Encounter at Woop Woop

Prolouge.

200km from Alice Springs, 16:43, 27th November, 2013.

Sergeant Jim Cooper wiped sweat from his brow, and glanced down at the GPS navigation system. Accoriding to the SatNav, he was about 200km from Alice springs. A little over 2km from the target area. He turned to his squad.
'Okauy guys. We're closing in on the target. Remember, target is a convoy of military trucks. Three are carrying Biological agents. They are each marked with a large nuclear threat symbol. Do not, I repeat, do not destroy these trucks. Nuetralize them, and take control of them, but do not blow them up. If the bio agents get out, we are all dead men. Got it?'
'Yes sir,' chorused the four Australian SAS troopers. Cooper slid the GPS back into it's cover, and took a firmer grip on his brand new plasma rifle.
'Okay. Lets go for it. Maximum stealth.'
The five men, each clad in dessert combat fatigues and carrying one of the new british built L4A4 plasma rifles climbed over the ridge, and scuttled over the barren ground. They looked around cautiously, as if any thing bigger than a lizard could be hiding in the sparse cover. Cooper flicked the saftey of his gun, and beckoned his men to follow him down a shallow gully.
The gully was barely over three feet deep, but it was the best avaialable. They crouched low, and jogged down it, towards the road. According to their breifings, a Biological weapons convoy would be passing down the road within an hour. It was siad to consist of three cargo trucks, with two troop trucks, escorted by a pair of armoured cars. They expected little trouble. After all, the enemy were known to be using old style projectile weapons, rather than the new energy guns, like the L4A4. Cooper crouched down, and peered round the corner of the gully. Sure enough, the road lay ahead, stretching out to the horizon in each directeion.
'Okay, we're here,' he siad.
Troopers Gavin Smallwood and Jeff Parket took up positions covering the road. Trooper Andy Williams puleld out the portab;e radio set, and began to contact base. Cooper and Trooper Billy Cockatoo dashed across the road, and took up positions on the other side of the road. Cooper pulled out his binoculars, and scanned the road to the north. The convoy was meant ot be coming form a chemicasl planet in Queensland. They would still be a few minuets away, over the horizon, past the heast haze. Cooper pulled out his water bottle, and took a sip. The heat was extreme. Cockatoo nervously flexed his grip on his gun, tryinmg to get a better grip through the sweat. Cooper could make something out on the far horizon. It looked like dust.
A faint sound reached his ears.
'That the convoy sarge?' Asked Cockatoo.
'No, they're to far away, just appearing over the horizoan. We'll hear their engines soon.'
The sound grew. It was definatly an engine of some sort. In the field of Cooper's binoculars, the convoy grew as well. They were in sight now, closing rapidly.
'Shit!' muuttered Cockatoo. 'They got ari-support!'
Cooper glanced at him. 'Can't be. The nearest enemy held air-base is in Cape York.'
'Sounds like a plane but,' said the Aboriginal soldier.
Cooper waved across ther rtoad, signaling the approach of the convoy.
The noise grew ever closer, but thet all forgot it, as the convoy closed in. They tightened their grips, and checked their wepaons actions. The convoy was under a Kilometer away now.
As the first trucks came inot range, the noise grew defening. Cooper ignored it, squeezing his trigger. Red paint, signaling a hit, spalttered across the bonnet of the first troop transport. Behind him, he heard Cockatoo gasp. He ignored him, and pumped more rounds into the convoy. The men in the convoy were staring upwards. They were paying no attention ot him at all. Cooper realised he was the only one firing. He looked up, and gasped.
'Sir,' Said Billy Cockatoo, 'Permision to report that a whale is flying over us.'
Cooper gasped, and stared upwards.
'That is no whale,' he said.
The thing above them was about a hundred metres long, and rounded. It sprouted two small, whale like fins about halfway don it's body, which narrowed to a air-craft like tail. It was faintly metalic, and deep blue. There where strange verticle patterens inscribed around the nose. It was moving over head, at about 50km/h, heading north. Lights blinked on and off at the tips of the fins. Cooper rubbed his eyes,a dn looekd again. It was till there.
'Er…' said Cooper, 'I think w=this is a close encounter with an alien species.'
Across the road, Trooper smallwodd fumbled out his camera, intewnded for purpses of photographic evidence gatherong, and began to gather evidence. A minte latter, the strange object was past. Cooper staggered across the road, to find Andy Williams, furiously talking into the radio.
'Big, Whale shapped….lights…about a hundred metres…yes…yes….no….no sir! We havn't tpched a drop for atleast a week….yes…we all saw it sir.'
Cooper took the mike.
'Cooper here.'
'Cooper?' asked the confused voice of mission controler Dave Stevens, 'What the hell is willialms talking about?'
'An Alien space craft which just passed over head.'
'WHAT?'
'Yes sir. It was real, I saw it. And we have photographs as well.'
'Are you taking the piss?'
'If I was, wouldn\'t I be talking about flying suacers and little green men? It looked like a whale, and I saw no alien biengs.'
'I think,' Said Stevens, 'That the exercise should be canceled. Tell the convoy commander, and hitch a ride back to Alice.'
'Yes sir,' Said cooper, satill puzzling over what he'd just seen.

'You fool!' roared the man in the Black suit. His unnaturally pale skin glistened faintly under the flourescent lights. Te stocky figure sitting across the table form him shifted nervously.
'Stealth technology is no excuse! Stealth technology only serves to blind sensors,' railed the man, padssing furiously. 'But it does not blind people!'
'I am sorry. It shall never happen again.'
'Let's just hope no one believes them. What wewre you doing, flying around durign the day anyway? I told you before, only come at night!'
'I am sorry. It will never happen again.'
'Make sure it doesn't,' Raored the Man in Black. 'If it does, we're all for the chop.' He slammed his hand down on the table, rattlign the coffee mugs.
Parfaz Dasnam drew back in fright.

I

Melbourne conference centre, 18:00, November 27, 2013.

Saving the world is easy. All you need is soemthing to save it from, and something to save it with. In my xcase, it was an ancient dooms day device, and my psychic abilities, leg, hand and baretta. Very often, when you save the world, no one notices. The world was asaved several times durign the cold war, but it was all so classified that no one evr found out. Unfortunatly for me, stealing the Mars landing ship gets a bit of publicity, and then using it to save the world gets you even more. Some popelew ould love to be in my position. The entire world grateful, thosuands of adoring young women, money, riches, medals, fame, TV rights, corn-flakes commericals, meeting the crown heads of europe.. all that jazz.
I hate it. It's not that I'm a private person. It's that I'm an intesivly private person.
'Mr Smith? Could you tell us what you felt when you pulled the glove off?' Asked the cute ypunge reporter from the new york herald.
'Cold,' I said, keeping it simple. The faithfully scribbled that down on their note pads.
'How did you feel when you were declared man of the year?' Asked the representative of the Helsinki Times, through his interpreter.
'I was in a coma at the time,' I pointed out.
I was already regretting agreeing to this press conference. It was my first, and I was going to damn well make sure it was my last.
'Mr Smith?' Called the hot red-head from the Herald-Sun, 'Which football team do you follow?' The other reporters glowered at her for asking such a stupid question. However, as a Patriotic Melbournina, I understood perfectly. Afterall, most of the Herald-sun is about fotty anyway.
'Bay-view Orchards Baboons,' I said, naming the newest team in the AFL.
'Mr smith! Do you intend to marry?' Cried the chic from the woman's weekly.
'Yes,' I said.
'Who? Is she famous? Do we know her? Is she rich? What are her measurments? Whens the ahppy day?'
'She is not famous, you do not know her, she earns slightly less than a employee of the department of garbology, her measurments are highly classified, and the ahppy day is when hell freezes over, acording to her,' And it was all true. Well, maybe Ivadenov does earn slightly morew than a garbo, but not much. 'However,' I continued, 'She is the melbourne champion Tea-aldy, All-armed forces boxing champion, very fashion concious, and so sexy that she carries a public health warning about going blind due to over exposure to her charms.'
As the gossip reporters began shouting questions which Ivadenov would probably have considered indecent, an attendant handed me a slip of paper. I looked down at it. It said
'Ms. Ivadenov is on line 3 for you.'
I got to my feet, secretly rejoicing at this excellent news. I walked out, and grabbed the phone the attendant porfered.
'Thank you my dear, you have saved me from a horrible fate. God bless you, and your frilly knickers!'
'Vhat?'
'You have extracted me form the press conference, and I am eternally grateful.'
'Oh. Lizten, Titus, zis iz zerious.'
'Is it? What's going on?'
'Zulu Dawn is being aired at 21:30 tonight on SBS.'
'No it's not. The weater woman three is tonight's cult movie,' I said, before realising what she emant. Zulu Dawn, and SBS were both code words. According to the CPA official code book, Zulu Dawn meant 'Important meeting re: Confirmed contact/interaction with species designation ET-01 by forces outside of those approved for such contact/interaction by higher autority.'
Roughly transalted, this meant that somewone outside the CPA had seen a Ker'Shanti vessel.
SBS meant that the meeting was classified as top prority.
'I'll be right there,' I said, slammigndown the phone.
I dashed out of the conference cnetre, and leapt inot my car. Unfortuantly, the door hadn't finished opening yet,a nd the effect was ruined. Cursing violenly, and nursing my battered noggin I climbed bac inotn the cockpit of the X-2000, and burned repulsor. The newly re-painted car shot over melbourne like a manic blakc banshee with chilli suace on it's bum. Within moments, I was diving inot the 333 collins street car park. I dodged an exitign FBI suburban, and slammed the car into my parkign spot. It really wasn\t my day. There was someone else parke din my spot. Fortunatly, My car does not need floor space, So I leapt down, denting the brand new jaguar which had stolen my spacew, and calmly walked over to the lift.
As usual, there was a large crowd of official looking americans around it. And as was my usual practice, I got the lift to my self by yelling
'Fedral Biological weapons courier making delivery!'
It was true in a way, so I didn't feel to bad about it. I was, after all, wearing the same socks I'd been wearing for three days. Besides, they were amercians, and I hate amercians.
The lift hummed happily up to the lobby of that gloriuos building at 333 collins. I stepped out into the lobby, marveling, as I always did, at the hand layed mozaic tiled floor, and stupendously well designed domed roof. I crossed several weeks worth pof skileld mozaic artists time, and opened the semi-secret door. I got past the automated secturity gear quickly. The human part was harder. The americans like to have their own securtiy, even in anither country. The US marine was big, blakc, and in full dress uniform. He was sweating slightly.
'Halt!' He barked. 'ID?'
I passed him my CPA id card. He stared at it blankly, juts like everyone else I ever gave it to. I'm not sure why the CPA has an ID card. No one recognises it, and you can't even use it as proof of age for buying grog. Predictably, the Marine reached for his Walky Talky.
'Stone to command, I have aprehended a suspecious character in the main enterance. His card identifies him as one 'Titus Uhura Smith, of some australian agency called the CPA. Please advise.'
I advised the marine to shove his sweagger stick into certaij intimate locations, and let myself throguih the complex airlock into the inner corridor. The Marine started after me, but his radio squarked, and I lef thim behind. After several hundred metres of boreing government agency style corridors, I came to the door to the CPA. It looked like most of the other doors, except for certain markings. For a start, it's crest. All agencies havew crests. Most of them feature eagles, flags, big bold letters, or something similar. AT the very minimum, you expect something impressive, and official. The CPA crest was unusual. It featured a shield. Emblazoned on this shield was a brain rouge, surrounded by energy argent. The shield was supported by a pair of Wombats, dressed in green and gold cycle shorts. The motto scroll beneath read "Saltus Ergo Macropos"*. We'd mistakenly asked for saomethign which symolized the nature of our work, and emphazied the australianity of the agency. It had been a big mistake. Under the tradidiotnal crest, where several traditional office stickers. 'You don't have to be mad to work here, but it helps!', that sort of thing. Of course, it was not true at all. Madness was mandatory to working with the CPA. I pushed the dor open. It stuck. This was no surprise. I pushed harder, and was rewarded by the sound of tumbling paper work. The door swung open, and I climbed over the fallen papers, into the mian office.
'G'day,' I said, waving at the commander, who, as always was fighting a loosing battle to light his pipe.
'G'day Titus,' he muttered. He went back to fighting with his tobacco. I looked on in interest. The commanders pipe was an impressive bit of technology. It was around a foot long, made from a mixture of brass, steel, mahogony, drinking straws, and computer cooling fans. Quentin had nocked it together about a month ago. Supposedly, all the gizmos stickignoout of it made it almost impossible to go out. Theoretically, it drew better, tasted better, and had a smoke resovoir, so oyu could go on smokeing for five minutes after it went out. I say supsodely, because it was also almost entirely, but not quite, impossible to light. The commander cut a plug of tobacco, and inserted it in the ingress port. It slid into the appropriate place. The commander then pushed it down with a pencil's butt end. Satisfied, he reached for his lighrter. This to was impressive. It had been designed for the pipe, and it's excentricites. It was a tank of lightrer fluid, connected to a long, flexible tube. You puched the tube into the pipe, so it got through between all the gizmos inot the bowl, then flivked the electric starter switch. In testing, aflame three feet long had been achieved. Inpractice, it almost never worked, The commander flciked the switch. Notrhing. He flicked again. Nothing. He flicked onec more, and, not suprisingly, nothing haoppened.
'Allow me,' I siad, stepping forward. 'I think you need to hold down this tab, and twiddle this dial first. I did so, and flicked the lighrter. It came to life, and shot a three foot flame into the pipe, which promptly exploded.
After we had dowsed the spot fires, the commander muttered 'well, there's another of Qunitins little inventions gone,' and dropped it inot the bin, which contained the infinite ink pen, the magnetic flux rail-stapler, and the auto-dog groomer.
He looked up at me in puzzlmemnt.
'What is it you acctualy, want, aside for destruciotn?'
'Ivadenov sent out a Zulu Dawn.'
'Oh! That. She's handlignit, go on through.'
OS I did.