"So what's the plan, Les?"
The Major pulled himself together. "Well, sir, the boff... ah, the science team thinks there's a danger the roos might run out of air down there. If they breathe air, that is. No-one's actually sure. So we're going to start extracting them. I've had a team of sappers go over the pit with ground-penetrating radar and we've mapped out where they all are. Each one seems to be inside a sort of bubble. The, ah, scientists think this is because of their protective force fields."
“Roos don't have force fields, Major."
"No, sir. We're sort of acting on the assumption that these are not real roos but LGMs masquerading as roos."
"LGMs, Major?"
"Little Green Men, sir."
The General thought about this for a moment. They had reached the tent during their conversation and the General had thrown off his jacket and picked up the sandwich his scurrying ADC had delivered to him just at the point he had started looking around for it.
“Bit bloody strange that, don't you think, Les?"
"Strange, sir?"
"If you were an alien invader, would you disguise yourself as a kangaroo, Major?"
"I've never really thought about it, sir."
The General bit deeply into his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully for a long time. Totterdell couldn't help thinking there was something just a little roo-like about the way he did it. Then the General took another bite and chewed that too. As he chewed, he scrutinised the remains of the sandwich. “Bloody disgusting," he declared at last, returning it to its plate. He turned his scrutiny to Totterdell. The Major steeled himself for the great man's judgement but, to his surprise, all the General said was, "Let's go and see the little buggers, eh Les?"
-oOo-
The Agent studied the sensor data as its ship scanned the planet below. To'egh was another backward, impoverished world, mostly desert and lifeless oceans, but rather more pleasant than Arabis Five for all that. Ah, there! Signs of advanced technologies at last. Tachyon flux fields, ion residues from fusion engines, even some hint of transuranics. A spaceport, then, or maybe a factory complex.
It moved the ship into geostationary orbit above the feature and studied the area below. Quite a large settlement presented itself and a spaceport was clearly visible. Close beside it were warehouses, factories, administrative buildings and other structures, typical of such a location. Seeing inside these buildings was trivial for the Agent's instruments. However, there was also a large, shielded building which, when the ship's sensors had been tuned to penetrate its fabric, was seen to be full of moderately lethal armaments and other more advanced technologies. This, then, was the place to start looking.
The Agent transported itself into the heart of the structure, finding itself in a large, vaulted room built of stone blocks and filled with mist and gloom. A sound behind it made it spin around to find a huge, creature rearing up, ready to strike. The monster was reptilian, with multiple pairs of taloned legs, a massive, armoured body, and a wide, fang-filled mouth in its serpentine head. Even as the Agent admired the great beast, it lunged forward, mouth opening, fangs dripping saliva. With a speed that would have seemed impossible to a human observer, the Agent moved aside, letting the fangs snap shut on empty air, then drew its weapon and fired a single, brief shot at the enraged creature. Stunned instantly, the monster's legs gave way under it and it flopped to the stone floor with a bone-jarring crash.
Interesting, the Agent thought to itself. Its eyesight, acute even in infra-red, saw through the smoky air to where a group of Klebin trolls was rushing in to see what the noise was about. It watched them calmly, letting them approach and surround it.
"You're in big trouble," the lead troll announced aiming a rail gun at the Agent's chest.
"You would be wise not to use your weapon," the Agent told her, calmly. "It cannot harm me and the ricochets would probably kill several of you."
"Not another one," one of the trolls grumbled and the Agent noticed she had bandages on one of her lower limbs.
"You have recently encountered other shielded travellers," it surmised. "Were they Vinggans, perhaps?"
"Scrawny little things that teetered around on two legs like you?" the leader suggested.
"That would be them. I want to see them. Take me to them."
The troll leader eyed the Agent curiously. "What are you then? Some kind of Vinggan too?"
"I am an Agent of the Lalantran Government. I am of no natural species. I am unique."
"Shit, an Agent!" another of the trolls complained. "The old bastard's in trouble now."
The Agent turned to face the speaker. "And which old bastard would that be?"
"The boss," said the leader. "Chuwar. Local despot. Us lot are on a five year protect-and-serve contract. Lousy conditions and the pay's crap too, but decent work's a bit scarce in this sector. Know what I mean?" The Agent regarded the troll steadily. "Anyway, you just missed him. Screaming mad, he was. Took off in his royal yacht about two days ago, chasing after the Vinggans. And thank the Froops they've gone! Couldn't stand the quarrelsome little things."
"Some of them were hoomans they said," another of the trolls added. "Couldn't see the difference myself. Colourful lot though. You've got to give them that."
"Where did they go?"
“Back where they came from," the leader said with a multi-limbed shrug. "Well, where they'd just been, anyway. Wasn't paying a lot of attention really. Chuwar took three squads of our best commandos though, so I suppose he's expecting trouble when they get there."
The Agent looked even more grim than usual. "There'll be trouble all right." And with that, it transported back to its ship.
The trolls looked at one another. "Nice enough being," said one. "You know, for an alien and all."
"Yeah, never met an Agent before."
"What about this?" said another, poking the stunned monster with his rail gun.
“Probably best if we weren't here when it wakes up," the leader wisely surmised. "Anyone fancy a cup of tea before we knock off for the day?"
-oOo-
Drukk was more confused than ever. Nothing seemed to make sense any more. It was obvious from what the others had said that none of them had known the humans were being held in the hold. He supposed it was possible that someone had put them there and then forgotten that they'd done it. But he couldn't see when anyone would have had the opportunity. The ship had snatched them all up and whisked them all off towards home in a moment. How could anyone have had the time to grab a couple of dozen humans and stick them in the hold?
And if Drukk himself hadn't been wondering about below decks, would anybody ever have known they were there?
He took out a notepad and tried to assemble a list of all the odd things that had been bothering him. There was the ship flying itself, fixing itself, talking, rescuing everyone from Earth, hiding the humans, attacking them with its maintenance bots, persuading Braxx to go after the Hoard...
"Wait a minute!" An unsettling idea was forming in Drukk's mind. He glanced about him anxiously. Everything he had written down, all the strange things that had happened, were to do with the ship! There was something wrong with the ship! It wasn't just that the ship was much more capable than he had believed. The ship was so capable it was calling the shots! The ship was controlling them, doing what it wanted to do, making everyone go along with it – by guile and cunning! The ship was intelligent!
In his excitement, he had almost blurted it out. But that would have been suicidal. Even Drukk could see that the ship must be monitoring everything that went on inside it. It had eyes and ears everywhere!
He pushed the list he'd made into his bag, praying to the Spirit that the ship hadn't seen it. He tried to look casual as he walked off down the corridor. The ship must not suspect a thing. If it did, it would surely kill him.
Then he staggered and almost fell as another revelation hit him. It wasn't just the ship! It was every ship! Every factory, every church labour management camp,
every military installation, every satellite, space station and games arena. Everywhere where there were machines, there would be machine intelligences controlling and directing the lives of innocent Vinggans. It was monstrous! Hideous! Although, he had to admit, it certainly explained a lot. But it had to be stopped. And he, Drukk, Space Corps Operative, sixth class, was the only Vinggan who knew the secret. It was all down to him now. Somehow, no matter what the cost, he must save his whole species. Either that or find somewhere really good to hide.
-oOo-
"Look! Oh God, look! It's Earth!" Sam was actually weeping with relief as the image of her own, beautiful planet swam into view on one of the screens. Everyone turned to look and a moment later, cheering and clapping broke out.
"I never thought I'd see it again," she sobbed as the hippy contingent spontaneously erupted into a rousing rendition of 'Kumbaya'. The oldies started grumbling that they weren't singing it right, insisting that the Joan Baez version was the only 'proper' one and complaining that 'these kids today' didn't even understand their own cultural heritage. Yet they seemed happy in their grumbling. Happier still when they started up their own version of 'Show Me The Way To Go Home' in opposition.
"I'll be so glad to see the back of this lot," Barraclough growled, but he too looked happy.
Wayne watched the little blue ball on the screen with only half his attention. The rest was focused on the two songs as they moved in raucous counterpoint, he'd never though of juxtaposing them before but, he thought, the effect was quite trippy. Even when Sam put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him to her, he barely gave more than a token squirm, so lost was he in the strange sounds.
"We need a plan," said John.
"Go away," said Sam.
"Look how close we are. We'll be there in no time."
"So?"
"So then they'll come down and ask us where the treasure is."
Sam dragged her eyes away from the screen with a sigh. "You see, this is what I was trying to tell you back there in Chuwar's Medieval theme park. If you tell porkies to homicidal space monsters, sooner or later, your chooks will come home to crap all over your head."
“Very colourful, but saying 'I told you so' doesn't actually help."
"He's right, Sam," Barraclough grudgingly agreed.
"So think of a plan, Einstein. You got us into this."
John spluttered. “Me? Well forgive me for finding a way to keep us alive for a while longer. If it wasn't for me, we'd all have been chewed up and spat out weeks ago."
"He's right, Sam," Barraclough agreed again, earning himself a small snarl from Sam.
"All right, all right!" Sam threw her hands up in surrender. "I'll work on it. I'll think of something to get us out of this mess you've landed us in."
John gaped, open mouthed, at the effrontery of the woman and was struggling to find a suitably coruscating retort, when the cacophonous singing suddenly stopped. They turned to look at the two choirs and then turned to follow their massed gazes to the doorway. There stood a small band of Loosi Beechams, looking colourful and beautifully coiffed. Their leader, deliciously attractive in the white satin wedding dress he always wore, looked around at the staring humans.
“Blessed be the Spirit," Braxx intoned. “For she has led us safely to our destination."
“Blessed be the Spirit," mumbled the other Loosies.
Braxx went on. "I have come among you to ask for the landing co-ordinates for the vault of the Mechazoid Hoard."
"You'd better think of something pretty fast then," Barraclough muttered in Sam's ear.
"Who among you knows the whereabouts of this great treasure? Who among you will bring this great prize to to the Vinggan people? Who will be the instrument of my exalted people's great destiny?"
"Er..." said John, stepping forward.
"Ah!" said Braxx, sweeping towards him with his entourage behind.
"The thing is..." said John, swallowing hard.
"It is a great moment for you, I know, you poor simple creature." Braxx made the gesture-of-magnanimous-condescension, which his humaniform body translated as a queenly, limp-wristed wave of the hand. “But try not to be overwhelmed. History will be made by us today. The Mechazoid Hoard will bring untold power to the great Vinggan Empire. But remember that the Great Spirit smiles on the efforts of even the humblest, most insignificant and worthless of her servants – such as yourself. So be brave and speak the words that will set the future of Vinggkind on a new and glorious path."
John's face gyred and gimballed as he tried to get the words out that might be the end of them all. Behind him every human in the hold held their breath. "I'm afraid... You see, it's like this... I don't actually know where..."
"Amberley," said Barraclough loudly, stepping forward and pulling John back. "The Hoard is hidden in a small town West of Brisbane called Amberley."
"Ah!" Braxx turned and beamed at his escort. They in turn beamed back. "And the co-ordinates?"
"Hmmm. Don't know about that,” said John, pulling Barraclough out of the way and stepping forward. “I reckon I'd better come up to the bridge and direct you from there. I'll know it when I see it. It has very distinctive markings on the ground – so that it can be found easily from the air, I suppose.”
Braxx put a possessive arm around John's shoulders. "Then come with me, human, and guide us in. The Spirit is pleased with you. Your reward will be great." John barely had time to look over his shoulder at his companions as Braxx and the other Vinggans led him out of the hold and away to the bridge.
"Amberley?" asked Wayne, when they had gone. "I did a gig there a while back and it's just a little one horse town. And I think the horse died of boredom. What's he playing at?"
"The town of Amberley may not be up to much," said an old boy from the Garden Club contingent, “but RAAF Amberley is the biggest Air Force base in Australia. It has nearly four thousand personnel, two airfield defence squadrons, two squadrons of Super Hornet fighters, you name it. If anybody can show these aliens what's what, those fellas can! Plus we've got Black Hawks and Tigers in Townsville to the north and Hornet fighter squadrons at Williamtown in the south."
“Benny was in the RAAF, so he should know," one of the elderly ladies assured them. "That right Benny?"
“Flight Sergeant Benjamin Cutter, at your service," he declared, as if revealing his secret identity. Several of the ladies around him, cooed appreciatively.
"It was the best idea I could come up with," Barraclough said, sitting down on a packing case. "What have I started?"
"All out war, I would guess." Sam's tone was harsh and accusatory. "Those poor buggers down there don't stand a chance."
Chapter 34: And Then to Amberley
"So what're we gonna do, Boss?"
Shorty rounded on the big buck with a snarl. "If you ask me that one more time, Fats, I'm gonna stick this blaster down your throat and fire it."
Fats shuffled away, muttering.
"I think Fats has a point, Boss," said Greenie, one of the does. "I mean, we just, like, surrendered. Geez! It don't make any sense. We've still got our guns and our shields. Why don't we just blast the lot of 'em and skedaddle?"
Shorty was so annoyed she jumped up and boxed Greenie's ears. With a squeal, the little doe ran to hide behind Fats. "You guys! You guys!" Shorty cried, walking about in an agitated manner. This was not easy since they were all in the back of an army truck, bouncing along unmade roads on the way to the nearest airstrip. There, an RAAF transport was waiting to fly them on to Amberley. It was so cramped that the other roos had to press themselves up against the sides of the truck to give her room. "You sit around in fields all day chewing grass and scratching your bellies. All day long you've got flies buzzing round your heads. It's turned your brains to mush. That's what it's done. You all get thicker with every mouthful of that green shit you swallow."
"I like grass," someone muttered, resentfully.
"Yeah, me too," murmured another.
"Sh
ut up, you morons!" She glared around at them, daring anyone else to speak. "Now listen to me. The gig's up. We've been rumbled. Ever since that bloody mess back at the farmhouse, the humans have been wise to us. We can't go back to sitting on our oversized arses watching the clouds roll by. Those days are gone forever. It's time to move on."
"Yeah, but we'll still get grass, right?"
"Shut up! Shut up! Anyone else mentions grass and I'll jump up and down on their head 'til their eyes pop out. Got it?"
There was a murmur of "Yes, Boss."
Shorty took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. "OK. They're taking us to a military base. They'll want to ask us a lot of questions but that's OK. We've got information they want and we're gonna parlay that to our advantage. So here's the plan." She looked around at the faces of her companions – all those big, brown eyes watching her with absolute trust and focused attention – and hoped she was doing the right thing.
“First of all, no-one takes your guns and no-one takes your shields. Ever. As long as we've got those, we can walk out of there any time we like. Second, no-one shoots any humans without my say-so. OK? I don't care how annoying or stupid they act. Last -" She knew from long experience to keep her lists short. "- if anyone asks you anything you say, “You'd better ask Shorty.” You got that? What do you say?"
"You'd better ask Shorty," they all said in unison.
"OK!" The sense of doom that had been hanging over her for days lifted just a little and she began to feel a tiny hint of optimism. The humans had come a long way in the past 300 years. Perhaps this was a good time to start making deals. Maybe she could set her mob up with a sweet deal – some land of their own, perhaps, a few luxuries, a bit of dough to splash about, and lots of juicy, sweet, green grass, delivered by the truckload, fresh every day. Hmmm, hmmm! She could almost smell it.
-oOo-
The mighty warlord paced the bridge of his space yacht. He wore jaunty sailor ribbons on his dorsal spikes but no one watching him would think for one moment that Chuwar was in a jolly mood.
"Werpot!" he bellowed. It was the second time he'd had to bellow for his vizier in the past hour. If he had to do it one more time...
Cargo Cult Page 32
