Belinda was astounded. Had Scott read her thoughts? She wondered. Following a slight hesitation, she in turn asked, “How did you know I was about to ask if you would like a drink?”
“I guessed,” he answered proudly, unwilling to tell her the truth, yet.
She had learned of these things happening before, but only by psychics with the strongest abilities; and even then, only after training. Had Scott guessed luckily, or was he already conversant with the level of telepathy her kind shared and used as a matter of course.
“I’m not a magician, or anything like that,” he added. “I just recall Frell so clearly now, remembering she offered me a drink after I was brought to a room exactly like this while travelling to the Mothership.”
“But I haven’t told you we’re heading for the Mothership,” she fired back instantly.
“I guessed that too.”
Belinda was completely taken by surprise, unsure if he could communicate by thought or not. She would test him. Turning towards the dispenser panel, she asked him by telepathy, “Would you like anything else, or is water fine?”
A moment elapsed without a reply or a sound from Scott, then, “Water is just what I need, thanks. I drank a little too much wine earlier and feel incredibly thirsty.”
Smiling with self satisfaction, she placed the drink on the small table by his seat. He was tired as well as thirsty, so it only took a short time before the sleeping agent had its desired affect.
After his, “Thank you,” for the drink, his eyes slammed shut almost like slamming-doors before he could utter another sound. His body slumped to one side as he relaxed back into an untroubled sleep. Belinda looked on, taking in the sight of him sleeping. His breathing was steady as she leaned over him, studying his features closely. Her lips closed upon his, giving him a little kiss. He never moved as she said, “Sleep well, sexy man.”
The long awaited order was received; both captives were to be moved to the single remaining Earth Base by Empire transport. Their de-energised ship would remain on Mars, securely hidden inside a sealed and shielded cavern. The risk of using a ship belonging to the human colony was a hazard as its residual functioning systems might still be able to communicate with that of another, hailing its stolen presence and position. The Grey Elite were aware of the recent collection from planet Earth and the fact it was from the same small island where the destructive man was collected almost one year ago. It occurred to them the man might actually be a human agent, one of the few off-world human spies who lived and observed the planet’s day-to-day occurrences while mixing with the populace. But it also crossed their devious minds that the human colony couldn’t resort to violence in the manner this one individual so obviously had. No! In retrospect, he could only be an ordinary human, but an exceptional one if they have decided to use him yet again. There must be a plan in-operation, an attempt to locate the prisoners in the futile hope of rescuing them. The Greys hoped so because they desperately wanted this particular man for their own purposes. He would come walking into their trap, voluntarily, like a virus looking to infect a host for self profit. But this body would be ready and waiting to destroy this puny piece of carbon-based flesh full of stinking red blood-cells and brittle bone before it could do any more damage. And once its fragile organs were utilised for more important roles it would no longer be a problem and the hybrid project would be all but complete. Earth’s new future would only be a war or infection away, and then another system would bow like a servant to its new master, the Greys.
The ship carrying Belinda, Phyllis and Scott finally arrived and had safely docked within the Mothership, with the usual formalities of isolation and quarantine already prepared. Automated systems quickly kicked in, purging the ship’s structure of any impurities and bacteria. Any human from Earth was seen as a potential disease carrier, even though their body had been disinfected when they first set foot upon the small ship. Scott still slept soundly in the small cabin, stretched-out on the couch that was almost as long as he was. A grotesque looking blanket with the strangest choice of pattern and colour lay spread across him, more for psychological security and dignity than to keep him warm. He lay there naked, his blue suit having been removed to disinfect his body once more, although with much greater concentration than previously. His lycra-tight underpants were placed within a sealed bag and would be destroyed as would the blanket that covered him following his disembarkation.
Belinda and Phyllis had already vacated the craft, meeting the Mothership’s commander within a confined and safe area. While questions were asked and answered, their personal reports were automatically logged and registered. They had also been disinfected of harmful bacteria and microbes, suitably cleansed of dangerous viruses and germs by vapour, gas, radiation and light. The blue suits they had worn on board had already been dispatched for disposal, while both Phyllis and Belinda stood naked while communicating with the commander through an observation window. Following their disinfection, new suits hung on hooks outside the door, waiting for them as they left the observation room.
Many on board the Mothership had both witnessed and welcomed the return of the little ship that carried Scott, the famous lover of Frell and father of Skye. Many hoped to see him in the flesh, with a few wondering if he might perhaps share his body with another while aboard. More than just a few wanted to feel the rumoured sensations of lovemaking, whether physically or by thought-transmission. But all they could do was to wait patiently, to see if their desires and wishes might be granted.
The Mothership’s Commander’s name was, Patricia, a tactful woman of splendid beauty and great intelligence. She stood five foot six inches tall with short brunette-coloured hair. Her frame was perfect for her height and bust, giving her a figure of favourable proportions. Her personnel file stated that, like Frell, she too was compatible with Scott for producing offspring, but her important duties meant she couldn’t be used in the function of reproduction. She had also heard the stories concerning Scott and Frell’s sexual exploits, wondering what it was like to make love. And like everyone else on board, she was aware of Scott’s presence while trying to imagine what he was like to be with. While off duty, her passion for relaxation was working with wood, which wasn’t as often as she would have preferred. Apart from Earth and their home planet, good quality wood was almost impossible to find. Her favourite pastime was limited to periods when supply ships could deliver the lumber she requested. The trunk of a tree was never the easiest thing to be delivered, especially when you’re a great distance from the nearest forest. She would always smile as the request for timber left her workstation, wondering with a mischievous grin how the individual receiving the demand would react when they read it. She imagined someone with a questioning expression, wondering why a piece of dead tree was required on a metal-structured ship in space. She continued with her demands for wood as her desire for carving and creative energies necessitated the need for more. Her working hands had carved many decorative objects, all tastefully and expertly created, giving their owners an innermost feeling of pleasure while admiring each exquisite piece. She sometimes hummed a simple tune as the shavings and chips of wood gathered around her feet, feeling at peace within her sawdust covered surroundings. Most of the carvings were sent home, given freely to anyone who wished to have a genuine wooden ornament. What she really wanted to do, though, was to build a log cabin or a timber house, something that was simple and spacious, a structure built for living in. Steel nails would be a problem, she appreciated, and hoping her request for them from Earth would succeed. She supposed that nails made from the same metal the ships were made from would suffice, but steel would make her dream house much more authentic. But until she eventually retired from her commanding position and returned to the home planet, there wasn’t going to be any chance of building what she desired. She had already drawn the plans for a typical structure from her imagination, completely based on an early North American prairie cabin. It was the type built and lived-in by ea
rly pioneers. The invading farmers and homesteaders unwittingly occupied fertile lands already owned by the native-Americans, slaughtering the indigenous people before turning a beautiful wilderness into grassland for herbivores to graze upon. The natives were massacred; whether by bullet, sword or the invading white-man’s terrible diseases. Her interesting education had extended to Earth’s history, where her special talents were aimed at understanding where mistakes had been made in Earth’s violent past with an emphasis on helping to prevent them reoccurring elsewhere. That study was still ongoing, even while commanding this huge and complicated Mothership. It was obvious to her and everyone else that Earth humans didn’t learn from their mistakes and would continue repeating them until there was an unprecedented intervention by an external force … or became extinct.
The wooden hobby was a cleverly chosen diversion on her part, where she could lose herself while whittling pieces of wood in an artistic fashion. Her own special enjoyment was stroking the wood, feeling the smoothness of its polished grain and texture. It resembled a part of the living cosmos, reminding her of home and youthful days.
“I would like to meet Scott,” Patricia said. “When he awakens. You will need to treat him very gently,” she added as an afterthought.
Belinda thought it best to mention something about Scott that would come to light as he was questioned, information that might get Frell into bother, although she hoped not. “He actually remembers some of the things he did during his previous visit.”
Patricia pondered over this information, knowing he must have been left with some of the memories. She didn’t know why and didn’t comment, deciding to leave any further questions about it until later. Frell must have had her reasons, she considered, while her own suspicions began to draw conclusions.
Scott stirred, slowly opening his eyes. He fully expected to see the inside of his tent with the usual sound of gently flapping walls tapping on his eardrums. What he saw took him a lengthy moment to fully comprehend, his eyes squinting as he tried to come to terms with it. His head still ached from the wine and his mind was confused. He felt as if he was at sea, his body told him he was stationary but his world was slightly heaving. With opened eyes he studied the walls, the closed door and strangest looking furniture. There was a blanket with the most awful colours and design laying over him too, enough to make him look away. This blanket’s enough to make me puke, he thought, wishing the thought had never entered his mind. Lifting the blanket’s edge, he noticed with surprise he had nothing on. “Bloody hell,” he said loudly. He remembered climbing into his sleeping bag before having the strangest dream ever, but this was really weird. Either he was still dreaming or everything he dreamt actually happened. “Holy shit!” he cursed with an oath. His mouth tasted awful and his breath, he reckoned, would be just as bad.
“Where the hell am I?” he pleaded, hoping someone within earshot would answer with some kind of rationale explanation. With no voices heard, nor any other sounds apart from his own, he sat upright while closely examining his strange surroundings. He recalled the two women dressed in blue, and how attractive he found them. His thoughts turned to his fantasy woman called Frell, the goddess from his dreams and the explanation given to him by Belinda. The humour from his introduction to Phyllis returned and he couldn’t help smiling at the thought of bells on his other leg. He released a little laugh before pulling his thoughts together again. “What the hell is this place? I can’t really be on a spaceship… can I?” He leaned back and rapped the wall with the back of a fist. The wall sounded solid and certainly gave the impression of being made of metal. His knuckles hurt enough to let him know he’d thumped it a bit too hard for his own good. His senses might still be asleep, he thought looking at his throbbing fingers, except those associated with pain. He more or less expected to find he was still asleep and everything that had happened had been nothing more than a crazy dream. Stretching his fingers and flexing his wrist to try and reduce the amount of hurt he was feeling, he hoped he was asleep and it was his imagination working overtime and nothing else.
The room’s door glided open. If he hadn’t been facing its general direction he might not have known a slim figure was entering the room. He gazed at the woman standing before him, recognising Belinda.
With a deep sigh while looking to his bare feet, he asked, “Is this a dream?”
Belinda felt his anxiety and confusion, wishing she could give him a comforting hug to help reassure him.
“Hello Scott, did you sleep well?” Without waiting for a reply, she added, “I expect you’re wondering where you are and why you are here. It’ll all come back to you in a moment, any confusion will clear itself. Would you like another drink?”
Scott swallowed the saliva in his throat, tasting the bitterness from unbrushed, furry-feeling teeth and stale wine.
“I could murder a cup of tea,” he replied.
Belinda’s expression changed dramatically. She’d never heard anything like it. A cup of tea doesn’t live, it’s a non-entity, just a drink; it cannot be killed, never mind murdered! Is there something wrong with Scott’s mind, she wondered? Has everything that’s happened affected his brain, making his mind suffer from an internal fault? She considered his reply and found it impossible to comment on.
Scott remembered saying exactly the same to Frell when she too asked if she could get him a drink. She gave him the same face of despair that Belinda now sported.
He let out another laugh, saying, “I’m sorry, it’s another way of saying I would love a cup of tea. I really could murd… Erm, I really could do with a cuppa. A nice cup of rosy-lee if you please.”
Belinda paused, wondering if there might be another statement concerning the need for a cup of tea. With nothing else forthcoming, she asked. “Does that mean … you would like a cup of tea?”
He couldn’t help releasing a beaming smile; knowing he’d confused her with his silly talk.
“Yes, please, with a little milk and no sugar.”
“I’ve never made a drink called tea before, and never tasted one either. I’ll check the dispenser to see if it’s included.” As she turned and stepped to the rear of the cabin, Scott noticed how trim a figure she had, almost hourglass-shaped with a pert bottom.
Scott felt he should tell her that Frell had made him tea from the same type of unit and it was very good, but decided to wait to see if she could provide one.
Patricia had been informed that Scott was fully recovered and would soon be leaving the ship to meet her. It had been explained to him that he was to meet only one other person while on the Mothership and it would be the ship’s Commander. He did not know it was a woman who waited to greet him, half expecting to be greeted by an aging bearded captain in some kind of uniform with masses of brass-braid and multi-coloured medal ribbons spread across his hat and chest. He felt a little intimidated at the thought. He almost prayed the name wouldn’t be Ahab or Bligh. Nemo, he thought, that name he could handle.
The ship was berthed and its umbilical connection was connected and working. He had been given a new pair of coveralls to wear, sparing him any embarrassment. He tiptoed across the hangar, feeling his feet grip the floor unnaturally. It was as if there was a magnetic attraction between his shoes and the ship, which indeed there was. Scott was ushered into an interview room where the commander sat on the opposite side of a window. He wondered if the glass was there to protect him or the observer as he saw her lick her lips.
Patricia noticed Scott entering the room, led and shown to his seat by Belinda. Phyllis was already being debriefed in another part of the ship, with the record of her experiences since leaving to collect Scott.
Belinda introduced her commander, as he carefully eyed her through the glass.
“Welcome back to the Mothership, Scott. I understand you’ve been here before, although you’re probably unaware of it.”
It crossed his mind she might not know he could recall the past events, or perhaps she was testing him. “I’
m not sure,” he carefully replied.
Patricia considered his answer and accepted he had been through quite an ordeal during the past few hours. She expected he was still tired and probably felt bewildered after being presented with all he’d seen and experienced so far. She had no time to waste so began to ask him the pertinent questions she needed answers to. “Do you know why you are here?”
Scott recalled Belinda mentioning there wasn’t a lot of time, so decided to answer all her questions honestly and as simply as he could. He knew they needed his help and was more than prepared to give it. His lover was in dire straits, along with his pal Drang, so, what the hell, he thought.
“I’m here to help you find Frell and Drang.”
A straightforward answer to her straightforward question, she considered.
“Do you know where they are?”
“No. The last time I saw them was on board their ship just before I was returned to Skye.”
“Ah, Skye.” She looked upwards towards the ceiling as if trying to imagine or recall the isle. “The little rocky island off the north coast of … England.”
“No! It’s off the west coast of Scotland. The Isle of Skye is off the west coast of Scotland. Yer just like a typical tourist; so ye are. Ye can give me Scotland any day o’ the week. It’s strange how foreigners think a’ the British Isles is England, or should I say aliens in this instance.” Patricia sat quietly trying to decipher his exclaimed answer. Had she just been given a telling off, or was it a typical answer from an Earthling. She couldn’t quite work out a reply to his words, so looked to Belinda for help. Belinda didn’t need to hear the telepathic plea; she understood most of what had passed between them. Scott’s file had included the fact his well spoken tongue would lean towards the Scottish vernacular if he became annoyed, angry or frustrated.
An Alien Rescue Page 10