Free Cargo Cult by Graham Storrs Page B

caught. Drukk was not sure about the
sanity of this human. Its speech was difficult for the translation
field to interpret and it had driven the ute almost as badly as
Drukk had. What was even more puzzling was that the human had kept
touching his body and calling him “Loosi” and “baby”, apparently
under the impression that Drukk was its offspring. It had seemed
obsessed with the idea that they should hibernate together and,
when Drukk had finally resorted to delivering a mild shock from his
weapon, the human had become surly and withdrawn.
    “Please take me to someone in
authority,” Drukk had demanded at last, feeling that he was getting
nowhere.
    “Hah!” had been the human’s
reaction. “How about the Boss of the World? Will that do you? Big,
bigger, biggest Boss?”
    Drukk didn’t like the creature’s
tone and hadn’t really expected to be able to speak to such an
august personage but said yes, the Boss of the World would be fine.
At which, Wayne turned the ute around and drove at speed to a large
apartment building where, he said, the Boss lived. Then he fell
asleep, slumped across the steering wheel.
    At length, the sun had risen and
Drukk had sat, immobilised by indecision, watching his strange
surroundings brighten into visibility.
    “Wayne?”
    Drukk looked ’round at the sudden
exclamation. Another human was approaching the ute from the
direction of the nearby building. As she got close, she let out a
wail and ran to the driver’s side, pulling open the door and
dragging Wayne into a sitting position.
    -oOo-
    “Wayne! Are you all right? Oh my
god. Wayne?” Sam looked past her brother with frantic eyes only to
find Loosi Beecham sitting in the passenger seat, watching her with
a passive curiosity. Struck suddenly speechless, Sam stared at the
film star, unable to make even the wildest guess as to what was
going on. At which point, Wayne began to stir, distracting her from
her paralysing confusion.
    “Sam?” he said, muggily. “What are
you doing here?”
    "Wayne are you all right?" Despite
her concern for her brother, Sam couldn't help stealing a peek at
the woman in the cab beside him.
    "Must have fallen asleep," said
Wayne, groggily, looking around. "What am I doing here? Whose ute
is this?"
    "It belonged to another human,"
said Drukk. "That one was defective I believe." At this, Sam and
Wayne both turned to stare at him. "I am pleased that your
hibernation was brief. Other species take much longer."
    "Excuse me, but aren't you Loosi
Beecham?" Sam asked.
    "Wow!" Wayne gasped. "I thought it
was all a dream." Then his look of amazement turned to one of
horror as he remembered the hideously embarrassing way he had tried
to chat her up.
    The Vinggan spoke up. "I am Drukk.
I wear the orange clothing. I do not know this Loosi Beecham of
which you speak but I am familiar with the body type."
    "Oh God, I didn't mean to grope you
and all that," said Wayne, still lost in his own personal hell. "I
was totally pissed. I can't really remember much."
    Ignoring the fact that Ms Beecham
was clearly out of her brain on something highly illegal, Sam put
out her hand. "My name's Sam, Sam Zammit. I'm Wayne's sister." The
fact that Fate had just dropped an even bigger story right in her
lap was making her want to scream with excitement and jump up and
down. Finding Loosi Beecham wandering around the streets of
Brisbane as high as a kite, just had to get her syndicated around
the whole world. She needed to get a photographer over there right
away. With iron self-control, she said. "Why don't we all go
inside? My unit's just here."
    Judging that the out-thrust hand
must be a greeting, Drukk thrust out his own. "I am Drukk," he said
again, his hand hovering in the air near Sam’s. "I wear the orange
clothing."
    -oOo-
    Out in the blackened bushland
around the Vessel of The Spirit , a group of ten,
dirty-looking kangaroos milled about in an uncertain manner. The
place reeked of burnt vegetation and a pall of smoke