“Destroying the bozos is a logical move,” Drukk agreed, “but hardly necessary.”
Barraclough took charge. “Right then. Let's see if we can make it into the air base.”
“But Braxx went that way,” said Drukk, clearly more concerned about his spiritual leader shooting them, than the human soldiers.
There was a loud crack from the perimeter fence as the Bushmasters burst through the crash gates.
“Come on,” Barraclough shouted and set off at a run. “We don't want to be here when the shooting starts.”
A few of the old gardeners stayed behind to cheer their would-be rescuers, but Wayne set off after Barraclough, along with most of the others. As he sprinted past the space ship's ramp, Wayne couldn't help thinking that maybe the safest place to be at the moment was back inside.
What Wayne didn't see was the ship open fire on the Adgees, blowing several armoured vehicles to pieces and sending the rest into a frenzied attempt to get out of the line of fire. One brave crew, avoiding the energy bolts that rained down all around them, drove their Bushmaster around the rim of the giant spaceship and up the ramp into the interior. For a moment, it was out of sight inside, then, with it's wheels squealing and engine roaring, it reappeared, flying back down the ramp at top speed. Behind it, scores of little maintenance bots scurried after it, waving knives and firing at it with tiny lasers.
-oOo-
“You want to what?”
“Bomb them from orbit.” Chuwar didn't seem able to see the folly in this and, for a second, Werpot didn't feel up to the job of explaining it.
“You'll forgive my impertinence, O Great One, but that's about the most stupid idea I've heard since you said, 'Let's follow the Vinggans and steal the Mechazoid Hoard.' The weapons we have on this ship might just penetrate their personal shields, but all they would do to that ship is, well, absolutely nothing. No wait, maybe you'd succeed in pissing them off.”
Chuwar looked back from beneath deep, sullen brows. “I want bigger weapons,” he said. “Why don't I have bigger weapons?”
“Perhaps we should return to To'egh and work on the problem, Your Magnificence. You could beat the scientist-slaves in the weapons factories until they promise you something truly enormous. That always makes you feel better.”
Chuwar considered it for a moment, but dismissed it. “I want the Mechazoid weapons. I bet they'd blow up the stupid Vinggans.”
Werpot sighed. “I'm your vizier, right? That means I give you advice, right? I do all the hard thinking, so that you don't have to make your head hurt doing it for yourself, right?”
Chuwar regarded the N'oid suspiciously, but said, “Right.”
“Right. So, here's my advice. If you want a slice of the Mechazoid action, the best thing you can do – in fact, the only thing you can do – is buddy up to the Vinggans and hope that they cut you in.”
Chuwar stroked his massive prognathous jaw and said, “Hmmmm.” It was what he always did when he was trying to look intelligent. “Do you think that would work?”
“Not for a minute. The Vinggans are well known for being petty, self-obsessed, racist little shits. However, by pretending to be their friend, you might at least avoid them wiping out your entire domain just because they can.” He hurried on before Chuwar could catch up. “So I suggest we land beside them and tell them we've come to help. We could shoot up a few of the local life-forms, just to show how keen we are.”
“Shoot?”
“Yes. Preliminary scans show the level of technology here is pretty crude. You can shoot as many of them as you like. They can't do anything about it.”
“Hmmm,” he said, giving that massive jaw another massage. “Maybe when the Vinggans have gone home, we could annex this world. I'd like some more slaves.”
Werpot tried not to roll his eyes. “Yes. What a brilliant idea. It's a little bit out of the way, but why not add yet another primitive backwater to all the others you already have?”
“Good. Take us down. Call the Vinggans and tell them we're here. Then call the local sapients and scare the shit out of them. Shoot a few things while you're at it.”
“Yes, Mighty Chuwar, as you command.”
-oOo-
The Vinggan ship monitored the unfolding events with detached amusement. It had been aware that Chuwar was following them ever since his ship had taken off from To'egh. So it was not at all surprised to hear from the little N'oid that they had arrived and were ready to provide assistance with the job of pacifying the local sentients. Without so much as falling down laughing, the ship sent a message back welcoming any true friends of the Vinggan people.
What the ship did find surprising was that, as Chuwar's little yacht settled on the runway nearby, the humans talking to Braxx drew their weapons and tried to take the Vinggan prisoner. If it hadn't been for the distraction of a second spaceship landing just outside the window, the humans would certainly all have been dead by now.
“What the hell is going on out there?” the ship heard Treasure ask. It was, of course, monitoring everything.
“It's another ship, sir. Landing next to the big one.”
“What the...? I thought you ladies had come here alone. Hey!”
The ship watched Braxx shove and elbow his way to the windows.
“It's that Chuwar creature,” it heard him say.
“What Chuwar creature?” Treasure asked.
A request from Werpot to speak to Braxx came through so the ship routed the call directly to the computers in the Command Post. The little creature's image appeared on every screen in the room.
“This is Werpot, Grand Vizier to His Magnificence the Warlord Chuwar, requesting to speak to Braxx, Corpuscular Manifestation third class of the Great Spirit.”
“And spokesperson for the Acting Governor of Earth too, now,” Braxx corrected him.
“Forgive me, Spokesperson.”
“Just a minute,” Treasure said. “Sergeant, get these prisoners under control.” He squared up to the alien on the computer screens. “Now who are you and what do you want here?”
“I wish to speak to your Governor's Spokesperson.”
“Buggered if you do! My name's Treasure and if you do any speaking to anyone, you do it through me. Do you understand?”
“No, not really. Do you mean you are the treasure, or that you speak to the treasure. Are you some kind of verbal interface to the Hoard?”
“Don't start all that damned treasure nonsense. I know what you're all here looking for. And if by 'horde' you mean the armed forces of this nation, then yes, I speak for them.”
There was an ear-splitting crack from above as half a dozen FA/1-18 Super Hornets overflew the air base in close formation. Braby smiled and said to Treasure, “That would be part of your horde arriving now, sir.” He turned to Aspen and gave him orders to keep the squadron handy and ready for a missile run.
“That is very interesting,” said Werpot, politely. “May I speak to Braxx now, please?”
The general leaned towards the screens, studying Werpot more closely. “You're not like the other lot, are you? Tell me where you come from.”
“N'o,” said Werpot. “I'm a N'oid.”
Braxx moved close to the general. “He's got a thing about being asked where he comes from,” the Vinggan said. “And he's always annoyed for some reason. Perhaps its the psoriasis. Makes me want to scratch myself just looking at him.”
“Ah, Braxx,” said Werpot, his politeness beginning to sound strained. “We were about to shoot a few of the locals, just to –”
“Is that Braxx?” asked a voice like gravel in an oil drum. “About time.” Werpot was pushed out of shot and the ugliest, most massive monster appeared on the screen. “I am Chuwar,” it said. If a Tyrannosaurus Rex could speak, it would have sounded like Chuwar's little sister. The general and every other human in the room drew back, not wanting to be too close to this fearsome apparition.
“Ah, Chuwar,” said Braxx, stepping forward. “By all
means shoot a few things.” He looked sideways at the general. “I must say, I don't think we are making ourselves fully understood here.”
A twisted expression crossed Chuwar's face. Something that could have been a happy smile. Then buildings started exploding all around them. In fact, the explosions grew closer by the second. Braxx began to say, “Be careful where you shoot! We're out here in one of their buildings, you great ugly oaf.” But he was cut off mid-sentence when the room blew apart and scattered them all like leaves.
-oOo-
“I told you there was a goddam ship here!”
Of course, the series of explosions and the buildings collapsing everywhere were not conclusive evidence. From where the kangaroos stood in their holding pen, they could see nothing of the runways. However, to Shorty, the destruction being wreaked on the air force base could mean only one thing. The Vinggans were back.
“We need to get out of here,” she said.
“What for?” Fats asked. “I don't think the Vinggans are mad at us.”
Shorty jumped up in frustration and boxed the buck's ears with her little front paws. “You big dumb rodent. Don't you think I don't know that? Do you think I didn't notice it was the Vinggan ship that set us up with these guns and the personal shields? You think I've been asleep these past few weeks?”
“Gee, boss, I didn't mean anything.”
“Well shut your toothy little mouth then! We've got to get out of here because we need to get aboard that Vinggan ship before it takes off again. Geddit? Or do you want to spend another two hundred years on this bug-infested mudball?”
“But what about your plan, boss?” asked Fats. “We was gonna wait here for something-or-other. I forget now.”
Shorty almost batted his ears again, but held onto her temper with more-than-marsupial willpower. “Plans change,” was all she said. “Now, follow my lead.”
She hopped over to the gate. There were two human guards there and their boss, the one who called himself Totterdell was standing some way off. All the humans were straining to see whatever they could of the battle that seemed to be raging on the flight line.
“I want to talk to your boss,” Shorty called to the nearest guard.
He dragged himself away from the spectacle of his air base being shot to pieces and peered at the roo. From his expression, it was possible that no one had told him the creature could speak.
“Do that again,” he said.
“Do what?” Shorty asked.
“Bugger my rags,” the airman said, then, “Hey, Jack. Come here, the bloody roo's started talking.”
“That's a bit of a worry, mate?” said Jack, not taking his eyes off the clouds of flame and smoke.
“No, I'm serious, mate. Come and listen.”
“Mate, do you think we should go and help?” said Jack.
“Stop talking to that moron,” said Shorty, “and fetch Totterdell here.”
“Holy crap!” said the airman. “Hey, Jack, this is fucking amazing.”
Shorty closed her eyes as if in silent prayer. Then she hopped away from the fence and spoke to her comrades. “OK, guys. Shoot the fence down. And if this half-wit gets accidentally blown to pieces, no one will be happier than me.”
The roos fired at the gate and the two guards with a searing blast of crackling energies. Within moments, all that was left of the area was some hot metal and two pairs of smoking boots.
Totterdell, alerted by the sound, goggled at the blackened concrete where fence and guards had once stood. With leisurely bounds, the mob of roos advanced on him.
“Do we have your attention now?” Shorty asked, stopping in front of the horrified major. He seemed to be trying to say something but was unable to find quite the right words.
“We've got to go now,” Shorty said.
“Go?” he managed.
“Yes, go. I had meant to stay and cooperate with you guys, but, well, the Vinggans are here now and you'll probably all be dead soon anyway. I just wanted to say there's nothing personal between us. I know you caught us and brought us here, but it's all bygones now, OK? I mean, I ain't going to bump off all your relatives, or drop you out a spaceship in orbit or whatever, like you might expect.” Totterdell was still working his mouth but saying nothing. “Just don't think this kind of generosity could happen twice, OK?” Still no reply. “OK. See you around.”
The roos set off towards where the destruction was greatest, leaving Totterdell gaping at their backs.
Chapter 39: In the Rubble
“It looks like the army's still here,” said Barraclough. He was lying on his stomach trying to see under the ship at what was going on in the field beyond.
“That's a good thing, right?” said Sam.
“Not for the army,” said Barraclough. There were only a few vehicles moving and he could still hear sporadic machine gun fire, but each vehicle that moved had a crowd of excited maintenance bots chasing in its wake. “We need to keep moving.”
Sam looked around at the smoking rubble of the base. “Easier said than done.”
They had taken shelter in the wreckage of a building not long after the shooting started. Yet, even though there were very few buildings left standing, the shooting continued. They were all surprised to discover that the ship doggedly demolishing the base was not the one they had just fled.
“I think I remember that ship from the spaceport on To'egh,” John said. “Do you suppose that big ugly warlord thing came along too?”
“He wasn't invited,” said Drukk. While the humans crouched and hid, Drukk stood calmly surveying the scene. Occasionally a piece of debris would whistle through the air and smash against his personal shield, but he ignored it as a human might ignore a light shower. “I wonder why he's blowing everything up.”
“Maybe it's that flaky black thing he had with him,” said Sam. “He said he was annoyed.”
“Oh, hello,” said John and pointed to the sky. They all looked just in time to see half-a-dozen black silhouettes rapidly grow into half-a-dozen screaming jet fighters strafing Chuwar's ship as they racketed past. Although the ship didn't have shields like the Vinggan's did, the bullets seemed to bounce off it harmlessly enough. For a moment, the firing from the ship stopped, no doubt as its occupants looked at one another and said, “What the...?” Then it started again, only this time it was aimed at the retreating aircraft, which instantly broke formation and scattered.
“OK, let's go,” said Barraclough, seizing the opportunity. “Marcus, get all the old folks out. Head that way. There must be an exit across there somewhere.”
“Oh, right, just 'cos I'm the bus driver, you think I need to risk my life herding bloody crumblies around a battlefield. Well I'm not a bloody bus driver. Can't any of you get that through your thick skulls?”
Barraclough leapt across and grabbed Marcus by the lapels. He pushed his face right up to the young man's and Marcus pulled his own back, wide-eyed with alarm. “It's because you're from here, you dickhead. Not because you're a bloody bus driver. I don't give a stuff what your do for a living you halfwit. I only care about whether you can get these people out of here to somewhere safe.” He pushed Marcus away but kept his ferocious gaze on him.
Marcus tried to recover some of his dignity, brushing down the front of his shirt and forcing the terrified rabbit expression off his face. “Well, that's all right then,” he said. “As long as it's understood.” He turned to the remnants of the Kanaka Downs Gardening Club and called them to him. “All right, you lot, follow me. I'll get you all out of here.”
“What did he say?” one of the women shouted.
“He said he's taking us away from here,” said another.
“About time,” said the first. “He's a useless bus driver. I'm going to complain to the company.”
Marcus watched the exchange in baleful silence then took a deep breath and set off towards the main gate.
“You'd better take your hippies and follow him, John,” Barraclough said.
; John nodded. “You sound like you've got other plans.”
“I'm going to find whoever's in charge here – if there's anyone left – and see if I can help in some way. Sam, you should take Wayne and go with John.”
Sam bridled. “Wayne can look after himself. And so can I. I'm staying too. And before you start flapping your lips again, I don't need your blessing and I certainly don't need your permission.”
“What the hell do you think you can do to help?”
“Well what the hell do you think you can do for that matter?”
Barraclough blinked, momentarily nonplussed. “I might have useful intelligence,” he said.
Sam's lip curled. “I wouldn't put you and intelligence in the same sentence, mate.” She moved closer until they were nose to nose. “But maybe if they're building barricades they could use you as a sandbag.”
Barraclough snarled. “I suppose you're going to help by standing around looking pretty and hot and telling everyone how useless they are?”
“Oh, I'm sorry, do I make you feel inadequate, you great big, barrel-chested, muscle-bound –”
It was hard to say quite who grabbed who first, but the ensuing kiss had all the fierce passion of the preceding argument and went on considerably longer. When they finally drew apart, panting and ruffled, they looked more stunned than delighted.
Sam quickly pulled back, straightening her clothes. It occurred to them both simultaneously that a crowd of people had witnessed their moment of sexual abandon, but, when they looked around, no one was there except a confused Drukk and a wide-eyed, open-mouthed Wayne.
“Where is everybody?” Barraclough asked.
“They got bored during the shouting and went away,” Drukk said. “Were you trying to eat one another? Was that a human threat display? You seemed to be in competition to swallow each other whole. Have you now resolved your dominance dispute?”
“Holy shit,” said Wayne. “I'm going to need more therapy than ever now.”
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