An Alien Rescue

by Gordon Mackay

  The car’s tarnished bodywork was too hot to touch even though it was painted white, but the lack of hissing gave Mustapha hope there might be a chance the car could be drivable. He approached the driver’s door and was about to open it when he saw the boxes on the rear seats. He stopped, releasing his grip on the handle, looking around him, wondering what was going on. He returned to the door, opening it. There was the usual scraping sound from the sand-filled hinges, with the same tired looking front seats and broken instrument cluster. He leaned in and removed the boxes.

  After opening them, he tipped out each in turn, finding bags of crisps then fizzy-drinks to his astonishment. Mystified by it all, he climbed out and walked around the car. Nothing else looked out of place… except the boot’s wooden wedge was inserted differently. He carefully opened the boot to see if there might be anything else out of place. The oily rag had obviously been tampered with, while the spanner and sealant were noticeably missing.

  He let out a curse. “Thieves! Thieves and devils have been about this day,” he shouted at the sky above him, hoping his god would hear his anger and smite the devils from the face of the desert. Without the hoped for thunderous claps, with no screams of agony and pain from whoever had robbed him, he dropped the boot-lid and turned his attention to the front of the car. There was an unmistakable stain on the road beneath the engine. There has been a lot of water lost from the engine, he thought as he bent down onto his knees to get a better look from below. He touched the engine’s oil sump, feeling the temperature. It was cool, to his surprise. He opened the bonnet to see what might be. He noticed there was a peculiar smell of solvent, recognising it was like the tube of sealant, the one that was missing from the boot. He leaned over the radiator, removing the cap. Surprisingly, it was full of water. Stepping back in disbelief, he clasped his hands together, saying a few religious words and bowing slightly for forgiveness. He had another look to make certain he hadn’t imagined what he had just seen. The water was there and the thermostat housing was clean as if it had been removed, sealed and refitted. Then he saw it, not understanding any of what had happened. The thermostat was lying next to the battery in a pool of sludge. He wondered if one of the town’s mechanics had managed to reach his car and repair it after all. He could not understand how he could have missed them returning to town on the single track road, but perhaps they had other business to attend to further on. As for the boxes on the rear seats, he had no answer. Perhaps, he cautiously considered, Allah had answered his prayers. Turning around, he looked into the distance to see if anyone might be watching him, a spirit or a friend, or perhaps the individual who had repaired his car. There was no one. He dug into a pocket beneath his light-grey coloured gown, removing the jangling keys. He inserted them into the ignition, watching the ignition light flicker as he started the engine. It sounded good and sweet, even with a cloud of black soot blowing from the exhaust. It ticked over steadily with little vibration and none of the usual spluttering. The temperature gauge showed the engine was very cool, with only the slightest rise as it ticked-over. After looking underneath the car to make sure all was well with no sign of oil or water spewing onto the road, he climbed aboard and set off for the town. Keeping the car in as low a gear as possible, he drove slowly and carefully, trying not to labour or overheat the engine. It ran like it used to a very long time before, quietly and smoothly. He would return to the Mosque and thank Allah for his countenance and blessing before heading for home with his new found boxes of food and drink. His religious words would be for thanks and a promise to be generous to beggars for a month. He smiled at the way his car behaved, tapping the carpeted dashboard with happiness. No one would believe his story, he was certain, but he will tell it anyway. He had the boxes and the car as evidence.

  Scott picked up a few pieces of stone as they continued to return, looking for anything that might catch his eye. With nothing worth mentioning, he would cast the bits aside and continue his trek. Frell was leading and Scott followed. He admired her physique, learning she was as fit as she looked as they progressed their way forever upwards. It became apparent the sun was not as warm as it had been and its height was also lower, leaning towards the horizon at an ever quickening pace.

  “I know what you are thinking, Scott,” she said. “We will make it back to the ship before darkness. We have plenty of time.”

  “That’s good news,” he said. He wondered what animals, if any, might come out to play after the veil of darkness covers the desert at night. He wondered if there were any scorpions or snakes lurking beneath boulders and stones, making him alert to the fact he had already lifted several. He decided not to touch anymore and also to watch where he was treading. Slipping on loose stones was one thing, but getting stung or bitten by something creepy or slithery was quite another matter altogether.

  Drang and Phyllis had conferred with each other before telling Belinda the ship was in good condition, except for the fault that Scott was presently working on. There was more food on board, enough to keep them fed. They now waited to hear from the duo that had left a number of hours before, enjoying a cooler breeze while taking shelter in the ship’s lengthening shadow.

  “You said the small canyon where the ship landed has been used before, Frell. When was that then?” They had fallen into a silence as they climbed their way back up the mountain’s slopes, with each mentally going over what had happened in their recent pasts.

  “There used to be a base near here, higher up the mountain range. But since it was closed and sealed, we have sometimes needed to make a visit to the area for various reasons; much like this I suppose.”

  He thought about what he had just heard. “What do you mean by saying the base was closed and sealed? Do you mean to say it is still here?”

  She stopped to get her breath back before replying, sitting down on a flattish stone. She answered. “Yes. It is still here. And before you ask why we did not go there, please allow me to me explain.”

  He shuffled closer as he too plonked himself down onto a rock, but only after checking there weren’t any surprises lurking underneath. “Well? He asked cheekily.

  “The base remains as it was when in use, although it was a long time ago. It can still be activated if required.”

  He was about to ask a series of questions, but she beat him to it. “The reasoning behind keeping it intact is that one day we might need a base from where to operate from. If, as we have always hoped for, we approach the governments of your world, we will need a base from which to work from, and because it is situated beneath a mountain it has been easy to conceal and to protect. There is fortunately enough iron ore in the surrounding rock to obscure any attempts to locate it. And believe me when I say it will never be found. It is well hidden because it has to be.”

  “Bloody hell! A flying saucer base in Morocco. Who the heck would’ve believed it?” he asked.

  “No one, we hope,” she answered. “It was built here for the reason of secrecy. There was a time when no one would have ventured up mountains, and for good reason, there was no need to and it was dangerous. But nowadays it is a completely different world with different values and reasons to visit places where people never went before. We had many bases in Russia, the Americas, Scandinavia… and Scotland, to name but a few.” She paused, expecting a reaction.

  It struck him almost instantly, in a way that a flying brick might. He felt the impact of her words. “Scotland! My country? Where?”

  She had to laugh. He could be so predictable sometimes, she conceded. “There is a mountain-top where we once operated from, and again, it was high and the area free of people. The vicinity was all too soon teeming with wandering groups of hunter gatherers before agriculture made its mark. The wild animals were soon killed or driven away, with domesticated beasts and fowl replacing them. We anticipated this long before it actually happened so were ready to vacate the base and destroy it.”

  His mouth gaped open as he imagined all she had said. He wanted to s
ay he wished it was still there, but understood how utterly impossible it would have been to let it remain. “You say it was destroyed, but why, when the Moroccan base was sealed and hidden?”

  “Ah, but there is a vast difference, as you can see around us.” She said, indicating the surrounding desert with a sweep of an arm. “How many people have you seen today, excluding us and the others back at the ship?”

  “Erm, none, I suppose.”

  “That is correct. And how many people might you have seen if you were in Scotland, climbing a hill with a view?”

  “Probably hundreds, complete with buggies full of kids and dogs running wild.” He understood her explanation, appreciating the reasoning.

  “And with people comes curiosity and building, mining, agriculture, science and habitation. There was no other choice, the base had to be removed, which incidentally was not easy. It left some evidence which cannot be easily explained.”

  “Evidence? There is evidence of the base’s position? What is it?” His own curiosity was kicking in and he was desperate to know.

  “The mountain had to be either destroyed or altered to hide what had been there. We couldn’t readily destroy a complete mountain, so we did something else, something quite radical.”

  He let out a sigh, then said, “This is almost like drawing teeth,” he complained. “Go on then, make my day. What did your people do to hide the evidence?”

  She waited a moment, allowing him to resettle himself on his swivelling stone. He had become worked-up at the thought of a UFO base in the country where he lived, and his imagination was running riot at the thought.

  She replied. “It was… We sort of…Well, it’s kind of difficult to explain…”

  “Bloody hell, Frell. What happened?”

  She licked her lips and pursed her mouth to speak. “The mountain’s summit was melted. It was turned to molten rock, similar to lava, but without a volcano or mantle fault. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes… sort of,” he answered. “But it also raises a few more as well.”

  “I thought it might,” she replied, twisting round slightly for a little bit more comfort. “It took a lot of energy and created an enormous fire in the surrounding forests. It decimated the terrain for a while, but within a few years the landscape had all but returned to normal. The melting of the rock did the job it was supposed to, it was a success.”

  “Holy shit!” he shouted loudly, leaping from his rock to stand upright. “What was that? Was it a tremor?”

  She looked at him curiously, wondering if he was playing games with her. She was unsure if he was joking or not, but decided he was being honest as his body language suggested it strongly. “It was not a tremor, silly, it was the rock you were sitting on. It moved under your weight.”

  He gave it a kick, watching it rolling easily to one side, banking slightly.

  “Oh!” He felt extremely silly as he moved the rock back into a more stable position before sitting down again.

  “No, not really,” she said. “Just mistaken. Although, in retrospect,” giving her answer some thought, “there might easily have been an earthquake.”

  She had thought of his antics of leaping up while recalling relevant information concerning Morocco and its history.

  “Well, I’m not quite sure what to make of that answer. It sounded like a bit of the maybes and a not quite sure with a good possibility. So, which is it?”

  She stared into the distance before replying. She understood an honest reply would raise more questions than it would answer, for the knowledge of what she knew would shock him while opening his eyes and mind to the so-called civilised society he supposedly belonged to. She decided to tell him what she knew.

  “Morocco,” she began, “Has had two serious earthquakes in its recorded history, both were very serious. The first occurred in Casablanca during the eighteenth century. The second… ah, the second… Mmm.”

  “Yes?” he said, urging her to continue.

  “The second was in the year nineteen-sixty, when approximately fifteen thousand people perished in a tremor that lasted for thirteen seconds. And during that short time, the city of Agadir and its immediate harbour area was almost completely destroyed.”

  “Jesus-flaming-Christ!” Scott looked shocked at the number of people killed in just a few seconds. “And all because of an earthquake?”

  “Yes, you might as well be shocked, Scott, especially when the tremor was man-made.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Yes,” she almost whispered, feeling genuine sorrow for all the poor people who lost their lives because of actions by another country.

  “Hang on a second here,” he said, placing a firm hand onto one of hers. “Are you telling me an earthquake that killed thousands of people and destroyed a city… was manmade?”

  Turning to him with a look of deep sadness in her eyes, she answered an unequivocal, “Yes!”

  Scott gave her wrist a squeeze, showing his feelings about such an event. “But how? How can such a thing have happened? And who would do such a thing?”

  With a sigh, she continued. “It was a scientific military experiment to prove that such a thing was possible, to render an area absolutely useless while appearing to be a natural disaster. It was a perfect plan and it worked first time for its military and political masters.”

  “Come again? Its masters? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Let me fully explain the scenario.” She paused for effect. “A country, who desired world domination and used every available means to try and get it, funded scientific research for new weapons of mass destruction, putting an emphasis on anything that could be used without raising any other government’s suspicions. In other words, to make a disaster appear as if it was an accident or a natural tragedy. In this instance, it looked perfectly natural and those responsible were regarded as heroes by their own government. A few scientists had discovered a method of creating an earthquake by inserting explosive devices within the planet’s outer-mantel, designing the apparatus to mimic the shock waves of a real tremor. And wherever the detonation took place, the released energy forced waves of destruction through the surrounding rock.”

  “Yeah, right, I can see the reasoning behind the theory, but why Morocco, for crying out loud?”

  “Morocco,” she quickly replied. “Is reasonably close to a small volcanically-active island group called the, Canaries, so any movement in the crust could be easily attributed to their presence. Also, the bay at Agadir was not defended or monitored by anything that could prevent or detect a submersed vessel entering its vicinity. It was by this simple method of entry that several devices were planted, all reasonably close to one another. The devices were detonated at specific intervals to record the effects from each blast, with observers monitoring any changes. As each implanted device was exploded, over a one week period, the ground began to respond. It was slow to begin with, with minor tremors felt by the city’s inhabitants, until the area was torn apart by the accumulated energy being simultaneously released. The responsible government was overjoyed as the terrible news was announced around the world, recognising they had actually achieved a clandestine method of destroying cities and military installations without raising any suspicions. Most of the city was levelled and its inhabitants buried alive by collapsing buildings and masonry. And as if this wasn’t bad enough, it was followed by a tidal wave and a spreading fire among the ruins, which only added to the complications of survivors trying to escape a man-made hell. It was a catastrophe of gigantic proportions. This, Scott, is what some governments of your world are capable of. And should my kind ever be in a position where we can address you all, we will be enlightening every single living person to the devious and murderous activities carried out by the governing bodies of each and every country. Which is why the governments who are in the know about our presence and visiting ships, and those of other species, have done their best to cover up the available evidence and information,
of which there is plenty ... and that I promise you.”

  He covered his face with his hands, resting his head while shading his eyes. He could not believe such a thing would be done by anyone. He sat quietly, thinking, not saying anything else.

  “So there you have it, the murderous activities of some governments need to be made public at some point in time.”

  “And has there been any other man-made earthquakes since?” he asked.

  “Not yet. But it is believed the same devices were planted at various places around the world, but we do not have that evidence - yet.”

  He was left struggling to come to terms with what she had just described.

  She turned away, saying they still had a long way to go and darkness was not very far off. He couldn’t stop thinking about the affected mountain in Scotland, wherever it might be, and now the city of Agadir and the many that perished from a military killing machine. He didn’t know of anywhere in Scotland that was known for signs of being melted, except for the obvious cooled lava flows from extinct volcanoes; but as he admitted to himself, he didn’t know everything there was to know about his country. And as for the earthquake information, he was shocked into silence. He raised himself from his own rock, setting off behind her at a brisk pace, rubbing some circulation into his numbed backside while still wondering where in Scotland the mountain might actually be.

  The mountain they were climbing was called, Amaloun n’Mannsour. Its summit was a towering three thousand feet above sea level and easily visible for hundreds of surrounding kilometres. The lonely highway where they had come across the abandoned car was a simple desolate single track, classified as a secondary road. The tarmac was old, holed and rough, its edges pitted and fragmented with loosened stones that dominated the verge. Both sides of the road was littered with scatterings of glass fragments, all remnants of shattered windscreens. There were plenty of them too, all shimmering and sparkling in the remaining sunshine like little mounds of precious jewels, each lying in silent testimony to a shattered window. The sustained damaged occurred when two vehicles passed at high speed with stones launched into the air by their tyres, flying like musket-shot in all their misspent glory. Each driver would curse the other in Arabic or French for not slowing down or moving far enough across the road to avoid a collision, never actually seeing that they themselves were as much to blame. The narrow road ran between a small town called, Tazzarine, and an adjoining main route that led to, Ouarzazate; an aging Saharan garrison and administrative town built by the French during their many years of domineering occupation. It was also an area where frequent flying saucer sightings had been reported in the past. But after the base was closed and sealed the mysterious aerial activity had almost died away overnight. Only the elderly recalled the lights that would occasionally flicker across the sky during darkness, disappearing behind the faint outline of unreachable mountain ridges. Witnesses hardly ever discussed what they saw as it was firmly believed the responsible devils would visit them in the dark to steal their soul or children. No one had ever dared to try and locate where the shooting stars came and went from, for it was said the mountains were guarded by the same devils; and those who were either brave or stupid enough to venture upwards into the home of evil were never seen again.