An Alien Rescue (58 page)

Belinda replied, “Yes.”

Phyllis raised the ramp after they had vacated the ship, making it secure in the process. The power was restored to a minimum level, just in case a hasty escape was called for. Belinda quickly caught up with the others, ready to order a return to the ship if necessary. The others were as prepared to turn and run as she was, but kept their nervousness strictly to themselves. The base seemed deserted, completely quiet except for the klaxon alarm and warning of attack being echoed throughout the tunnels and sections.

Mike heard it too, the constant repeated dribble that screamed through his head. Grey language was a difficult thing to listen to. It sounded tinny and mechanical in its squeaky pitch. It was
OK in small doses, but this was, “BEYOND A FUCKIN’ JOKE!” he loudly shouted.

He decided to investigate, especially as his body had stopped its tingling and his energy levels had returned to normal.

The Control room was empty and the medical room had been repaired. “Clever little bastards,” said Scott as he examined the place, approving of what the little guys had achieved in such a short space in time. They explored back the way they had originally come with Mike. The memory of their exploits returned to Belinda with a vengeance as she started to weep. Her real reasoning behind her decision to re-enter the base was the thought that Mike might actually be alive and waiting for them. The realisation of him being dead finally caught up with her. Scott placed a comforting arm around her, trying to console her as best he could while not saying anything.

“He’s dead. I know it,” she said. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me, I’m being awfully stupid.”

Scott bent towards her, hugging her close to him, wanting to tell her how sorry he was, when…

“Oi! Get your limey goddamn mitts off my woman! Jees, I turn my back for a moment and an overrated Admiral tries to jump my broad behind my
friggen back!”

There was an extraordinary pause of disbelief and silence, before Belinda erupted. She screamed, “
MIKE!” before running and jumping up into his open arms, wrapping her legs around his hips as tightly as she could.

“Hey, hey, take it easy. Anyone would think you thought I wurz dead.”

That did it for Belinda as her tears came flooding out as if the world’s biggest dam had cracked wide open with a bouncing bomb.

“Jeez, I guess you did, then.”

“You big stupid son of a goddam bitch!” Belinda screamed into his and everyone else’s ears, drowning the annoying alarm for a moment.

“Oh well, if that’s how it is, I’ll just go and find some Grey ass to kick and maybe my end will finally come.” He said it with a cheeky grin while holding her closer than a couple of friends might hug.

“Kiss me you big… hairy ape!” she was quoting the Grey back on Earth, the one who thought he could get the better of them. She smiled at wanting to choke the living daylights out of him. And now she was with Mike, the man she thought was lost, gone for good, taken from her by the Greys. She cried openly with happiness.

“Hey, m
a man,” Mike said to Scott, shaking a hand. “You’ve still got the little toy of a popgun on you. Kill anyfing wiv it pardner?”

Scott nodded.

“Holy shit! Well, I’ll be damned. Good for you bro. But hey, I’m takin’ care of my new baby here.”

The others couldn’t quite follow Mike’s words, but Scott did. To the rest, he sounded as if he was rambling something incoherent, while the message was loud and clear. Mike had divorced himself from Akay, taking up with Belinda babe instead. Scott saw the little
ol' thing which Mike was referring to, and yes, it was an AK babe; complete with a spare magazine. He had previously returned to the Control area to try and shut the klaxon system down, finding the pile of weapons instead.

Yeah, thanks buddy,” Scott said, taking hold of the formidable weapon, checking to see if the safety was on before cocking
, looking to see if there was a round in the breech. There was, and it was ejected as another took its place.

Belinda stepped forward, ahead of them all. She raised a hand and said, “We don’t actually need to go down the tunnel system as we have everything we need. All we have to do is leave this base and fly around the cliffs to locate our own ship.”

They all nodded in agreement, knowing it made lots of sense.

“And besides that,” Mike added to Belinda’s speech. “There are still a few Greys between us and the tunnel’s end.”

“Very true,” Belinda agreed. “So, follow me and head back to the ship. She informed Phyllis of their impending return and their discovery of a large apelike man. Phyllis felt pleased for Mike and Belinda, thankful for his safe recovery.

The ship
urgently exited the hangar, but only after the group of Greys had arrived back. Scott had seen them first and let loose a salvo of gunfire as his companions ran for the ship. The leader was blown to pieces, as were the four who stood in line behind him. The remaining Greys were initially confused, eventually regrouping before heading for the other ship that lay not so far away. However, they could not gain entry. The dead leader had secured it, with all other attempts at entry being refused then ignored. The remaining Greys could only watch as the departing ship escaped… again, quickly disappearing around an adjacent set of cliffs. With lowering heads, each seemed to lose their energy, ebbing away with the ship that had just left, resigning themselves to their own fate.

It only seemed like a few seconds had passed before they settled nearby the left-behind ship, having skirting around the cliffs to land on the dried up ocean-bed beside it. It was well covered with red sand, blown across the perfectly smooth silver surface by blasting winds. The colour had helped to shield the ship from prying eyes, including those of orbiting satellites, recently launched by humans who wished to learn more about the Martian landscape, preceding and preparing for a very personal and contaminating visit.

It was Mike who saw them first, running over to grab them by their little arms. They seemed frozen to the spot as Mike had approached at high speed. Or perhaps that was what made them stop and stare; to witness a hairy ape accelerate towards you with all the gruff of a runaway bulldozer on legs.

“Hey, look at what I’ve got?” Mike shouted, holding the two
as high as possible, like a fisherman proudly showing off the two that didn’t get away.

The little Greys were trying to placate Mike with their screechy voices and monologue. “You are perfectly safe, we are here to help you. We are your friends.” They repeated the same words, over and over again.

Mike gave each a bit of a rattle in his large hands, shaking them, and not so gently. “Hey, just shut the fuck up you little bastards before I rip your fucking heads off!” It worked.

Belinda approached Mike. “Do not hurt them, please. We need them. They can help us when the time comes.” She said it with a look that suggested there was another plan forming inside her head.

“Yeah, sure, baby. Wharever ya want is OK by me.” Mike’s language still confused them.

Belinda informed them all of what she had planned. Frell and Drang would return Scott to
Skye in their own ship; while Mike, Phyllis and herself would head for the system’s boundary where they would await the returning ship following Scott’s drop-off. At this point, they would all head back to the Mothership on board their own vessel, while allowing the two captives to return the black ship to the Martian base. Everyone seemed happy with the plan, except Scott and Frell. They had known it would happen at some point in time, knowing it would hurt as it always did. They would just have to make every minute count between that moment and him being returned.

“And what about me?” asked Mike, almost clinging onto Belinda.

“You, Mike, are coming with me.”

His eyes dazzled with a brightness they hadn’t shown for decades.

“You got it baby, and a sure am all yours, each and every day, babe. Anywhere ya wanna go, a’ll be right beside y’all.”

Phyllis retrieved the dismantled hat’s assembly from where
it had been hidden, completing the recovery plan. She planned to refit the little glowing sphere as soon as she could.

Before departure was initiated, their own ship’s w
ashing and cleaning facilities were enjoyed with clean suits adorned by all. They each looked completely different with their washed faces and brushed hair. Scott and Mike had both shaved, making the two greys feel a little more comfortable with the change from their apelike appearance. They had at last rejoined the human race, having shed their
fur
.

Some well needed supplies had been transferred to the black ship from Frell’s, with hungry eyes looking forward to something familiar to eat. Their first choice of meal was a cereal kind of dish, an artificial yet edible meal that replenished energy levels while sustaining the body with nutrients and much needed minerals.

The farewells made to Scott were full of sadness and reluctance. Everyone wished he could make the return journey with them, all willing to suffer the backlash that such an action would create. But Scott was adamant, he had to return to Earth. His family were there, his daughters being the most important. He had a feeling things were not going to be the same after his arrival back home. He had been gone for quite some time, and all without him ever contacting his wife. She wasn’t going to be very happy after this episode, he knew.

Amidst a flurry of sand and dust, the scene looked as if a furious sandstorm had erupted from nowhere as both ships departed together.

Drang sat comfortably, feeling relaxed while continuing to work through the check list that Frell had handed him as she and Scott went below. He was happy for them, recalling the last time they were all aboard a similar vessel. The battle Scott had taken to the Greys made him proud to be his friend. He had never known such bravery and fortitude in a person before he had met him, but now their friendship had surpassed all his emotions. He silently worshipped Scott, believing that one day he would accompany them back to the Mothership, to become a true family member of his colony. He looked forward to the time, whenever it might be; the sooner the better as far as he was concerned, especially having knowledge of the Empire’s plans to eradicate
all
humans. His colony would need people like Scott.

Scott sat on the couch, or what had the appearance of one. He expected to be offered a whisky and soda, like the last time he visited. But there was no drink on offer, which was
obvious as Frell dropped her suit and began to remove his. She straddled him as he sat, kissing him forcefully as her body shifted position slightly, making him horny. Her nipples hardened while becoming erect, the sight and feel of them cupped in his hands driving him almost to despair. Their breathing deepened, growing faster and longer, her hair falling over his mouth and blowing across her chest with each exhalation. Without the need of guiding fingers, he slipped inside, burying himself into her belly. The sensation was fantastic as her juices melted down him, making him feel warm and slippery. His groan met her scream as they writhed into a torrent of passionate kisses. She raised and lowered herself, feeling his length each and every time. His body wanted to take control, desperately needing to get her beneath him. But she was having none of it for she was in command. It was her ship and he was her lover, to do as she wanted or desired. And she desired he service her as he did to all his loved machines, giving her all of his undivided attention and efforts. He gave up trying to roll over, she had him pinned down tightly. He decided to enjoy her attention while they had the chance. His mouth savoured her nipples as she enjoyed the rhythm of sex, sucking and licking her hardened breasts while stimulating her clitoris with a free hand. She went wild, practically leaping up and down on him, his cock was slippery and her juices poured out endlessly. She screamed as she reached orgasm after orgasm, clawing at his body and biting his neck like a trapped animal. His mind felt as if it were in another dimension, another place and another time, one where all his senses were inexplicably linked to the animal that clawed at him. She touched his penis as she raised and lowered herself, feeling him enter and leave, holding the meat tightly in her hand. He lost control and ejaculated, shooting his semen into her body as if exploding. As tense as a concrete pillar, his pelvic thrusts ceased as she removed herself. He was still coming as she felt the warmth of his sperm splash onto her body. She rubbed it across her breasts while leaning forward to kiss him again. He could easily have believed he had died and gone to heaven by the time he had recovered his senses. Frell had climbed on again, feeling his body with her hands and tongue. He had never experienced anything like it before, feeling himself hardening again. She had the uncanny ability to bring him back to hardness immediately after ejaculating. He wondered if he could last the pace. Her mouth took him, tasting his fluids, making the most wonderful sounds he had ever heard. She sucked and he groaned, her body was wet with sweat as he ran his fingers through her blonde hair, all tangled and damp. He came again, not knowing where he was shooting or what into, but it was warm and it was moist.

The sound of crashing waves and the rustle of nearby bushes were heard close by. He lay still for some time until he felt able to sit upright. His headache was a painful one, throbbing, pleading for a painkiller. He didn’t have any so lay back down, tugging the sleeping bag to cover his body for warmth. There was something wrong, he knew, but couldn't quite figure out what. Then it dawned on him. Either he had been asleep for a very long time, or the spiders had been awfully active during the night. The inside of the tent’s apex was covered in webs, he couldn’t recall seeing anything like it before, except in the windows of old and unoccupied buildings. His bedding was in disarray with a distinctive smell of dampness and decay. He had to give his armpits a sniff, lifting the bag and doing the same to test if it might be his own body odour. Surprisingly, he could smell soap, a smell of something clean intermingled with sweat. He also noticed the back of both hands were red as if with sunburned, while the palms and fingers appeared blistered. He inspected himself further, pushing the headache to one side as he concentrated his efforts. His face felt as hot as his hands, as did his penis; which upon inspection was in a bit of a sticky mess. He guessed he must have had one of
those
dreams again. But the confusion really began when the bag’s insides were spotless. He relaxed and lay still for few more minutes, pondering his condition and suffering the headache as it returned.

Both ships hovered close to each other as one crew left to join the other. The red hats protected them during the transfer as they made steady progress, beckoned on by the smiling face of Frell standing by the doorway. The smile showed all had gone according to plan, allowing them the comfort of knowing the mission had been a complete success, and
much more.

Belinda had
her
lover, the wait for Frell’s ship to return had been an eye-opener and everything had worked out fine. There should be a new member of the colony in nine months time, possibly even two, she hoped. Her cheeks still glowed from Mike’s attention, which had not gone unnoticed. Drang had been bitten by the love-bug and started showing an interest in Phyllis. She had felt his warmth as their little touches in passing had instigated a strange reaction in both of them
.

It was still a long way to go before they reached their Mothership and who knows what might happen
, Phyllis thought to Drang. He nodded a knowing smile, blowing a small kiss in her direction.

Frell watched it all, hearing the little bits of communication.
This mission will go down in history
, she thought, expecting three pregnancies from one ship.
We will either all become legends or get into the most serious trouble anyone has ever known since the colony was founded
, she giggled to herself. Then the sadness set in. Her friends had their partners with them, hers was a very long way away. She wept silently, feeling nonetheless pleased for her companions. She would need to work on a way to persuade the Council to let her bring Scott home. She would fight tooth and nail to win through.

The sea felt as if an iceberg had melted nearby, sending shivers up and down his spine as he washed himself. The
blonde hairs were back again, just like the last time he was on the island. It must be the lining within the sleeping bag, falling apart and sticking to his sweaty body as he slept. His hands were red alright, but only his hands from the wrist to his fingertips. His face was also as red, as he had seen in one of the motorcycle’s mirrors. He had looked for insect bites, but found only sunburn instead. The cold drove him from the sea as quickly as he could move. The tent was covered in leaves and flakes of ash from the fire, which had obviously been blown around by the wind, and the little pile of wood had been knocked over. But the webs were a puzzle, along with the dankness of the tent,
and all in the one night
, he asked himself. He was totally confused by the presented scenario.

It was time to go home, even though he had only been away for the one night. He nevertheless felt exhausted and drained, and hungry enough to eat a horse. He laughed louder and longer than he meant to at the thought of eating a horse, not understanding why.
Just tired
, he supposed.

Scott's
motorcycle almost refused to start as the battery seemed low on power. It was also covered in cobwebs and ash, all combining to look like tatty net-curtains with a crazy pattern. It didn’t take long to pack his belongings, taking note of what went where to balance the bike's weight. He was puzzled, because a pair of his favourite underpants had disappeared. Where to was anyone’s guess, he considered. He was sure he’d worn them while sleeping… but after downing his bottle of plonk, “Who knows?” he asked himself. Having collapsed the tent, he saw the grass had turned deathly pale and positively flattened where it had been pitched. The ground was more mud than anything else with worms writhing wildly as they attempted to burrow away. He had enough experience of camping to know this kind of scene takes several days to happen, where the daylight-starved grass loses its chlorophyll colour and the soil gets extremely damp. He felt confused and muddled by all the little changes he had witnessed. Even the flattened grass on the track where he had driven the laden bike down was standing proud and erect again, which shouldn’t have been, when he considered it had only been the previous day when he had arrived.

“Nah! I’m being bloody stupid,” he said loudly, not caring a hoot if anyone had heard him muttering to himself or not.

Entering the pharmacy in, Portree, Skye’s capital town, hearing the ding-a-ling from the bell above the door, his eyes met the assistant’s as she asked if there was anything he would like. She was blonde with sky-blue eyes and the most beautiful figure tucked neatly inside a white blouse and grey skirt. He tried to say something but fell dumb instead. There was something about this woman, a mystery that confused him to the centre of his brain. He was lost for words, not understanding why, and turned to leave while feeling embarrassed. Commonsense returned just as the assistant was about to tell him to have a nice day, about-turning and to ask for a pack of painkillers. She smiled a certain smile that said a thousand words, but they had already been said to him by another, and much louder.

He couldn’t get the vision of the blonde in the pharmacy out of his head as he drove his bike back to Fife. He tried phoning his house but there was no reply. He decided to phone
again, later.

The three hundred and fifty mile journey seemed to flash by
as his mind felt in complete confusion. With a dry mouth and an aching belly he suspected he might be coming down with a fever so just kept going without stopping to phone he was on his way home. He supposed they might be at the shops.

Motoring into his driveway, the front door of the house burst open with a bang. With arms folded tightly across her chest and eyebrows meeting in the middle of her frown, his wife stood looking defiant and threatening on the doorstep. His little girls looked on from a nearby window, noses pressed tightly against the glass, listening and watching while keeping a safe distance from an impending blast
wave.

“Hi,” he said grinning as he stiffly climbed off his machine. He was expecting to be asked why he had returned home so early, when…

“
JUST WHERE THE HELL IN GOD’S NAME HAVE YOU BEEN
?”

Th
ose around them, as well as adjoining villages, would probably have heard her verbal explosion, possibly thinking there had been an almighty clap of thunder and suspected it might rain. Those who heard it would more than likely be running into their gardens while looking at the sky to take the washing in… just in case.

Without responding to the outburst, he left
the bike resting on its side-stand in the drive with the luggage still attached. He almost staggered through the front door to escape the sight of twitching net-curtains, all initiated by his wife’s outburst and not by a strengthening breeze as many so-called neighbourhood-watchers would have others believe. He was tired to the point where bed seemed like a good place to escape to, but only after a long hot bath and a very large scotch. His daughters peered around the edge of a door, showing only one eye each. They could have been two little Cyclops, but only for a moment, because they both ran to him for a hug. They had missed him as he had them.

“We were worried about you
, daddy,” cried the youngest.

“Yes, and mummy hates you!” added the other, hoping she wouldn’t get into trouble for telling him.

Scott couldn’t believe it. What the heck had he done wrong this time? He was always in trouble with her, sometimes for good reason, but usually for having done nothing wrong except maybe for breathing and being alive. The PMT, menopause and bouts of anger were becoming too much of a drain for him, he had to do something to escape it. It was running him down.

“I’ve only been gone for a day and a bit and I’m in trouble already?”

With clenched teeth and hair looking as if was standing on end she slapped him hard across the face. His little girls had let out a chuckle upon hearing the
one day
excuse, but cowered as their mother had thrown the slap. They both headed for the elder girl’s bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar as they were worried and concerned. Scott couldn’t understand what was happening and was about to ask when his wife let loose with a tirade of verbal hatred. When she had finished, or perhaps her batteries had finally run down or her tongue was worn out, Scott sat down with a heavier than normal sigh.

“But I’ve only been away for a single day. What’s the bloody problem?”

She still seemed to be struggling to get her act together again. There were either problems getting the batteries recharged or the tongue sharpened enough to match her mother’s, when one of the little girls said, “You have been away for a week and a half, daddy. We were awfully worried about you.”

“Huh?”

“You heard her, you
bastard
” shouted his wife, cutting the air between them with her freshly razor-sharpened tongue. “Who have you been with? What’s the filthy bitch’s name? Tell me and I might just let you live another bloody day before I string-up the pair of you!”

He remembered the blonde assistant in the Skye pharmacy, picturing how beautiful she had appeared with an almost seductive smile.
How
could
he forget that picture of loveliness?

“
I knew it, you dirty, filthy pig. It’s written right across your guilty face. You fucking bastard
!”

When the verbal dust had finally settled, with confusion still
reigning his thoughts, he undressed to take that wished-for bath, deciding never to mention losing a pair of underpants. That might add fuel to his wife's already fiercely burning fire and paranoia, which was firing on all cylinders, he recognised. His back had several lengthy scratches, as if made by fingernails, spotting them in the bathroom mirror as he turned while drying himself. There were a few nibble-sized bruises on his neck too. It all added to his confusion, making him afraid to undress anywhere that was visible to his wife for the next few days. Everything didn’t make any kind of sense to him. The missing days and now the marks on his skin, especially what felt like concentrated sunburn on his hands when he immersed himself into a hot bath. What the heck had happened to him while he was on Skye? His memory of the cobwebs and the almost flat battery, with the ash from the fire scattered everywhere. It made him suspect he had collapsed from a fever, which he felt he might still be suffering from; or had he somehow been knocked-out? Whatever the reason, he was utterly baffled. He decided to play the whole thing down, maintaining a low profile while paying extra attention to her and his children.

The bike was
eventually pushed into the garage and left for a couple of weeks without any particular attention shown to it. The grime would have to wait before it could be removed. The splattered mud would set like cement, he was aware, but he couldn’t afford to show any inclination towards cleaning it.
What might he be accused of next time
, he wondered, should he go again. During several arguments he had already been shouted at for supposedly loving his bike more than her, never having the courage or stupidity to tell she was right. He had always wanted to reply his motorcycle didn’t hate him like she did, and was a much better ride too; but chose to bite his tongue instead, preferring always to keep the peace.

The missing days bothered him enormously from that moment on, with dreams and little flash-backs trying to tell him some secrets. He thought the blonde in the pharmacy was on his
mind as her image seemed to haunt him; or was it someone else who looked like her? He just didn’t know anymore.

Returning to work had been good for him, a medicine of sorts. The aircraft work
and military discipline was intense and enough to keep him busy and his mind occupied.

The Skye trip was soon forgotten as his daily routine was taking on a different direction. His RAF career was almost over as the twenty-two year engagement was practically completed. He had learned a great deal while working with fast jet aircraft over the many years, seeing many of his aging mechanical friends being sent to museums or
junkyards. It saddened him when these flying works of art took off for their last and final time, their destination to a private airfield or museum for public and permanent display. Or to the great graveyard in the sky, in some cases. RAF Catterick, in Yorkshire, was where the military Fire Service would burn them for practice and fun. He secretly despised the string-vested firemen for the destruction of these fantastic pieces of history. If he had the cash and the space he would have bought them all to save them for posterity and his personal pleasure, taking extra pleasure in knowing the firemen had missed out on some perverse fun.