An Alien Rescue (6 page)

The soup was enjoyed with bread and the bottle of wine
was drained of its last and final drop. He felt his meal had been sparse but the generous measures of Chardonnay had helped to make the difference. But now, it was well into the evening and he felt tired. The day had been extremely busy and the alcohol was having a most soothing affect. He would need his bed soon, but only after having a wash in the sea. He recalled doing something similar the previous year, but there was a haze across his memory concerning what he actually did. He wasn’t sure how much booze he’d drank while on the west coast of Skye the previous year, but felt sure he hadn’t drank that much. His wife often brought her suspicions out into the open if she considered he’d consumed more than enough alcohol, always suggesting he’d missed-out a day because he’d been absolutely pissed out of his brain. He never chose to comment or answer back as he just couldn’t remember. He would remain silent and his friends would laugh and scoff at the thought, thinking his silence was a confession of guilt. He wasn’t convinced, but continued to wonder if she might at least be correct.

During the entire day, and a lot more besides, he’d had the feeling there was something more to Skye than just the fossils he wanted. He had no idea what else there might be but decided it was only his imagination playing games; just like the game of his secret book. There had been something lurking at the back of his mind all day, an apparition of sorts. It resembled a shadow so faint he was unsure what it was or what it
might mean. As much as he tried, he couldn’t coax the image into clearly showing itself to him. He did sometimes think he could see a woman who appeared tall, dark-haired and slim. He was troubled by this thought as all his past dreams had been of a blonde or fair-haired wench. He sometimes felt his mind was troubled by his imagination, whereupon his waking thoughts could be led by his desires like a thirsty horse to water. He mentally scolded himself for having these silly thoughts, wondering if they were perhaps alcohol induced. He did, however, suspect there might be something going on, some strange force of nature where his mind might leave his body to take the place of another, someone who could leave the confines of planet Earth to explore the cosmos. He also considered he might actually be going off-his-flaming trolley! These strange sensations and feelings of excitement made him think it might be due to being on his favourite island again, a place where he felt at home and with people he considered helpful and friendly. Scott especially enjoyed his annual visits to Skye, in particular the harbour town of Portree. It left him feeling happy and content; being one of the most enjoyable towns he has had the pleasure to visit. The resident fish and chip shop at the harbour was also on his agenda for regular tasty visits.

Noticing the fire’s dying embers, he chose not to feed the flames any more. What was left of the pile of wood would do another day and another meal. His active mind was still in a state of turmoil and he didn’t know why. Here he was, in the middle of nowhere and camped in a really beautiful and pleasant place, so why should he be feeling so strange? His emotions were as strong as ever and on the increase, almost exponentially. Picking up the empty wine bottle, he
studied the label. He put his mixed-up feelings down to being back on the island again, or maybe the 13.5% alcoholic content. Perhaps the smoke in his eyes and lungs could be having an effect, or perhaps some infected midge bites. With a grin, he thought of the bottle’s enjoyed content, which was by-now circulating his body by route of his bloodstream and might be making some blood-sucking bugs feel a bit queasy too. He smiled at the thought of some midges having a hangover or flying into obstacles while pissed out of their tiny skulls. Was he drunk, to the extent his feelings would be in complete disarray? He pondered this question as he ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. “It’s time I had a cold sobering wash,” he slurred, struggling to stand.

The tide was well up the small cove and the mussels were nowhere to be seen. He imagined the lucky molluscs, those that hadn’t been plucked from their rock-solid sanctity were more than likely whooping it up in the seawater, filtering and devouring whatever
morsels they could trap. The unlucky few looked kind of sad as their opened shells and boiled carcasses lay dormant and dead where they had landed after being discarded.

Scott meandered down the
slippery slope towards the water’s edge. He was instantly aware there were no blood-sucking midges. “At last,” he shouted with merriment. “Freedom!” His simple wash had inadvertently turned into a full immersion. He had decided to undress completely, keeping his clothing and boots dry, which was fortunate because he slipped on the rocks and ended up falling head-over-heals into the sea. The wine in his veins and arteries kept him feeling warmer than he should have been. He quickly scrubbed his body and removed the sweat more-so by his washing actions than the effects of soap. He swam out to about twenty metres before the cold began to bite hard and his teeth started to chatter. His frantic attempts to return to dry land made him look like some Charlie Chaplin type character as he hastily waddled out of the sea towards his clothing. He hadn’t taken clean clothes with him so dressed back into what he’d removed. At least they still had some of the warmth he’d left in them, for which he was grateful. He felt clean and was more than ready for a good night’s kip.

The ash-covered remnants of the fire smouldered gently, cracking every once in a while as he returned to the tent. His wet towel was left dangling from the bike’s handlebars in the hope it would be dry by morning’s first light. He quickly retreated into the safety of his tent, a place where the midges couldn’t gain access. An aerosol can of insect killer was lying just inside the door and was used sparingly. It was for any bugs that might have sneaked in while the tent’s door was open. Feeling freshened, but drowsy, Scott undressed down to his underwear before slipping into his sleeping bag. He quickly succumbed to the day’s tiredness and long drive. The night grew darker and colder without him knowing, his body was sleeping soundly and peacefully, falling into a state of torpor. Dreams were soon to activate his sensory nerves, a reaction that would test his spirit, his courage and his sanity. He saw himself with a long-legged blonde woman with the prettiest of faces. She was standing upright and leaning against a silver wall, beckoning him to come closer with one hand. She didn’t speak or utter any kind of verbal sound, but he could hear her clear and distinct voice deep within his mind. Unconsciousness hit him with suddenness; even dreams couldn’t invade his troubled mind. His rapid-eye-movements had ceased with swiftness while his body went limp. He was unaware he was being moved out of the tent by unseen hands.

“I must be dreaming,” he said. “This can’t possibly be happening!”

Scott was lying flat on his back, looking at a round ceiling. Turning his head slightly he noticed the walls were silver in colour and the floor felt incredibly soft and warm. “What the hell kind of a dream is this?”

An open doorway presented itself as he sat upright. He looked over both shoulders but there was nothing else to see. Apart from him it was an empty room. With an effort he stood up and was almost sick, his insides wanted to leave his body but he managed to overcome the feeling and contained it. “Phew,” he said with great relief.

Through tired squinting eyes, he scanned his surroundings. “This is a bit too realistic to be a dream, and why do I feel like I’ve been here before?”

Standing in the centre of the room, wearing only his underpants, he was about to approach the open doorway when he heard the first faint sounds of approaching footsteps. He stood motionless as he waited expectantly, knowing there was no place to run to or hide, wondering who or what was about to make an entrance. It was a strange sensation for Scott, to be standing in a strange room waiting to see who or what was walking towards the door, when by all accounts he should be fast asleep within his tent.

A tall, dark and athletic woman appeared. She appeared to be young and very attractive while wearing a blue one-piece suit, just like the one in his dreams.

“Shit,” he exclaimed with surprise, “you’re supposed to be blonde!”

She smiled, replying, “You’re thinking of, Frell.”

“What? Who the hell is Frell?”

“Frell, the blonde female in your reoccurring dreams,” she added.

Scott didn’t know what to say. The unusual name, Frell, had been on the tip of his tongue and he felt certain it meant something to him, something extremely important; he just didn’t know what.

“Who are you?” Scott asked, doubtfully. He still wasn’t convinced he was actually awake. Before she could reply, he added. “Is this a dream? Am I dreaming in my sleep and all this is a figment of my imagination?”

“In reply to your first question,” she answered, “my name is Belinda. And for your second, no, you are not asleep so you cannot be dreaming.”

“Belinda? Have we met before? I have a feeling I know you. Nah, it can’t be. I must be dreaming. I’ve never felt so tired in a dream before though.” His face was pale and his eyes looked darker and sunken through lack of sleep. “Phew, I feel so flippin’ tired I couldn’t even shag you if I wanted to.”

Belinda couldn’t help smiling. She knew what the reference shagging was and found it completely amusing. Scott had the strangest feeling he
had
met this woman before, but a very long and distant time ago. His mind began to shutdown as he was convinced this
was
nothing but a dream and the wine he had drunk was wholly responsible. “I’m not touching that blasted wine again. I thought it was cheese that was supposed to give you nightmares!”

Belinda had to smile again at his latest statement, finding his comments funny. He just wanted to be in his tent, in the quiet darkness near the edge of the sea and fast asleep with the bugs. He felt a bit drunk as he swayed slightly on his feet.

“We
have
met before, Scott, about one of your solar years ago.”

Scott perked up at this revelation. “Hey, hang on one cotton-pickin’-minute. You said about one of
my solar years
. What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sorry, Scott,” she calmly apologised. “There’s such a lot to explain to you and there is not much time left available.”

“You’ll forgive me if I say I don’t understand,” he exclaimed. “Either I’m fast asleep within my tent and dreaming, or, I’m really standing here in my underpants being told I’m not dreaming, which is confusing to say the least. And, if I
am
in front of you in only my underpants, and you say I’m not dreaming… Christ’s sake! Hang-on, that doesn’t make sense… or does it? I’m going nuts with all of this!”

She let out a little giggle at his obvious confusion, assuring him that he was definitely standing in front of her while wearing only his extremely revealing underpants.

Rubbing his tired eyes again, before looking down at his pants and the tell-tale bulge, he asked, “Then where the hell am I and how did I get here?”

She began her explanation in as simple a way as possible. There was so much to tell him, while she knew there was only so much time to spare. She began by relating the story that had been within his head all along, a story that seemed so farfetched it could have come straight from any number of science fiction books. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His secret book was being told to him by a stranger, a woman who he thought he recognised but couldn’t quite
place her. The entire episode served only to convince him he really was taking part in a dream and there was nothing real about any of what he was being confronted with. For instance, how could anyone else know anything about his secret story? However, he continued to listen in silence, reliving the tale as this mysterious woman described it to him. There came a point where his own story was overtaken by additional episodes that he hadn’t yet imagined. He continued to listen, taking in every word and syllable, trying to remember the entire explanation.

“I can use this in my book,” he said, picking-up in spirit. “Wow, on second thoughts, that wine is bloody good stuff after all!”

The elation did not last long and his shoulders slumped as his eyelids flickered towards closed.

Belinda approached him, taking hold of his shoulders and giving him a gentle shake. “Scott, wake up! You’re really here. You’re not dreaming and I’m standing right in front of you. Honestly! Everything I’ve said is true. The Grey Empire, the abductions, Frell and her daughter, your daughter… everything. Please believe me.” Her eyes glistened with the truth, giving her an additional air of authenticity. He didn’t know what to say. She had made him out to be some kind of hero, a general she had called him.
Ha!
He thought. No one had ever referred to him in this way, except perhaps his late grandfather who jokingly referred to him as an
Admiral
, which was only because he’d considered joining the Royal Navy at an earlier and more innocent adolescent age.

“Do you not recall, Drang? He was your pilot. Or perhaps the Mothership where you mated with Frell. You made an enormous emotional impact with the other female crewmembers while you visited us, by the way. Oh Scott… if only you knew!”

He screwed up his face as he tried to recall the so-called past events. “Then why can’t I remember all that you say? Why don’t I remember any of it?”

“That is because the memory was removed before you were returned to Earth. We couldn’t allow you the luxury of remembering what had happened to you. Can you imagine how your life would have changed if you had returned while retaining the knowledge of Frell and everything you experienced? Your mind might not have survived! Your life would definitely have changed.”

Scott sat down on the floor again, noticing it wasn’t soft anymore. He felt so tired without sleep, and this new adventure was draining him of any remaining energy as he attempted to orientate himself mentally into the recited story.

“I did lose a day when I was on Skye last year but I could never work it out. Are you telling me that’s when it happened?”

“Yes.”

Jesus Christ and holy shit!” he cursed as he began to believe her with a realisation the story within his mind was factual and not fiction after all. “I’m sorry I swore,” he apologised.

“It’s all right, Scott. I know how you’re feeling. I’ve tried to be as straightforward with an explanation as I can possibly be while not overloading you with details. It must be strange for you to be told things that you’ve forgotten. I wish I could make it easier for you.”

“Bloody hell,” he said. “I honestly feel like I’m going off my flaming head!”

Belinda took hold of one hand. The softness of her skin and warmth of her touch seemed to waken him. He looked her in the eyes and said he could remember something, but only a sequence of shadows.

“I have this idea for a story, you know? It’s all about a blonde woman who I fell in love with, making passionate love to; and you’re now telling me it’s all true? That is, you’re telling me that it actually took place, that I really did have sex with that blonde babe of a woman. Wow… and bloody hell!”

“Yes, Scott, that is what I’m saying.”

Giving a gentle tug to his arm, she suggested he should stand up and follow her. She wanted to show him more of where he was. What he didn’t know was the ship he was in was presently travelling towards its Mothership, which was a very long way off.

Stepping through the doorway, she stooped to gather something just out of site around the corner. She spun round holding a pair of blue coveralls, just like the pair she was wearing.

“Please wear these,” she said.

In silence, he reached out and accepted the bundle, noticing how light they were. Allowing the coveralls to unfold he saw there were moulded shoes incorporated into the clever design.

“Hey, these are brilliant! Scott was impressed as he slipped them on. His attention was captured by how flimsy they felt, suspecting they might tear easily if he manhandled them too severely. “They feel as if there’s no real substance to them,” he added.

Belinda stood perfectly still as she watched him put them on, taking note of his exceptional physique. The stories concerning Scott and Frell mating on the Mothership had been told countless times, right across space. The passion felt by Frell had passed telepathically to the other women on board, with a small sexual revolution taking place in consequence. Scott had become a legend in his own lifetime and many would love to meet him. She regretted not being there when it all took place, the sexual activity between him and Frell, to have briefly felt the sensations passing between them. She had only just left the Mothership and been on her way to another base to personally pass on necessary data concerning Scott and his persona to the Council of Six, the ruling body of inhabited intelligent space. She could only imagine what she had missed; trying to piece together the episode from the fragments of information she had learned from those who felt the experience. Yet here he was, standing right in front of her while wearing only a small pair of pants with that bulge between his thighs. He was bending over as he pulled the blue coveralls upwards, beginning to stand upright. The man of her dreams and secret desires was here and all she could do was look upon him. She unknowingly allowed herself to release a very long and loud sigh. Scott heard it and looked up.

He asked with concern. “Are you feeling OK?”

Belinda hesitated for a moment before dragging herself from her wishful fantasy and replying. “Yes…, I’m fine…, thanks.” She had replied in a voice no louder than a whisper, which he was acutely aware of with a tingle running up his spine at the sensuality and suggestiveness of the sound. Her mind was preoccupied with other things, secret thoughts of physical sensations she could only imagine, but was on the verge of wishing out loud. She was desperate to tell him her secret thoughts and desires, but could not allow herself to do so.

With the coveralls finally on, he couldn’t work out how to fasten the frontal opening. There were no buttons or any kind of visible connections he could recognise. She saw his dilemma and stepped forward to assist him. Her pulse quickened as she reached down to his groin area to
place a hand at the base of the opening. Oh, how she wanted to go further and place a hand inside the suit to touch this extraordinary man’s genitals. She almost did as he stepped closer towards her. She unknowingly held her breath for a moment as her hand almost brushed his underwear’s material, missing a couple of heartbeats in the process. Instinctively shaking her head, she attempted to recover her senses. What was she doing, she wondered? These wild thoughts of him and her were enveloping her logical mind, making her forget her important mission for the briefest of moments. Taking a firm hold of his hand, she placed it on the suit, almost where she’d seen the manly bulge. Holding her breath again, her hand led his upwards. He observed the almost magical performance as the material joined without leaving a mark or a seam. Looking on in amazement, as if faced with something extraordinary, he let out a gasp of disbelief. With the suit finally closed, she released her grip on his wrist, but not before giving it a slight squeeze. Her held breath was slowly exhaled, making a sound as if the closing of a pair of overalls was either a great effort or ... it aroused her. His instincts told him there was more to the little squeeze on his wrist than he was supposed to know, but chose not to pursue it. Until he was more informed he felt completely out of his depth, and there would be no trouble from him.

Stepping back slightly, she said, “There is much to tell you, but I will show you the ship first.”

He wanted to ask a whole lot of questions, but chose to wait until he’d seen and heard more of where he was. She led him through the doorway and asked him to wait one moment. Turning to face the door, she explained it was about to close. Her explanation began with how the ship’s metal can flow like a liquid when an electrical voltage is applied. With predetermined contacts already imbedded in the ship’s metallic structure the applied electrical power could be selected and altered as and when required to restructure the ship. And sure enough, the wall melted and flowed like liquid, taking in what he saw with a keen interest.