's an alien called Drukk. She's not Loosi Beecham."
"Yeah, I know." Wayne's grudging tone and sullen expression said he still wasn't quite ready to admit the fact to himself, but Sam let it go. Her brother was an idiot. Always had been. Always would be. It was a fact of life. Nothing she could do about it. And anyway...
Her train of thought, such as it was, was interrupted by a sudden commotion from outside. The door was thrown open to admit a dozen hideous monsters with a little Mozbac leading them in.
"There they are," the Mozbac told the monsters. It turned to the still-frozen humans. "These gentlemen are from the Palace Guard," the Mozbac informed them.
"Ladies," growled one of the monsters.
"What?" said the Mozbac.
"We're ladies, not gentlemen. Are you blind?"
The Mozbac official became quite flustered. "Oh. I, er, I do apologise, ladies. Please forgive me. I should really have my ocular buds regenerated. It's just finding the time you know. One is so busy, what with..."
"Silence!" The bellowed command came from a monster who wore more decoration than the others and had the swaggery, self-important air that only mid-ranking trolls and human middle managers seemed to possess. "I am Kraal Frogmouth the Third, platoon commander of the Imperial Household Guard. Which of you is the leader of your group?"
Sam, Barraclough, John and Drukk each stepped forward and said, "I am." Wayne stayed where he was, confused.
"I am!" insisted Sam and Drukk, more loudly. They faced each other angrily.
"If you'll forgive me saying," Sam told the Vinggan through gritted teeth. "You haven't exactly demonstrated a lot of gumption lately."
"And you," Drukk said firmly, “have demonstrated nothing but recklessness and stupidity." Sam blinked at him in astonishment but Drukk went on. "The Spirit knows I don't know much about what is going on here or how to get things back to normal but compared to my ignorance, your own utter cluelessness makes me look profoundly knowledgeable. On top of which, none of you primitives has ever dealt with an alien before and, even though I haven't either, at least I was trained by the Space Corps in what to do." He reached into his shoulder bag and felt the comforting smoothness of his blaster. Best not to tell anyone that his Space Corps training in first-contact etiquette was conducted on the Academy firing range.
“Primitives?" Sam spluttered. Even though she agreed that Drukk probably did know a little bit more about all this than she did, she had not yet been impressed with the Vinggan's leadership qualities. "If you think..."
“Make your minds up!" the troll shouted. "We haven't got all day."
Sam stamped her foot in frustration. "I'm the leader!"
Grim-faced, Drukk pulled out his blaster and blew a three-metre-wide hole in the side of the building. Everyone, including the trolls, flinched away from the exploding rubble.
As the dust settled, Kraal Frogmouth looked around, nervously. "OK," she said slowly, her eyes coming to rest on Drukk. "You're the leader."
"I am Drukk. I wear the orange clothing."
"Er, right," the troll agreed. "If you'd all like to follow me."
-oOo-
"Are they out of their minds?" Chuwar wanted to know.
“Possibly," conceded Werpot.
The mighty warlord and his vizier had withdrawn a little so that they could converse in private.
"They want to convert my empire to pebble-worship or whatever the hell they were going on about?"
"They worship a deity called the Great Spirit, Sire. Their religious order is called the Pebbles of the New Dawn."
"It's madness!"
"Yes, Sire."
"So why shouldn't I just tell them to get stuffed?" This had been exactly what Chuwar had been about to do when Werpot had caught his eye and dragged him off for this private conference.
"They, em, are a bit fanatical about these things. I know that to sane, sophisticated people like us..." Werpot somehow managed to say this with a straight face. “...all this talk of gods and mystical beings seems childish and, well, insane, but many species of quite sentient beings all over the galaxy have these remnant beliefs from before they became civilised. Some of the more stupid ones still practice their religions quite fervently. Sadly, there are a few that also want everyone else to practice them and are willing to use force if necessary to spread the teachings of their beloved deities."
“Force?" At last, Chuwar was beginning to see where this was leading.
"Of course, it wouldn't really hurt if the Mozbacs were made to worship this Great Spirit of theirs would it, Sire? I mean, before you came and conquered them, they had their own quaint little religion, you know. Worshipped some kind of big snake thing, I believe."
“Really?" Chuwar didn't much care what the little green slaves had done before he had arrived. “But what good would it do me if they were off worshipping this Great Pebble thing?"
Werpot sighed but did not correct him. "None whatsoever, Sire. In fact, it would reduce the available manpower by the amount of time the Mozbacs spent at their devotions. It would also create divided loyalties and..." Here he paused for dramatic effect. “...it might mean having Vinggan religious leaders and their armies posted here in the Meisos Dominions to oversee the indoctrination of the masses."
"Then I should tell them to get stuffed, right?"
Werpot co
uldn't suppress a pained expression. It was such hard work being vizier to a moron. "You have to remember, Sire, that the Vinggans want this very much. As mad as it sounds to us, they view it as extremely important that everybody spends their whole life praising these fictional deities."
Chuwar grinned. "Aliens, eh?"
“Quite. But if it is so important to them, then they would be willing to give a lot for it to happen."
"Give?"
"Yes, Sire. Give. And freely. And copiously."
"So, I tell the Vinggans I don't give a toss if the Mozbacs worship any old rubbish they care to make up just so long as the Vinggans compensate me for all the labour and loyalty I will lose?"
So close and yet so far. But patience was something the vizier had had a lot of practice at. "Not quite, Sire. You tell the Vinggans it is absolutely out of the question." Chuwar looked shocked and Werpot forced his eyes not to roll. "Then you let me haggle for a good price – and to keep their armies out of the system. We might have to let in a few thousand religious leaders."
Chuwar thought about it. "They're pretty ugly," he grumbled.
"Yes, Sire, but think what you'll gain. The weapons. The ships. A proper, modern palace, with proper plumbing and decent communications. We could employ an orchestra..."
"We've got an orchestra."
Werpot shuddered at the thought of that gaggle of tone-deaf Mozbacs they rounded up for state occasions, tootling on their various pipes and slapping at their hollow logs. "Of course, Sire. So, we are agreed?"
Chuwar still had one more question. "And we don't just tell them to get stuffed because...?"
-oOo-
"Where are they taking us?" Sam wanted to know. They had been marching along in the company of the Palace Guard for almost twenty minutes and she was getting tired.
"I've told you," Drukk said, once more. "I don't know."
"Where are you taking us?" Sam shouted at the head troll. The troll ignored her. "Hey, frog face, where are you taking us?"
Cargo Cult Page 28
