An Alien Rescue (52 page)

Phyllis smiled at Drang’s explanation, which was correct in all its implications.

“So, what do we do about the fault?”

Phyllis studied Drang for a moment, considering his question. She knew the ship had to be repaired,
but how and by whom
, she asked herself.

Drang laid a hand on Phyllis. “Scott, is your answer.”

She looked at his hand, feeling the warmth and smoothness of his touch. There was something chemical about it, she felt.

“He
is
the answer, and our possible survival too. You are right, Drang, he can do what we need done.”

She called Scott forward.

He entered the Flight Deck as the ship’s speed decreased, with a negative-g felt as it levelled-off beneath the ocean’s turbulent surface. They were currently in the centre of the Atlantic Ocean on a northerly heading, two thousand metres beneath the merciless waves. Scott squatted beside Drang, laying a friendly hand on one shoulder. He hadn’t really had much of a chance to acknowledge him while all the running around had been taking place inside the subterranean base, so felt pleased there was an opportunity to speak to him now.

“And how is my General?” he asked proudly.

“This General is feeling as well as you obviously are too, General,” he replied with a cheeky look. He enjoyed the friendly banter with Scott, the man who had awakened something within him during their first meeting and adventure. Scott patted his shoulder before they both laughed.

“Before you two get into some big reunion celebration,” Phyllis cut in. “I would appreciate discussing a serious problem we have, Scott.”

“Yeah, sure babe. Fire away. What’s the matter then?”

“Babe?” Drang asked, surprised, forgetting the reason why Scott was there for the briefest of moments. But before Scott could reply, Phyllis quickly returned to the reason
why
he was there. “The ship has a problem that currently prevents us from leaving Earth and entering space, which in turn means we cannot go home. Until the problem either goes away… .”

“Or is repaired,”
Scott speedily cut in with.

“… Yes,” she said, returning to the conversation. “And as we cannot return to the base we must go somewhere else to do it.”

“Mmm, and where might the somewhere else be?” He presented her with a question she was already dealing with. If only he could take them back to an RAF airfield, where he could have all the equipment he might need at his disposal. He imagined the ship taxiing down the runway before being marshalled onto a Squadron’s dispersal. The Air Traffic Controllers would have a fit if one of these suckers dropped in unannounced and completely out of the blue, he grinned mischievously.

Twisting her body around to see the monitor that showed their exact position, she pointed out where they were, adding there were only few possibilities of where they might safely land.”

“Right,” he said, while thinking of several questions at once. “Firstly, what is the problem?”

Phyllis handed over the ship’s control to Drang, explaining to Scott what had gone wrong and the reasons behind it. He listened intently, building up a technical picture within his engineering mind. He allowed a lengthy pause to hang in the air while he connected the fault with the knowledge of the rolling gas bottle, which he discovered previously. “I thought so,” he said. “As soon as I saw the water pouring from the undercarriage I realised the gas-bottle I found was connected… or unconnected, as it would appear.” He had that smug look again, feeling pretty pleased with himself. “Anyway, you are telling me the Grey ships’ are using a technology that is… old, to say the least?”

She nodded, as did Drang.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He looked astonished. “It’s basic engineering, I suppose, but I’ll need to review the fault because the material and type of connectors could be something out of this world.” He
recognised he had just made a pun, realising he was the only one who laughed, stopping when he saw the blank stares.

“Yes, Scott. If you could
assess the situation to see what you think, letting us know soonest, we would appreciate it.” She said it with a different kind of smile, which also stated in no uncertain terms that he should get going right away, immediately, like five minutes ago.

He nodded and said he was on the case. He left the Control deck looking like a man in a hurry.
Shit
, he thought,
and I was going to look for something to eat
. He steered himself back to the bay where he found the bottle, running the memory of the route through his head to return there, already forming a plan of action as he arrived.

Frell sat still, feeling tired and drowsy. Her relief at finding freedom was unfathomable and the pleasure of seeing and kissing Scott was phenomenal. However, she had lost the beginnings of their second child at the earliest of stages, destroyed by an Empire who saw themselves as above all, including her children. She would find it difficult to forgive them, and doubted if she ever would. She closed her eyes and fell asleep with her thoughts. Belinda sat close by, allowing herself the chance to relax. She too felt hungry, wondering if there might be a horse running for its life
somewhere because Scott was on the loose.

Scott reached the
appropriate bay, finding the bottle lying as he had left it. He inspected it carefully as he picked it up. He recognised the simple science behind its purpose and connection, pleasantly surprised to find it was comparable to what he already knew with similar systems.
Threaded collars and unions, with various sealing washers and locking-rings
, he thought. The connections had obviously been worked on as the locking-rings were already loose. The rest could easily be done by hand; but reconstructing it would be totally different matter. The crush washers were made from a bright green metal, with no similarity to copper at all, except that malachite was green, being the ore of copper. Copper was soft and malleable, easily manipulated and crushed to form a tight and leak-free union between mating surfaces. There were four sealing washers in all and three were in good condition, good enough to be used again. The fourth was not quite as fortunate as it was both cracked and split. He recognised this was the original fault and it had to be replaced, or at best plugged with some form of sealant. He looked around him, hoping the grey engineer had left his bag of tools and spares at hand, but there was nothing. He searched the area again but found neither spares nor tools. He knew what was needed, but without the necessary bits he couldn’t do the job. He decided to return to Phyllis and Drang with his sitrep.

“If we had the part and the tools you mention, could you do the work?”
Phyllis asked. Her face had been full of hopeful expectation when she turned to see him enter the Control Deck again, her face dropping as he explained the extent of the problem.

“Yeah
. Absolutely. If I just had an appropriate washer, seal or sealant, and tools to put it back together, it wouldn’t present any sort of a problem.”

She tapped a finger on the panel in front of her, indicating she was thinking and working something out, but her thoughts were completely blanked from the others by the amount of concentration she was showing on her expression. She didn’t turn to face anyone specifically as she began to give the orders. “Drang. Can you please initiate the destination we have already discussed and carry out the precautions we talked about? Oh, and you, Scott. Can you scout
around the rest of the ship, just in case there might be something we could use to repair the equipment? And after that we can discuss what we need to do next, taking into consideration anything you might discover.”

Nodding his head
as he turned, he set off on his quest to find anything he could use while Drang began to do
his
thing.

A panel raised itself closer to Drang, while the monitors above him changed to show a new set of coordinates and the outline of
the Western North-African coast. One monitor shrunk its image to show a more detailed representation, with a marked route turning inland towards a mountain range. Data flashed across the screen’s lowest edge with additional information flashing across before fading. Drang found it difficult to understand grey language so chose to ignore it, hoping there wasn’t anything important being displayed. The ship raised itself nose-first from the sea, levelling itself to hover above the waves while the undercarriage doors fully opened before closing. The giant waterfalls went unseen as a serious amount of water cascaded downwards, back from whence it came. Once the doors were closed and secured, the ship began its atmospheric passage.

There had been one of those infernal submerged vessels close by when they had fist approached Earth,
those that had been aboard knew, with its eventual departure allowing them to enter the base. The vessel’s last plotted direction was towards a little island group further north. Their new flight-plan would take them close by, hopefully not close enough for them to be seen.

Drang
relaxed after the ship started towards its plotted destination, laying his hands across his lap, unintentionally falling sleep. Phyllis was unaware he was sleeping as she too drifted away. It seemed Scott was the only one who was awake on this ship that bolted up the Atlantic at an altitude of almost zero-feet.

Without managing to find anything he could use, he ended up in the kitchen.
But before pigging-out, he searched for any kind of utensils that could be used as tools. But his search was in vain. There was nothing at all. So he started to stuff his face with crisps and chocolate bars, burping loudly as fizzy cola was poured into his gullet, flushing the sludge of potato chips deeper into his stomach.
Barbecued Beef flavour never tasted so good
, he thought as he crammed another handful into his already chomping mouth. Picking up as many packets as he could carry while still eating, he informed the others there was grub for grabs in the kitchen and was returning with his hands full. “Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard wasn’t so bare after all,” he quipped to them. But no one replied. He stopped stuffing his face and picked up his pace, suspecting something had gone wrong.

The submarine crew’s heads hurt like blazes, hangovers and foul breaths were the order of the day and their initial return would be on the surface to allow the crew to inhale fresh air and enjoy a sea breeze while they could. It was his final voyage and last night’s party was one hell of a sing-song.
The guys really let their hair down on that one
, he remembered, smiling to himself.
I’ve seen enough bare backsides and sailors hairy balls to give me nightmares for the rest of my life. What the hell is it with military men
, he asked himself,
that makes grown and responsible guys throw their clothes off to gyrate themselves on tables to the rhythm of music after a skinful of beer
. Thinking of all the young men who danced around the bar without a stitch of clothing, he thought
, If only it had had the same effect on women,
he wished.
He would have made damned sure there had been more girls on his vessels, and more girls meant more hot-totty in his crew!
He smiled at his wicked thought of curvaceous and voluptuous navy girls tearing off their sexy uniforms to dance naked on the wardroom table-tops.
I would never retire, insisting on staying afloat and literally dying on the job to be buried at sea with a big smile
! He laughed out loud at the thought, attracting the looks of the pallid Watch that stood next to him, each thinking the previous night’s hilarity and alcoholic beverages were still having their affect on their aging Skipper. They all liked him, sorry to see him leave. They regarded him as part of the ship’s permanent fixtures, showing an exterior grain with knots and faded varnish like the rustic oak panels on the wardroom’s walls. They wondered what changes might be afoot with a new boss in charge. There were always changes with a change in captain.

A proximity warning announced they were closing on a vessel ahead of them, almost directly onto its
bow and avoiding action should be initiated…
NOW
! Another warning indicated the ship was traceable as its detection system was malfunctioning  Both Drang and Phyllis were oblivious to the submarine that cruised happily across their path or the fault that meant they could be picked-up by radar, so it was as well they were only just higher than the waves. Their well earned sleep was being enjoyed to the full.

The submarine was cutting its way through an Atlantic swell, the sight of huge white crests looked more like snow on distant mountains, which were becoming more difficult to see through the encroaching dusk that threatened to engulf them in a matter of minutes. The crew were unaware there might actually be something heading directly for them, the strangest machine they would ever see, the thing they had been sent south to investigate… and it was coming right at them at an alarming speed.

“Radar to Bridge! Radar to Bridge! Is the Skipper there? Get him on the blower, quickly! SOMEONE SPEAK TO ME, GODDAMMIT!”

The speaker emitted a loud crackling click as a heavy-headed and staggering crewman picked up the microphone. He casually handed it to the Skipper, “It sounds like it’s for you, Skip.”