An Alien Rescue

by Gordon Mackay

  “Arrival in… ninety seconds.”

  “Is it safe to get out of my seat?” asked Scott while looking from Belinda to Phyllis in turn.

  “I would rather you stayed where you are, Scott.” Phyllis replied while turning to monitor the ship’s progress, too busy to look at Scott as she responded.

  “Sure… That’s okay.” He really wanted to get his act together, holding the revolver with the intension of reaching the access door soonest, just in case.

  Phyllis picked up some uncertainty in his reply, adding, “I will let you know when you can leave your seat as soon as our progress allows you to.”

  With a thankful smile, he answered, “Thanks, you’re a doll.”

  At that remark, Phyllis and Belinda turned to look at him; both wondering why allowing him to leave his seat at the earliest opportunity made her a doll. They smirked at his sillyness.

  “Arrival in… twenty seconds.”

  They tensed themselves for anything that might happen, listening to the change in tone from the engines and generators that seemed to grow quieter and quieter.

  “Arrival in… five... .”

  They each gripped their seats, expecting some sort of bump or braking effect to kick in. Nothing happened except for all the sounds to fade completely, leaving him feeling sort of deflated in his expectations.

  “It is now safe to leave your seat.”

  It took Scott a moment for Phyllis’ alert to reach his brain, the change in ship’s internal pressure had left him feeling slightly breathless. He sluggishly rose from his seat without knowing why he felt the way he did, leaving the Flight Deck as quickly as he could.

  A huge cradle, shaped like a cast for the underside of the ship that was about to berth, raised itself from the floor. The ship manoeuvred itself towards it. As the cradle reached its maximum height, the ship rotated one hundred and eighty degrees before settling downwards. The ship’s positioning was meticulous. All preconditions had been met for docking and was going ahead smoothly.

  She reached up, pressed a couple of buttons to acknowledge target completion, then announced, “We are about to dock in, eight, seven, six… .”

  The ship rested squarely onto the cradle as its suspension compensators took the weight, dropping gently to take the strain. The ship sat peacefully with its undercarriage still in its retracted mode while its access door opened.

  Standing just inside the doorway and out of sight, holding his revolver like a gangster in a bank raid, he spun the chamber like an old hand waiting for a gunfight to begin.

  Belinda seemed to leap from her seat in comparison to Scott’s slower emergence, stating to Phyllis she was on her way towards Scott at the door, as she too removed her own weapon from the holster strapped around her waist. She inspected the black safety seal, ensuring it was intact and fitted correctly before going any further. It was and she moved through the ship to stand by her partner in crime like his moll, ready for any kind of showdown.

  “To hell and back with this,” yelled Phyllis as she almost burst from her seat as if she had just sat on a pin. She landed squarely on the floor with both feet slightly apart and hands spread wide like some kind of kung fu fighter in an old Bruce Lee movie. It only took her a few seconds to reach the others, her palms flat as if she was going to give someone a karate chop.

  “I’ll watch your rear,” Phyllis said, looking around as if there might be watchful eyes.

  Scott couldn’t help himself as he laughed at Phyllis’s humorous approach. He had become aware of her attempts to mimic his statements and comments, without completely understanding the full range of their context and meaning. And as for saying she would watch his rear…, he felt like asking them both to take the lead so he could watch theirs instead. His laughter soon fell silent as the gravity of their situation caught up with him. He urged them to follow him, staying close together. Belinda urged them not to use telepathy for communication. “Verbal only,” she insisted.

  He also mentioned they should remain as quiet as possible so any other sounds could be heard. They reached the docking chamber's door, listening intently. Only the sound of running water in drains could be heard, with a lot of drips from somewhere else. Then there was a loud sound of movement from the ship.

  “What the hell!”

  “It is all right, Scott.” insisted Belinda while reaching out to take him by a hand. “It is only the cradle self-adjusting for the ship’s weight.”

  Scott squeezed her hand, saying, “I bet they’ve never had any guests like us before.”

  Belinda thought about it, before replying, “Not alive and free to commit murder, they haven’t.”

  That brought them into a state of silence as they each prepared for what Belinda had just reminded them of.

  Scott noticed the floor was already dry and unmarked. “Are you certain we’re under the Atlantic Ocean?”

  They both nodded in agreement.

  He peered through the open door, taking in as much as he could see. The ladies did the same with Belinda ready to remove the seal and blast the place to hell and beyond if they were attacked. Phyllis looked sadly at her hands, wondering if they might yet be repaired while they were there. With no one to see, Grey or otherwise, Scott ventured onwards a little further. His eyes squinted at the brightness, straining to make out their surroundings from the doorway. He half expected to see windows or viewing ports with figures operating controls while receiving and giving orders. There was nothing of the sort to see. Feeling brave, while desperately wanting to find Frell and Drang, he left the confines and safety of the arrival bay. He didn’t know what might be lurking around the base, which they now began to cautiously enter. There could have been an army of little clones waiting for them, for all he knew. His emergence into the corridor was slow, balanced between needing to see what there was while ready to race back inside. He felt like a spring split in two, where one side wanted to bounce along with leaps and bounds, while the other wanted to drag him back. The bounding one was the stronger and he began to move more rapidly with the ladies still watching his rear.

  The commander was informed the ship had docked and the crew were expected to appear at any moment. He replied he wanted the ship’s captain to report to him immediately. The order was sent to the ship, then by telepathy when no answer was received. It was suspected the crew were already on their way after disembarking as the message travelled. A reply was not expected as the ship’s captain would heed the order and head straight for the commander’s position at once. The commander relaxed, pleased with himself that the stupid human vessel had not detected the base and finally vacated the area. He was in no mood for visitors, but protocol dictated he had to entertain his subordinates upon their arrival for a short time, to simply hear their report and listen to anything important they had to pass on. Then it would be back to running the base and listening to the pathetic military communications that his operators thought might be important to the Empire. With not much being heard while they were in a shut-down mode, he was only too happy to feel relaxed, having secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet of the past few days isolation, even though the lack of communications had been disquieting for him.

  Scott had left the bay, taking stock of the absence of viewing windows and arrival crew, thinking how different it all was from the RAF that he knew only too well. With any arriving aircraft, there had to be a Seeing-In-Crew, where they would marshal the plane onto its hard standing before connecting electrical power and earth-cables. The crew would disembark while the Ground-crew got on with their tasks of recovering the aircraft for its next sortie. Gases and liquid containers would be replenished, with checks and measurements carried out and recorded. Everything from tyre pressures to radar-coolant would be logged, with reported faults rectified when a diagnosis had been verified and spares obtained. But unlike a military jet, there was no ground-crew, fuel tanker, cables or smells to be seen, heard or suffered from.

  He remembered the little bikes stowed in
the ship’s rear, wondering how easy it would be to carry one. “It would need to be one very big bag to carry it through customs,” he said.

  The ladies just shook their heads in confusion, not understanding what he was on about or why.

  He saw their confusion, smiling humorously. “Hey, don’t look so worried. We’re back on Earth. I was born here and know the place rather well.”

  Each of the ladies allowed their shoulders to drop at his sense of humour with a loud sigh, as if to say, Shut up! He saw and heard their feelings.

  A door wide and high enough for a bus to drive through opened by itself as they approached. It sang a song like a siren for the few seconds it took to fully open, warning any in its vicinity of its thrusting travel. Its movement had been much faster than they were ready for so were left standing in full view of any who might have been on the opposite side. Fortunately for the intruding gang of three, there were none to witness their embarrassed stance.

  The corridor beyond was massive, looking as if it was deliberately built to receive enormous loads from arriving ships, forcing Scott to inhale deeply as if to try and draw a gale of wind along its length.

  “Do we have any knowledge of this base and its layout,” he asked, not expecting to be told they did. So he wasn’t surprised when they both replied, “No!”

  “Well then, I guess we need to push on and see what the heck’s down there,” pointing the way to go.

  Belinda rushed forward as Scott began his rapid stride forward, placing a hand on his suit’s collar, pulling him to an urgent standstill. He almost choked at the shock of his progress being so short-lived, his head being thrown forwards and his chin bouncing off his chest.

  “Bloody-hell, that flaming well hurt!” he coughed out in surprise and annoyance.

  Belinda stood her ground with an expression that said, don’t fuck with me!

  “What the hell’s the matter?” he implored while feeling intimidated by her scowl.

  “Will you please try to speak in a tongue we can all understand? And plain English if you think you can manage it!”

  Even Phyllis was taken by surprise by Belinda’s outburst, but understood why she felt the need to say so. She nodded in agreement to Belinda’s request, making Scott feel vastly outnumbered and under attack.

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I get the message and the look. I promise to speak in the plainest form of English known to man… and woman too.”

  Belinda looked relieved. “Double promise?” she asked.

  “Blimey, I must have been worse than I thought! Okay, it’s a double promise?”

  “Thanks!”

  “That’s okay,” he agreed. “I double promise to speak in proper English as much as possible.”

  Belinda caught the look from Phyllis, picking up her message. Scott did too. Another door opened, a smaller one at the far end of the corridor.

  “Jeez!” said Scott. Belinda sighed. Phyllis tightened her muscles as if to respond in defence.

  The commander was tired of waiting for the ship’s captain to appear, wondering if the wait to enter Earth’s atmosphere had dulled his senses. He informed his subordinates he was retiring to his quarters and to inform the arriving ship’s captain he will now have to report when contacted, not before and not much after, such was the frustration at being kept on station well after the ship’s arrival. It never occurred to him there was anything amiss or untoward with the time taken for an arriving crew member to report, but after such extenuating circumstances it was understandable. And the fact that the base’s commander didn’t react to a slow crew, the rest of the base didn’t consider an absent captain anything to be concerned about.

  No one appeared from the opened door and no sound or voices could be heard. It was just an open door as if to welcome the latest arrivals with no special ceremony whatsoever. Thankfully, thought Scott.

  “We are taking too long to arrive,” stated Belinda.

  “We must move quicker,” insisted Phyllis.

  “Well, let’s get a grip then,” answered Scott, regretting his choice of words, while expecting a slap from Belinda for it. When it didn’t arrive and no form of retribution occurred, he felt he should say sorry. Belinda stepped into his line of vision before he could utter any words of consolation, taking him completely by surprise.

  “Double promise?”

  “Triple! I will not do that again.”

  She smiled and said she knows he will not repeat his mistake. It was his turn to release a sigh.

  “I still think we should make a move. ” he said. “Let’s head for the door as quickly as possible.”

  With his right thumb, Scott pulled back the revolver’s hammer, cocking the weapon and spinning the cylinder complete with its six bullets. He listened to its rotating mechanical clicks like a gunslinger from years gone by before running for the opposite end of the corridor. The gun was as ready as it could be for a quick and responsive action. They stopped just short of the door, hesitating at the edge for a quick look through. With nothing more than another corridor leading away from the larger, Scott led the way again, and at an almost frightening speed. It took both women to keep up with his strides, running at a breathtaking speed. Neither was quite sure why he had found the term, watching their rear, so funny, but perhaps in time they might. Until then, they would watch his and do their best to keep pace with him. He stopped suddenly and without warning, with both women running into him. He was instantly knocked forward by their momentum, saying, “Déjà vu,” as he regained his footing. They both understood the implication, almost laughing at the memory.

  “We did not see you stop in time, Scott. We were busy watching your rear.”

  He would have laughed at Belinda’s remark if the situation hadn’t been so dangerous. Another door had opened as they approached. It was well ahead and off to one side where it had been impossible to see from a distance as it blended into the wall. Scott not so cautiously approached it before peering inside, noticing how dimly lit it was when compared to the corridor where they were grouped. He waited for a moment, watching for any sign of movement while listening. It was deathly quiet and nothing stirred, persuading him it was probably safe to enter. He knew surprise was on their side because, firstly, there hadn’t been any kind of a reception to greet them. And secondly, if their presence was known he doubted they would have been able to proceed as far as they had managed. He didn’t want to spend any time explaining his reasoning for moving so quickly to the women, he hoped they would simply follow him without question, which they had.

  He stepped inside the almost dark room, leaving the corridor’s brilliance behind him. The luminescence from the previous corridor poured into the new room, giving it a wedge of brilliance that faded along the floor with his shadow. Scott paused again, listening intently with his mouth kept open to sharpen his hearing. His eyes were momentarily blinded after leaving the corridor’s light, with his irises slowly dilating to recognise darker images. As the new room’s contents began to appear his jaw started to drop. With a mouth as open and as wide as the Channel Tunnel waiting for an express train complete with illegal immigrants hanging on for their life, he gasped at the sight before him. His eyes never blinked as his line of sight slowly rose up hundreds of partially illuminated cubicles, row upon row of transparent cases that contained what looked like bodies. He stepped warily to the one closest the door from where he had entered. He touched the case, trying to tell if it was made of glass, which it was. It was also filled with an amber-coloured opaque liquid. Immersed within the liquid was a complete body; a male with haggard pock-marked skin on his face, long dark hair and a substantial gold earring hanging from one ear. Etched into the case, close to one corner, was strange lettering that almost resembled hieroglyphics. Scott was unable to understand the meaning of the writing so asked Belinda if she could translate them. Traipsing across the floor to reach him, she bent down to read it. Leaning a little closer to the case, she recognised and understood the Grey language. She re
ad out loud, “Unknown, Crew member, Mary Celeste.”

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” he exclaimed. Any thoughts of concealment were far removed when he learned the inscription’s translation.

  “What is it, Scott?” whispered Belinda, hoping his exclamation had not been heard by anyone other than themselves.

  “Are you all right?” asked Phyllis, suspecting he might be in some kind of pain.

  “Eh?” asked Scott in return as he had not understood anything said by the women. His thoughts were going through turmoil after learning the meaning of the etched words. Belinda stepped over to him, leaning on one shoulder to whisper the same question into an ear. He was seen to visibly shake his head as if to help clear his thoughts.

  To bring himself back to a state of mental normality, thought Phyllis.

  “Eh, yeah. I’m… I’m okay… Or at least I think I am.” His voice sounded confused. He took a couple of backward steps as if he needed the extra space to think clearly while Belinda still hung onto his shoulder as if to give him support, moral as well as physical.

  “It was a Brigantine,” he said. “A ship that sailed across the Atlantic to trade in items such as cotton and elicit whiskey or brandy. Maybe slaves too,” he added as an afterthought. “She ended her days as one of the world’s greatest unsolved mysteries. The ship was eventually found under sail… in the Mediterranean Sea of all places, but without any sign of her crew. And now I find this… this person in a glass case with the ship’s name written into a corner. I just find this so hard to believe.” He stepped forward and took another look at the man floating inside the case, Scott’s face took on a serious look as he added, “Grey sons of bitches!”