Cargo Cult (49 page)

“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.”

“Shut up you little prick,” said
Sam. She seemed fully recovered except she was obviously avoiding
Barraclough's eyes.

“Let's go,” Barraclough said.

“What about Drukk?” Wayne
asked.

“What about her?” said
Barraclough.

“Him,” said Drukk.

“She hasn't got anywhere to go,”
said Wayne.

“He,” said Drukk.

“Not my problem,” said
Barraclough.

“But it's not fair,” said Wayne.
“Drukk risked her life to save us all.” With a sigh, Drukk gave up
the struggle to have his true gender recognised. “She got us all
out of the ship. It was only ten minutes ago, Sam. Even you can't
have forgotten that quickly.”

Sam, glad of the chance not to talk
about what just happened between her and Barraclough, said, “Drukk
can just go back to the ship. No one knows she helped us. She'll be
all right.”

“The ship knows,” said Drukk. “I
don't want to go back there.”

Sam shrugged. “Well, the other ship
then. They'll take you.”

“I don't want to go back to
Vingg.”

“We should get going,” said
Barraclough again, still not seeing how a stray alien's problems
were anything to do with him.

Wayne stepped up to Drukk and took
his delicate, beautifully manicured hand in his own. “We owe her,
Sam. And, besides...” His chin went up and a defensive
determination firmed his lips. “...This is the woman I love. I
can't hide my feelings any more.” He turned to Drukk. “When this is
over, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Oh, for God's sake!” Barraclough
said and set off into the rubble to find what was left of the air
base.

Sam watched him leaving, anxious to
follow. Wayne continued to look into Drukk's big, beautiful eyes,
while Drukk looked back into Wayne's misty ones with his usual
mixture of confusion and incomprehension.

“Wayne...” Sam wanted to tell him
what an idiot he was. She wanted to tell him what a fool he was
making of himself. She wanted to clip him across the ear and send
him home to somewhere safe. But, seeing his proud, happy, anxious
expression, all she had the heart to say was, “Come on, you two.
We'll talk about this later.”

She set off after Barraclough, and
Wayne and Drukk followed behind, hand in hand.

-oOo-

The Super Hornets of 1 Squadron
were making individual attacks on Chuwar's ship now, having quickly
realised that the alien gunners were so inept that, as long as they
didn't fly in a straight line for more than a moment, the only real
danger was a lucky shot. Their own shots were far more accurate,
but they were armed only with air-to-air missiles and machine guns,
neither of which made the slightest dent in the ship's armour. It
was a stalemate, but at least they were drawing fire away from the
buildings, which were big enough and still enough even for the
aliens to hit most of the time.

Air Commodore Braby watched the
twisting, gut-wrenching aerobatics of his fighters and said a
silent thank you to the pilots. He dragged himself to his feet,
checking himself out. No broken bones.

“Braby, is that you?”

He turned to find Group Captain
Aspen who was sitting among the ruins not far away. “Ross! Are you
all right?”

“Leg's a bit crook.” His right leg
was twisted at an odd angle and was probably broken. Braby
inspected it quickly but could find no bleeding or protruding
bones. “Haven't spotted the general yet.”

Braby looked around. A few more
survivors were moving about, some of them quite a long way away,
but the general was not among them. What he did see though,
standing proud and beautiful, far away among the wreckage, was the
alien woman in her wedding dress along with her scantily-clad,
identical entourage. None of them seemed to have been harmed. Not
one had a hair out of place. That had been in the briefing material
too, he recollected. Personal force fields that made them
invulnerable to gun-fire, and, it now seemed, to being blown
up.

A burning rage consumed him.
Let's see if they're invulnerable to having their necks
squeezed
, he thought. He staggered towards them through the
shattered remains of his office building, so focused on the
Vinggans that he didn't even see the group of kangaroos hopping by
in the distance with an army major running behind them, waving his
arms and shouting.

Smoke stung his eyes and hid the
Vinggans. He almost tripped over a sign that had once hung in
reception. Beneath a layer of dust, it said, “Customer Service
Centre”. He picked up a piece of pipe that was lying beside it.
“Fucking aliens,” he said, hefting it.

“Oof!” the rubble said from beneath
him.

He looked down to find he was
standing on a man's stomach.

“For God's sake, get off me you
idiot.”

Braby blinked at the white eyes
bulging at him from a dusty face. “General?”

“Braby, you fuckwit, get your
bloody foot off me.”

“Yes, sir!” He jumped back, almost
falling over. His first reaction was to stand to attention, but
then common sense prevailed and he bent down to help his fallen
comrade.

“Are you injured, sir.”

“Well, I think my stomach's
crushed, but apart from that –” He winced as Braby helped him into
a sitting position. There was blood on the general's arm and more
on the side of his head. “I think I'll be all right,” he said,
climbing to his feet with considerable help. “You?”

“Not a scratch, sir.” Which wasn't
quite true, but close enough.

“The others?”

“Aspen's over there. Broken leg.
There are a few others too. Considering the state of the building,
it's a bloody miracle any of us made it. The ladies all seem fine.”
He nodded towards Braxx and the others and Treasure followed his
gaze, but all they could see was smoke.

“Well, I feel so much better
knowing they're safe.”

“I was just on my way to see if I
could change that,” said Braby, realising at once how stupid that
was. “Do you feel up to another round of guess what the fuck is
going on, sir?”

Treasure looked grim. Perhaps he
was hurt worse than he was letting on, Braby thought. “Yeah, let's
see what our celebrity overlords have to say for themselves.”

-oOo-

Braxx was fuming. He was going to
have that oversized Pakka grub stuffed and roasted and served at
the Pebbles' next compulsory bring-and-buy barbecue fundraiser. And
his scabby little black pet. And every one of those hideous troll
things that infested his palace.

“Drukk!” he shouted, using the
communicator. “Drukk! Open fire on that damned idiot.”

Drukk, who at that moment was just
out of sight behind a burning building, walking along with his
human friends, took a while to respond. When he did speak, it was
hesitantly. “Er, is that you, Braxx.”

“Of course it's me! Who else would
I be?”

“Right. Yes, of course. Only I
can't see your clothing, you see.”

“It's white. White, you fool. Now
do as I said.”

“What was that again?”

“Shoot that great, stupid
buffoon!”

“Ah, yes. Right. And which great
stupid buffoon would that be? There are rather a lot of them
about.”

“Chuwar, you fool. Chuwar. Shoot
his ship. I want it reduced to slag right now.”

Again Drukk hesitated. “I don't
think I can do it.”

“What? As Acting Governor of this
crap heap, let me remind you that you have complete authority to
kill whoever you like within a light year of the planet. And as
your spiritual adviser, according to Imperial Law, I get to pick
the targets.”

“Yes, yes. I mean I don't think my
hand weapon would have much effect on it. The ship's only
non-Vinggan tech, but it looks pretty solid. The human missiles
aren't even making a dent in it.”

“Then use the terajoule lasers. No,
wait. Use the petajule laser. Let's really fry his scaly, green
hide.”

“I'd love to, Braxx, but I'd have
to be aboard the ship to fire it.”

“But you are on the ship.”

“Well, actually, no, I'm not.”

“But you're our only space corps
member. You have to be in the ship to shoot down our enemies.”

Drukk didn't want to point out that
the ship seemed quite capable of doing everything – including that
– without any help from the space corps. “But isn't Chuwar your
friend? I thought you said he was going to let you convert his
dominions or something. Has he changed his mind?”

“No, but he tried to kill me. As a
loyal soldier of Vingg, you should defend its citizens against
alien attacks. Especially me. So get back to the spaceship and blow
him to pieces right now. What are you doing out here anyway? This
is no time to be strolling about sightseeing. Besides, there's
nothing much to see apart from some piles of rubble.”

Drukk steeled himself. Now was the
time to break the news to Braxx that he wasn't going home with
them. He tried a few phrases in his mind.
Braxx, I don't want to
live a lie any more
. No, not that. It would only lead to
complicated explanations.
I've decided to make my home here with
the humans
. Spirit no! He didn't want to sound like a halfwit.
He had almost decided on,
Braxx, I have a hideous wasting
disease and I can't come back for fear of infecting you all
,
when Braxx shouted, “Ship?”

“Yes, Braxx?”

“Can you shoot that To'eghan ship
without Drukk at the controls?”

“Yes, Braxx.”

“And destroy it utterly?”

“Of course.”

“Then please do so.”

A blinding flash of light, followed
by a mighty shock wave, knocked Braxx and his followers and
everything else within a half-kilometre radius flat.

One by one, heads began to pop up
among the ruins to see what had happened. Braxx himself was one of
the last, having been wedged by the blast between two concrete
slabs and having had to cut his way out with his blaster. He turned
to look at the To'eghan yacht, expecting to see little remaining.
But Chuwar's ship was intact and undamaged. Instead, the remains of
his own ship – a few half-molten struts reaching up from a
blackened mass of cinders beneath a large, slowly-rising mushroom
of black smoke – bore mute witness to something having gone
terribly wrong.