Cargo Cult Read Online Free

said. “How should I know? I’m not an
expert on human physiology. I’m just a Space Corps Operative, sixth
class. The only xenobiology they ever taught me was where to aim
your blaster in order to kill or maim the five most common space
pests.”
    “Then what’s the metamorphosis
booth for?” Braxx demanded. “Surely it was intended for uses such
as this and surely you were given some kind of training.”
    “Actually, I’ve often wondered what
it was for. There’s loads of stuff on a ship like this that they
just never bother telling us about.”
    “I’ve got an idea,” said the
ship.
    “There’s another example,” Drukk
said. “I never knew these ships could speak. I’ve been in the Corps
for years and everyone’s always used the splashboards.”
    “Yeah, it’s like that in the
Ministry,” said one of the Loosies. “Everything’s always ‘need to
know’—and guess who doesn’t need to know absolutely anything?”
    “Enough! Ship! Tell me your
idea.”
    “I’m afraid I can only accept
orders from a ranking Space Corps Operative.”
    Braxx’s beautiful blue eyes flashed
in fury. “Why you soulless pile of nanocircuits! I could have you
dismantled and recycled for trendy jewellery!”
    Drukk hurried forward. “Braxx, I
think you’d better let me handle the ship. They can get a bit
temperamental around civilians.” Braxx bridled but controlled
himself, backing off with a small bow and a taut smile. Drukk
breathed a deep sigh. He’d never seen it but he’d heard spacers’
tales of ships getting so annoyed with meddling passengers that
they’d shut down the life support, or opened all the hatches while
still in deep space, just to get some peace. “OK ship,” he said,
nervously. “This is Drukk.”
    “You don’t look like Drukk.”
    “Pardon.”
    “You don’t look like Drukk. You
look like some kind of alien monster.”
    “Ship? Are you feeling all
right?”
    “Fine thank you. I’m having a bit
of trouble with some of my neural processor units but I feel just
great.”
    Drukk looked around at the other
Loosies and saw that most of them had gone a somewhat paler colour.
Like him, they all seemed to be considering their chances of making
it to the exits before the ship did something they would all
regret.
    “Er, good. That’s, er, really
good,” Drukk went on. “You, er, said you had an idea.”
    “Did I?”
    “Yes. We were talking about how we
all look alike now that we’ve been through your metamorphosis booth
and you said that you had an idea. Do you remember?”
    “Nope.”
    “Just smash the stupid thing and
have done with it!” growled one of the Loosies that Drukk had to
assume was Braxx. A small aperture opened in one of the walls and
the needle-like muzzle of a disintegrator ray slid out.
    “No, no!” Drukk stammered, his
barking, human voice, rising with anxiety. “We wouldn’t want to do
that to such a fine and intelligent machine would we?” He waved his
hands at Braxx and pointed to the disintegrator.
    “Don’t see why not,” Braxx
grumbled, ignoring him. “The stupid machine is obviously only fit
for scrap.” The disintegrator swung around, targeting Braxx.
    Drukk, waved frantically, pointing
at the gun and miming the cleric’s imminent fate. “No, I don’t
think we want to upset this nice, clever machine, that controls all
the ship’s arsenal and the life support and the escape hatches, do
we?”
    Braxx still didn’t get it. “If you
ask me we should just blast it to…” And then he disappeared under a
pile of naked Loosi Beechams as his followers dragged him to the
ground and held his mouth shut.
    Drukk breathed a heavy sigh of
relief. “Thank you,” he said, perhaps to the Great Spirit, and
turned back to the ship’s main console. “So, ship,” he said
casually, “if you just happened to have the problem that we all
have, of not knowing one of ourselves from another, what would you
do?”
    “I think I’d do what the