Mike looked on, wondering what it was that Scott was trying to say. He understood the moon and the lunar part, but a visit for the sake of Scott’s genes was stretching his mind a bit too far. He began to shake his head as Scott continued by describing how the Grey commander wanted to dissect both him and his lover, Frell.
“Hey, hey, hey, man. I’m not a far-out type of guy who can take all this kind of tune on-board. Your singing to the wrong guy, making the wrong kind of song. It’s kinda hurtin my ears, man!”
Scott stopped mid-sentence, wondering where he’d confused Mike with his story telling. After a timely pause, when Mike’s breathing had steadied, Scott said, “Okay, Mike, I can understand it’s not easy to … take on-board what I’m telling you. However, the moral of the story is, and I’ll be quite frank about it, the hybrids’ dicks were all twisted and mangled looking, almost as if they’d been caught in a slamming door.”
Scott remained silent, as did the women, waiting for a reaction from Mike. It was quite a bit of time before he seemed to stir into movement, almost as if he had to make an effort to do it. Mike raised his head with tears in his eyes, as he said, “And that’s exactly how my little soldier looks!”
Without another word said, Mike slid his hand down the front of his suit, magically unfastening it. He slid it off his shoulders and allowed it to slide down over his body onto the floor, where it came to rest. Mike’s penis was on display for all to see, silencing his audience with its misshapen and grotesque appearance, obviously shocking them. Belinda used her hands to cover her face, while Phyllis, unable to use her hands to hide the scene, simply turned her head away. Scott just looked on before saying, “That’s it! That’s exactly what they all looked like!”
“What looked like?” asked Mike.
“The hybrids on the moon! The weird guys had the same damage-shaped dicks,” he insisted. “Their pricks looked as if someone had slammed a door on them.”
It was more than just a few moments before anyone else spoke. Belinda uncovered her eyes, taking a second look to compare it with what she knew of human anatomy. Phyllis slowly turned to look as well, trying not to show her sorrow for his condition. Scott simply looked at Mike’s knackered penis, remembering the time when he was confronted by the men with Grey features and very twisted and fucked looking cocks. His memory extended to the grey hybrid women with their seemingly perfect breasts and dense dark mounds of pubic hair. The vision brought Frell back to life in his mind’s eye, recalling her own particular beauty and sweet fragrance. His memories extended outwards once again.
“Scott!” Belinda shouted. “You are passing your thoughts again! Please don’t. Enough is definitely enough!”
Scott snapped out of his trance-like state, leaping from being with his once-forgotten love to being faced with a man with no clothes on.
“Phew,” he exhaled quickly. “I was with Frell again.”
“We know,” they both added.
The commander had seen more than he’d expected. The pictures of the captured woman, Grey hybrids and the penis of the human captive allowed him to evaluate the scene and area where the humans were to be located. His mind sent messages to his clones, informing them where the humans were and what was to be done upon their capture, not bothering with the knowledge the colony humans would pick up his telepathic message. They were trapped, so it didn’t matter. He hoped it would add anxious pain to their lives to know they were about to be caught like rats in a trap. His wrinkled face showed a smile of sadistic satisfaction when considering the fate he’d chosen for the human viruses. The fish will feed well, he thought.
Belinda raised herself upright for no apparent reason, before exclaiming the Greys had located them.
“What?” shouted Scott. “How?” he asked loudly.
“By your thought transference,” replied Belinda in sheer frustration.
“Oh shit,” Scott added in anger with himself.
“It’s too late to feel sorry for what’s already done,” she fired back.
Phyllis felt she should try and diffuse the situation, saying, “It doesn’t matter, it was only a matter of time before they realised we were here anyway.”
Each of the group knew she was right, wondering what was about to happen.
Chapter nineteen
The information regarding the whereabouts of the humans was received by the clones. Turning around, they all headed towards Mike’s accommodation with the sole intention of capture then destruction. The closed and secure stations around the lake’s edge were abandoned as there was no longer any need to keep a watchful eye on them.
The commander sat in the Control room, observing the monitors surrounding him, paying particular attention to the areas nearest the group. His knowledge of the base was quite extensive, although not fully informed of all its halls and chambers.
Up until the moment he’d taken on the responsibility of the Base, he had only been concerned with locating the humans’ ship. But now things were different. Controlling the minor Greys was easy, running the Base wasn’t difficult, capturing the human quarry was a hazard he could have done without. He knew they had to be destroyed as soon as they were captured; their deviousness and endless ability to find ways of escaping seemed boundless. He understood there was only one way to deal with unruly organisms that caused such mayhem, and it was his understanding of the situation that persuaded him not to involve his higher Command by informing them of current developments. He felt certain there would be an order to detain them while a decision could be reached for their future use. This, he knew, was the root cause why they had been so troublesome. To give them time, following capture, they seemed to regroup and form new strategies. It was understood the earthbound male was wholly responsible for the trouble, where he could out-think his pursuers with relative ease and was capable of destroying anything that got in his way. “When captured, the entire nest of humans is to be escorted to the lake and thrown into its depths without delay,” was telepathically sent to all.
Belinda and Phyllis heard the message, understanding the death sentence they had earned. Their position within the complex was known, unwittingly betrayed by Scott’s inadvertent thoughts. They must move now, the women conferred with each other, or they would be going for a very short swim.
Scott overheard them, listening while trying to formulate a plan of escape. Mike was their key. His knowledge of the Base was invaluable, as was his military experience, similar to his own. With a combined effort, he felt they stood a better chance for survival.
Stepping from the kitchen, taking time to allow their eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting outside, their curiosity fell on the other doors.
“What’s behind them, Mike? Enquired Scott, pointing at each one in turn.
“My bedroom is behind that door over there,” he said, indicating. “And a lounge with a huge screen for watching movies is in the room over there. I don’t know about the others cause a’ve never been able to open them myself.”
Scott gave a look of surprise at his movie-screen reply, but guessed it was for his comfort and time wasting activities. He realised there wouldn’t have been much for him to do so it was probably a blessing. Scott was interested enough to try and gain access to the rooms beyond the locked doors, wondering what treasures might lie behind them. He asked, “Have you ever seen anything being taken in or out from these rooms?”
“No siree, I aint seen nuthin’ either way. Nope. Nuthin’ at all!”
“Can we open them?”
“As I already said, I’ve tried, but never managed. Broke a whole heap of knives trying too. But give me a shit-load of plastic with a detonator and I’ll manage it easy.” Mike had replied with a mischievous grin painted in 20th Century Fox Technicolor across his brightened and beaming face. He would love to use explosives again, recognised Scott. He imagined cracking explosions ripping the doors wide open and blowing the roof into orbit, if Mike had his way and the equipment.
“I used to wonder w
hat might be in them, but gave up thinking about it years ago though,” said Mike while recalling how he tried forcing the knife-blades into the door’s gaps, bending them for leverage before they finally snapped.
Scott considered his reply and vain attempts to gain entry, before recalling the power source and its miraculous ability to open shut doors.
“Hey, Belinda? Would you care to open these doors for us, please?”
The women looked at each other, before turning their gaze at Scott.
Holding it in the palm of one hand, Belinda said, “It wouldn’t take much to open them.”
Mike saw the faint glow, wondering what it was; but before he could ask, Scott said, “Yeah, I know. However, it would be very interesting to see what might be locked inside. There might be something useful.”
Mike’s old curiosity was instantly resurrected Lazarus style, long after it had apparently died. The doors had always proved to be an impenetrable barrier to whatever lay beyond them, helping to break his fighting spirit after so many failed attempts and cut hands. His questions concerning them had always been ignored by his captors in the past, to the point where he just gave up asking.
“Hey! I for one would sure like to see what the hell’s behind them there doors, y’all,” added Mike, still grinning and drawling like a southern rebel left over from the confederate rebellion.
“I like your quaint turn of phrase, Mike. If you keep talking like that I’ll expect mister John ‘The Duke’ Wayne to come strutting round the corner toting a pair of revolvers and spitting in the dust.
“Yeah,” said Mike. “That would definitely sort-out them there aliens. He fixed the injuns, cowboys, feds, krauts and the nips; I guess a few others too; including loads’a good-lookin’ gals. So his presence would sure be a sight for sore eyes and a shitty-hell for them little guys!”
Scott couldn’t stop himself laughing. A vision of the Duke leading them through the Martian base ran through his mind, an imagined image of him wearing a banded-Stetson, filthy neckerchief, grubby riding-boots and frilly-chaps, complete with rattling spurs and the confident grin of a blood-thirsty gunslinger. As before, the imagined thought and picture of John ‘The Duke’ Wayne, with an arsenal of bullets strapped around his waist, left his mind and passed into anyone who was telepathic. Belinda and Phyllis were equally confused at what they saw; while the Grey commander almost fell out of his chair in petrified shock. Scott’s imagination was so good the vision seemed real enough to anyone who received it.
“Go on Belinda, give the doors some stick,” urged Scott.
“Scott?” She asked, baffled.
“Yeah, let’s play ball,” shouted Mike. “I’ve never had so much fun in years,” he added with more than obvious delight at the expected explosions.
Belinda appeared even more confused. She was now expected to hit the doors with a stick and play ball too, while she thought the original plan was to force them open with the globe. Her shoulders slumped in confusion.
“Sorry, Belinda. It’s the words thing again … Sorry,” said Scott trying to look apologetic.
“Am I to use the globe, or not?” she asked with a frown.
Everyone looked at Scott for an answer.
“Absolutely. Use it, but be very careful.”
Everyone’s attention turned to Belinda. She held the globe with outstretched arms, removing the seal with care. Mike watched with baited breath, wondering how this little light-bulb thing could possibly open a door that he couldn’t, and from a good distance away.
Two beams of brilliant light shot across the hall, twice in quick succession, separated by only a micro-second. The doors were destroyed in a couple of quick flashes, with both rooms now wide open for the group’s exploration. The seals were refitted as quickly as they had been removed, making the globe safe and secure again. There was a combined sigh of relief as she held her hand out, showing it.
“Holy-smoke,” Mike couldn’t help shouting in surprise. “What the cotton-pickin’ hell have you got yourselves as a door-openin’ weapon?”
With a smile of technological pride, Phyllis answered his strange question. “It’s a simple energy source. Unleashed, it can be awfully powerful.”
Mike’s mouth dropped open, before replying, “Powerful? Powerful? It’s fucking destructive, that’s what the fuck that is! Holy-mother-of-shit, I could’ve used one of those in Nam!”
Scott couldn’t help smiling at his statement, reckoning the war in Vietnam might have ended in an entirely different way if similar devices were available. The women were unsure how to react; Mike’s language was almost incomprehensible to them.
“Let’s see what’s in them there rooms then?” suggested Mike, already heading for them.
The door lacking rooms were in complete darkness until they started to enter. Lights automatically brightened with their intrusion, illuminating the blackened dust and debris that covered the floor. The first room was empty except for bits of door. The second took their breath away.
“Son of a filthy bitch!” Mike shouted in surprise. “That’s my old kit!”
Scott’s jaw dropped wide open. He had no idea what might have been behind the locked doors, little knowing what bits of Mike’s history were retained by a greater force. Why they decided to store untold numbers of weapons and rounds of ammunition was beyond Scott’s comprehension. However, in retrospect, he thought, the saved weapons could be their salvation.
“I don’t believe it; I just do not believe it! All my old toys have been here all this goddamned time. The fun I could’ve been having.” Mike not so carefully grabbed an AK-47 rifle, running his hands across and over the working parts in an almost sensual manner, as if there was a sexual thing going on in his head. “Oh baby, baby,” he added as if sex with it was a good possibility.
Scott could only grin at Mike’s antics, saying, “Jesus Christ Mike, is sounds like you want to shag it.”
“I do…, I mean - wish I could.”
Scott laughed before remembering his affliction, falling quiet at the thought.
“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “I can register that.”
“Mmm, baby!”
The women stayed quiet, unable to enter into the strange conversation. Scott carried on into the room a bit further before coming to a sudden stop. He didn’t speak for a lengthy moment, coming to terms with the pile of handguns that lay in an untidy pile.
“Oh my good god,” he declared.
The women approached him to find out what might be wrong, before they too stopped, saying nothing when confronted by the weaponry. Mike was too busy nursing his new babe-in-arms to be bothered to look. Scott picked up a revolver, spinning its barrel and listening to its ratcheting sound. Pressing on the releasing catch, he cracked the handgun open to check how many rounds were in the chambers. Six, it was full. He snapped it closed like an old hand, holding back the hammer and spinning the barrel once more like a cowboy turned outlaw.
“What do you intend to do?” asked Belinda.
“I know what I might do,” said Mike as he pressed the rifle into his right shoulder as if to take sight of a target.
“And what might that be?” asked Phyllis.
“I think I can guess,” interrupted Scott as he tucked the handgun into an empty holster before strapping it around his waist. He stooped over a second time to pick up two more empty holsters with belts. Strapping another around his waist, he packed a couple of boxes of bullets into it for feeding the revolver, offering the other to Belinda. She understood it was to hold the globe in a secure way, while allowing her the use of both hands again. Having followed Scott’s directions, and looking mean with a holster strapped to her, she slipped the globe into its relative safety, clipping the retaining flap to prevent it falling out. “That’ll keep it safe,” she said, thanking Scott for his help.
Belinda and Phyllis moved together, as if to support the other when faced by two men armed to the teeth with weaponry designed and built to kill. Mike still shouldered t
he weapon, smiling like a child on Christmas Day. He felt as if he’d just been given the best present of his sorry life while finding a new lover; or was it a long lost one?
Scott motioned across to him, saying, “Hey, Mike. That’s a nice looking rifle you’ve got there. What'ya you gonna do with it?”
Raising his head and looking down his nose, he said, “I might just try and get some respect from these little grey guys. They’ve not treated me so badly,” he added. “But they sure as hell aint exactly gone outa their goddamned way to make me happy either.”
Scott sucked through his teeth, making a hissing sound. “Yeah, sure. Whatever makes you happy.”
Mike looked peachy. “I am now!” he insisted.
The tunnels reverberated with the sound of footsteps, lots of them, all running towards the group. One of the little Greys informed his master they were approaching the confinement area, expecting to apprehend the humans soon.
Belinda, Phyllis and Scott heard the message, learning they were about to be compromised by a greater force. Mike was oblivious to the communications.
“Mike,” Scott said. “I think it might be a good idea to load your AK-47, making sure you have plenty of spare magazines at hand.”
“We are already locked and loaded. Ready for anything that comes our way, aren’t we baby?” He asked his gun in a way that strongly suggested he had finally lost the plot, while making ready for action.
Both ladies turned their gaze towards the floor, finding it difficult to accept what might happen should the Greys locate them. The possibility of death, destruction and mutilation frightened them. It went beyond their beliefs, before Belinda remembered that Mike was wearing one of her kind’s suits. This seemed to give her a will to fight, as she said, “If our lives are at stake, if we are to be killed by these hoards of clones, we must defend ourselves as best we can, using whatever methods or mechanisms we have at hand to do so.”
An Alien Rescue Page 26