Rock n Roll Babes from Outer Space (33 page)

I had a dream

about a hill

about a boy

about a girl

you weren’t there

in the light…

No sooner did the Babes finish ‘Close Encounter You’ then the punters screamed for ‘Hangar 99’.

At this moment, the Alphas, Sirians, Zetas and others arrived on the scene in force. Because they had neither tickets nor wings, they hadn’t been able to get past the gates, but one of the Sirians remembered something he’d once seen on an old episode of
Twilight Zone
and they passed through a crinkle in time. This put them at the stage ten minutes earlier than when they’d started out. Most of the Sirians were wearing their Elvis jumpsuits, though one had found his ET mask and was wearing that.

A Sirian made the first move. Nimble as, he leapt onto Captain Qwerk’s back, wrapped suctiony fingers around his shiny little body and stuck his metre-long tongue straight down Qwerk’s ear. Now we know how sensitive Nufonian ears are. Qwerk, paralysed with pleasure, dropped his Lobot-a-tron. The Sirian briefly extracted his tongue, looked at another Sirian and mouthed the words ‘Wax-o-rama!’ They both laughed so hard at this that Qwerk managed to rouse himself, pick up his weapon and hold the barrel to the first Sirian’s head.

The Babes played on, loud and hard.

‘
GULP
!’ cried the Sirian.

The Cherubim chose this moment to descend upon Qwerk. Grabbing onto his knobbly fingers with their pudgy fists, they lifted the small grey high in the air above the stage and gave him a good talking to. They told him that they’d seen him pleasuring his uvula several times on the flight over. They told him that they had found the Hidden Agenda. Then they put him down right on top of the roof of the stage. Qwerk, who, for a cosmonaut, was remarkably afraid of heights and could not even contemplate looking down, was so agitated by now that his
limbs began to twitch and jerk and spasm. Nothing life-threatening, but it did make for excellent visuals.

Luella Skye-Walker nudged her husband and pointed to Qwerk. ‘Haven’t seen breakdancing in
ages
.’

‘Definitely time for a revival,’ Aubrey nodded enthusiastically, attempting a shoulder pop, whip and finger curl. He rubbed his neck. ‘Maybe not, however, at my age.’

‘You know, Aubrey, I really wish we’d made contact before the project was wound up,’ Luella sighed. ‘Can you imagine how wild it would be if all these aliens were
real
?’

Qwerk’s bots and borgs, meanwhile, were taking deep breaths and steeling themselves to venture out into the madness and rescue their leader when Iggy and Revor dashed over and planted themselves at the foot of Pallas’s exit ramp. One glance at Iggy, who wasn’t even trying to look threatening, and even the notorious borgs of 49 Serpentis retreated. They cowered behind the door, palpitating madly within their pink, triangular chests.

And the Babes played on.

Warped drive, I’m a-gettin’ outta here

Warped drive, I’m switching far for near.

I’d like to be on the same planet as you some day

But even when we’re close you’re so far away

So thanks for all the Memocide

It’s been fun, it’s been a ride,

Warped drive, warped drive

I’m a-gettin’ outta here.

Sirians, being vertically challenged, couldn’t see very well at rock concerts. Not quite able to catch what was going on, the Sirian in the ET mask chose this moment to wander onto the stage.

The sight of him spurred the crowd into a veritable frenzy. ‘Call home!’ they screamed. ‘Call home!’ Just then he suddenly noticed what looked like a SWAT team in full battle dress rush the stage from the other side. In fright, he dived off the stage and landed in the mosh, where he was caught and bodysurfed, passed from hand to hand over the top of the crowd, for the rest of the concert.

The Sirian was wrong. It wasn’t a SWAT team at all. It was General Jackal Mikeson’s TWATS team (Troops for Wasting Aliens To Shit), the enforcement arm of
CONSPIRASEE.
TWATS were far worse than SWATs. The Alphas and other Sirians and Zeta Reticulans, who hadn’t really thought of anything to do yet, now hurled themselves onto the TWATS, hanging upside down off their helmets, sticking suction-cuppy toes onto their faces, trying to tickle them under their flak jackets and farting up their nostrils. The TWATS weren’t the slightest bit flustered by this. This was precisely the sort of situation for which they’d been professionally trained. Suctioning a Sirian off his face, Mikeson signalled for his men to advance on the Babes—who were still madly playing—and then Qwerk.

‘Drama-o-rama!’ shuddered Tristram from the mosh. In his mind, he leapt up onto the stage and took the TWATS on single-handedly, saving the babes and earning the total and undivided attention of Lati, who’d never look at another bean again. Except maybe Torquil, when he allowed it. Torquil was thinking the same thing. Here is a picture of slacker heroism: Tristram, looking deeply concerned, relights a joint and passes it to Torquil. Then they make their way to the front, and tap one of the Sirians on the shoulder.

‘Uh, anything we can do?’ asked Torquil.

‘Cousin!’ cried the Sirian, embracing him.

Doll was the first of the Babes to react to all the confusion. ‘Oh, God,’ she said under her breath as she rolled the drums, ‘help us. Please. Dear God. If we’ve ever needed you, we need you now.’

CK-CK-CK-CK-CR
RRRAACK!
A great hole gaped in the speaker stack and a gigantic creature with the face of Phil Collins, the hair of Lenny Kravitz, the body of young Elvis, the dress sense of Dave Graney, the smouldering sexuality of The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, the snarl of Johnny Rotten and the biggest fucken three-necked guitar in the entire yoon burst forth. He was trailing coloured streamers and waving a glittering musical staff which He used to lasso the entire division of TWATS.

‘KONG FOO SING!’ He hollered, command-ing them, ‘Make My day. Dance to the music!’ At which point the soldiers turned as one towards the audience, threw their helmets into the air, ripped open their shirts to reveal well-toned chests and, led by Mikeson himself, began gyrating raunchily to the chorus of ‘In the Sexual Experimentation Chamber (Anything Goes, Everything Cums)’.

The fans loved it. They screamed, they laughed, they cheered, they applauded, they pogoed, they moshed, they pashed, they fucked in the aisles. What with the nonstop music, Pallas pulsing on one side, Galgal beaming on the other, what with Qwerk still breakdancing on the roof, the Cherubim cavorting in the air with the lost paraglider and the hovering helicopter, what with the Sirians and Alphas bounding around the stage, ET in the mosh and now this invasion of dancing soldier boys, not to mention the visitation by the ultimate Rock God, blessed be His name, Who was now performing a
filthy
guitar solo of ‘Stairway
to Heaven’, this was undoubtedly the best rock n roll stage show in the past, present and future history of the yoon.

It was so cool, so sick, so full-on, so utterly absorbing and absolutely fabulous that no one even noticed the night sky darkening as an asteroid some twenty-two kilometres in diameter began its approach to Earth.

‘Sorry about the rush’—Baby was now standing at the front of the stage and shouting into the microphone—‘but as you can see, we’re wanted in a few places that we don’t particularly want to be wanted in. The life of a rock n roll alien outlaw is a bit like that. We’ve had a fully mega-mega time on your planet, it’s been real
as,
and we love all of you.’

What? Jake felt a sudden wave of panic. What was happening? Had she been serious, when she said that about leaving? And what did she mean, ‘love
all
of you?’ What about
him
? What about
him?

‘You see,’ she was explaining, ‘if we don’t hightail it out of here sometime around, oh, exactly now, we’re dead alien meat. And if you’ve ever seen dead alien meat, you’ll know it’s not a pretty sight. So we’re off. Don’t know where. Don’t know when we’ll be back. We’re just going to get on that big skyway and keep on truckin’.’

Without
him?
Hey—where had the twins gone? Was
everyone
going to desert him now?

‘If you want to come with us,’ Baby offered, ‘listen carefully. This is the drill. When I say
rock n roll,
visualise
yourself in our flying saucer here, and bang your head three times. Alright punters, now—
ROCK N ROLL.’
Hair flew, lacunae opened up in the crowd. Where Larry and the other abductees had been standing, for instance, where George had been, and young Zach, and Skye and Saturna, and Ozone, and Ebola, Groovy Gregory and even a prominent government leader, who’d recently stated that the Babes were his favourite band, better than silverchair even, and Jackal Mikeson’s secretary Herman, and Des Blight and Henry the mixer.

Jake tried to visualise himself in the saucer. He saw the scene of his initial abduction, of himself and Baby playing pool at the Sando, of the first day he and Torquil heard the Babes practising, of the first gig, of touring. He saw himself making love to Baby. Mostly, he saw himself making love to Baby. She was the most amazing girl he’d ever met, they’d had top times, and atomic sex. It was actually true. He
loved
her. With all his heart.

Maybe it really was time to, uh,
commit.
But his skin felt as though it had shrunk a whole size too small for him, his mouth went dry, his palms dampened and his temples throbbed. He desperately needed a joint and a beer. He needed to think this through.

Baby’s antennae had picked Jake out of the crowd. She read his equivocation. A pang rent her heart. ‘Final call,’ she announced, looking straight at him.
Won’t you ride with me
? He looked away.
‘ROCK N ROLL
!’ He was still there. He wasn’t coming. She knew that now. But she also knew, having read his mind, that he did love her. In his own, strange, Earth boy way. And while part of her wished it could be otherwise, that they could be together forever and ever, she was happy. She was, after all, Baby Baby, wild n free, extraterrestrial extraordinaire, number
one rock n roll babe from outer space. There’d be other adventures, other planets, other loves, if not in this solar system then in the next, or the next. Jake would always have a place in her heart, but her heart was a pretty big place.

She could see Doll frantically gesturing at her to hurry up. The borgs and bots in Pallas were now revving up the engine, and God, having done His bit, was tapping His feet and looking at His watch. Qwerk, still on the roof, was the only one to notice the approaching Eros, but his screams were absorbed in the general tumult.

‘Thank you very much, Sydney,’ Baby cried. ‘Thank you Australia. Thank you Earth. We’re the Rock n Roll Babes from Outer Space. Catch you next time!’ She lifted her guitar into the air and smashed it down on the stage. Lati stomped on her bass and Doll kicked over her drums and tossed the sticks into the mosh, where a thousand hands reached up for them—and lo and behold, the sticks multiplied in the air until there was one for every pair of hands.

As their fans stood and cheered, waving and swaying, Doll revved up Galgal. There wasn’t a moment to spare. The saucer rose upwards on a solid beam of light, which it then sucked back up into itself with a great big slurp. ‘Hold on tight,’ said Doll, throwing the saucer into gear and hanging a u-ee over the stadium with the borg-piloted Pallas in pursuit. Qwerk was still on the roof, gazing with horror upon the fast-plummeting Eros.

Pulling the craft into a sharp right turn, Doll threw all the switches. All the drugs flooded into the engine now. The amphetamines kicked the saucer into a faster and faster velocity. It vibrated and hummed with the speed and cocaine. The acid and mushies were wreaking havoc
with the viewing screen, causing little green teddy bears and plates of purple spaghetti to loom up in Doll’s sights, but she steeled herself and ran straight through them.