An Alien Rescue

by Gordon Mackay

  “That’s okay,” said Belinda.

  “Yes,” agreed Phyllis. “We have heard all the curses and what you might call blaspheming from, Scott. Our use and understanding of your language has been increased enormously since we began our mission with him.” Scott just smiled because he couldn’t think of what to say to that comment because he knew it was true.

  Mike waited before replying, although not so much by choice. He thought they were a close team, a working group specially trained to enter alien environments for reasons unknown to him. And yet, here he was listening to a report that Scott’s repertoire was an education to the beautiful women, who by all accounts made it clear they hadn’t long since met. He shook his head a little, as if to rattle the crazy thoughts he was having, hoping they might sort themselves into some kind of logical semblance.

  “Yeah, Mike. It seems the way we speak on Earth differs to how they do,” added Scott, finally, attempting to help him understand what was happening.

  “Hey, just cut the crap! Just tell me who the fuck ya’all are and quit pissin’ me around. A’ve bin here for as long as I can remember, taken from a whole heap of gook-shit in a jungle I never wanted to visit in the first goddamned place, and pray to god I never get to see it again. Then… you three turn up in my kitchen, scaring the crap outa me, then really fuck my already blown mind with confusion cause I just don’t know what the fuck you lot are on!”

  Silence reigned for a minute, maybe two, before anyone felt brave enough to speak. It was Scott who spoke, basically because the women had lost track of Mike’s confusing statement.

  “Eh, I suppose that means you’re not too sure what we’re doing here, or how we appear to be from different places… Such as planets?”

  Mike angled his head as if to say, what the fuck have I just said! Then replied, “Your absolutely goddamned fucking right I’m confused, buddy!”

  “Yeah. I thought so.”

  “You think so! You fucking think so? Let me tell ya limey, it is fucking so, let me tell you!”

  Scott looked to his female companions, they looked back at him. This was beyond anything they could respond to. The language Mike was using didn’t make much sense to them, even though each felt almost certain they understood what he meant. They just couldn’t be sure though, and to respond with an answer that could be completely wrong and out of context might prove dangerous. It was decided by knowing glances there should be no reply to Mike’s questionable statements, even if he expected some. It was safer to hold back and allow Scott to follow his lead, answering where and when he thought it appropriate.

  Scott nodded a couple of times, indicating he understood Mike’s dilemma, before replying. “If you finish telling us the story of how you came to be here, we’ll tell you everything about ourselves and our mission… That’s a goddamned, godforsaken, and sonovabitch promise, yank!”

  Mike’s expression made Scott wonder if he was about to explode … or breakdown. Instead, his twisted expression lightened to reveal a smile. Scott smiled back, although more in relief than through friendliness. “What say thee yank?”

  “Sure thing, limey. But for crying out loud, cut the yank crap … Puh-lease?”

  “Yeah, OK. You’ve got it.”

  “Anyway, so there I was, keeping my head down in the godforsaken jungle, wondering if the gooks were gonna find me and cut my balls off for sport. Sorry ladies,” he apologised again.

  Belinda and Phyllis tittered nervously at his embarrassment.

  “It was dark, getting’ cold and I was scared shitless.”

  More tittering.

  Scott turned to look at the two ladies, it was as if he was back at school and biology was on the day’s curriculum. Human reproduction, he recalled, had brought the same reactionary sounds from the females nearer the back of the class; but they were only 13 or 14 years young, he reflected. Belinda and Phyllis dropped their line of vision, looking at the floor before slowly returning to see if Mike was still looking at them. He was and they averted their gaze again.

  Mike understood his turn of phrase was the cause of the ladies quiet joviality; enjoying the moment. “Hey, if you ladies would like to hear some real cussin words, I could real show ya some more,” he added with glee in his voice.

  “If you could try and leave out some of the confusing words within your sentences, Mike? It would help the ladies follow your story. Oh, and me too, by the way.”

  “Holy-shit!” Mike loudly erupted. “An I thought y’all worked with my very own blue-bloodied countrymen, understandin’ their every word’n command. Well al be a horn-toad moonshine-swiggen sonovabitch!”

  Scott stood perfectly still, remaining silent, just like the women, all with their mouths open as if waiting to hear something else, words they might be able to comprehend or understand.

  “Yeah,” added Mike. “I thought that might grab ya by the balls … Sorry ladies.” He said it with a smirk this time.

  No tittering, just smiles.

  Laughing, Scott replied, “Okay, Mike. You’ve got me by the short and curlies, and I’m listening to you.”

  “Yo!” Mike let rip. “I do love your li'l al turn of phrase, man. If there’s one thing you British are good fur, it’s your purty language. And before ya start smiling in godforsaken self respect, your scotch is a lot better!”

  Scott had to smile back, especially as he also respected and enjoyed a glass of his country’s best and most favourite vice.

  “Yur golf courses are supposed to be purty good too,” Mike added as an afterthought, recalling a golf-crazy uncle’s alcohol induced statement during a Christmas get-together. He had babbled on about birdies, eagles, chips, and some more long since forgotten obscure words. Mike easily recalled his use of bunker, especially as it had become an important word in his own life, but not for the same reason. Mike liked being inside one, built of wood, sandbags and concrete; while his uncle didn’t, it seemed.

  “I aint a golfing type,” Scott mentioned. “But I know more than just a few guys who would agree with you.”

  Smiles went all round, even the ladies.

  “Anyway, the story was, you were in the jungle,” said Scott. “Then what?”

  “Yeah, the goddamned jungle. Everybody’s worst nightmare. Everyone’s worst dream. A real bad place to park your butt.”

  The smiles were still there, but only for Mike’s humour. They each suspected the story was going to include more scenes of horror, so were braving for the prospect with happy looking faces to hide their real feelings.

  Mike continued. “The light was real bad, almost too dark to see anything at all. The moon had dropped way below the horizon by this time so it was mainly starlight that reflected off the wet waxy leaves. Anyway, there I was, bleedin’ to death, half-expectin’ Charlie to come tearing through the jungle once my blood trail could be picked-up, when an almighty goddamned fog came out of nowhere. I swear to god, one second there had been stars, the next … I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. The darkness, the fog, there was nothing to see anymore. I thought I had died! However, I must have blacked-out somewhere along the line, because that’s all I can remember … Until ….”

  “Until what?” asked Belinda in anticipation and without hesitation.

  “Until I came to. I found myself lying flat on my back looking at an array of lights above me. My first thoughts were I was in a hospital, dusted outa the jungle by Special Forces while I was unconscious. I couldn’t move or feel anything, all I could do was look at the lights and listen to the weirdest humming sound I ever did hear.”

  Mike had the full attention of his three listeners, each hanging onto his every word. His evacuation from the battlefield was obviously connected with his presence on Mars, and the method used to get him there could be of great significance to their mission.

  The commander answered the communication he’d received. His scouts had located footprints leading down the tunnel to the lake. They were too large to be theirs so could onl
y be human. The new tracks suggested at least one has entered the base, which might account for the telepathic message.

  “Search the tunnels leading to the lake, and capture any humans you find. Keep me informed of anything else,” he ordered, sitting back in his seat. This doesn’t make sense, he thought to himself. How many humans have entered this base? They must be destroyed immediately. I will not fail like the others!

  Scott pictured the scene that Mike had just described, summarising it. “So … You were lying flat on your back beneath some lights and there was a humming sound.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you couldn’t move a muscle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about your eyes? Could you move your eyes?”

  “Yeah. I tried to look around me, but my peripheral range was too limited to see much of nothin’.”

  “Did you say anything? Were you able to speak?”

  “I … I don’t recall.”

  A memory of Scott’s own experience resurrected itself within his mind. He remembered the dream he’d had a few years back, where he’d been visited by a strange being in his bedroom one night. He’d been unable to move too, except his eyes. His speech was also affected, telling the ‘thing’ to go away as best he could. Frell had explained the event had happened and why the being had been there, describing the visitor as an alien from a very distant galaxy. His purpose for visiting Scott was to test him for viruses and medical failings, ensuring his continuing viability as a donor of genes.

  Scott seemed to drift into a daydream. Frell, he thought. Where are you my love?

  Mike cleared his throat before continuing, making Scott snap out of his thoughts. “All of a sudden,” he said. “I could feel my body, able to move my fingers and turn my head. I remember waiting for a moment, listnin-like, then with nothing to hear I sat up to look around.”

  “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 ca
n’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.”