An Alien Rescue (44 page)

“That’s right, but I bet there’s a really, really nice little Grey bastard around here someplace that would just love to help us out.”

Both women were quiet, wondering what devious plan Scott
was formulating. There wasn’t a single Grey this side of the galaxy who would volunteer to help them, so where might he be going with his plans. Phyllis hoped whatever it was it would be successful and not take very long to do. She was about to ask him what he was thinking, when a flash of light burst into the chamber from a long way along the corridor, silencing her unspoken question.

An interstellar ship arrived above Martian airspace, hovering above the basin where the partially damaged base was situated. Without any communications from the base, the ship was not prepared to approach without any kind of verification that all was well. The crew could only assume there was a problem and hoped it was technical. They decided to wait, hoping there would be a response to their hailing.

In the base, the few Grey clones who remained worked incessantly in their attempts to restore the communications system. Having already recovered the body parts of those who had perished by human hands and weaponry, the remains were fed to those animals that inhabit the depths of the subsurface seas. A full account was documented, complete with any evidence of the assailants that intruded into the base and caused such immense havoc and death. The Empire would take any amount of time and energy to recover the ship that was taken by the escaping criminals, but would be unable to approach the Council for retribution as the Martian base was secret and completely unofficial. The Beagle recovery group’s junior commander sat in the damaged control room, swinging slowly around in the swivel chair while waiting to hear updates from his repair team. The base had been secured, the bodies were disposed of, damaged doors were reformed and locked, surveillance equipment was reinstated and decontamination procedures were continuing. The commander hated to think he was breathing an atmosphere that filthy viral infected humans exhaled not so long before.

A telepathic message was sent, making the commander stop swivelling the chair within which he sat to stand upright. They were ready to test the communications system and would be transmitting wildly across their own frequencies in an attempt to make contact with any vessel and the Earth base soonest. The commander sat down again, leaning forwards to reach a panel of switches that powered the comprehensive array of communications. A built-in-test booted into life, working its methodical way through one circuit then another, taking little more than nanoseconds to complete the initial stage before finally testing its signal and receiving transmissions.

The orbiting ship’s captain was hailed as the first received transmission was heard. There followed a complete cycle of transmissions, working their way up the ladder of frequencies. He recognised there was a test in progress and understood the problem was the failure of the Martian base’s communication network. He wondered why it had failed. He gave the order for communications to be reinstated as soon as the test was completed, with questions regarding the reasons for the failure to be sent quickly. Permission to approach and berth was also required, but only if the appropriate codes were found acceptable. An interruption of communications was always a suspicious occurrence and every care should be taken to confirm all was in order before any landing would progress.

Scott and his companions had crept towards the light’s source, maintaining a silent approach while listening
intently. There was what looked like a trolley carrying a transparent case similar to the type that contained bodies. The trolley had no wheels and hovered a few centimetres above the floor while emitting a faint humming sound. Scott recognised the sound as similar to that of an electrical transformer and wondered if there was an electrically generated magnetic field, where its flux enabled the case to be suspended. He watched for a few moments, searching with his eyes for any person or Grey that might be nearby. At first there didn’t seem to be anyone before a solitary figure appeared. It wasn’t one of the little guys, but a senior member of the base staff. It was difficult to ascertain any particular features associated with this individual, especially as they all looked the same anyway. The face had the usual almond shaped eyes and slight nostrils, but the face was lit by a green luminous glow from somewhere on top of the case. The eyes were transfixed on the source of the light and Scott supposed there was some kind of work involved here. Also, he considered, the individual’s night vision would be shot to hell because of the light shining on its face. Unfortunately for Scott, the Grey eye lacked any kind of an iris, which meant its vision was not impaired should it turn to look into the surrounding gloom. As Scott approached, his silence was almost perfect, hardly any sound was made. His bulk wasn’t so easy to conceal and the Grey spotted him while he was still about ten metres away. Belinda was instantly aware of Scott’s detection, observing the Grey abruptly raising his head as his telepathic senses kicked-in. Without hesitation, Belinda and Phyllis rushed forward from behind Scott, lunging at the Grey and knocked him flying. The shock and surprise of another two individuals rushing at him interrupted his message of warning to the rest of the base. With their combined weight knocking him off his feet before thumping onto the hard floor, he was shocked into silence. His head took the worst of the fall where an almighty cracking sound could be heard to echo along the hall. Scott ran up to them, ready to take hold of the prisoner if he should attempt to resist capture. Belinda slowly stood up while Phyllis remained crouched with her head held low.

“What’s the matter? Is he unconscious or something? He asked softly while looking for any movement in case it was playing possum.

“It’s… the something, Scott.”

“Eh?” he said. “What does that mean?”

Phyllis raised her head and looked at Scott. “You asked if he was unconscious… or something?”

“Erm, yeah. I did. That’s right. So what’s the some…” He stopped as he began to appreciate what she was inferring, almost afraid to say another word.

Belinda took hold of his hand. “The something means he’s dead, Scott.”

“Shit!”

“Yes, Scott.” Phyllis said. “It
is
shit.”

Belinda turned to look at her companion, showing a little concern about her choice of words again. Phyllis stood her ground and looked defiantly at the body, saying loudly, “This Grey has had Frell and Drang captive for a long time, keeping them here
against their will, and that makes him a shit.”

Belinda remained silent while Scott gently clapped his hands together, saying, “Bravo, Phyllis.”

Belinda took a step away from the prone body of the Grey, sighing gently, before saying, “I guess it means there is one less shit to deal with, then?”

“Yep. It sure as hell does.” Scott replied while wondering how many more there might be. He removed the revolver and broke it open to check if the six rounds were still there. With a snap action, the revolver was closed and ready for any other interfering Grey. Both women looked at Scott, anticipating more killing before the mission was
completed.

The ship’s captain watched the test’s indicated response give a positive signal. The unique codes between the base and the ship were exchanged and compared, with another positive signal received. The order was given to make preparations for descent, but no movement until a reason for the breakdown in communications was learned and accepted. It would be underway within a short period of time, the captain was informed. He waited, anxious to know.

Stepping through an open doorway into a corridor, the women followed Scott with the gun pointing ahead. “Oh, bugger this,” he said while quickening his pace. “We haven’t got all bloody day.”

“Wait!” alerted Belinda. “There is someone coming.”

All three stood still, listening while wondering where
the someone
was coming from. A door adjacent to them slid open, revealing a Grey with what looked like a startled look across his pale face. Scott grabbed it by the throat, his fingers going all the way around. Lifting the individual off its feet, he carried it into the corridor while the door automatically closed behind them. They all heard the shriek, which let them know this grey was extremely worried. Scott’s strong grip made its eyes appear to bulge from its head, whereupon, they actually were.

“You are choking it to death, Scott,” insisted Belinda.

“It could help repair my hands,” added Phyllis.

Scott released his iron-grip and, along with Belinda, turned to look at Phyllis’s wrecked hands.

“Shit!” he said.

“Shit nothing,” Phyllis added. “Can he help me?”

Belinda moved closer to the Grey, looking into its eyes from very close quarters. The Grey pulled its head back as if frightened of her and her possible intent. Belinda didn’t use telepathy to communicate, she instead spoke into what there was of a left ear and whispered. Neither Scott nor Phyllis could hear what she said, but each felt they could probably guess. The Grey seemed to nod his head as if agreeing to something. They waited to learn what it might be. Belinda continued to whisper into its ear with the occasional press from a clenched right fist into its face as if to threaten it. Scott couldn’t feel any sympathy for this individual that was cornered like a rat in a trap, and hoped all would turn out well. Belinda finally placed a hand on one of its shoulders and gave it a squeeze, and not so gently either.
It looked like another warning
, thought Scott.

“It knows how to replace your hands, Phyllis.” Belinda said proudly. “And where Frell and Drang are
situated.”

Phyllis exhaled sharply, looking upwards as if to show relief, while Scott exclaimed, “Thank fuck!”

Phyllis raised her arms, turning the palms of her hands upwards, showing the Grey her missing fingers and damaged flesh. The Grey didn’t move or show any form of concern, but it certainly understood these were desperate humans who would kill him without hesitation. Belinda made sure he did. He saw the weapon in Scott’s hand, understanding his life would be extinguished should he fail to comply with their demands. He had accepted the woman’s offer and would replace the damaged hands if they would release him following completion. He had no choice but to agree to her terms, but would be on the alert for a method of escape throughout. The grey turned them back towards the direction from where they’d come from, indicating with a hand they should follow.

The captain was quick to understand the reasons given for the failure, giving the order to descend
immediately. All the ship’s crew were informed of the base’s status and all engineering personnel were to be prepared for repairs and to give assistance to the work already underway. He was also to assume command of the base as he now held the superior rank. The doors were already open for its welcomed arrival, with red dust blowing in to the base from a brewing storm outside. With a flurry of dust and clouds of red, the ship entered the base and settled onto its legs. As soon as the hangar-type enclosure was repressurised, and even before the dust had settled, scores of Grey clones were filing out of the ship. The bodies might have been removed, but the arrivals couldn’t help but notice a few limbs had gone unnoticed by the clean-up crew. The captain secured his vessel, being last to leave, ensuring the only access doors were controlled by him and him alone. He had changed the security codes to that of his own personal bio-frequency, so no other being could open them.
No human filth will take my ship away from here,
he thought.

The submarine was almost at the Azores, when the signal to surface was announced. The skipper had all but handed his command over to the man who he hoped would be her next skipper. He was as knowledgeable about the ship as he was, with the extra energy and vitality of a younger
mind and body. The crew respected him as a competent sailor and leader, where being firm and fair was as important as being able to run a relaxed ship. Personnel were manning their stations in anticipation of reaching the surface. It would soon be a bumpier voyage, with waves washing across the deck as opposed to sailing beneath them. They would be subjected to the sea’s swell and roll, but the scent of fresh sea air and perhaps the call of sea birds would make it all worthwhile. Headquarters were informed of the ship’s position and its stood-down military bearing was being transmitted to shore. The security services had to be alerted to the weaponry held onboard so the appropriate level of security could be initiated as soon as it dropped anchor.

The harbour bars were stocking up for the thirsty crew who were about to emerge from the steel can
while local women were looking out their most seductive finery.

The skipper was completely relaxed as he looked at images of
golf-courses around the world on the computer screen in front of him.
It’ll be a night of few speeches and celebration tonight,
he thought, knowing that his arrival back at the main base would be a rather more sober affair. Tonight he could let his hair down.
Or he would if he had any
, he muttered to himself.

The three followed the Grey, staying very close to him in case he tried something sneaky. If the prisoner thought about escaping they wanted to know about it before he did. Scott was ready to grab him by the throat again, should he try anything; and ready to rip his head off should he try to communicate. He didn’t want to use the gun; it was loud in its retort and would possibly
waken half the dead in the cases as well as letting every Grey within a hundred leagues know there was something wrong. It would have to be a physical stoppage, he knew. The gun was a last resort tactic. They stopped in front of a double-door entrance, a large pair of huge metal plates with no apparent hinges. The Grey stepped closer while Scott placed a hand around his neck. Scott could have sworn the Grey swallowed a gulp as if the sensation of a hand at his neck worried him. There was a loud clunking sound, followed by a feeling of vibration through their feet. It wasn’t two doors, only one, and it rose from the floor, disappearing into the roof like a huge guillotine being reloaded for its next royalist. They watched this monstrous gate rise about twenty feet before its movements ceased.