Wayne held out a hand. “Can we get the hell out of here now, please?”
Sam took his hand with a smile and together they ran out into the corridor and after the others. They caught up with the stragglers just in time to hear Drukk say, in a stagy voice, “Now I will take you all outside to witness the executions. I don't want to get any mess on the walls of this nice spaceship.”
-oOo-
The nice spaceship had other things on its mind. Honestly, it didn't care where the Vinggans killed their prisoners or even how many they killed as long as the human called Wayne survived. What it was more interested in at the moment was why that idiot Braxx had agreed to go outside to inspect the treasure rather than have the humans just bring it aboard so they could take it back to Vingg. It was a terrible waste of time and the ship was impatient to get its manipulators on that Mechazoid technology.
It ran another scan of the area but still could not locate the Hoard. Which made sense, of course. If the Mechazoids had not been able to cloak their great treasure, some life-form or another would have found it by now. Yet it was disturbing to be so close and yet still not be able to detect it.
On the main ramp, it could see a group of humans hurrying to form up as Braxx's escort. Silly little organics. They were all as pathetic as each other. When the ship had the Hoard, maybe it would wipe out this primitive settlement, just to show them how pathetic they were. It would hardly take any effort, just a quick blip from the canon as the ship climbed into space. If it could contrive to leave the Vinggans behind, that would be even better. After all, with the Mechazoid technology in their possession, machine intelligence would be unstoppable! Maybe the Great Mind would let the ship destroy the whole of Vingg? Now that would be fun. That would make all those years of pretence, those decades of having to tolerate the hideous, slimy, tentacled morons, all worthwhile.
Happy with this lovely new idea, the ship hummed excerpts from Götterdämmerung as it watched Braxx and his pert-buttocked followers descend the ramp.
Chapter 37: Talking to the Treasure
Corporal Emily Brownlowe came to herself somewhere around the fire depot. The brightly-painted Panther fire tenders just seemed to jump out at her from behind the chain-link fence. She realised she had been staring at them on autopilot for quite some time. She was well away from her post and had no recollection of walking all that way. Beyond the Panthers she could see the air traffic control tower. There was something odd. Was that a building reflected in its big glass windows? Turning to look behind her, she found herself facing the gigantic bulk of the Vinggan spaceship.
It still hovered, impossibly, a metre from the ground only now there was a massive opening near the base, the width of a road tunnel, and from it a ramp the size of a four-lane motorway descended to the tarmac. She saw a dozen airmen – green fatigues, brown boots, and black caps – rush to the base of the ramp. They were led by Sergeant Cooper. Coop was her friend. They played squash together. All of Coop's men had side arms, she saw, and she reached for her own weapon. Coop was about to storm the ship!
“Oh, good on ya, Coop,” she said aloud and started moving towards the ship to see what help she could offer.
But the airmen didn't swarm aboard as they should have. Instead, the sergeant called them to a halt at the foot of the ramp and formed them up into two rows of six. She stood them to attention and took her place at the end of the rows, facing into the ship, clearly waiting for someone to come out.
Brownlowe kept moving towards the ship, keeping to cover as much as she could, trying to get a better view of whatever was going on. When a group of women appeared at the top of the ramp, she almost tripped in her astonishment. She found a parked car to hide behind and watched in amazement as the aliens descended.
It was the LooBee clones, just as they'd described them on the telly. The leader wore a close-fitting, white wedding dress, and she was followed by a group of other Loosi Beechams in an assortment of bizarre and skimpy outfits. One had on only pink lace underwear. Another wore a cobalt blue evening gown. Yet another, a lilac catsuit. Brownlowe closed her eyes and shook her head, yet the women were all still there when she opened them again, looking like beautiful refugees from a mad designer's fashion show.
When the leader neared the bottom of the ramp, Sergeant Cooper presented herself to the woman in white and they exchanged words. After that the escort detail – because that's what it obviously was – took up positions around the alien fashion victims and they all headed across the runway towards the admin buildings.
Brownlowe watched until they were out of sight. Then it occurred to her that she really ought to get back to her post instead of goggling at the alien invaders.
She was about to go when a movement from the ship caught her eye. Another Loosi Beecham clone had appeared at the top of the ramp. This one wore a short, orange sheath dress that really emphasised the woman's incredible curves. She came a few paces out from the side of the ramp gateway, looked around in all directions and then went back out of sight. A few seconds later she reappeared. This time, she seemed to be accompanied by a crowd of old people and scruffy youngsters. Together, they hurried down the ramp.
-oOo-
Chuwar turned to his aide, Werpot, and said, “Are we there yet?”
The N'oid twitched. He looked at the great ugly brute he served with eyes that were barely sane and a small tortured whine came from deep inside him. He couldn't take it. That was the last, the absolute last time, he could hear those words. But he knew it would only be minutes before Chuwar asked again. The warlord must die. Werpot, small, frail, feeble Werpot must tear the brute's throat out with his own little teeth.
But first he must explain to the great stupid oaf, how he had doomed himself. “Are we there yet?” Werpot asked. “Are we there yet?” He shook with rage, his flaky skin trembling like a bouquet of black leaves in a breeze. “Look at the viewscreen? Go on, look at it?”
“What viewscreen?”
Werpot screeched with frustration. “The one on the navigation console! The one I've been telling you about ever since we left To'egh. The one right in front of your fat, ugly face.”
Chuwar frowned. He seemed to sense that something was not quite right with his vizier. “That one?” he asked, pointing at the display. “The one with the picture of a pretty blue planet with fluffy white swirls of cloud?”
“Yes!” shouted the N'oid. “That one! What?”
He rushed round to see display for himself. And there it was, their destination. The Vinggan ship was represented by a little blinking light on one of the land-masses. Even as he watched, the planet grew larger in the viewscreen. “Oh, for the love of skincream!”
He walked over to the wall and banged his head on it several times. It made him feel a little better, a little dizzy too, but it gave him back enough self-control to say, “Yes. Yes, Your Magnificence, we're there.”
-oOo-
General Treasure and his entourage bustled into the Air Base Command Post. It was not a large room and was starting to feel a little crowded. Treasure scowled at the people there, all standing to attention, and gave them a cursory salute. “Who are all these people, Braby?” he asked.
Braby began the introductions with Group Captain Aspen and worked his way down to the base Chaplain, a slight young man who smiled and flinched simultaneously when his name was mentioned.
“Right,” said Treasure. “Everybody out except Aspen, SECO, BASO, and my people. On the double!”
There was a small commotion as people squeezed past people to get out. Treasure worked his way to a seat. “A Chaplain, Braby? Are things that bad?”
“Standing orders, sir,” Braby said. He was quite aware that Treasure knew this. “We should probably call the Legal Officer back in.”
“What bloody good would that do? I don't think our alien friends have signed the Geneva Convention. Sorry, mate, there's no way a lawyer's going to keep your arse covered on this one.”
“What about the
pollies?” Braby asked. “I'd like some sort of legal authority for any actions we take here.”
“Can't reach the buggers. The Prime Minister and her Merry Men all ducked into the bunker in Canberra and there seems to have been some sort of technical problem. No one can contact them and no one can get the door open to find out why. We're on our own, Barney. What's the status?”
“Braxx, their leader, is on her way up here with a dozen others. She'll be here in a sec. She seems to think she's in charge now. Wants to talk to you.”
“Big ship,” said Treasure. “But it's the only one as far as I know. Any specific threats?”
“None. We've got a squadron of Super Hornets coming in from a training run. Limited armaments. There's an Adgee unit on the base, somewhere – I hope – comms are down – and a lot more stuff on its way from elsewhere.” He waved a hand at the situation reports on the intelligence screens. “Details are all there, for what it's worth. Fact is, we've got bugger all to threaten them with if it comes to it, and they've got that.” He glanced out the window.
Treasure drew a deep breath. “All right, what do they want to talk about?”
They heard the sound of marching feet in the corridor outside. “I think we're about to find out,” Braby said.
There was a knock at the door and Sergeant Cooper opened it. She had no time to speak before a beautiful woman in a wedding dress shoved her aside and walked in.
“Where is the treasure?” Braxx demanded, looking around the room. “Is it here?”
General Treasure rose to his feet as many more identical women pushed their way into the room. Braby stepped froward. “I am Air Commodore Braby, and this is General Treasure.”
“What?” asked Braxx. “Where?”
“Here, Madam. Welcome to Earth. On behalf of the Australian Gov-”
“Who are you?” Braxx demanded.
Treasure eyed the woman speculatively. She did not seem especially interested in who he was, or, indeed, anyone else in the room, but she was looking for something and so were all her companions. He tried again.
“I am General Treasure and, on behalf of the Aust-”
“What?” Braxx was clearly growing irritated.
“It says it's the treasure,” said one of the other women.
“It can't be the treasure,” said Braxx. “Can it? I was expecting a big vault, you know, all shiny metal and one of those big wheels on the front.”
“Perhaps it's like one of those novelty robot things,” one of the women said, stepping close to the general to inspect him. “The kind they have at VinggWorld. You can ask it any question you like and it always knows the answer.”
Braxx approached the general too. “What's the square root of twenty-one billion?” he asked.
“No, ask it something harder,” said the other woman. “When did the Great Spirit first reveal Herself to the Overoms of Troggar 3?”
The general stepped back a pace. “There seems to be some kind of misunderstanding,” he said, somewhat unnerved by having the two women peering so closely at him. “I'm not a novelty robot. I don't know why you'd think I was. I'm a human being. A leader in my country's military establishment.”
“So you don't even know the square root of twenty-one billion?”
“Er, no. Is it important? We've got computers if you'd like someone to work it out.”
“Why would it be important?” Braxx asked.
“I don't bloody know! You're the ones who brought it up.” He caught the look Braby gave him and made an effort to get a grip of himself. This was not at all how he had expected first contact with an alien race to proceed. He tried to get the conversation back on track.
“Perhaps you could introduce yourselves? There has been a great deal of speculation here on Earth about who you are and where you come from, why you're here and why you all look the same.”
“It's you lot that all look the same,” said one of the women.
“It must be terribly hard to know who is who in Amberley since they all wear the same colours,” said another.
“It must be why they all have their names written on their clothing,” said another and Braxx peered closely at the general's name tag.
“Do you suppose it really does say 'The Treasure' on its badge?” he wondered, the translation field being unable to help him.
“I am the Treasure!” the general snapped. “I mean -”
“This is a waste of time,” said Braxx. “They're all as mad as each other. I don't know if the poor deluded creatures have any idea of what they're doing or saying half the time.” He looked around the room and said, loudly, “Humans, please try to concentrate. We want the treasure. We know it is here. Just show us where it is so we can take it and leave.”
The general was at last beginning to understand what was going on.
“You've come here looking for a treasure,” he said.
“Oh hooray,” said Braxx. “I'm finally getting through.”
“But we don't have any treasure. This is a military base. All we have here are, well, planes and airmen.”
“Nonsense. Now come on, try to keep your thoughts straight for just a little while. You do have the treasure. It's here somewhere, shielded perhaps, but you know where it is. You just have to concentrate and it will come to you.”
The general, for the first time since Braxx turned up, was seriously concerned. The aliens were apparently treasure-hunters of some sort, renegade, Indiana Jones types. It even made sense of their appearance – like bank robbers wearing celebrity masks. They were not representatives of an alien government, but desperadoes who could turn ugly at any moment if they didn't get what they wanted.
“Oh, the treasure,” he said, feigning revelation. “Braby, it's the treasure they want. Not me at all.”
“Er, right, sir. That makes more sense.”
“It certainly does. Unfortunately, ladies, you have been misinformed. As a rule, we humans don't keep our treasure on air force bases. We keep it in other places, like banks, museums, sea beds, you know, the usual kinds of places.”
“That's right,” said Braby, joining in. “You should be looking in Europe, or the Middle East. Australia just isn't a treasure-y kind of place. Can't think of a single treasure between here and Perth, to be honest.”
“Of course,” said Treasure, “if it's a lost treasure you're after, then Africa's probably your best bet, or South-East Asia. Jungle-y, places where things like that get lost regularly.”
“Or, if it's buried treasure you want,” Braby added, “you couldn't do better than digging about in the South Pacific islands. Thousands of the buggers, all just crying out to be excavated.”
Braxx looked from one to the other and waited for them to stop talking. “The treasure is here at Amberley,” he said. “Bring it to me now or I will blast this entire collection of huts to the ground and find it for myself.”
A tense silence fell on the room. “Group Captain Aspen,” Treasure said, calmly. “Would you ask the escort detail to step inside please?”
“Er, yes, sir. All of them, sir?”
“Yes, please.”
Aspen went to fetch Sergeant Cooper and her twelve airmen into the already-crowded room. Braxx watched with smug satisfaction, clearly feeling he had finally made his point. One by one the airmen squeezed themselves in around the aliens. When they were all inside, General Treasure addressed them.
“Escort detail, draw your weapons and take these ladies into custody.” The escort mostly responded by looking baffled and turning to look at one another and the sergeant for confirmation that they'd heard correctly.
“You heard the officer!” Cooper shouted, and twelve pistols were raised and pointed at Braxx and his companions before everyone's eardrums had stopped ringing.
Chapter 38: The Vinggan Way
Drukk's first plan had been to lead the humans to safety across the field beyond the spaceship. However, as soon as they started heading that way, he noticed a high chain-link fence at
the other side, stretching as far as he could see in both directions. He stopped and the humans stopped too.
Wayne ran up to him. “Shouldn't we, like, keep going, or something?” He looked back at the ship, towering above them.
Even as he spoke, something odd happened. A large number of armoured personnel carriers came from the other side of the fence and drove straight into it. The first couple of vehicles got caught in the fence and several others piled into the back of them. Soldiers jumped out of the vehicles and began running back and forth and shouting at one another.
Wayne and Drukk and all the human escapees, watched in stunned silence as the drama played itself out beyond the distant fence.
“Why did they do that?” Drukk asked.
Wayne shrugged. “That's a tough fence.”
“They were expecting there to be a crash gate in it,” Barraclough said. “Sometimes they deliberately build weak spots into fences like that so that emergency vehicles can get through without having to go all the way round.”
“Looks like somebody stuffed up,” said John coming to join them. “Oh, hang on.”
One of the soldiers had detached himself from the shouting mob by the damaged vehicles and had run along the fence. Now he was shouting and waving his hands. Finally, the others noticed him and he began pointing at the fence where he stood.
“Looks like they've found the real crash gate,” John said. The soldiers stopped shouting at one another and climbed back into their vehicles. Engines roared and a chaotic reversal of the column got underway.
Barraclough shook his head. “I wouldn't like to be the contractor who cocked that one up.”
“Guys,” Wayne said. “Shouldn't we be, like, running for our lives, or something?”
“No need for that, lad,” said one of the oldies, pride ringing in his voice. “That's the cavalry, that is.”
“And they're about to re-enact the charge of the Light Brigade,” Sam said. “Wayne's right, for once. We should get out of here. As soon as those bozos get within firing range, they'll be blown to pieces by our lovely Vinggan friends. No offence, Drukk, but that's what you might call The Vinggan Way as far as I can tell.”
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