Casually, Braxx raised his blaster and pointed it at Chuwar. The rest of the Vinggans did the same. Werpot moved behind his master saying, “Blasters, shields, hides, remember?”
Shorty and his roos jumped up on the ramp and took aim at the Vinggans. “Hold it, lady. We're packing Vinggan blasters too, and I say this is our ride. You can wait here for the next one.”
“We should probably get out of here,” Barraclough said to the general. “These guys are all nuts.”
“Once they start shooting, they don't really care who gets killed,” Sam added.
“Screw that,” the general said. He drew his gun and Sam and Barraclough threw themselves on the ground. Treasure raised the gun to the sky and shouted, “This is my country and my planet. You dickheads can all just calm down and listen to me.” He squeezed off two shots into the air but nothing happened. He tried again. “Damn this thing!” he said, and threw the gun away.
Everyone was looking at him. “Braby, give me your sidearm.” Braby looked uncertain. “That's an order, Air Commodore!” Reluctantly, Braby handed his weapon over. Treasure snatched it off him and pointed it into the air again. Again he squeezed the trigger and again nothing happened. “What the hell is this?”
In the space between Chuwar and the others, the air shimmered and then cleared to reveal a gigantic black figure. “I have neutralised all your weapons, and your shields,” it said.
“Holy shit!” said the general.
Everybody took a couple of quick paces back from the Agent.
“I knew that guy would show up again,” said one of the trolls.
“They're like pink groin mites,” said another. “You can never get rid of them.”
“This is a case of mistaken identity,” said Braxx. The shifty look on his face suggested he had remembered the accusation the Agent had made when he last saw it and was putting that together with the things Drukk had said. “And, anyway, we didn't know. I swear by the tentacles of the Great Spirit.”
“You are the leader of these people?”
“I am Braxx,” he said. “I – I wear the white clothing.”
The agent looked him up and down. “Interesting.”
Barraclough and Sam got up off the floor. Barraclough was grinning. “Agent, it's me, Mike Barraclough. I knew you would come.” He turned to Sam. “Even if some people didn't believe me.” Sam pulled a face at him.
“Greetings Detective Barraclough. It is a pleasure to see you are still alive.”
Sam bridled. “No thanks to you, you great, scaly drongo. It was you who blew up their ship, I suppose.”
“I eradicated a dangerous machine sentience,” the Agent said. “After checking first that there were no life-signs within it. I monitored enough of its transmissions to prove it was sentient. I didn't need it any more. So when it was about to blow up this creature's ship...” The Agent shrugged.
Treasure was gaping at Sam. “You know this... this...” The general was clearly finding it hard to keep up.
“We have been trying to tell you,” Sam said.
The Agent turned back to Braxx. “You and your associates are under arrest. You have violated Galactic Law and have built sentient machines. I am here to judge your species.”
Braxx began to argue. Seeing that everyone was engrossed in what the Agent and the Vinggans were saying, Shorty began sidling away as stealthily as she could, poking and prodding her mob as she went to get them to follow her. As soon as they were all underway and pointing in the same direction, she chivvied them into a flat out run and they bounded off along the runway at astonishing speed.
“Hey!” Totterdell shouted. “The roos are getting away!”
They all looked briefly at the fast-disappearing marsupials.
“Armed alien insurgents are no concern of mine,” said the Agent. “If you wish to have them removed, you should contact your Local Jurisdiction.”
“What, the Ipswich City Council?” asked General Treasure.
“I'll explain later,” said Barraclough.
They all turned back to the Vinggans to find them legging it in the opposite direction. The Agent shook its head, sadly. A beam of white light stabbed down like lightning from above and, when they had all blinked away the after-image, the Vinggans were nowhere to be seen.
Chuwar seemed to think this was hilarious. But then Werpot whispered in his ear that the Agent had merely teleported them to his ship, not vaporised them. This was, in fact, quite upsetting for the warlord, since blasting the Vinggans was the only part of the proceedings that had made any sense so far.
The Agent turned to Chuwar. “You! Go home.”
Chuwar scowled, ready to argue, but his troupe of trolls immediately obeyed the giant stranger, shouldered their weapons, turned sharply, and marched back into the ship. Unsettled and feeling exposed, Chuwar let Werpot chivvy him into shuffling reluctantly back up the ramp.
“But who is that guy?” they heard him say to his vizier.
“It's all right, I'll explain later.”
“And what about the treasure?”
“There isn't any treasure.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“My head aches.”
“Yes, mine too.”
They disappeared into the ship and the ramp retracted.
“I must leave now,” the Agent said to the remaining humans.
“Now, hang on a minute,” the General said. “I am General Treasure, Head of the Australian Defence Force. As such, I represent this country's military forces. I am also authorised to speak on behalf of the Prime Minister, the head of our civilian government.”
“You can come with me, if you like,” the Agent said, but he was speaking to Barraclough.
The general spluttered with indignation. Barraclough looked amazed and then excited. “You mean we could team up? Join forces to fight crime across the Milky Way?”
“Well, no, actually. I was thinking that, when this was all over, I might open up an invisible furniture shop on Lalantra. It's selling like lasers in that sector. We could make a real killing.”
The excitement drained out of Barraclough's face. “Sorry, mate. I'll probably just go back to my old job in Brisbane. Thanks for the offer though.”
Treasure was about to interject when Chuwar's yacht lifted straight up into the air and shot off into space, leaving him open mouthed and speechless.
“Shame,” said the Agent, as if nothing had happened. “You'd have made an interesting novelty. I bet people would have come from light years around just to see you.”
Sam sniggered. Barraclough tightened his lips but said nothing.
“As I say,” said the general. “I am authorised – ”
“Farewell,” said the Agent cutting across him. Another flash of light left them all blinded and rubbing their eyes. When they could see again, the Agent was gone.
“Bloody hell fire!” the general shouted. “Bloody aliens. Bloody space ships. Bloody monsters and ray guns and half-dressed bloody celebrities and bloody teleporters and – ”
“General?” Braby interrupted his rant politely but firmly.
It seemed to bring him to himself again. But he was not happy. “What?”
“I've got the PM on the phone for you. Seems they managed to dig her and the Cabinet out of the bunker they've been stuck in. She'd like an update. Oh, and by the way – ”
Braby himself was interrupted as first one, then another, then another squadron of fighters howled low across the base. When the noise had subsided, Braby continued.
“- the American's have sent some air support from their carrier group in the Coral Sea. That would be them, I reckon.”
“Right,” said the general, through gritted teeth. “Right.” He looked around. There was chaos and smouldering ruins everywhere. He turned to Braby. “First, I want those fucking Yanks out of my air space. If the PM objects, tell her to find herself a new general. Next, I want you to dig my aide out of the rubble and send him off
to find me a sandwich and a cup of tea. Next, I want a flight readied to take me back to Canberra. If you can't clear the runway in less than an hour, get me a chopper and I'll take a commercial flight from Brisbane. Then I want you to put that lot...” He pointed at the wreckage of the Vinggan ship. “... into the hands of your best air incident investigators to see if they can put any of it together and find out how it works. Finally,” He swung his finger to point at Barraclough. “I want this invisible furniture salesman and his friends rounded up and debriefed until the whole damned thing makes sense. And I want the report on my desk in Canberra when I get there.” He took a deep breath. “I'll be in the in the emergency air base command post if you need me.”
“I'll have them set one up right away, sir,” said Braby.
The general studied the Air Commodore's blank expression for signs of the insubordination he clearly suspected, then stomped off through the ruins. Braby immediately got on the phone and started making things happen.
“So,” said Barraclough to Sam. “Now what?”
She nodded. “Bit of an anticlimax, really. Still, at least we're all back home and safe.”
“What'll you do now?”
“Oh, I dunno.” She looked at him and grinned. “Write the biggest bloody exclusive in the history of newspapers, I suppose. Then a book. Then do an interview with... some big-name American dickhead, auction the film rights, and just be bloody famous and wonderful for the rest of my life. What about you?”
“I thought I might take you out for a bit of a feed tonight, if you're not too busy being wonderful. After that? Well, I might need to think about my options for a while.”
They looked at one another as if there were many other things on their minds but none that either was willing to broach. Finally, Barraclough said, “Sam, that kiss back there – ”
Sam whirled away from him. “Wayne? What are you doing over there?” Her brother was sitting alone on a charred piece of the Vinggan ship. He was making a quiet wailing noise to himself, some kind of sad music that seemed vaguely familiar. She went over to join him, and Barraclough trailed after. She seemed to remember something and looked around. “Oh,” she said.
“What is it?” asked Barraclough.
“Drukk,” she said. “Drukk's gone.”
“She said she liked me,” Wayne said, not quite accurately. His head hung and his gaze was fixed on the tarmac between his feet. “She said we could, like, be together. You know? Then she just ran off and left.”
“Bloody aliens, eh?” said Barraclough and Sam elbowed him in the ribs.
“But what happened to her?” Sam asked. The last she had seen of Drukk, he was asking Chuwar for asylum. “Did the Agent scoop her up?”
Wayne shook his head. “While everyone was busy shouting and stuff, she slipped away into the ship. I was watching. She didn't even, you know, like, look over her shoulder or something to say goodbye.”
Sam bent down and put a hand on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, darl. I know how much you liked her.” Even if her brother was all kinds of stupid, it still bothered her to see him so upset. “You never know, she might come back.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” said Barraclough.
Braby joined them with one of his airmen. “My only wish is for this day to be over,” he said. “This is corporal Wicski and I want you to go with him. Some gentlemen from the security service will be arriving shortly to ask you a few questions. Take them to the officer's mess, Wicski, and make sure somebody gets them something to eat.” He said to Barraclough, “You'll find Mr. Saunders and his, er, followers there already. My people rounded them up earlier on. There's a mob of unruly pensioners there too with their bus driver. The ASIO blokes will want statements from everybody before you leave the base. It could take a while I'm afraid. Still, we'll do our best. Transport will be organised to get you back to Brisbane.”
They nodded glumly and let themselves be led away.
“Just one thing,” Braby called after them. “Do you reckon there's any chance they'll come back?”
Chapter 42: New Directions
The media storm took a while to get going. Not many people outside Amberley had noticed “The Battle for Planet Earth” as the leading Brisbane tabloid called it. But Sam's exclusive for The Australian, a national broadsheet, alerted the major news aggregators and the Internet was suddenly on fire with it. Two weeks later, Sam was doing a tour of the US, being interviewed on the top TV shows by celebrity dickheads, and had become an overnight star.
Barraclough took the leave the Commissioner offered him and went into hiding, spending the whole of that month in a tent on Fraser Island. Wayne found his own route to celebrity after two reporters from Rolling Stone tracked him to a pub in Toowoomba where he was performing a set three nights a week of original songs based on what he called “Mozbac Folk Music” and attracting quite a following. Within a week he had a record deal with an Indie label and his first album, “Stuck on Drukk”, went to number one in the US charts.
John Saunders went home to his derelict farm, abandoned by his disillusioned followers and out of sight of the media. He was paid a visit by two agents from ASIO, who wanted to question him about his part in the Amberley affair. But, although the agents stayed long enough to help fix the plumbing, they left confused and bewildered. Neither could quite remember what John had said to them, but they were both convinced they had asked all their questions and received full and satisfactory replies. So they made up the answers they were sure they had been given and closed his file.
Oddly enough, Marcus Grogan, the reluctant bus driver, found fame as a novelist after all. An enterprising commissioning editor at a major publishing house, seeing his name in the press, and remembering vaguely that Marcus' manuscript had briefly touched her desk on its way to the dumpster, signed him up for a three-book deal. She then found a talented but starving writer – of which every city has many – and paid him to ghost-write something saleable based loosely on Marcus' rambling text.
It helped with the publicity for the books that Marcus had been awarded a medal for bravery by the Queensland Government for his many selfless acts of courage in saving the busload of senior citizens under his care. In addition, the luxury coach company that employed him gave him a job as their “Goodwill Ambassador”, freeing up his time for further literary malfeasance.
For the military personnel caught up in the Vinggan visit, life went on much as usual. The reconstruction of Amberley Air Force Base kept Braby and his staff busy. The general didn't bother him again for weeks. Only Major Lester Totterdell found that his time with the Pappathenfranfinghellians had changed his life forever since, to the amazement of everyone who knew her, Corporal Emily Brownlowe still thought Totterdell was “lovely” even after the concussion had passed. Their whirlwind romance and marriage was the talk of the base for all of five minutes.
It was in the week that Sam's photo appeared on the cover of Time magazine, that Australia's Prime Minister, Catherine Hood, and her Defence Minister, Jessica Tuck, received General Treasure in the Cabinet Room in Parliament House. The greetings were informal and friendly. Neither of the two politicians referred to the weeks of “personal time” the general had taken after the Amberley incident, nor the psych evaluation lying on the PM's desk which showed him at last fit to resume his duties.
“I thought it was about time we showed you this, Nicky,” the PM said, leading the Head of the ADF towards a section of the room's wood-panelled walls.
“It's been a secret known only to the PM and the Defence Minister since the country was founded,” said Jessie. “But recent events have led us to re-evaluate that policy.”
“I don't like surprises, Catherine,” the general said. The PM gave him a tight smile and pressed a concealed button on the wall. A section of panelling slid back to reveal a metal lift door, which also slid open. They got into the lift. There were only two buttons on the control panel. The PM pressed the one marked “Down”, spoke a security code
, let the lift scan her iris, her face, and the palm of her hand, and the doors closed.
“You've got a secret lift to the basement of Parliament House?” the general asked. “Er, thanks for letting me in on it.”
“Have you ever wondered why they chose to build Australia's capital city just here, Nicky?” the PM asked. “I mean, it's a bloody stupid place, really. Inconvenient for everywhere and freezing cold in the winter.”
“Maybe the people who built it liked skiing,” the general said, uncomfortably aware that the elevator ride was taking a very long time.
“Constitutional history not your favourite subject at school then, I'm guessing,” the PM said. “Well, you are about to find out why this is the one and only place they could have built Canberra.”
The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. There was a short corridor ahead with another door at the far end. A robot gun turret was mounted at either side of the far door, each turret with four large-calibre machine guns. They all pointed directly at the three people in the lift.
“Please identify yourselves,” said a calm, female voice. “For your own safety, please do not step forward of the yellow line.”
The PM went to a small podium and repeated her performance with the lift scanners. The general eyed the broad yellow line two paces away that crossed the corridor on floor, walls and ceiling. The Defence Minister went through the security routine. “Your turn, Nicky,” she said, handing him a small card with a security code printed on it. He went to the podium and spoke it aloud, then offered eye, face and hand in turn for the biometric scans.
There was a short but unsettling delay before the voice said, “Thank you. You may proceed.”
They walked in silence along the corridor, the robot guns tracking them all the way. When they reached the end, the door opened for them automatically. They stepped through into an enormous, rough-hewn cave lit by arc lamps on tall stands. It was as big as the inside of the Opera House but there was nothing in all that great space except another door at the far end: a single, circular door twenty metres in diameter.
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