“Hey, don’t you get any ideas about making a run for it,” he shouted while prodding his back with the barrel. The commander was pushed forward by the force of the gun pressed against him, stopping suddenly while straightening himself as if to be defiant. His look stayed for a moment longer as if he was giving Scott the evil eye. It annoyed Scott. The safety came off with a loud click.
“Go ahead, punk, make my day.” Scott really loved the crime busting movie, Dirty Harry. He just loved to quote the cliché whenever he had an opportunity to do so. It was usually said in fun though, such as when driving his car and another driver was pushing their luck with bad manners and ignorance. Only, in this instance, Scott actually meant it. The Grey knew it too.
“Holy mother of god,” said Mike while entering the room. He may have been shielding his eyes, but what he saw reminded him of the time he first arrived on Mars. “This is where I remember being covered in foam, or my balls were.” He almost staggered across to a bed in the room’s centre, suspended by what resembled a single hydraulic ram in the middle of its underside. “Jesus, this is it. It’s here. This is where we can get you fixed up babe.” Mike turned to Phyllis, who seemed to look relieved already.
Belinda gave the Grey a giant push, which was unusual for her or any of her kind. She had had enough of this palaver, knowing time was against them and Phyllis was in great pain. If her hands were repaired they could be on their way, although she was unsure where to at that moment. Scott had a good idea where their search was going to take them; and how Mike was going to deal with the idea was anybody’s guess.
The Grey indicated the bed with one hand, gesturing where Phyllis should lie down. She approached uneasily, looking at the others for moral support as she did. The commander communicated with Belinda by telepathy, with pictures of the forthcoming process appearing in her mind. It was to be the same as Mike had had done to him. A nod gave her approval and the commander took that as a message giving him permission to begin.
Scott had listened in to the conversation, while also understanding the involved process. Mike, on the other hand, had not, and was relying on his restricted senses to work out what might be happening. He correctly assumed all was in order as the Grey started to operate what looked like a control panel. The bed slightly elevated itself as a portion of the ceiling directly above the bed opened. A large silver sphere lowered itself, gaining in brilliance as it closed the gap with Phyllis. Four separate panels opened on its underside, allowing individual arms to extend downwards. One arm held what looked like a small derringer pistol, while the others had attachments that certainly looked surgical. The derringer moved towards one hand while another twisted itself around and came in from the side. The surgical instrument was an intricate series of strands and wires, all shiny and gleaming like chromium plate. It burst open to reveal a claw-like hand with numerous fingers. It gripped one hand while the derringer moved a little closer before spraying white foam. The froth completely enveloped her hand, looking almost like a spongy mitten. It took only a few seconds. Without waiting, both arms retracted slightly before advancing on her other hand. Then it was a repeat performance.
Belinda’s attention to the operation was sidetracked by her noticing a complicated looking panel. She approached it, trying to deduce its function as she got closer.
Belinda’s eyes widened and stared at what she had found. “It’s a direct line into the Grey Empire machine, a link to its substantial database, for want of a better description.” She said it while testing a few controls in front of her.
Scott watched her playing her hand across the control panel, noticing the changes taking place on an overhead monitor.
“Can I use it to log in and find out what they know about me?” he asked, wondering what he might learn.
“Yes… and no! You could log in, but would not be able to understand the Grey language, which is why I would need to do it for you.”
“Great, if you’re up for it? He rubbed his hands together and had a smile almost as broad as the panel in front of him.
“If I am up for it?” She paused while considering his latest remark. “Ah, you mean if I will do it?”
“Yeah... Sorry.”
“That’s all right, Scott. If you will wait one moment I will gain access to the mainframe.”
Belinda worked her magic on some sort of fancy futuristic keyboard, but nothing like anything Scott had seen before. It was perfectly flat and smooth with small illuminated patches where finger-tips moved to select various modes and functions. Each little patch connected with the operator’s mind, allowing thoughts to work the system. The rate of writing was fantastic, with letters appearing as quickly as a thought could flash across a synaptic cleft.
“We are in,” she whispered.
“Fan-bloody-tastic,” he replied in relief while placing his head almost in front of Belinda’s to see the screen. The lettering, or shapes, meant nothing to him at all, but he knew they did to her. “Now, let’s see what the hell they know.”
Belinda’s thoughts searched through the stored data as strange markings appeared in long and varied sentence structures. She hummed a little tune as she quickly read what had appeared, trying to give the information some meaning that Scott could comprehend. He didn’t recognise the musical little number she played out, deciding not to ask anything as she was busy concentrating on the job in hand.
“In summary,” she said, “they know very little about you. The bulk of the information concentrates on you having exceptional genetic codes and the area where you might reside on Earth, but not with any great level of detail. It seems there is yet another aspect to you that even my kind are unaware of.”
She turned to face him with an expressionless look, saying, “You seem to have extraordinary psychic abilities, much greater than can be attributed to many who actually profess to have it.”
“What!”
“The Greys consider you to be psychic.”
“Erm, I’m not so sure about that.”
Belinda looked as if she was giving the matter some thought, before asking, “Have you ever had any kind of psychic experience before?”
“Mmm, well, yes, as it happens. But I’ve always thought of these things as nothing more than coincidences.”
“Yes. Well, the Greys seem to think otherwise. They have dabbled into psychic phenomena much more than we have, as a population. It is something that almost frightens us because we do not understand what it is that some claim to have, how it happens or where it originates from. The Greys, on the other hand, believe the additional knowledge would make their hybrid even more potent, if they could harness the power it wields.”
“So, I’m supposed to be psychic.” He said it with a smirk of disbelief.
“Yes. And there’s more, much more. There is another, a woman, who has been drawn closer to you.”
“I’m not exactly sure what you mean by that,” he said suspiciously.
Belinda read the information again, to help clarify what she needed to explain. “She is an accomplished psychic doing what she claims to be able to do as an occupation. By her own will, she has chosen to move to live close by you. She doesn’t actually know anything about you as a person, nothing that is recorded here, but the Greys certainly know enough about her.”
“How much do they know, and is it there?”
“There is lots. To begin with, she is of indeterminate parentage, possibly a gypsy lineage. She was adopted by a rural family at an early age, growing up on a farm. However, she has been on her own for most of her life, moving out of the farm home and living on her own from about fourteen years old. She claims to have the living spirit of a long since dead individual giving her spiritual guidance, a powerful man who died a violent death a very long time ago.”
It took a moment of silence for his brain to accept and process the information. “Who was he?”
She asked the machine a series of questions, which answered almost as quickly. “He was a Native Amer
ican, what was once referred to as a Red Indian. He was an important medicine-man and chief of the Sioux nation called, Touch the Clouds. He was seven feet tall and fought alongside another who he was related to, and he was called…, wait for this one, Crazy Horse.” She smiled as she read it aloud. “The guiding spirit was killed at the Battle of Wounded Knee, it seems.”
“What a couple of great names. They’re certainly more colourful than mine.”
“He was unusually tall, hence his given name.”
“And he’s the leading spirit of some woman who lives near to where I live?”
“Yes, believe it or not.”
Scott was astonished by this latest piece of news. It seems the Greys were trying their best to locate him. He guessed they wanted him very badly, but was it just for his genetic codes or because he had pissed them off so much. He wondered with a grin, because he was sure as hell they were not going to get their scaly grey paws on him again. “Is there any more about her?”
Belinda checked, gasping. “She has been on board their ships, involuntarily, of course. The Greys have tried to use her to locate you, with several attempts recorded. With the change of your biochemical signature, which we carried out, and the failure of their little expedition to your find the transponder we buried in your locality, they have fallen back on using her amazing abilities to find you.”
“Has this put her at any risk?”
Phyllis never hesitated with an answer. “Anyone who has received any kind of attention from the Greys is at risk.” It was said with deliberate seriousness.
“What else can you tell me about this woman, then?”
“She travels to many different countries, especially America, Peru and Egypt, using her psychic abilities to entertain, educate and help others. She seems to have some sort of affinity with the ancient American tribes, which might be why the spirit of a long since dead American Indian chose to give her his undivided attention.” Looking up, she wanted to see Scott’s expression as he was hearing all she was telling him. He was in deep thought with a look that suggested he was concentrating. She continued. “She is also a talented musician, playing mainly wind instruments while sometimes singing and dancing to music that she herself has composed.”
“Wow! She sounds like a good all rounder, she does.”
“The record adds her talents and abilities to communicate with the spirit world are some of the best anyone has displayed or experienced. Which is why she has chosen to move near to you?”
“But why move close to me? Why me, for Christ’s sake?”
“Because the Greys are manipulating her power, using her energies and abilities to find you. If she can make contact they will know it and that will give them direct access to you.”
“The dirty sneaky sods!”
“Yes, but very clever sneaky… sods,” she agreed.
“What about the music you mentioned? Are there any lists of what she sings or plays?”
She turned and entered the question. “Yes, strangely enough. The songs are here, on file, and there are quite a lot.”
“You have got to be joking!”
Belinda returned her attention to Scott, looking him straight in the eyes. “Why should I joke with you? What is there to be gained from such a false act?”
He felt like laughing at her naivety, but only smiled as he rubbed his eyes as tiredness sneaked into his mind and across his face. “I’m sorry, yet again, Belinda,” he apologised. “I’m feeling tired and my sense of surprise can make me say idiotic things sometimes.”
“Yes, I thought you were looking tired. But it doesn’t matter though, I’m not offended. I just get confused by your little statements from time to time.”
Hey, I even confuse myself on occasion.”
With a nod of her head and a likeable smile, she said, “Yes. You and the rest of us.”
A little shake of his head to help clear his thoughts prompted him to ask to hear some of her music. Belinda searched, saying, “There’s one titled, We Are the Witches. A most peculiar title as any I have heard.”
“Sounds kind of spooky to me.” Said Mike, with the prospect of hearing some music cheering him up.
“Well, let’s hear it then?” said Scott.
“Yeah,” added Mike. Put the tune on the box and let’s boogie-on-down, sister.”
Scott smirked at his comment.
The music began with a resounding burst of sound. It went with a steady tempo and a rapid beat; their feet were tapping in no time at all. From the first few notes, the three were almost bopping around the room. Boomtown had finally arrived on a Grey base. The chorus was catchy and easy enough to join in, almost like a karaoke sing-along. They smiled a relaxed sense of satisfaction, a shared song among camaraderie on a battlefield. The tune ended and they all laughed and jostled like youngsters at a pop concert.
“That was brill’,” Scott said while still enjoying the tune in his mind.
“Brilliant,” explained Belinda, turning to face Phyllis, as if she thought she should explain the word’s meaning. Phyllis said she thought the music was ‘brill’ too, emphasising the word to let Belinda know she wasn’t amused by her thinking she needed it translating. She felt annoyed. Phyllis had shown discontent, which Belinda picked up from her subterfuge response. It crossed Belinda’s mind that Phyllis was beginning to progressively show more and more Earth human traits than previously. Belinda smiled in response, approaching then laying a hand on Phyllis’s shoulder. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It was brill.” Phyllis nodded.
“In all honesty, I cannot believe everything that is happening here. I’m on Mars and listening to a song about, Witches, of all things. And if I didn’t know better, I would head for the nearest psychiatric unit and turn myself in as the biggest raving loony in the universe.”
They all chuckled at his outburst.
“Witches on Mars, indeed!” he stated, with a grin.
The machine’s noises suddenly stopped and the turning-around group were amazed as the mechanism rapidly withdrew from Phyllis to disappear from where it dropped from. Phyllis was pleased it was over, the obvious relief showing on her face. Belinda, on the other hand, was eager to move on after seeing the operation was complete.
The commander felt he was at a crossroads now. He had repaired the hands of the female so wondered what they might consider doing with him. He knew death might be an option, understanding he would be resurrected by cloning if he were, and although the clone would be an identical copy of himself, it would not actually be him. The Empire would not be without his person, but it would not have his knowledge of everything that had happened. He needed to survive so he could tell all.
“What about Frell and Drang?” Belinda asked the Grey
“Yeah, what about them?” Mike repeated, turning to face the pale commander with bared teeth.
Scott turned to face him as well.
He replied to Belinda, who told them all. “They are on Earth, at a base beneath the Atlantic Ocean.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Scott said surprised.
“That makes a lot of sense,” added Belinda. “We have often considered they have had a base on Earth for quite some time, hidden from us all.”
“Sons of Grey bitches,” Mike threw into the conversation. No one smiled. “So how the fuck on Earth do we get back there to save ‘em?”
Scott was stumped for an answer, Belinda was thinking their ship was a very long way away, and Phyllis was still lying down, recalling the knowledge of a Grey ship, in the hope they might get their hands on one, especially herself, she thought. She wondered if it was the healing process that made her hands tingle as if thousands of pins and needles were being driven into them. She dare not look, her bravery did not extend that far, mentally concentrating on a Grey ship’s internals to distract herself. Then decided the thought might have some merit.
“Is there a Grey ship nearby?” Phyllis asked, hoping there was.
The guys looked at Belinda whi
le she looked at the grey. That was when she saw the answer from his mind. He had heard the question and gave the reply without meaning to. The suggestion made him think about his own escape, getting to the ship that lay berthed on the third nearest bay along the tunnel from where they stood. Belinda continued looking at the Grey, recognising there was fear behind his apparently neutral stance. His mind had been preoccupied with escaping at the time Phyllis asked her question and had answered before he could stop himself releasing the vital information. Scott had not seen or heard the answer, it appeared his capacity to communicate with the Greys was still limited. Belinda could not help but smile as she informed the men of what she had heard. Phyllis lay still, concentrating on remaining stationary while her hands were being ‘fixed’, as Mike had referred to it previously. The memories of the Grey ship’s controls were appearing within her mind. The commander was aware of it, worried more than ever while still planning an escape.
Chapter twenty-six
The team consisted of fifty clones, all carrying pieces of Beagle in their tiny arms, with the weight of larger pieces shared by two or more. Their surface skimming saucer was limited to travelling over Mars and not for venturing into space, so travel across the planet had taken some time. It was a no frills flight with plenty of thrills, a landscape hugging journey as it had flown as close as possible to the surface. It avoided horrendous hills and massive mountain ranges whenever possible, skimming along the bottom of deep crevices and canyons that were once sea beds and oceans, all edged with many miles-high vertical cliffs of red sandstone. The little ship was not flown back to the normal bays due to the Commander’s initiated emergency. It had, instead, been diverted to the tunnel access door where the trio had made their loud entrance. The sight of the damaged doors alerted the returning crew that all was definitely not well. The clones carefully laid the remains of Beagle on the surface, depositing the blackened and buckled shards into the almost permanent shadow of an overhanging ledge and as close to the entrance as possible. It was understood that Mars could be mapped by orbiting satellites, those that were left unharmed to prevent paranoia and suspicion - and not just in the ears of supposedly stupid humans.
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