Chuwar's frown turned into a kind of wince. He seemed to be enduring an inner struggle. In the end, however, self-interest prevailed, as Werpot knew it would, and the mighty despot said, “All right, we'll go. But if you try telling me what to do again, you shrivelled little worm, I will pull your head off and eat it. No matter how disgusting it looks.”
“A perfectly acceptable arrangement, Your Magnificence.” He waited. And waited. “So, may I go now?”
“Oh, right. Yes. Go. Hang on.” Werpot stopped in mid-stride. “What was it I was supposed to do?”
“Get a big gun, Your Magnificence.”
“Oh yeah. Big gun. Got it.”
-oOo-
“Why don't we just shoot it?” Trugg asked. He wore the gold evening dress and, like the other Vinggans, was cowering in a crater so the Agent couldn't see him. It had dropped its invisibility shield and seemed to be waiting for them to surrender.
Braxx turned a scathing expression on his acolyte. “It's a Lalantran Agent,” he explained. “It's been hunting us. It's just blown up our ship. It's a gigantic, black monster in an impenetrable force shield and it's armed with weapons that make our blasters look like pointy little sticks.” He held up his blaster to illustrate the point. It did, indeed, look like a pointy little stick, so he put it down again.
“So what are we going to do?” asked Joss, who wore the grey Jersey dress and looked as though she'd stuffed a beach ball under it.
“I will ask the Great Spirit for guidance,” Braxx said, stalling. “She has never failed us, and never shall.” He closed his eyes and tried to connect with the Great Spirit. Anything was worth a try at this point.
“We are but Pebbles on Her beach,” the others mumbled.
“What we need is another space ship, to get us out of here,” said Klakk, who wore the red nightie.
“Yeah,” agreed Trugg. “Like that one over there that Chuwar came in.”
Braxx gave a silent prayer of thanks and opened his eyes, smiling. “The Great Spirit has spoken to me,” he said.
-oOo-
“Why are you grasping my appendage?” Drukk asked. He and Wayne were waiting beside a rubble-strewn road while Sam and Barraclough searched among the shells of buildings for someone in authority. There were plenty of airmen running about the place now and one or two had actually taken a moment from their running about to say things like, “You civilians should make your way to the evacuation muster zones,” or, “Sir, Madam, I have to ask you to leave the base right now.” Then they were off and running again.
“I'm not grasping your appendage,” Wayne said. “I'm holding your hand.”
“Why are you holding my hand?”
“Because... I thought...” He looked embarrassed and let go. “It's a sign of affection. People do it when they feel close to another person.”
Drukk looked at the gap between them. “Our nearest surfaces are about five centimetres apart.”
Wayne looked unhappy. “You can be very... literal, sometimes.” Drukk did not reply. “Do you have a boyfriend back home on Vingg?”
“A boyfriend?”
“Well, a Vinggfriend, I suppose. Someone you go out with? Someone you like? A special someone you want to spend all your time with?”
Although the translator did its best, there were some concepts in what Wayne said that just did not make sense to the Vinggan. The idea that you can choose who to spend your time with, for instance, or that people chose their friends on the basis of sex. He tried to explain this to Wayne.
“You must have some way of choosing who you mate with,” Wayne insisted. “Someone you feel romantically attached to. Someone who you want to have babies with.”
Drukk shook his head. “Males come in and out of readiness. If you're ready and a passing female likes the colour of your slime, she might rub against your spore sac as she goes by. Then she will bud.” While Wayne blinked in confusion, Drukk pondered the mysteries of sex between Vinggans. He was only ten years into his maturity and was only a Space Corps Operative, sixth class. His slime was pretty ordinary and no female had ever rubbed against his spore sac. None of his crewmates had experienced it yet, either, but he'd met an older male at the training camp who said it was nothing special and he didn't know why they made such a fuss about it in the holodramas.
“Do you think,” Wayne said, struggling with the words, “that, one day, you and me might... I mean, would you ever consider... It's like this, Drukk, I love you so much and I really hope that, one day, you'll feel the same way about me. Is it out of the question that, you know, we might, you know...”
Drukk picked his way through the disjointed rambling but couldn't make much sense of it. The human, Wayne, who wore clothing with the distinctive glyph, wanted Drukk to 'love' him – whatever that was.
“Do I need to do anything in particular if I love you?” he asked.
Wayne looked bewildered. “I don't suppose so. It's more a state of mind, I reckon.”
“Well, I don't see why not then.” As far as Drukk was concerned, if it didn't mean he had to do anything, it was worth it just to stop Wayne droning on about it.
Wayne, grinning like a loon in his happiness, grabbed Drukk and hugged him in a joyful embrace. Drukk endured it for a few seconds then shrugged him off.
“I can't wait to tell everybody,” said Wayne. He took Drukk's hand again and held it in both of his own. “You've made me so happy.”
Drukk felt a dull depression settling on him. If he were to stay here with the humans, he'd have to put up with this kind of inexplicable craziness for the rest of his life. Yet he couldn't go back to Vingg, not while the machines were controlling things. But where else could he go? He was stuck in this ridiculous body, teetering around on two legs like a pet llarick on Vingg's Craziest Pet Videos Show. No other species in the galaxy would take him seriously looking like that.
But, perhaps, if he could find a transformation booth somewhere, he could ditch this form and pick something less outlandish. Then he could settle somewhere – preferably outside the Vinggan Empire – and lead a quiet, unobtrusive life.
The trouble with that plan was that he had no idea which other races might have a transformation booth. Let's face it, he hadn't even known his own species had them until he came to Earth. But he would never know, he would never get his own body back, unless he got off this planet and back to civilisation. And for that, he needed a ship. And the only ship for light years around was sitting out there on the runway.
Somehow, he had to get aboard Chuwar's ship.
-oOo-
Smoke drifted across the ruins of Amberley Air Force Base like the mist in an old black-and-white horror movie. Air Commodore Braby stood on a high point, surveying the damage.
His men had rallied. With a few shouted commands and a couple of minutes on a borrowed walkie talkie, he had brought some order to the chaos. Medics were attending the wounded and enlisted men were forming into work parties to dig in the rubble for survivors. What was left of the Adgees had regrouped and were waiting for orders. His squadron of Super Hornets were heading East to Brisbane Airport, most of them on the last vapours of their empty fuel tanks. The runways at Amberley were useless to them now. They would be back once they had refuelled, although none of them had any ammo left.
The Vinggans had disappeared from view when their exploding spaceship knocked everybody flat. With all the smoke, he had not been able to find them again. The Panthers from the base fire station could not get close enough to fight the growing number of fires among the damaged buildings. Rubble was everywhere, blocking the roads well back from the damaged areas.
Braby had a small, armed guard ready and waiting. It was time to get over to that alien ship and find out what the hell was going on.
“We're ready when you are, General,” he said, climbing down to where Treasure was being bandaged by a nervous medic.
The general stood up, scattering the medic and her kit. “Right, let's go.”
Two
civilians had emerged from the smoke just a couple of minutes ago and were with the general. The man was a big, tough-looking character who said he was a Brisbane cop. The woman was a cute little thing who said she was a reporter. Her main talent seemed to be in telling everybody what they should be doing, although they both insisted they had valuable intel about the aliens. They looked as if they had been wearing the same outfits for the past month and had a curious way of not looking at or speaking to one another, as if they were embarrassed to make eye contact.
Braby, the general, Barraclough and Sam, joined the column of airmen and set off with them towards Chuwar's yacht. They took a circuitous route, to avoid the biggest heaps of rubble, and had to pass through dense, stinking, eye-stinging smoke at the edge of the runway before they got a clear view of their target.
Chuwar's yacht, now that it was not dwarfed by the Vinggan ship, seemed to tower over the runway. It was a massive, sleek, beauty. Designed primarily to look good, it did its job with authority and grace. Underpowered, overweight, and packed with pointless luxury fittings, it was made to impress dictators, gang bosses, and business tycoons. The marketing department that sold this model knew their buyers' taste for mean-looking, well-armed ostentation, and ensured that their engineers pandered to it in as exaggerated a manner as was consistent with basic spaceworthiness.
Looking up at the streamlined prow bristling with big guns, Braby couldn't help feeling just a little cowed. It was as if a naval destroyer from the future had washed up on his runway and blown his base to pieces. Now he had to go and talk to the ship's captain, armed with, basically, nothing, and demand an explanation.
As they crossed the tarmac, Treasure nudged him. Braby followed the general's gaze and saw a mob of kangaroos a couple of hundred metres farther along the flight line. The roos were also heading towards the yacht. A lone soldier trailed after them, looking tired and despondent.
“And there,” said the general, nodding in the opposite direction. Braxx and the other Vinggans were emerging from the smoke, and they too were walking towards Chuwar's ship.
What Braby and the general didn't notice were Drukk and Wayne, following along behind them at a discrete distance.
As the four groups converged on the warlord's yacht, a ramp descended from it and a crowd of hideous monsters came pouring out.
Chapter 41: Climax – Anticlimax
His Klebin trolls took up positions at the end of the ramp and the mighty warlord, Chuwar, carrying a gun as big as a human artillery piece, strode down after them. Behind him came the black, papery N'oid, keeping his giant master between himself and the Vinggans.
“You said we could grab the hoard while this lot weren't looking,” Chuwar grumbled.
“No, I think you'll find that was your idea, Your Magnificence.”
Chuwar growled and hefted his gun, neither act being a good sign. “So what do you advise now, Vizier? And what in all the stars are those things?” He meant the kangaroos, which were still hopping towards him.
“Some kind of robot toy?” was Werpot's best suggestion.
“They are kind of funny,” the warlord said. “I'm going to take some home for the nursery. My wives are always going on at me that I never bring anything home for the kids when I go out conquering.”
“An excellent idea, O Great One. As for the other matter, perhaps we should hear what everybody has to say before we do anything. I might just remind you that the Vinggan shields will hold even against that proton cannon you're carrying, but our hides, won't last five femtoseconds against their blasters.”
“What about that lot? The ones that look like Vinggans but all wearing the same body coverings. Who do you think they are?”
Werpot pointed a small scanner at General Treasure and his party, then consulted the display. “They do look like Vinggans, but they don't have shields and their weapons are...” he pulled a face. “Hmmm. Nothing to worry about. Maybe they're the natives. You can shoot that lot if you like.”
As they spoke, the Vinggans, humans and Pappathenfranfinghellians, came to a halt in front of the ramp. Wayne and Drukk hung back, still unnoticed. The Klebin troll commander barked an order or two and her troops aimed their weapons at everybody indiscriminately.
“I am Chuwar!” roared the warlord.
“Yes, we all know that,” said Braxx.
“I didn't know that,” said Fats, from the ranks of the kangaroos and got a paw across his muzzle from Shorty for his pains.
“I. Am. Chuwar!” To emphasise the point, Chuwar brandished his enormous weapon above his head. “I am Lord of the Meisos Dominions!” He seemed quite proud of the fact, although anyone who knew his dismal collection of run-down little planets would have to question the value of even mentioning such a thing.
As the gigantic monster roared and bellowed in what was clearly some kind of threat display, General Treasure stepped forward. Swallowing hard, he said, “Mr., er, Chuwar?”
Chuwar paused in mid-bellow and looked down at the tiny human.
The general took his silence as an opportunity to proceed. “You've come here, uninvited, and blown up half my country's largest air base. These jokers...” He tilted his head towards the Vinggans. “... are responsible for death and destruction throughout the region. And as for them...” He pointed a quivering finger at the Pappathenfranfinghellian kangaroos. “Well, lets just leave them aside for the time being. The thing is that I, for one, would just like to ask you one simple question.” He paused, took a deep breath, and shouted, “What the hell is going on here? What do you want with us? Why are you all so bloody weird? And why the fuck don't you all just piss off?”
“Actually,” said Sam into the silence that followed, “I can explain everything. Well, everything except the kangaroos.”
“It's the Mechazoid Hoard, General,” said Barraclough, stepping forward. “We fooled them into thinking there's a great treasure buried here, at Amberley.”
General Treasure stared at Sam and Barraclough as if they'd just sprung from out of the ground. “Who are you? Braby, who are these civilians?”
“A policeman and a reporter, sir.”
“You lied to us about the Hoard?” asked Braxx, sounding as if it was the most far-fetched thing that had happened that day. “You, a human, tricked a Vinggan?”
From behind them, Drukk ran forward. He passed the groups at the bottom of the ramp and made straight for Chuwar. “I am Drukk,” he said, grabbing the warlord's arm. “I wear the orange clothing. I demand political asylum.”
The general looked from Drukk to Braxx and then to Sam, who shrugged back at him. Chuwar stared at the shapely young woman hanging onto his tree-like arm. Braxx gawped at Drukk.
“Drukk?” Braxx said. “What are you doing?”
“I'm leaving,” Drukk said, defiantly. “That ship...” He pointed at the smouldering remains of the Vinggan ship. “... was a sapient machine. It controlled us. It decided everything for us.” He spread his arms to show his human body. “It played with us. What's more, I believe that, on Vingg, the machines have completely taken over our society. They rule. They direct the Vinggan Diaspora. They give us our technologies and organise our lives. They are the reason that Vingg has grown so powerful.”
Braxx stared in disbelief for a moment and then he threw back his head and laughed. Gradually, the other Vinggans joined in. Even a couple of the kangaroos started snickering.
“Foolish child,” Braxx said, wiping away tears. “The stresses of these adventures have unhinged you. But it is nothing that the Great Spirit cannot heal. A few months in one of our monasteries, being beaten and purged will have you seeing things correctly once more. There's a lovely place I can recommend on Diango Four. The food is exquisite – although full of emetics, obviously.”
“She's right,” said Shorty, hopping forward.
“He, actually,” said Drukk.
Shorty took another look. “Sorry, pal, but with a rack like that it was an easy mistake. Anyway, he's right. The s
hip was smart all right. We spent some time with it and it fitted us out with the bling.” She raised a paw to reveal the Vinggan blaster attached to her wrist. “Ain't that right guys?” The other roos nodded and murmured their assent. “No question in my mind that ship was calling the shots. Looks like you're in deep shit, ladies – or gents, or whatever.”
“What's going on?” Chuwar asked, rousing himself from a state of dumbfounded stupor and shaking off the Vinggan from his arm. “Werpot, what are they all going on about?” He brought the barrel of his weapon up and levelled it at the general's party. “I've had enough of this. Tell me where the treasure is. It's mine.”
Werpot rolled his eyes and looked to the heavens for strength, no doubt wondering how a creature so stupid managed to strap its crotch bag on in the mornings. “Your Magnificence, if I have understood the twisted words of the aliens correctly, there is no treasure.” He pointed at Barraclough and Sam. “These humans lied to the Vinggans and fooled them into believing the Hoard was here so that they would be brought back to their home planet. They are obviously a most devious and cunning species who could have fooled the Lalantrans themselves.” His furtive glance at Braxx gave away the fact that this last was for the Vinggans' benefit as much as for his master's. “We should probably just go home now.”
“Not so fast,” said Braxx. Werpot grimaced at what was clearly coming next. “We want your ship.”
Slowly, Chuwar's head turned to face the impertinent Vinggan. “You want what?”
“We're coming too,” said Shorty. “You can drop us at the nearest Baroombaric Federation world. Or anywhere that doesn't have an extradition treaty with Pappathenfranfinghellia, really. We're not fussy, eh guys?”
“Out of the question,” said Braxx. The Pebbles of the New Dawn are returning directly to Vingg and whatever you are, you're not invited.” He began walking up the ramp, his followers behind him.
Chuwar moved to stand in his way, his big gun pointed at Braxx's head. The Klebin trolls took aim too. “No one comes on my ship.”
Cargo Cult Page 38
