An Alien Rescue (40 page)

Scott didn’t sit down, he instead strolled around the Flight Deck, chewing. There was definitely no comparison with
what he worked on in the RAF.

Aircraft were bulky and primitive when compared to what he was looking at. Th
ey had Martin-Baker ejection seats packed with explosives, parachute and umbilical oxygen/comm's connectors. There were weapon control systems, a button-loaded joy-stick, several windscreens, a transparent canopy with detonating cord, multiple gauges and screens, various knobs or handles with legible multi-coloured warnings and an undercarriage selector switch console. On the side panels were primary and secondary alarm panels, fire extinguisher alert and action buttons, engine start and fuel supply switches, throttles and a radio-communication console. The forward windscreen had a head-up-display that incorporated a gun-sight with missile targeting and lock-on.
It’s a whole new ball game
, he recognised.
We’re still in the frigging stone-age, for Christ’s sake! I wish I could take this little bit of kit back with me. That would raise more than just a few eyebrows, that’s for sure.

The girls returned, complete with more potato chips and coca-cola, with additional cheesy snacks and chocolate-chip cookies to keep them fed and happy.

“Right Scott,” said Phyllis. “If you are ready, we can go and find the area you mentioned.”

“Just lead the way
. I’m right behind you,” he said while wondering if there was anything new to discover.

It only took a moment
to arrive. He recognised the hexagonal chamber without question or doubt. It felt as if he’d only just hurriedly left it with Frell, both leaping through the opening to escape and landing on the lunar landscape in clouds of kicked-up dust and flying grit.

“Follow me,” he commanded.

He led the way, passing the places he remembered while being held onto by lots of the little guys, all dressed in black gowns, saying the same infernal droning sentence as if to pacify them. ‘
You are going to be alright, do not be afraid, you have nothing to worry about
.’ Scott shuddered at the memory. Phyllis saw him shake. They continued, heading towards another chamber where his body was to have been dismembered. He recognised the tumbling clouds of mist with flickering blue and orange lighting. “This is the decontamination area,” he pointed out. She nodded. He passed through the mist, leaving it behind with the knowledge he had just been cleansed again.
Won’t need to wash for a year after this little lot’s over
, he thought cheerfully to himself. The next chamber came into view with its blue-white lighting and perfectly white walls. “Just like a hospital operating theatre,” he told Phyllis, who was all eyes and ears at their surroundings. “This is where I kicked the shit out of the ship’s leader, he proudly informed her. She didn’t reply, but tried to imagine what had happened.

“This way,” he
called out. “This is the way Frell and I went after we beat the Grey bastard at his own game.” Without turning to check if she was following, he set off towards the door at the room’s far end. It was open and exactly as he remembered it. Marching through, he reached the corridor’s end, stopping short and turning to face a door on his left. It opened like the others, sliding quietly and remaining open as long as he was within its range. How he missed his lover, wishing they were together again.

Phyllis stepped towards him, laying a supportive hand on one shoulder. He felt her presence and touch, knowing he was with friends he could rely on. The room beyond the door was bathed in blue, just as before. He recognised th
e ship’s were identical, even down to the coloured lighting within individual rooms.

“Phyllis, I’m a little confused. Why do the rooms have different coloured lights?”

She smiled the look of knowing the answer. “They are colour coded.”

“Eh?”

“Each room or area is designated a specific colour, which individuals will easily recognise and relate to, wherever they might find themselves.” She saw the confusion in his eyes as he tried to equate her description to what he was looking at. “If a clone was ordered to adjust a generator, for example, he would go to the blue area. Or a red area for supplies. In other words, a quick and easy method of reference is to use colour codes, a standardised colour system throughout their fleet of ships.”

Scott understood what she meant, nodding his understanding. He was unsure whether he should be impressed with the Grey methodology or not, seeing it as a different and
very easy method of recognition. He wondered if it was common throughout the Grey Empire and not just the ships, where power-generating sectors were one colour, while supply areas were another. Their cities, he thought, could be really colourful. He imagined leaping into a taxi, demanding to be taken to the green sector. He decided that should he ever find himself in one of these places, god-forbid, he would demand to be taken to the tartan sector.
That’ll fuck ‘em up for sure!
He almost laughed out loud at his humour. Quickly regaining his thoughts, he informed Phyllis about the room ahead of them. “This is where we came across the hybrids; part grey, part human.” He shuddered at the memory. Slowly entering a blue room, he tip-toed towards a second door. It opened, allowing a soft yellow glow to escape. Everything turned a horrid shade of green with patches of yellow and blue in corners where both colours couldn’t merge. It looked the same as it had previously. There were rows of bunk beds, all neatly arranged but without any bedding or bodies. “Thank fuck for that,” said Scott with tremendous relief, followed by a loud sigh. It had occurred to him there might have been some of the hybrids on board, waiting for orders or whatever. He recalled Frell, explaining he was supposed to have mated with the female who approached him.

“Of course!” he shouted. “
Now I understand it all! I was supposed to mate with that female… thing... because Mike couldn’t! And the kitchen and toilet, here and on Mars… They’re for the hybrids to use. I should’ve known for Christ’s sake. I should’ve realised ages ago. What an idiot I can be sometimes.” He scolded himself with wit for being so blind to the reality of the situation. Phyllis was about to speak, to tell him he wasn’t stupid when Scott held up a hand to stop her. “Only sometimes, though. I’m pretty damned clever for the rest of the time.” He released a little laugh to accompany his humour. Phyllis gave him a jovial push, laughing as well.

Recovering themselves, they stepped towards the room
's opposite end. The door, just like all the others, opened automatically. Scott inspected the doorframe, almost expecting to see a missing part; a piece destroyed by Frell as she forced the door to close behind them in their escape. Everything was intact, of course. He led the way along a dimly lit passageway, recognising it with sadness and a broken heart. They arrived at yet another door, which opened into the arrival chamber. “We’re back.”

Belinda welcomed them with
bulging cheeks and a mouthful of cookie. There were smudges of chocolate all the way round her mouth.

“I’ve figured why there are kitchens and toilets on board the Grey ships and Mars,” he said proudly. They are for the hybrids’ use, and Mike was a
guinea-pig
.”

Belinda's half-chewed
cookies and chocolate-chips added to the room’s already colourful décor.

Both ladies looked aghast at his statement.
Mike was a human
, Belinda passed to Phyllis, who in turn mentally said,
a pig he was definitely not
!

Scott didn’t know if he should leave them to sort this out for themselves or not. He relented at their confusion and the peculiar looks he was
receiving.

He explained. “A guinea pig is used for testing a system or something that can be questionable, such as a kitchen and a toilet.”

“Aha,” said Phyllis. “So the greys used Mike to test these areas for both human and hybrid use.”

Belinda almost jumped as she added her own suggestion. “And the food too, they used it as part of the same test.”

“Yep, they sure as hell did,” said Scott nodding to them both. Then his facial appearance altered with suddenness, as he added, “I wonder if the weapons were also for the hybrids use?” No one offered any kind of an answer or solution to that question.

Having consumed enough crisps, snacks and drinks to make a house of partying kids sick
for a week, they rested. The ship was flying in auto-mode, with any calculations for atmospheric entry carried out as a matter of course. The ship’s own systems steered it above the base where the submarine had sailed north from.

The submarine’s crew were aware the radar absorbing tiles were successful at keeping them secure in the knowledge the
ship was practically impossible to detect. However, other species with more capable and technologically advanced detection systems easily saw the submerged vessel, with the appropriate actions taken to avoid contact. In this instance, the ship that carried the intrepid trio of rescuers to Earth was acutely aware of its presence in the ocean below. The non-reflective black of their ship's outer-skin meant visual detection in space was practically impossible, with other measures taken to avoid all other means of discovery.

The South Atlantic was bathed in glorious daylight
when they had arrived, with cloud cover at a minimum. A delay for safety was necessary. Various systems self-adjusted in order to wait for darkness to gather and the northerly-headed nuclear powered vessel to have vacated the area before entry into the atmosphere and sea could be initiated.

“We have
another opportunity to relax,” informed Belinda, helping to further relieve any feelings of tension. With their own thoughts and fears to keep them company, each drifted into an uneasy sleep, but at least they were better fed, watered and suitably drained.

The
atomic-powered submarine’s journey was now one of pleasure, almost as if the crew were on a paid-cruise. It was now on course for a great night out. The festivities were well advanced at the Azore's naval station, with some locally informed ladies preparing themselves for a fun-starved bunch of guys. The special golf clubs were proudly on display to anyone who wished to envy the captain - and there were many. The metal used to make the club’s heads was reclaimed phosphor-bronze from a particular ship’s propeller. The ship in question was the famous and most prestigious,
Queen Elizabeth II
, having been recently retired from service. The set of clubs cost an-arm-and-a-leg and through time would appreciate in value. They weren’t just a fantastic present and piece of must-have golfing hardware; they were a fantasy come-true for any golfing enthusiast who could afford them. To own such a set and play with them was a dream made in golfing heaven.

The captain had ordered a series of perishots of the surface and the sky before departure, with a few underwater looks too. With nothing untoward showing in any of the pictures
or scans there was no reason not to set sail north. With a BRN pass, which is a once-every-twenty-four-hour satellite positioning passover, the sub’s exact position was marked and plotted for the quickest return journey. After serving in the US Navy for thirty two years the skipper was rather anxious to get over the final leg of his retirement cruise and rid himself of his sea legs once and for all.
Sunny days, sandy beaches, voluptuous girls and green golf courses had waited long enough for his personal attention
, he thought with a smile warm enough to melt an iceberg at a thousand metres. He placed the sub’s control into the hands of his number one, who had exercised an impeccable level of seamanship and personnel administration.
Skipper’s
recommendation for his promotion to captain the sub’ had been lodged with Navy HQ long before their original departure all those months before. He had done all he could to get his friend and colleague instated as
its
Skipper, so by handing the ship and its crew into his hands he was publicly stating his confidence in this more than capable man.

A
frica beamed up at them, advertising its bright green and orange borders, as if glowing from a sparkling-blue ocean. Small islands off its western-shores were easily recognisable as Scott viewed the scene on monitors. He wondered if the bar at RAF Ascension was open with cold draught Guinness on tap? No one there would ever believe in a month of Sundays there might actually be someone like him looking down on them from above. South America and Antarctica clearly showed as well, with the Falkland Islands easily seen. He wondered if any of his mates were still down there.

Looking across at both ladies, he still found it so difficult to comprehend. They were both
quietly snoring, with slight adjustments made to their sleeping positions every once in a while, which silenced the noise from the sleepy-heads, but only for a moment. He also tried to settle, tossing and turning in his own seat until he’d given up any hope of dropping-off. His active thoughts turned to the family he had left behind on Earth. He loved his two little girls and wouldn’t they be surprised to know he had something in common with James Tiberius Kirk of the most famous fictional Starship, USS Enterprise. James T Kirk might have been fictional, as was the ship in the television series, but Scott’s own experiences told him it could all be factual one day, if only the so-called leaders of the world’s nations could simply band together with honest agreements and a desire to help each other’s countries It could halt all the violence and wars, forever; saving untold amounts of money that could be used to help people instead of killing them and destroying property. Shaking his head at the sheer bloody-minded monotony of war mongering governments and their blood-crazed generals, he turned his saddened gaze to concentrate on his surroundings. Seated only a few metres away were two drop-dead gorgeous intelligent women, both clad in sky-blue outfits and fast asleep. And all while they were safely contained in a fantastic technologically advanced ship that sat easily in orbit while waiting for darkness before heading for Earth. If only he could be allowed to remember it all.