The group rested while the foam did its final work on Phyllis’s hands. It felt good to stop for a moment, enjoying some peace and quiet too. They each knew they must depart as soon as her hands were healed, making their way swiftly to the Grey ship that was just a bit further away than a few stone throws. It was when they were each deliberating the previous day’s events when a single word was heard by Belinda, Phyllis and Scott. The three of them almost jumped as Beagle got their adrenaline pumping, their heart rates shot up in consequence. Mike was oblivious to the alert of his comrades, all he was interested in was relieving Scott of Akay. He was allowing himself the pleasure of someone else holding her, taking the heavy weight for a while. His plan was to retrieve it from his grasp before they set off again, he grinned. The grin went unnoticed by his trio of friends; they were too busy trying to figure where the word Beagle originated from.
While the three wondered, each of their eyes surveyed the Grey for a sign that he may be aware of its origin. A very silent Commander avoided eye contact, which answered the question in its own way. With nothing else to be learned, their complete and utter attention centred on the Grey, whose own attention was obviously taken by something else. He didn’t appear to be concerned, quite the opposite in fact. That was when Scott had the idea he was planning to do something. He was right. The Grey began to communicate with persons or individuals unseen. His eyes widened as he made a break for the doorway while describing the situation. I am a prisoner in the clinic with four humans, one is armed with a weapon and … That’s when Scott not so gently squeezed the trigger and all communication from him stopped … dead, literally. Akay had spoken with anger, telling the Grey that in no uncertain terms he was to shut the fuck up with a spray of lead. It was a loud message, sounding like thunder with a cloud of choking smoke. Seven rounds were released at his flimsy escaping body, each one entering into his hairless flesh that put up no resistance whatsoever. As they passed through his guts, entrails and slime, the points didn’t flatten or concertina. They continued their unobstructed journey, smashing into the control panel beyond. Firecracker emulating sparks and clouds of eye-stinging smoke erupted from the smashed circuitry as it shorted and fused, all in time to the room’s lights flashing and flickering. It was more like a wild disco gone berserk in Ibiza than a secret base on Mars being destroyed. Scott half expected John Travolta to come waltzing into the lab wearing flared trousers while doing a boogie-woogie dance. Fortunately for Phyllis, the healing time had been completed with the mechanical arms retracted into the roof’s aperture, having silently folded themselves away without so much as a sound.
Seeing the commander come apart with the rounds, he embarrassingly said, “Oh, fuck it! I only meant to fire one round. Shit!”
Mike was dragged from his daydream by the escape attempt and the accidental annihilation across the room. Scott’s profound statement for blowing the Grey to smithereens was seen as a lame excuse as Mike couldn’t stop himself laughing.
“What’s so funny?” An annoyed Scott shouted at the top of his voice at Mike.
“You are! You’ll be telling me you also thought the safety was on as well.”
Mike actually fell over in hysterics, holding his belly in case it was going to burst open with laughter. But before Scott or anyone else could speak, the word returned. It included an additional telepathic message, Three quadrants away, arming, standby. Do not attempt to leave the area. Remain impassive.
Too fucking late you bunch of Grey fuckwits! Was telepathically sent by a very angry Scott.
“Scott - Oh no! You have just told them you, we, are aware of their arrival and the reason why they will get no reply from the commander. Without a hostage we are in for a bad time.”
Belinda held one hand across her mouth as if to emphasise the point he shouldn’t say anything else. Phyllis agreed with her as she climbed off the bed while inspecting her hands. She smiled at the result without feeling any pain.
“Phyllis! You’re up and about again. How’re the hands, babe?” Mike was showing genuine concern while not really knowing what the hell was about to go down.
“I am fine, Mike, thanks,” she answered with great relief.
“Great, it’s good to know.” Mike said while laying a hand on her shoulders. While inspecting the repair job, he said, “So, what the hell’s happening'?”
Scott beat anyone else to an answer. “The shit’s about to hit the fan, Mike. That’s what’s happening.”
Mike left Phyllis inspecting her hands while grabbing his Akay back from Scott’s grip.
“Is that because you’ve just blown that Grey mother fucker away? You Pratt!”
Belinda knew what Mike was thinking, understanding his misunderstanding of the situation. His jigsaw was missing a lot of pieces without the gift of telepathy. She also felt Scott’s growing anger at Mike’s statement, recognising a wish to hit him across the face. She intervened to stop any kind of affray between them. It was her job to keep them apart while explaining the problem.
“Mike! You do not fully know what is happening. Scott, you must understand Mike is not telepathic.”
Belinda had stopped them in their tracks, both halting to consider her words. Embarrassment prevented both saying anything else, including the word, sorry. She appreciated their backing down, knowing how difficult and frustrating the situation had turned into. Scott turned to Mike.
“Akay’s yours anyway.”
“Yeah, thanks, bud. She did okay though, yeah?”
“She sure did pardner. She sure as hell did, and there’s the evidence,” pointing at the dismembered body.
“Yeah!” Mike gave her a proud stroke before replacing her partially emptied magazine. He placed the used mag’ into the vacated pouch, noticing Scott’s observance. “No reason to trash a good mag’ just ‘cause it’s almost empty, is there?”
Scott knew they had much fewer rounds left, recognising Mike was thinking ahead, especially as there was a group of Greys heading their way. And according to the message he’d heard, they could be armed. With what though, he inwardly asked himself, hoping his worst fears were unfounded.
“With the same weapons we left behind,” Belinda answered.
“Holy-friggen-shit!” Scott said in alarm. “We could be in deep trouble now!”
“That depends on whether or not they know how to use them,” said Phyllis, having finished the inspection of her hands.
“Will someone please tell me what the fuck’s going on?” shouted Mike while stamping a foot in order to get some attention. With only the audible sections of their conversation heard, he was none the wiser. Scott turned and explained what had happened, including the, Beagle, message. He added the rest of the saga, to Mike’s astonishment. Mike thought about their escape plan, the ship that wasn’t too far away while the Grey gooks were arming themselves to capture them... or worse.
Mike almost ran to the doorway, turning on his heels while cocking Akay. A shell spun out of the weapon as another took its place in the chamber. He, quick as a flash, reached up and caught it mid-flight; shoving it into a pocket while thinking it could come in handy. His military head was back on his shoulders, thinking ahead at all times. “I want the three of you to get the hell out of here … Now!”
The group didn’t speak for a moment, thinking of what they had heard, seen, witnessed and regretted. Each of them imagined their escape from Mars in the Grey ship that was berthed not so far away, thinking they could all make it to safety if they were to leave at that moment. All three telepaths consulted with each other. Scott had reached the stage where he could communicate with the women, but wasn’t entirely happy about it. He had realised he could still be overheard when he didn’t want to be.
“Hey! What the fucking hell’s going down here?” shouted Mike. He saw the look on their faces. “This is a goddamned live or die situation here, and all you lot can do is think about pretty bloody flowers and barbeques on a sunny afternoon at the yachting club. Holy fucking sh
it! I’m surrounded by gals and guys who would rather sit in a circle and talk about the problems we face. Get a grip, soldiers! We’re running out of time!”
Scott wanted to protest at Mike’s uncouth and unwarranted remarks, secretly wanting to smack him in the mouth. Belinda and Phyllis understood what Mike was trying to say, although they would not have put it quite the same way he did. They instead calmed Scott while assuring Mike they were still intent on escaping.
“Well, get a fuck’n grip then,” was his instant reply. He stepped into the doorway, swinging Akay around as if they were having the dance of their life. He was covering the door while trying to encourage them to leave. Beagle, was heard once again. Without receiving a reply, the returning group understood their commander’s life was over. It wasn’t retribution that forced them forward. No! It was the threat of the humans escaping and the base’s location becoming common knowledge. That thought, more than any other, persuaded them to run all the faster. They may only be clones, but they were still members of the Grey Empire. Programmed to follow and to carry out any orders, regardless of the danger or outcome.
The last message was overheard, the threat of being caught giving them the incentive to get out of the clinic area as fast as possible.
“C’mon you lazy hairy-assed fuckers. Get them legs moving or I’ll leave y’all behind to fend fur yerselves.” Mike was back in the jungle, in his own mind anyway. The gooks were almost upon them with only one weapon to give covering fire. It was as good as a foregone conclusion, as far as Mike was concerned. They had to move now or it would be too late. He knew it, they didn’t seem to.
Scott asked, “Which way is it to the ship?”
Belinda replied while leading the way into the tunnel. “Follow me. It is not too far.”
Phyllis and Scott fell in behind her, with Mike bringing up the rear. They had hardly gone any distance when the sound of footsteps other than their own was heard. It was a loud echoing pitter-patter, almost like rain water dripping into a cavern, but the rain would need to be a torrent to give that amount of sound. It was unmistakably the returning group, pacing themselves with their leader, all tooled up with weaponry and ammunition. Mike made a hasty decision, the only one that could be made in those circumstances.
“I want the three of you to get to the ship as quickly as you can. I’m gonna stay here to hold ‘em up for as long as I can. You need to get the engines runnin’ and prepare for lift off. I’ll give you a clear five minutes to get ahead of me and then I’ll follow. If the gooks arrive before that time, I’ll let ‘em ‘ave it before cuttin’ and runnin’. Do you understand people?”
The women understood alright, Scott did too. The women did not want Mike to be left behind to fight on his own while Scott was aware there was more than one weapon. And if there was one person in their outfit who knew how to stop them, it was the guy who held Akay in his vice-like mitts.
“What the fuck’r y’all lookin’ at? Get on board as quick as you can, otherwise the mission’s a failure. We don’t know how many gooks are a-comin, so get movin’ mister.” It was said in no uncertain terminology by Mike, who slipped the safety off as he heard the footsteps getting much closer. Too close for comfort, he thought.
Scott backtracked a few steps, reached out to Mike and shook his hand. “Just you make sure you’re on the ship before we leave you piece of hero shit.”
Mike gripped Scott’s hand as if to say good bye, while replying, “You take care of the girls should I not make it, ya hear?”
Scott paused; thinking about what he’d just heard Mike say. “Just make sure you’re on board or I’ll have to come back and rescue you. I know what you squaddies are like; always needing us airy-fairies to dust you guys out of trouble.” And before Mike could respond, Scott was gone.
Mike had watched him disappear around a curve in the tunnel, waiting a moment longer in case he decided to return. He didn’t. Mike rotated himself to face the oncoming sound, licking his right thumb before using it to clean any dust off the sights. He crouched onto one knee while relaxing as best as he could. “Okay, it’s up to you and me, Babe. We’re in the thick of it again, jist like the good ol' days we used to know. So, whadya say we give some little gooks a message from Uncle Sam?” With no answer forthcoming, Mike added, “We’ve a whole lot of time to make up for, you and I, so let’s give ‘em a taste of hairy hellfire!”
The berthed ship came into view about the time Belinda expected to see it. Phyllis was already on board with her mind, preparing to carry out a series of pre-flight checks as quickly as possible. There was the system of how to open the doors to the outside to be conquered yet, she worried.
Scott had quickly caught up with them, turning into a hangar type area before he had a chance to stop. The girls sprinted up the gangway into the ship, which prompted him to run after them. The sound of distant small-arms fire invaded the silence, sporadic and determined, nothing out of the ordinary like explosions or screams of agony; with only a few quiet moments between lengthy bursts, occasionally overlapping. He could almost imagine Mike in the centre of a fire-fight, squeezing the trigger at intervals in short controlled-bursts while waiting until he’d seen the white of their eyes, to coin a cliché; or in this instance, the black. He was probably allowing the few he’d shot to fall before releasing another salvo at the next onslaught, just like before. Scott paused, wondering if he should go back, to help if he possibly could. His thoughts of mutiny were ambushed by Belinda’s urgent request for him to join them on the flight deck. There was a problem, she insisted. With a last backwards look, Scott started to enter the ship, meeting Belinda. She had returned to the doorway to collect him, knowing he would never find his way to the Flight Deck on his own.
“What’s the problem?” he asked gasping for breath.
“Phyllis cannot work out the system for opening the outer doors. She wonders if you might be able to help as there are a few controls and protective systems she does not have knowledge or experience of.”
“Just tell me what you’re having trouble with?” He said it quickly, their lives depended on haste.
The not so distant sound of gunfire ceased, and not so far away, possibly from just outside the hangar’s entrance door. Scott hoped Mike would survive the attack, wanting to get the hell back down the tunnel to make sure. Then the memory of Mike took a rear seat in Scott’s mind as he entered the flight deck. It was the strangest place he’d ever seen. There were no dials, joy sticks or switches to be seen. Just a whole lot of flashing lights, spinning colours and the weirdest sound effects heard this side of illegal narcotics, he considered.
“Scott, over here please?” Phyllis beckoned his presence with one hand while holding the other on a semicircular pad.
“You wanted me, Ma’am?” he asked with a slight level of humour in his voice, which was completely lost due to the present circumstances. It was the old military black humour, always kicking in to help alleviate a dangerous or lethal situation. He felt stupid for using it and instantly regretted saying the words.
“We have a problem …”
Scott almost injected the word, Houston, choosing to let the moment go by without comment. It wasn’t called for and it would surely have been out of place.
“The ship’s ready for departure but I cannot understand the system for opening the doors.”
Scott didn’t say anything, there wasn’t time, he knew. He eyeballed the controls, viewing the overhead monitors that showed the ship’s status and that of the all-important doors. Recalling his experience and in-depth knowledge of aircraft and their systems he knew there were obvious safeguards before specific functions could come into play. There were conditions to be met, prerequisites to be acquired before a system could be initiated; such as the arming and firing of weapons, undercarriage lowering and raising, engine starting, bomb-doors opening, brake-chute deployment, with lots, lots more to think about. He gave the entire scenario he was looking at a very high and careful level of consider
ation. “There has to be a SOP.”
“What the hell is a fucking SOP?” asked a very human-sounding Phyllis, while feeling she was about to explode in frustration at his use of stupid abbreviations at a time like this.
“A Standard Operating Procedure,” he replied while still thinking about the problem in hand.
“Without opening the external doors we cannot leave, Scott,” Phyllis urged him. “They must be opened. What have I overlooked?” she asked while frantically going over everything she had already checked at least twice before. Scott rubbed the bristly stubble on his chin as if that would give him the answer, which it wouldn’t of course, but it allowed a slight distraction of his mind to concentrate on the urgent matter in hand. Then he had a brain wave. It hit him like a hammer striking a nail for the last and final time to make a job complete.
“The hanger’s pressure isn’t in equilibrium with the outside. If we opened the doors we could do some serious damage as the air rushed out.”
Phyllis and Belinda turned to face him in unison.
Belinda beat Phyllis with an unexpected statement. “We cannot vent the area, not yet! Mike is not here.”
“Of course,” said Phyllis while ignoring Belinda’s concern for Mike, as if Scott’s answer was obvious all the time and took precedence. “How stupid of me not to think of it!”
“But we cannot leave Mike behind!” Belinda cut in, almost shouting to drive the message home to anyone who was listening.
Phyllis and Scott looked to each other for an answer to Belinda’s unrestrained outburst. There was more to this than meets the human eye, they each agreed with widened eyes and a knowing nod.
“Belinda? How much time can we give him before we have to leave?” Scott asked while really looking for a reason to get back into the military affray with the excuse of saving Mike. Before anyone could answer his question, he was gone, already on his way back, removing the revolver from its holster. Having left the Flight Deck with the knowledge there was not much time to spare; he sprinted to the ship’s entrance door as if his life depended on it. He believed it was Mike’s life that actually depended on his return so moved with a hunting animal urgency. Upon his arrival, there was no additional sound of gunfire, nothing at all. The eerie silence made Scott wonder if Mike was about to appear through the hanger’s entrance at any moment. He paused for just a miniscule of time, listening hard for the slightest sound that might give him a clue to what was happening. Not hearing anything, and about to run down the ramp, a number of little grey bodies appeared around the corner of the door. They walked slowly as if fearing to enter, treading carefully and picking their way across the floor towards the ship - almost as if someone had just whispered to them that they were bang in the middle of a minefield and their next step could blow them to oblivion. As they approached the ship, the little figures did not know for certain if the human fugitives were actually on board or not, but onward they went anyway. Scott spied their carried weaponry, several Akay babes and a few handguns. He didn’t hesitate for another instant, he had seen all there was to see and turned on his heels. He ran towards the Flight deck, telepathically alerting the ladies that armed Greys were about to board their ship. Phyllis immediately selected ramp retraction while Belinda hit the hangar purge operation control pad.
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