Cargo Cult (51 page)

“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.

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 ship 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.”

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.”