An Alien Rescue

by Gordon Mackay

  The submarine’s crew were aware the radar absorbing tiles were successful at keeping them secure in the knowledge the ship was practically impossible to detect. However, other species with more capable and technologically advanced detection systems easily saw the submerged vessel, with the appropriate actions taken to avoid contact. In this instance, the ship that carried the intrepid trio of rescuers to Earth was acutely aware of its presence in the ocean below. The non-reflective black of their ship's outer-skin meant visual detection in space was practically impossible, with other measures taken to avoid all other means of discovery.

  The South Atlantic was bathed in glorious daylight when they had arrived, with cloud cover at a minimum. A delay for safety was necessary. Various systems self-adjusted in order to wait for darkness to gather and the northerly-headed nuclear powered vessel to have vacated the area before entry into the atmosphere and sea could be initiated.

  “We have another opportunity to relax,” informed Belinda, helping to further relieve any feelings of tension. With their own thoughts and fears to keep them company, each drifted into an uneasy sleep, but at least they were better fed, watered and suitably drained.

  The atomic-powered submarine’s journey was now one of pleasure, almost as if the crew were on a paid-cruise. It was now on course for a great night out. The festivities were well advanced at the Azore's naval station, with some locally informed ladies preparing themselves for a fun-starved bunch of guys. The special golf clubs were proudly on display to anyone who wished to envy the captain - and there were many. The metal used to make the club’s heads was reclaimed phosphor-bronze from a particular ship’s propeller. The ship in question was the famous and most prestigious, Queen Elizabeth II, having been recently retired from service. The set of clubs cost an-arm-and-a-leg and through time would appreciate in value. They weren’t just a fantastic present and piece of must-have golfing hardware; they were a fantasy come-true for any golfing enthusiast who could afford them. To own such a set and play with them was a dream made in golfing heaven.

  The captain had ordered a series of perishots of the surface and the sky before departure, with a few underwater looks too. With nothing untoward showing in any of the pictures or scans there was no reason not to set sail north. With a BRN pass, which is a once-every-twenty-four-hour satellite positioning passover, the sub’s exact position was marked and plotted for the quickest return journey. After serving in the US Navy for thirty two years the skipper was rather anxious to get over the final leg of his retirement cruise and rid himself of his sea legs once and for all. Sunny days, sandy beaches, voluptuous girls and green golf courses had waited long enough for his personal attention, he thought with a smile warm enough to melt an iceberg at a thousand metres. He placed the sub’s control into the hands of his number one, who had exercised an impeccable level of seamanship and personnel administration. Skipper’s recommendation for his promotion to captain the sub’ had been lodged with Navy HQ long before their original departure all those months before. He had done all he could to get his friend and colleague instated as its Skipper, so by handing the ship and its crew into his hands he was publicly stating his confidence in this more than capable man.

  Africa beamed up at them, advertising its bright green and orange borders, as if glowing from a sparkling-blue ocean. Small islands off its western-shores were easily recognisable as Scott viewed the scene on monitors. He wondered if the bar at RAF Ascension was open with cold draught Guinness on tap? No one there would ever believe in a month of Sundays there might actually be someone like him looking down on them from above. South America and Antarctica clearly showed as well, with the Falkland Islands easily seen. He wondered if any of his mates were still down there.

  Looking across at both ladies, he still found it so difficult to comprehend. They were both quietly snoring, with slight adjustments made to their sleeping positions every once in a while, which silenced the noise from the sleepy-heads, but only for a moment. He also tried to settle, tossing and turning in his own seat until he’d given up any hope of dropping-off. His active thoughts turned to the family he had left behind on Earth. He loved his two little girls and wouldn’t they be surprised to know he had something in common with James Tiberius Kirk of the most famous fictional Starship, USS Enterprise. James T Kirk might have been fictional, as was the ship in the television series, but Scott’s own experiences told him it could all be factual one day, if only the so-called leaders of the world’s nations could simply band together with honest agreements and a desire to help each other’s countries It could halt all the violence and wars, forever; saving untold amounts of money that could be used to help people instead of killing them and destroying property. Shaking his head at the sheer bloody-minded monotony of war mongering governments and their blood-crazed generals, he turned his saddened gaze to concentrate on his surroundings. Seated only a few metres away were two drop-dead gorgeous intelligent women, both clad in sky-blue outfits and fast asleep. And all while they were safely contained in a fantastic technologically advanced ship that sat easily in orbit while waiting for darkness before heading for Earth. If only he could be allowed to remember it all.

  “Houston,” he smirked quietly to himself with humorous delight, “we do not have a problem.” Belinda stirred at his joke.

  “Are you communicating with NASA?” she asked rubbing her eyes and looking to see if the communication consol was functioning at last.

  “Nah,” he replied, feeling silly. “I was speaking to myself.”

  She waited for a moment, thinking before commenting. “That is acceptable.” She let out a little laugh as she yawned. “As long as it is not a Grey that you are talking to, that is most important.”

  He laughed too.

  Systems at the secret base were being prepared for reactivation. Antennae were repositioned to make up for the lost telemetry and Grey personnel returned to their key positions in anticipation. The commander of this base had felt uneasy since a communications blackout had been enforced, always anxious to reinstate the infrastructure as soon as possible. His monitors showed the pathetically simplistic piece of human submersible apparatus was steadily moving towards the planet’s magnetic north, steering a course up the centre of the Atlantic. It sailed directly above the mid-Atlantic ridge where pulsating flows of erupting pillow lava spilled out onto the ocean floor with excessive amounts of escaping heat from the crust’s interior being cleverly used to hide that of the sub’s own making. The twenty four safely stowed nuclear missiles were once again carried back, unused. Their true purpose was to threaten war and retribution against any who would dare to attack the safety of the United States of America or its closest allies, the Grey coldly contemplated. If he could have smiled at the absurdity of it all, he would have.

  Scott had earlier learned from Belinda that a prediction made by the Empire had confirmed that humans will have successfully destroyed themselves, their cities and their domination within one more century; with the off-world colony being the only surviving human specimens left in existence. The resulting lengthy nuclear winter following the predicted rise in sea level, with eventual famine and lethal radiation, would quickly finish any survivors. Global warming would be the catalyst for the worldwide confrontation, combined with protected oil reserves and the industrialised countries fighting to defend their own god-given rights against the starving and demanding mouths of those who desperately needed assistance. Mineral based oil will be practically exhausted with nuclear power making a hastened comeback towards the closing end. Those countries who had sworn allegiance to the superpowers, with promises not to build weapons of mass destruction for promised food and fuel in return, had secretly gone ahead and built them anyway. These blackmailing and corrupt countries knew they would need a lever of substance to eventually back-up their demands; a gun carried a lot more weight if it had bullets to fire instead of hollow words. Scott almost scoffed at the singularly most powerful nation for previously voting into its Presi
dential office individuals who had been openly subsidised by the oil industry and more. The slogan, Clean Coal, had made an entrance, a most dirty and polluting form of fuel, supposedly advocated by a President. And this same country had refused to comply with demands from others to cut their carbon-based emissions, where no-one except environmentally aware groups raised any realistic objection. He also knew it was the same nation who spawned the Superman epics, and led the fight to free the planet of communism, terrorism and fundamentalism, while using more resources and generating even more pollution than any other country. They would need a real Superman to repair the planet’s ecological systems that had been systematically destroyed by greed and ignorance. The human species requires a strong individual in government, a person who could be trusted by all the world’s governments and peoples’ alike’, he knew. They should be persuaded to accept what has been done cannot be undone and to forgive those who were in the wrong, as long as those same individuals and terrorist groups understand they were also in the wrong. Each nation must welcome all others into their own, to live together as one unit without borders or discrimination. Unless these stupid warmongering idiots can bring themselves into line with every other intelligent species, they will simply disappear like the earlier magnificent and dominant reptilian lifeforms before them, he thought knowingly. “This blue world is full of fools,” he quipped. “But soon it might be Grey,” he feared.

  Scott had quietly wandered around the ship again, retracing his footsteps just in case he had missed something not so obvious but important. He discovered several small scooter type craft stowed in the ship’s stern, four little vehicles with skids instead of wheels. He correctly assumed they were for reconnaissance around the ship’s immediate vicinity. Having been a biker for most of his life he would have loved to try one, wondering if he could get them to go like a motorcycle. He imagined taking one home with him, dragging it behind him wrapped in cellophane, trying to persuade customs it was nothing more than a birthday present. I might be able to break every speed limit on the Queen’s highway and more, with the fed’s wondering why so many of their speed cameras went wonky about the same time, showing pictures of a small scooter driven by a smiling lunatic going faster than Mach one. He grinned like a mischievous urchin at his boisterous thought. T’would be bloody good though, he had to agree with himself. Other than the small machines there was nothing else to be found of interest, except for the welcome box of Hershey bars he discovered at the back of a kitchen cupboard. Those were readily lifted with a lick of his lips while anticipating the flavour of sweet chocolate.

  Belinda stirred as Scott re-entered the deck and Phyllis opened her eyes to greet him with a smile. She had enjoyed his earlier hug and with a larger smile wished they could be closer. The chocolate was thoroughly enjoyed as they allowed more time to pass, especially as the women had never tasted the sweet substance in such abundance that now coated their fingers and mouths like sticky children.

  Chapter twenty-eight

  The submarine was well on route in rapidly falling darkness. The Grey base’s commander initiated the re-energising of all suspended systems, with orders to continue without communications until all human surveillance craft and satellites were finally clear.

  Phyllis noticed the illuminated symbol that indicated the atmosphere entering restriction had extinguished. The ship physically lurched forward in an unrestrained automatic response, much like a racehorse released from its starting-stall.

  Various systems rapidly kicked in, almost as if the ship itself had been tired of waiting and was eager to make progress. They were accelerating towards the Earth base, almost with a vengeance. It was like being on a train or a bus or a taxi, thought Scott, whose driver had been promised an extra special large tip if they put the pedal to the metal to get the passengers to their destination ahead of time. Belinda politely asked Scott to stay seated, explaining it was always possible to be hit by atmospheric static, which could cause the ship to veer urgently to one side or even rotate. The force of the ship by-passing an electrical storm has been known to endanger any who were not securely restrained in their seats. He thought it sounded as if they were on the Titanic and there was a good chance of striking a very large lump of something somewhere down the line. He didn’t question her advice and promptly sat down with arms and legs crossed. He appeared to be looking for an argument the way he had chosen to sit, but his thinking had been to keep his limbs tightly knit together just in case they were thrown around. He was more aware than most when it came to being familiar with turbulence while airborne. He’d suffered its effects on many a painful flight during his RAF career. He had seen many colleagues and friends being sick into the bags provided, with the sight and sickly smell of vomit forcing others to follow suit. He had never suffered from this domino affliction, ever, not once; which, like not having any grey thatch on his full head of hair, was vain about it. The rumble of air rushing around them was easily heard, a bit like Niagara Falls in full flow. Phyllis observed Scott sitting tightly in his seat, visually tracking the path of their steep descent on an overhead monitor. She kept the others informed of their downward progress with regards to their position and arrival. Belinda continuously checked for communications, giving it her full concentration, but there was still only silence. It completely mystified her, but kept her concerns to herself. There was more than enough to be concerned about without raising anything else unnecessarily.

  Two spy satellites hovered above the base area in a geostationary orbit. They were filtering incoming data for any evidence of extraterrestrial activity that might show up in the vicinity where the earlier Grey ship was reported. However, their capability was extremely limited in being able to spot much of anything extraterrestrial as their electronics were geared to recognise only that technology known to humans on Earth. Almost every species who visited the planet wanted to laugh out loud at the primitive attempts to locate them. Humans might as well be using their eyes on a pitch-black night, they would openly sneer. Human authorities were like bats emerging into daylight, listening for what they could hear and see, but blind to other events taking place around them. Neither satellite detected the black ship that passed between them, twisting and turning into a dive only a short distance away. The ship headed for the ocean and its secret far below, leaving no wake or trail as it sped downwards. The Grey ship was so far advanced that tracking stations never knew anything about its sudden and plummeting appearance. Every member of all the world’s listening posts was oblivious to the accelerating wedge of blackness that speared its way through the upper stratosphere. Many of the personnel who manned the stations continued to practice their golf swing, play repetitive games of bridge or to simply read books or snooze. Unless an extraterrestrial wanted humans to know they were there, they didn’t.

  The secret base's commander was informed a ship was entering the atmosphere above them. Included in the report were details of its origin and imminent arrival time. All other information was unknown at that time due to their communications isolation. He readily accepted the situation, recognising the ship must have been waiting in orbit, poised for the opportunity to enter the base. Preparations were underway to acknowledge its presence as soon as information could be relayed. Until then, the automatic entry procedure would manage its arrival and docking. Without the base contacting the closing ship, all three occupants were completely in the dark concerning how they might be met and the commander was none the wiser for what was about to land in his unfortunate lap.

  The underwater base’s power generators surged with a whine as the doors began to force themselves open against immense water pressure. A slurry of sludge slipped between the doors’ edges, creating a cloud of fine silt that suspended itself across the opening, slowly drifting into the expectant chamber. Indications showed all systems were operational with filtration glands sifting any debris that entered the base beneath the doors. Silence reigned while they waited for the ship’s appearance.

  Th
e ship descended with precision, guided by computerised positioning coordinates. By maintaining a secretive presence on Earth the Grey’s couldn’t use any kind of a homing beacon for their ships to track for guidance. There were certain individual points of contact, such as areas of the ocean floor that had magnetic properties and the occasional sunken wreck. The depth of these points meant they were undisturbed by wave action from above, being completely stationary and intact. Corrosion was practically nonexistent as the presence of oxygen was negligible, with actions by crustaceans being predominantly the worst for affecting any kind of damage.

  Phyllis eased her head backwards while seated as if she was about to experience some g-force, saying, “Speed reduction in, five, four, three, two … , hold on tight.”

  Each held onto their individual seat’s armrests while tensioning themselves. A change in pitch and whining sound was heard.

  Phyllis spoke again, turning to look at her white-knuckled shipmates as she started another countdown …, entry into the ocean was almost upon them.

  Following an audible thud, the whining sound changed to that of a whooshing, which faded after a few seconds.

  Phyllis raised a hand to a small panel above her, pressing a few buttons while observing a digital display. “Insertion completed and on course.” She said it almost triumphantly, feeling extremely relieved the mission to infiltrate the base had gone smoothly - so far.

  The three fell silent, each wondering what they might find when they docked. Would there be a welcoming committee waiting to greet them, or maybe the base will refuse to open. Their minds worked overtime while attempting to comprehend what challenges might await them. Their worries kept them mentally occupied enough to miss the alarm signal that indicated the undercarriage mechanism had malfunctioned and was full of sea water. The alarm was rated important enough to be transferred into the ship’s memory-bank with an illuminated flag alert on a side panel, all missed by Phyllis who was thinking about her hands. The loose oscillating gas bottle that caused the automatic door to open and close after take-off was the fault. It was depressurised and leaked very badly. Without the gas, the water couldn’t be kept out of or forced from the bays.