An Alien Rescue (26 page)

A silence ensued, the audience didn’t want to ask anything else at that moment or make any comment. Scott wondered about the wounds, Phyllis wanted to know how he got from there to Mars, while Belinda looked at his suit. They each had questions to ask, answers they needed to know, but his story needed to be said. Each of them suspected the answers to their questions would be included in the story, which would remove their need to ask, personal questions that might seem too… embarrassing. Mike gave the suit a gentle tug at the waist, as if he was getting uncomfortable or the wounds were still bothering him. But after so long, Scott considered, any
wounds should be long since healed. But in what condition was his body, Scott inwardly asked himself, trying not to be seen looking at Mike’s groin, sharing the same thoughts as his two companions. Unfortunately, his deep thoughts left him as a telepathic message, and although just for the briefest of moments, the time it takes to make a single thought, it was overheard by a searching and listening Grey mind.

Belinda placed a hand on one of Scott’s shoulders, distracting him from his concentration. She had heard his thought, catching a look of concern from Phyllis as she also picked it up. They hoped it hadn’t gone any further than the three of them. Mike hadn’t shown any sign of hearing Scott’s telepathic outburst, informing them he lacked the means to communicate by any other means than verbal, when asked. That, thought Belinda, was good news. As for Scott’s unpractised ability, she considered, the jury was still out on that one.

Mike knew the others would be wondering how his wounds were, if he had been affected by them and to what extent and depth they had reached. His description was colourful enough for the three listeners to imagine the depth, with Scott feeling most uncomfortable at the thought.

“I suppose you’re wondering how I survived the ordeal, trying to figure out if my wounds healed and how I managed to be on this here planet. Great questions deserve great answers. Okay, hang on to your seats, the answers are gonna to blow your minds away.

The commander spun round in his chair, adjusting his position to aid the detection and direction of Scott’s thought. The message had caught him unawares, taking him completely by surprise. The clarity and volume suggested the sender was close, well within the confines of the base and not beneath the surface of the lake as was expected. This opened up new possibilities, he might capture the human who was responsible for a destroyed ship with all its crew after all. To catch and finally remove this infernal human problem would earn him recognition as well as a seat on the upper Empire’s ruling body, a realistic award for devotion and dedication to their species. The equivalent of a smile appeared across his face with the black almond-shaped eyes squinting with mischievous pleasure from the thoughts of what he could do to the humans as punishment. Raising himself from his chair, he barked a series of orders, making the clones rush from the Control Centre towards the tunnels.

Mike carried on with his tale. “When the jungle’s darkness finally closed in, with the moon gone below the tree line, I must have either fallen asleep or passed clean-out. It was probably a combination of both because I’d been losing a shit-load of blood while dragging my body through a thicket of bushes. The jungle was dense and damp, the ground muddy and warm; while I wasn’t having the best day of my godforsaken fucking life … Sorry ladies,” Mike apologised.

“That’s okay,” said Belinda.

“Yes,” agreed Phyllis. “We have heard all the curses and what you might call blaspheming from, Scott. Our use and understanding of your language has been increased enormously since we began our mission with him.” Scott just smiled because he couldn’t think of what to say to that comment because he knew it was true.

Mike waited before replying, although not so much by choice. He thought they were a close team, a working group specially trained to enter alien environments for reasons unknown to him. And yet, here he was listening to a report that Scott’s repertoire was an education to the beautiful women, who by all accounts made it clear they hadn’t long since met. He shook his head a little, as if to rattle the crazy thoughts he was having, hoping they might sort themselves into some kind of logical semblance.

“Yeah, Mike. It seems the way we speak on Earth differs to how they do,” added Scott, finally, attempting to help him understand what was happening.

“Hey, just cut the crap! Just tell me who the fuck ya’all are and quit pissin’ me around. A’ve bin here for as long as I can remember, taken from a whole heap of gook-shit in a jungle I never wanted to visit in the first goddamned place, and pray to god I never get to see it again. Then… you three turn up in my kitchen, scaring the crap outa me, then really fuck my already blown mind with confusion cause I just don’t know what the fuck you lot are on!”

Silence reigned for a minute, maybe two, before anyone felt brave enough to speak. It was Scott who spoke, basically because the women had lost track of Mike’s confus
ing statement.

“Eh, I suppose that means you’re not too sure what we’re doing here, or how we appear to be from different places… Such as planets?”

Mike angled his head as if to say,
what the fuck have I just said
! Then replied, “Your absolutely goddamned fucking right I’m confused, buddy!”

“Yeah. I thought so.”

“You think so! You fucking think so? Let me tell ya limey, it is fucking
so
, let me tell
you
!”

Scott looked to his female companions, they looked back at him. This was beyond anything they could respond to. The language Mike was using didn’t make much sense to them, even though each felt almost certain they understood what he meant. They just couldn’t be sure though, and to respond with an answer that could be completely wrong and out of context might prove dangerous. It was decided by knowing glances there should be no reply to Mike’s questionable statements, even if he expected some. It was safer to hold back and allow Scott to follow his lead, answering where and when he thought it appropriate.

Scott nodded a couple of times, indicating he understood Mike’s dilemma, before replying. “If you finish telling us the story of how you came to be here, we’ll tell you everything about ourselves and our mission… That’s a goddamned, godforsaken, and sonovabitch promise, yank!”

Mike’s expression made Scott wonder if he was about to explode … or breakdown. Instead, his twisted expression lightened to reveal a smile. Scott smiled back, although more in relief than through friendliness. “What say thee yank?”

“Sure thing, limey. But for crying out loud, cut the yank crap … Puh-lease?”

“Yeah, OK. You’ve got it.”

“Anyway, so there I was, keeping my head down in the godforsaken jungle, wondering if the gooks were gonna find me and cut my balls off for sport. Sorry ladies,” he apologised again.

Belinda and Phyllis tittered nervously at his embarrassment.

“It was dark, getting’ cold and I was scared shitless.”

More tittering.

Scott turned to look at the two ladies, it was as if he was back at school and biology was on the day’s curriculum. Human reproduction, he recalled, had brought the same reactionary sounds from the females nearer the back of the class; but they were only 13 or 14 years young, he reflected. Belinda and Phyllis dropped their line of vision, looking at the floor before slowly returning to see if Mike was still looking at them. He was and they averted their gaze again.

Mike understood his turn of phrase was the cause of the ladies quiet joviality; enjoying the moment. “Hey, if you ladies would like to hear some real cussin words, I could real show ya some more,” he added with glee in his voice.

“If you could try and leave out some of the confusing words within your sentences, Mike? It would help the ladies follow your story. Oh, and me too, by the way.”

“
Holy-shit
!” Mike loudly erupted. “An I thought y’all worked with my very own blue-bloodied countrymen, understandin’ their every word’n command. Well al be a horn-toad moonshine-swiggen sonovabitch!”

Scott stood perfectly still, remaining silent, just like the women, all with their mouths open as if waiting to hear something else, words they might be able to comprehend or understand.

“Yeah,” added Mike. “I thought that might grab ya by the balls … Sorry ladies.” He said it with a smirk this time.

No tittering, just smiles.

Laughing, Scott replied, “Okay, Mike. You’ve got me by the short and curlies, and I’m listening to you.”

“Yo!” Mike let rip. “I do love your li
'l al turn of phrase, man. If there’s one thing you British are good fur, it’s your purty language. And before ya start smiling in godforsaken self respect, your scotch is a lot better!”

Scott had to smile back, especially as he also respected and enjoyed a glass of his country’s best and most favourite vice.

“Yur golf courses are supposed to be purty good too,” Mike added as an afterthought, recalling a golf-crazy uncle’s alcohol induced statement during a Christmas get-together. He had babbled on about birdies, eagles, chips, and some more long since forgotten obscure words. Mike easily recalled his use of
bunker
, especially as it had become an important word in his own life, but not for the same reason. Mike liked being inside one, built of wood, sandbags and concrete; while his uncle didn’t, it seemed.

“I aint a golfing type,” Scott mentioned. “But I know more than just a few guys who would agree with you.”

Smiles went all round, even the ladies.

“Anyway, the story was, you were in the jungle,” said Scott. “Then what?”

“Yeah, the goddamned jungle. Everybody’s worst nightmare. Everyone’s worst dream. A real bad place to park your butt.”

The smiles were still there, but only for Mike’s humour. They each suspected the story was going to include more scenes of horror, so were braving for the prospect with happy looking faces to hide their real feelings.

Mike continued. “The light was real bad, almost too dark to see anything at all. The moon had dropped way below the horizon by this time so it was mainly starlight that reflected off the wet waxy leaves. Anyway, there I was, bleedin’ to death, half-expectin’ Charlie to come tearing through the jungle once my blood trail could be picked-up, when an almighty goddamned fog came out of nowhere. I swear to god, one second there had been stars, the next … I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. The darkness, the fog, there was nothing to see anymore. I thought I had died! However, I must have blacked-out somewhere along the line, because that’s all I can remember … Until ….”

“Until what?” asked Belinda in anticipation and without hesitation.

“Until I came
to
. I found myself lying flat on my back looking at an array of lights above me. My first thoughts were I was in a hospital, dusted outa the jungle by Special Forces while I was unconscious. I couldn’t move or feel anything, all I could do was look at the lights and listen to the weirdest humming sound I ever did hear.”

Mike had the full attention of his three listeners, each hanging onto his every word. His evacuation from the battlefield was obviously connected with his presence on Mars, and the method used to get him there could be of great significance to their mission.

The commander answered the communication he’d received. His scouts had located footprints leading down the tunnel to the lake. They were too large to be theirs so could only be human. The new tracks suggested at least one has entered the base, which might account for the telepathic message.

“Search the tunnels leading to the lake, and capture any humans you find. Keep me informed of anything else,” he ordered, sitting back in his seat.
This doesn’t make sense,
he thought to himself.
How many humans have entered this base?
They must be destroyed immediately. I will not fail like the others!

Scott pictured the scene that Mike had just described, summarising it. “So … You were lying flat on your back beneath some lights and there was a humming sound.”

“Yeah.”

“And you couldn’t move a muscle?”

“Yeah.”

“What about your eyes? Could you move your eyes?”

“Yeah. I tried to look around me, but my peripheral range was too limited to see much of nothin’.”

“Did you say anything? Were you able to speak?”

“I … I don’t recall.”

A memory of Scott’s own experience resurrected itself within his mind. He remembered the dream he’d had a few years back, where he’d been visited by a strange being in his bedroom one night. He’d been unable to move too, except his eyes. His speech was also affected, telling the ‘
thing
’ to go away as best he could. Frell had explained the event had happened and why the being had been there, describing the visitor as an alien from a very distant galaxy. His purpose for visiting Scott was to test him for viruses and medical failings, ensuring his continuing viability as a donor of genes.

Scott
seemed to drift into a daydream.
Frell,
he thought.
Where are you my love?

Mike cleared his throat before continuing, making Scott snap out of his thoughts. “All of a sudden,” he said. “I could feel my body, able to move my fingers and turn my head. I remember waiting for a moment, listnin-like, then with nothing to hear I sat up to look around.”