An Alien Rescue (27 page)

“What did you see?” asked Belinda, quickly.

“I saw a lot of frothy foam across my groin, exactly where I’d been injured. I really wanted to wipe the stuff away, but didn’t ‘cause I sort of knew it was there for good reason. I thought it might be some kind of disinfectant or antibiotic, so I just let it be, wondering what my injury was like.”

“Mmm,” hummed Belinda while considering his description. “And what of the foam?” she asked. “Did it leave any lasting effects?”

“Any lasting effects?” Mike repeated sarcastically. “You’re damn-well cotton-pickin’ right there were lasting effects.”

Scott stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Mike’s shoulder. “What do you mean, Mike?”

They fell silent while waiting for Mike to answer. They wanted to ask more, but decided to wait for him to say as it could be a delicate subject. Possibly painful to recall too.

Mike was quiet, slowly going over the past moments of discovery in his mind. He had tried to overcome the painful realisation for decades, never fully coming to terms with his injury.
Then what happens
, he thought.
Two gorgeous chicks come waltzing into my lonely life, both looking good enough to eat, and if the opportunity arose, there aint a thing I can do for ‘em
. He released a loud sigh, before replying. “I can’t perform.”

But before Scott could speak, Belinda asked. “What does that mean?”

“Ignore the question, Mike. They don’t know what happened and how it has affected you,” said Scott as quickly as he could to beat anything else the ladies might ask or say.

Following another sigh, much bigger than the first, Mike answered. “Life’s a bitch sometimes, where everything just seems to go wrong. Then, just when you think it can’t get any worse … it fucking does!” Another sigh. “The foam I saw helped to heal me, it sure did. It helped the flesh to join together without scars. However,” he sighed again. “it didn’t fix
all
the damage.”

The audience of three listened, drawing their own conclusions while trying to visualise what might have gone wrong, what might be the problem with Mike. Scott had a good idea, but his female companions were cold when it came to thinking of a possible answer.
Human physiology isn’t their top-notch subject then,
Scott thought.

Scott spoke first. “Mike … I’m sorry it happened, I really am. And in all honesty, it isn’t all that important if your injury didn’t heal to perfection.”

Scott had hoped his words might help Mike’s obvious agony. He was wrong.

Mike replied sarcastically. “Hey, that’s okay, Scott.” The tone in his voice wasn’t right and there was dampness beginning to appear in both eyes. Scott remained silent. “My balls were alright and the bag seemed to fix itself.”

“That’s great, Mike,” Scott threw in, unable to believe he was responding to a confession that another man’s scrotum was in the okay department. “I’m sure everything else is OK too.”

Mike inhaled deeply, holding his breath as if getting ready to blow away a house made of bricks with his chinny-chin-chin.

“Holy shit, Scott. If only you knew.” Mike shook his head in disbelief, wondering when his agony might finally end. “You brought me the best looking broads a’ve seen in years, presenting them in front of me when I aint seen any chicks in as long as I can remember. Then you pry into my problems, where my dick aint what it was no-how.”

Scott listened, taking on board all that Mike said. He couldn’t speak because he wasn’t sure what
Mike was trying to tell him, although he had a good idea, especially when considering the topic of conversation prior to this little outburst.

“For goddamned Christ’s sake, ya limey son-ov-a-bitch, don’t ya realise what happened to me back there? The injury wrecked my body. It almost blew away my balls, leaving my dick all busted, broken and twisted.”

Scott couldn’t speak; he didn’t know what to say. When another guy breaks down in front of you, stating his dick is basically fucked-up and his mind is the same, what can anyone say to help them?

Mike bent down, resting
his elbows on his knees. Belinda and Phyllis looked on, remaining silent while Scott moved forward to once again lay a sympathetic hand on Mike’s left shoulder as if to say he understood, which he felt sure he did.

In an atmosphere of silence, except for an occasional drip from a water tap, Mike
added, “I haven’t had a hard-on since before the battle that scarred me. My dick’s bent and twisted with bits missing along the way.”

Without thinking, Scott exclaimed, “Oh-shit!”

The exclamation brought Mike out of his self pity, making him consider the extent of Scott’s statement. It was
his
body that was damaged, not Scott’s; so why was Scott so shocked by the news, he wondered.

“Hey? I’m the one who’s been stranded here for as long as I can remember, while you’ve been gallivanting around the planet back home, where good looking chicks can snuggle into your bed.”

Scott had a look of embarrassment across his face as he recalled some sexual encounters, with Frell being uppermost in his mind. The thought transcended his telepathic ability and went into the ethos of space.

Belinda immediately stepped forward and grabbed him by an arm, shaking him from his thoughts. “Stop it, Scott. Stop thinking about Frell. You’re sending your thoughts by telepathy again.”

Scott moved backwards with an unsteady step, then another as he fought to regain his balance. His concentration had been broken by Belinda’s outburst, reeling him back into the present with a start. Wiping his face with a hand, “I’m sorry,” he apologised.

“Don’t be sorry,” Belinda argued. “Just stop doing it.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Phyllis joined in. “You must be strong. You must remember the love you have for Frell, for it will help us to rescue them,” she added while waving a clenched fist in the air.

Scott stood still while Mike regained his feet.

“Can you possibly imagine what it’s like not to get an erection? To dream or think of sex while unable to jerk-off? It’s fucking hell, man, that’s what it is,” said Mike to his congregation.

“I’m sorry, Mike, I can’t imagine how it is. And I hope you don’t mind if I say I really hope I don’t get to know either.”

“Yeah, sure you don’t.”

It was at this point when Scott remembered the Grey hybrids he saw on the ship while abducted on the moon. He could recall the twisted shape of the males’ penises, making him think they resembled being caught in a slamming door. Their dicks were bent at almost right angles, with chunks missing or cut off. The thought brought him back to the present.

“Mike,” he erupted. Have you ever seen another human type figure while you’ve been incarcerated here?”

“No! Have you?” he quickly replied with obvious sarcasm.

“Sorry, Mike,” Scott said. “It’s just that I was abducted by the Greys a while back, and I saw a hybrid type of man.”

“A what?” asked Mike, seriously wondering if Scott was enjoying something he shouldn’t be taking, such as acid or marijuana?

Scott smiled at Mike’s obvious confusion, realising what he’d said probably didn’t make much sense to anyone who hadn’t seen what he had.

“I’m sorry again, Mike. It’s difficult to explain. If you’ll listen to what I have to say though, you might understand what it is I’m trying to describe.”

Mike’s ears picked up the inference, realising there might be more to the incoherent babble Scott was allowing to leave his mouth than was first thought. “Sure,” he said, smiling. “Hit me with your mixed-up song, man. I can dig anything you have to play.”

“Eh?” Scott allowed himself to say while wondering what the heck Mike had replied with, thinking it sounded awfully hippy or sixties orientated. He recalled the same type of spaced-out statement from the 1960’s era as a youngster, uttered by the rebelling generation above him. He quickly gathered his senses and prepared a summarised reply.

“To cut a very long story short, pal, it all began when I was abducted by the Grey Empire while on the moon. I had been taken there by Frell and her pilot, Drang, to visit the lunar surface. It was part of an elaborate plan to use my genes for their own kind’s benefit.”

Mike looked on, wondering what it was that Scott was trying to say. He understood the moon and the lunar part, but a visit for the sake of Scott’s genes was stretching his mind a bit too far. He began to shake his head as Scott continued by describing how the Grey commander wanted to dissect both him and his lover, Frell.

“Hey, hey, hey, man. I’m not a far-out type of guy who can take all this kind of tune on-board. Your singing to the wrong guy, making the wrong kind of song. It’s kinda hurtin my ears, man!”

Scott stopped mid-sentence, wondering where he’d confused Mike with his story telling. After a timely pause, when Mike’s breathing had steadied, Scott
said, “Okay, Mike, I can understand it’s not easy to … take on-board what I’m telling you. However, the moral of the story is, and I’ll be quite frank about it, the hybrids’ dicks were all twisted and mangled looking, almost as if they’d been caught in a slamming door.”

Scott remained silent, as did the women, waiting for a reaction from Mike. It was quite a bit of time before he seemed to stir into movement, almost as if he had to make an effort to do it. Mike raised his head with tears in his eyes, as he said, “And that’s exactly how my little soldier looks!”

Without another word said, Mike slid his hand down the front of his suit, magically unfastening it. He slid it off his shoulders and allowed it to slide down over his body onto the floor, where it came to rest. Mike’s penis was on display for all to see, silencing his audience with its misshapen and grotesque appearance, obviously shocking them. Belinda used her hands to cover her face, while Phyllis, unable to use her hands to hide the scene, simply turned her head away. Scott just looked on before saying, “That’s it! That’s exactly what they all looked like!”

“What looked like?” asked Mike.

“The hybrids on the moon! The weird guys had the same damage-shaped dicks,” he insisted. “Their pricks looked as if someone had slammed a door on them.”

It was more than just a few moments before anyone else spoke. Belinda uncovered her eyes, taking a second look to compare it with what she knew of human anatomy. Phyllis slowly turned to look as well, trying not to show her sorrow for his condition. Scott simply looked at Mike’s knackered penis, remembering the time when he was confronted by the men with Grey features and very twisted and fucked looking cocks. His memory extended to the grey hybrid women with their seemingly perfect breasts and dense dark mounds of pubic hair. The vision brought Frell back to life in his mind’s eye, recalling her own particular beauty and sweet fragrance. His memories extended outwards once again.

“Scott!” Belinda shouted. “You are passing your thoughts again! Please don’t. Enough is definitely enough!”

Scott snapped out of his trance-like state, leaping from being with his once-forgotten love to being faced with a man with no clothes on.

“Phew,” he exhaled quickly. “I was with Frell again.”

“We know,” they both added.

The commander had seen more than he’d expected. The pictures of the captured woman, Grey hybrids and the penis of the human captive allowed him to evaluate the scene and area where the humans were to be located. His mind sent messages to his clones, informing them where the humans were and what was to be done upon their capture, not bothering with the knowledge the colony humans would pick up his telepathic message. They were trapped, so it didn’t matter. He hoped it would add anxious pain to their lives to know they were about to be caught like rats in a trap. His wrinkled face showed a smile of sadistic satisfaction when considering the fate he’d chosen for the human viruses.
The fish will feed well,
he thought.

Belinda raised herself upright for no apparent reason, before exclaiming the Greys had located them.

“What?” shouted Scott. “How?” he asked loudly.

“By your thought transference,” replied Belinda in sheer frustration.

“Oh shit,” Scott added in anger with himself.

“It’s too late to feel sorry for what’s already done,” she fired back.

Phyllis felt she should try and diffuse the situation, saying, “It doesn’t matter, it was only a matter of time before they realised we were here anyway.”

Each of the group knew she was right, wondering what was about to happen.

The information regarding the whereabouts of the humans was received by the clones. Turning around, they all headed towards Mike’s accommodation with the sole intention of capture then destruction. The closed and secure stations around the lake’s edge were abandoned as there was no longer any need to keep a watchful eye on them.

The commander sat in the Control room, observing the monitors surrounding him, paying particular attention to the areas nearest the group. His knowledge of the base was quite extensive, although not fully informed of all its halls and chambers.

Up until the moment he’d taken on the responsibility of the Base, he had only been concerned with locating the humans’ ship. But now things were different. Controlling the minor Greys was easy, running the Base wasn’t difficult, capturing the human quarry was a hazard he could have done without. He
knew
they had to be destroyed as soon as they were captured; their deviousness and endless ability to find ways of escaping seemed boundless. He understood there was only one way to deal with unruly organisms that caused such mayhem, and it was his understanding of the situation that persuaded him not to involve his higher Command by informing them of current developments. He felt certain there would be an order to detain them while a decision could be reached for their future use. This, he knew, was the root cause why they had been so troublesome. To give them time, following capture, they seemed to regroup and form new strategies. It was understood the earthbound male was wholly responsible for the trouble, where he could out-think his pursuers with relative ease and was capable of destroying anything that got in his way. “When captured, the entire nest of humans is to be escorted to the lake and thrown into its depths without delay,” was telepathically sent to all.

Belinda and Phyllis heard the message, understanding the death sentence they had earned. Their position within the complex was known, unwittingly betrayed by Scott’s inadvertent thoughts. They must move
now
, the women conferred with each other, or they would be going for a very short swim.

Scott overheard them, listening while trying to formulate a plan of escape. Mike was their key. His knowledge of the Base was invaluable, as was his military experience, similar to his own. With a combined effort, he felt they stood a better chance for survival.

Stepping from the kitchen, taking time to allow their eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting outside, their curiosity fell on the other doors.

“What’s behind them, Mike? Enquired Scott, pointing at each one in turn.

“My bedroom is behind that door over there,” he said, indicating. “And a lounge with a huge screen for watching movies is in the room over there. I don’t know about the others cause a’ve never been able to open them myself.”

Scott gave a look of surprise at his movie-screen reply, but guessed it was for his comfort and time wasting activities. He realised there wouldn’t have been much for him to do so it was probably a blessing. Scott was interested enough to try and gain access to the rooms beyond the locked doors, wondering what treasures might lie behind them. He asked, “Have you ever seen anything being taken in or out from these rooms?”

“No siree, I aint seen nuthin’ either way. Nope. Nuthin’ at all!”

“Can we open them?”

“As I already said, I’ve tried, but never managed. Broke a whole heap of knives trying too. But give me a shit-load of plastic with a detonator and I’ll manage it easy.” Mike had replied with a mischievous grin painted in 20
th
Century Fox Technicolor across his brightened and beaming face. He would love to use explosives again, recognised Scott. He imagined cracking explosions ripping the doors wide open and blowing the roof into orbit, if Mike had his way and the equipment.

“I used to wonder what might be in them, but gave up thinking about it years ago though,” said Mike while recalling how he tried forcing the knife-blades into the door’s gaps, bending them for leverage before they
finally snapped.

Scott considered his reply and vain attempts to gain entry,
before recalling the power source and its miraculous ability to open shut doors.

“Hey, Belinda? Would you care to open these doors for us, please?”

The women looked at each other, before turning their gaze at Scott.

Holding it in the palm of one hand, Belinda said, “It wouldn’t take much to open them.”

Mike saw the faint glow, wondering what it was; but before he could ask, Scott said, “Yeah, I know. However, it would be very interesting to see what might be locked inside. There might be something useful.”

Mike’s old curiosity was instantly resurrected Lazarus style, long after it had apparently died. The doors had always proved to be an impenetrable barrier to whatever lay beyond them, helping to break his fighting spirit after so many failed attempts and cut hands. His questions concerning them had always been ignored by his captors in the past, to the point where he just gave up asking.

“Hey! I for one would sure like to see what the hell’s behind them there doors, y’all,” added Mike, still grinning and drawling like a southern rebel left over from the confederate rebellion.

“I like your quaint turn of phrase, Mike. If you keep talking like that I’ll expect mister John ‘
The Duke’ Wayne to come strutting round the corner toting a pair of revolvers and spitting in the dust.

“Yeah,” said Mike. “That would definitely sort-out them there aliens. He fixed the injuns, cowboys, feds, krauts and the nips; I guess a few others too; including loads
’a good-lookin’ gals. So his presence would sure be a sight for sore eyes and a shitty-hell for them little guys!”

Scott couldn’t stop himself laughing. A vision of the
Duke
leading them through the Martian base ran through his mind, an imagined image of him wearing a banded-Stetson, filthy neckerchief, grubby riding-boots and frilly-chaps, complete with rattling spurs and the confident grin of a blood-thirsty gunslinger. As before, the imagined thought and picture of John ‘
The Duke
’ Wayne, with an arsenal of bullets strapped around his waist, left his mind and passed into anyone who was telepathic. Belinda and Phyllis were equally confused at what they saw; while the Grey commander almost fell out of his chair in petrified shock. Scott’s imagination was so good the vision seemed real enough to anyone who received it.

“Go on Belinda, give the doors some stick,” urged Scott.

“Scott?” She asked, baffled.

“Yeah, let’s play ball,” shouted Mike. “I’ve never had so much fun in years,” he added with more than obvious delight at the expected explosions.

Belinda appeared even more confused. She was now expected to hit the doors with a stick and play ball too, while she thought the original plan was to force them open with the globe. Her shoulders slumped in confusion.

“Sorry, Belinda. It’s the words thing again … Sorry,” said Scott trying to look apologetic.

“Am I to use the globe, or not?” she asked with a frown.

Everyone looked at Scott for an answer.

“Absolutely. Use it, but be
very
careful.”

Everyone’s attention turned to Belinda. She held the globe with outstretched arms, removing the seal with care. Mike watched with baited breath, wondering how this little light-bulb
thing could possibly open a door that
he
couldn’t, and from a good distance away.

Tw
o beams of brilliant light shot across the hall, twice in quick succession, separated by only a micro-second. The doors were destroyed in a couple of quick flashes, with both rooms now wide open for the group’s exploration. The seals were refitted as quickly as they had been removed, making the globe safe and secure again. There was a combined sigh of relief as she held her hand out, showing it.

“Holy-smoke,” Mike couldn’t help shouting in surprise. “What the cotton-pickin’ hell have you got yourselves as a door-openin’ weapon?”

With a smile of technological pride, Phyllis answered his strange question. “It’s a simple energy source. Unleashed, it can be awfully powerful.”

Mike’s mouth dropped open, before replying, “Powerful?
Powerful?
It’s fucking destructive, that’s what the fuck that is! Holy-mother-of-shit, I could’ve used one of those in Nam!”

Scott couldn’t help smiling at his statement, reckoning the war in Vietnam might have ended in an entirely different way if similar devices were available. The women were unsure how to react; Mike’s language was almost incomprehensible to them.

“Let’s see what’s in them there rooms then?” suggested Mike, already heading for them.

The door
lacking rooms were in complete darkness until they started to enter. Lights automatically brightened with their intrusion, illuminating the blackened dust and debris that covered the floor. The first room was empty except for bits of door. The second took their breath away.

“Son of a filthy bitch!” Mike shouted in surprise. “That’s my old kit!”

Scott’s jaw dropped wide open. He had no idea what might have been behind the locked doors, little knowing what bits of Mike’s history were retained by a greater force. Why they decided to store untold numbers of weapons and rounds of ammunition was beyond Scott’s comprehension. However, in retrospect, he thought, the saved weapons could be their salvation.

“I don’t believe it; I just do not believe it! All my old toys have been here all this goddamned time. The fun I could’ve been having.” Mike not so carefully grabbed an AK-47 rifle, running his hands across and over the working parts in an almost sensual manner, as if there was a sexual thing going on in his head. “Oh baby, baby,” he added as if sex with it was a good possibility.

Scott could only grin at Mike’s antics, saying, “Jesus Christ Mike, is sounds like you want to shag it.”

“I do…, I
mean - wish I could.”

Scott laughed before remembering his affliction, falling quiet at the thought.

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “I can register that.”

“Mmm, baby!”

The women stayed quiet, unable to enter into the strange conversation. Scott carried on into the room a bit further before coming to a sudden stop. He didn’t speak for a lengthy moment, coming to terms with the pile of handguns that lay in an untidy pile.

“Oh my good god,” he declared.

The women approached him to find out what might be wrong, before they too stopped, saying nothing when confronted by the weaponry. Mike was too busy nursing his new babe-in-arms to be bothered to look. Scott picked up a revolver, spinning its barrel and listening to its ratcheting sound. Pressing on the releasing catch, he cracked the handgun open to check how many rounds were in the chambers. Six, it was full. He snapped it closed like an old hand, holding back the hammer and spinning the barrel once more like a cowboy turned outlaw.

“What do you intend to do?” asked Belinda.

“I know what
I
might do,” said Mike as he pressed the rifle into his right shoulder as if to take sight of a target.

“And what might that be?” asked Phyllis.

“I think I can guess,” interrupted Scott as he tucked the handgun into an empty holster before strapping it around his waist. He stooped over a second time to pick up two more empty holsters with belts. Strapping another around his waist, he packed a couple of boxes of bullets into it for feeding the revolver, offering the other to Belinda. She understood it was to hold the globe in a secure way, while allowing her the use of both hands again. Having followed Scott’s directions, and looking mean with a holster strapped to her, she slipped the globe into its relative safety, clipping the retaining flap to prevent it falling out. “That’ll keep it safe,” she said, thanking Scott for his help.

Belinda and Phyllis moved together, as if to support the other when faced by two men armed to the teeth with weaponry designed and built to kill. Mike still shouldered the weapon, smiling like a child on Christmas Day. He felt as if he’d just been given the best present of his sorry life while finding a new lover; or was it a long lost one?

Scott motioned across to him, saying, “Hey, Mike. That’s a nice looking rifle you’ve got there. What'ya you gonna do with it?”

Raising his head and looking down his nose, he said, “I might just try and get some respect from these little grey guys. They’ve not treated me so badly,” he added. “But they sure as hell aint exactly gone outa their goddamned way to make me happy either.”

Scott sucked through his teeth, making a hissing sound. “Yeah, sure. Whatever makes you happy.”

Mike looked peachy.  “
I am now
!” he insisted.

The tunnels reverberated with the sound of footsteps, lots of them, all running towards the group. One of the little Greys informed his master they were approaching the confinement area, expecting to apprehend the humans soon.

Belinda, Phyllis and Scott heard the message, learning they were about to be compromised by a greater force. Mike was oblivious to the communications.

“Mike,” Scott said. “I think it might be a good idea to load your AK-47, making sure you have plenty of spare magazines at hand.”