An Alien Rescue (41 page)

“Houston,” he smirked quietly to himself with humorous delight, “we
do not have a problem.” Belinda stirred at his joke.

“Are you communicating with NASA?” she asked rubbing her eyes and looking to see if the comm
unication consol was functioning at last.

“Nah,” he replied, feeling silly. “I was speaking to myself.”

She waited for a moment, thinking before commenting. “That is acceptable.” She let out a little laugh as she yawned. “As long as it is not a Grey that you are talking to, that is most important.”

He laughed too.

Systems at the secret base were being prepared for reactivation. Antennae were repositioned to make up for the lost telemetry and Grey personnel returned to their key positions in anticipation. The commander of this base had felt uneasy since a communications blackout had been enforced, always anxious to reinstate the infrastructure as soon as possible. His monitors showed the pathetically simplistic piece of human submersible apparatus was steadily moving towards the planet’s magnetic north, steering a course up the centre of the Atlantic. It sailed directly above the mid-Atlantic ridge where pulsating flows of erupting pillow lava spilled out onto the ocean floor with excessive amounts of escaping heat from the crust’s interior being cleverly used to hide that of the sub’s own making. The twenty four safely stowed nuclear missiles were once again carried back, unused. Their true purpose was to threaten war and retribution against any who would dare to attack the safety of the United States of America or its closest allies, the Grey coldly contemplated. If he could have smiled at the absurdity of it all, he would have.

Scott had earlier learned from Belinda that a
prediction made by the Empire had confirmed that humans will have successfully destroyed themselves, their cities and their domination within one more century; with the off-world colony being the only surviving human specimens left in existence. The resulting lengthy nuclear winter following the predicted rise in sea level, with eventual famine and lethal radiation, would quickly finish any survivors. Global warming would be the catalyst for the worldwide confrontation, combined with protected oil reserves and the industrialised countries fighting to defend their own god-given rights against the starving and demanding mouths of those who desperately needed assistance. Mineral based oil will be practically exhausted with nuclear power making a hastened comeback towards the closing end. Those countries who had sworn allegiance to the superpowers, with promises not to build weapons of mass destruction for promised food and fuel in return, had secretly gone ahead and built them anyway. These blackmailing and corrupt countries knew they would need a lever of substance to eventually back-up their demands; a gun carried a lot more weight if it had bullets to fire instead of hollow words. Scott almost scoffed at the singularly most powerful nation for previously voting into its Presidential office individuals who had been openly subsidised by the oil industry and more. The slogan,
Clean Coal
, had made an entrance, a most dirty and polluting form of fuel, supposedly advocated by a President. And this same country had refused to comply with demands from others to cut their carbon-based emissions, where no-one except environmentally aware groups raised any realistic objection. He also knew it was the same nation who spawned the
Superman
epics, and led the fight to free the planet of communism, terrorism and fundamentalism, while using more resources and generating even more pollution than any other country. They would need a real
Superman
to repair the planet’s ecological systems that had been systematically destroyed by greed and ignorance. The human species requires a strong individual in government, a person who could be trusted by all the world’s governments and peoples’ alike’, he knew. They should be persuaded to accept what has been done cannot be undone and to forgive those who were in the wrong, as long as those same individuals and terrorist groups understand they were
also
in the wrong. Each nation must welcome all others into their own, to live together as one unit without borders or discrimination.
Unless these stupid warmongering idiots can bring themselves into line with every other intelligent species, they will simply disappear like the earlier magnificent and dominant reptilian lifeforms before them
, he thought knowingly. “This blue world is full of fools,” he quipped. “But soon it might be Grey,” he feared.

Scott had quietly wandered around the ship again, retracing his footsteps just in case he had missed something not so obvious but important. He discovered several small scooter type craft stowed in the ship’s stern, four little vehicles with skids instead of wheels. He correctly assumed they were for reconnaissance around the ship’s immediate vicinity. Having been a biker for most of his life he would have loved to try one, wondering if he could get them to go like a motorcycle. He imagined taking one home with him, dragging it behind him wrapped in cellophane, trying to persuade customs it was nothing more than a birthday present.
I might be able to break every speed limit on the Queen’s highway and more, with the fed’s wondering why so many of their speed cameras went wonky about the same time, showing pictures of a small scooter driven by a smiling lunatic going faster than Mach one
. He grinned like a mischievous urchin at his boisterous thought.
T’would be bloody good though
, he had to agree with himself. Other than the small machines there was nothing else to be found of interest, except for the welcome box of Hershey bars he discovered at the back of a kitchen cupboard. Those were readily lifted with a lick of his lips while anticipating the flavour of sweet chocolate.

Belinda stirred as Scott re-entered the deck and Phyllis opened her eyes to greet him with a smile. She had enjoyed his earlier hug and with a larger smile wished they could be closer. The chocolate was thoroughly enjoyed as they allowed
more time to pass, especially as the women had never tasted the sweet substance in such abundance that now coated their fingers and mouths like sticky children.

The submarine was well on route in rapidly falling darkness. The Grey base’s commander initiated the re-energising of all suspended systems, with orders to continue without communications until all human surveillance craft and satellites were finally clear.

Phyllis noticed the illuminated symbol that indicated the atmosphere entering restriction had extinguished
. The ship physically lurched forward in an unrestrained automatic response, much like a racehorse released from its starting-stall.

Various systems rapidly kicked in, almost as if the ship itself had been tired of waiting and was eager to make progress. They were accelerating towards the Earth base, almost with a vengeance.
It was like being on a train or a bus or a taxi,
thought Scott,
whose driver had been promised an extra special large tip if they put the pedal to the metal to get the passengers to their destination ahead of time.
Belinda politely asked Scott to stay seated, explaining it was always possible to be hit by atmospheric static, which could cause the ship to veer urgently to one side or even rotate. The force of the ship by-passing an electrical storm has been known to endanger any who were not securely restrained in their seats. He thought it sounded as if they were on the Titanic and there was a good chance of striking a very large lump of something somewhere down the line. He didn’t question her advice and promptly sat down with arms and legs crossed. He appeared to be looking for an argument the way he had chosen to sit, but his thinking had been to keep his limbs tightly knit together just in case they
were
thrown around. He was more aware than most when it came to being familiar with turbulence while airborne. He’d suffered its effects on many a painful flight during his RAF career. He had seen many colleagues and friends being sick into the bags provided, with the sight and sickly smell of vomit forcing others to follow suit. He had never suffered from this domino affliction, ever, not once; which, like not having any grey thatch on his full head of hair, was vain about it. The rumble of air rushing around them was easily heard, a bit like Niagara Falls in full flow. Phyllis observed Scott sitting tightly in his seat, visually tracking the path of their steep descent on an overhead monitor. She kept the others informed of their downward progress with regards to their position and arrival. Belinda continuously checked for communications, giving it her full concentration, but there was still only silence. It completely mystified her, but kept her concerns to herself. There was more than enough to be concerned about without raising anything else unnecessarily.

Two spy satellites hovered above the base area in a geostationary orbit. They were filtering incoming data for any evidence of extraterrestrial activity that might show up in the vicinity where the earlier Grey ship was reported. However, their capability was extremely limited in being able to spot much of anything extraterrestrial as their electronics were geared to recognise only that technology known to humans on Earth. Almost every species who visited the planet wanted to laugh out loud at the primitive attempts to locate them.
Humans might as well be using  their eyes on a pitch-black night
, they would openly sneer. Human authorities were like bats emerging into daylight, listening for what
they
could hear and see, but blind to other events taking place around them. Neither satellite detected the black ship that passed between them, twisting and turning into a dive only a short distance away. The ship headed for the ocean and its secret far below, leaving no wake or trail as it sped downwards. The Grey ship was so far advanced that tracking stations never knew anything about its sudden and plummeting appearance. Every member of all the world’s listening posts was oblivious to the accelerating wedge of blackness that speared its way through the upper stratosphere. Many of the personnel who manned the stations continued to practice their golf swing, play repetitive games of bridge or to simply read books or snooze. Unless an extraterrestrial wanted humans to know they were there, they didn’t.

The
secret base's commander was informed a ship was entering the atmosphere above them. Included in the report were details of its origin and imminent arrival time. All other information was unknown at that time due to their communications isolation. He readily accepted the situation, recognising the ship must have been waiting in orbit, poised for the opportunity to enter the base. Preparations were underway to acknowledge its presence as soon as information could be relayed. Until then, the automatic entry procedure would manage its arrival and docking. Without the base contacting the closing ship, all three occupants were completely in the dark concerning how they might be met and the commander was none the wiser for what was about to land in his unfortunate lap.

The underwater base’s power generators surged with a whine as the doors began to force themselves open against immense water pressure. A slurry of sludge slipped between the doors’ edges, creating a cloud of fine silt that suspended itself across the opening, slowly drifting into the expectant chamber. Indications showed all systems were operational with filtration glands sifting any debris that entered the base beneath the doors. Silence reigned while they waited for the ship’s appearance.

The ship descended with precision, guided by computerised positioning coordinates. By maintaining a secretive presence on Earth the Grey’s couldn’t use any kind of a homing beacon for their ships to track for guidance. There were certain individual points of contact, such as areas of the ocean floor that had magnetic properties and the occasional sunken wreck. The depth of these points meant they were undisturbed by wave action from above, being completely stationary and intact. Corrosion was practically nonexistent as the presence of oxygen was negligible, with actions by crustaceans being predominantly the worst for affecting any kind of damage.

Phyllis eased her head backwards while seated as if she was about to experience some g-force, saying, “Speed reduction in, five, four, three, two … , hold on tight.”

Each held onto their individual seat’s armrests while tensioning themselves. A change in pitch and whining sound was heard.

Phyllis spoke again, turning to look at her
white-knuckled shipmates as she started another countdown …, entry into the ocean was almost upon them.

Following an audible thud, the whining sound changed to that of a whooshing, which faded after a few seconds.

Phyllis raised a hand to a small panel above her, pressing a few buttons while observing a digital display. “Insertion completed and on course.” She said it almost triumphantly, feeling extremely relieved the mission to infiltrate the base had gone smoothly - so far.

The three fell silent, each wondering what they might find when they docked. Would there be a welcoming committee waiting to greet them, or maybe the base will refuse to open. Their minds worked overtime while attempting to comprehend what challenges might await them. Their worries kept them
mentally occupied enough to miss the alarm signal that indicated the undercarriage mechanism had malfunctioned and was full of sea water. The alarm was rated important enough to be transferred into the ship’s memory-bank with an illuminated flag alert on a side panel, all missed by Phyllis who was thinking about her hands. The loose oscillating gas bottle that caused the automatic door to open and close after take-off was the fault. It was depressurised and leaked very badly. Without the gas, the water couldn’t be kept out of or forced from the bays.

“Arrival in… ninety seconds.”

“Is it safe to get out of my seat?” asked Scott while looking from Belinda to Phyllis in turn.

“I would rather you stayed
where you are, Scott.” Phyllis replied while turning to monitor the ship’s progress, too busy to look at Scott as she responded.

“Sure… That’s okay.” He really wanted to get his act together, holding the revolver with the intension of reaching the access door soonest, just in case.

Phyllis picked up some uncertainty in his reply, adding, “I will let you know when you can leave your seat as soon as our progress allows you to.”

With a thankful smile, he answered, “Thanks, you’re a doll.”

At that remark, Phyllis and Belinda turned to look at him; both wondering why allowing him to leave his seat at the earliest opportunity made her a doll. They smirked at his sillyness.

“Arrival in… twenty seconds.”

They tensed themselves for anything that might happen, listening to the change in tone from the engines and generators that seemed to grow quieter and quieter.

“Arrival in… five
... .”

They
each gripped their seats, expecting some sort of bump or braking effect to kick in. Nothing happened except for all the sounds to fade completely, leaving him feeling sort of deflated in his expectations.

“It is now safe to leave your seat.”

It took Scott a moment for Phyllis’ alert to reach his brain, the change in ship’s internal pressure had left him feeling slightly breathless. He sluggishly rose from his seat without knowing why he felt the way he did, leaving the Flight Deck as quickly as he could.

A huge cradle, shaped like
a cast for the underside of the ship that was about to berth, raised itself from the floor. The ship manoeuvred itself towards it. As the cradle reached its maximum height, the ship rotated one hundred and eighty degrees before settling downwards. The ship’s positioning was meticulous. All preconditions had been met for docking and was going ahead smoothly.

She reached up, pressed a couple of buttons to acknowledge target completion, then
announced, “We are about to dock in, eight, seven, six… .”

The ship rested squarely onto the cradle as its suspension compensators took the weight, dropping gently to take the strain. The ship sat peacefully with its undercarriage still in its retracted mode while
its access door opened.

Standing
just inside the doorway and out of sight, holding his revolver like a gangster in a bank raid, he spun the chamber like an old hand waiting for a gunfight to begin.

Belinda seemed to leap from her seat in comparison to Scott’s slower emergence, stating to Phyllis she was on her way towards Scott at the door, as she too removed her own weapon from the holster strapped around her waist. She inspected the black
safety seal, ensuring it was intact and fitted correctly before going any further. It was and she moved through the ship to stand by her partner in crime like his moll, ready for any kind of showdown.

“To hell and back with this,” yelled Phyllis as she almost burst from her seat as if she had just sat on a pin. She landed squarely on the floor with both feet slightly apart and hands spread wide like some kind of kung fu fighter in an old Bruce Lee movie. It only took her a few seconds to
reach the others, her palms flat as if she was going to give someone a karate chop.

“I’ll watch your rear,” Phyllis said, looking around as if there might be watchful eyes.

Scott couldn’t help himself as he laughed at Phyllis’s humorous approach. He had become aware of her attempts to mimic his statements and comments, without completely understanding the full range of their context and meaning. And as for saying she would watch his rear…, he felt like asking them both to take the lead so he could watch theirs instead. His laughter soon fell silent as the gravity of their situation caught up with him. He urged them to follow him, staying close together. Belinda urged them not to use telepathy for communication. “
Verbal only
,” she insisted.

He also mentioned they should remain as quiet as possible so
any other sounds could be heard. They reached the docking chamber's door, listening intently. Only the sound of running water in drains could be heard, with a lot of drips from somewhere else. Then there was a loud sound of movement from the ship.

“
What the hell
!”

“It is all right, Scott.” insisted Belinda while reaching out to take him by a hand. “It is only the cradle self-adjusting for the ship’s weight.”

Scott squeezed her hand, saying, “I bet they’ve never had any guests like us before.”

Belinda thought about it, before replying, “Not alive and free to commit murder, they haven’t.”

That brought them into a state of silence as they each prepared for what Belinda had just reminded them of.

Scott noticed the floor was already dry and unmarked. “Are you certain we’re under the Atlantic Ocean?”

They both nodded in agreement.

He peered through the open door, taking in as much as he could see. The ladies did the same with Belinda ready to remove the seal and blast the place to hell and beyond if they were attacked. Phyllis looked sadly at her hands, wondering if they might
yet be repaired while they were there. With no one to see, Grey or otherwise, Scott ventured onwards a little further. His eyes squinted at the brightness, straining to make out their surroundings from the doorway. He half expected to see windows or viewing ports with figures operating controls while receiving and giving orders. There was nothing of the sort to see. Feeling brave, while desperately wanting to find Frell and Drang, he left the confines and safety of the arrival bay. He didn’t know what might be lurking around the base, which they now began to cautiously enter. There could have been an army of little clones waiting for them, for all he knew. His emergence into the corridor was slow, balanced between needing to see what there was while ready to race back inside. He felt like a spring split in two, where one side wanted to bounce along with leaps and bounds, while the other wanted to drag him back. The bounding one was the stronger and he began to move more rapidly with the ladies still watching his rear.