Death-Worlder...

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

"Unidentified aircraft approaching from South East at 350 knots. Intercept."

Ground crews started the two fighters as soon as pilots and back-seaters were aboard. After-burners lit, they howled down the long desert runway, lifted, turned towards the dawn. Behind them, a second pair prepared to launch.

"Guard flight, Tower: Be aware aircraft has intermittent radar returns. Fence station reports brief visual sighting: Unusual configuration, smaller than air-liner or biz-jet, bigger than Cessna.

"Aircraft has altered course to follow access road. Possible 'Visual Flight Rules'."

"Tower, confirm intermittent radar. Estimate visual in fifteen, ten, five-- WTF ?

"Tower, aircraft is, uh, metallic 'blended wing-body' of low aspect ratio. Resembles radar pod of E-3 Sentry. No markings. No windows. No infra-red. No visible control surfaces. Or propulsion...

"We've come around, taken station to sides. Confirm no windows. Trying wing-wiggle. Aircraft has copied us. Trying close pass-- Where'd-it-go ??"

"VIFFed, gained altitude very rapidly, banked away. Would beat a 'Top Gun'. Now coming back."

"Has returned to previous height and course."

"Second guard flight arriving: You see this ?"

"We see."

"Taking close station. WSO waving. Aircraft wing-wiggled. Again. CCTV ?"

"Guard flight, Tower: Escort to Runway 27 Left."

"WSO, try waving again ? Aircraft responding with wing-wiggle. Have sight of 27 Left. More waving. Aircraft turning, aligning 27 Left. Descending. Reducing speed to 300 knots. 275, 260, 250. Continuing descent. Over threshold. We'll circle around..."

The impossible aircraft followed the centre-line, steadily slowing, until it approached the taxi-ways and hangars, the group of vehicles boiling out from their garages. It slowed, slowed to a near-hover. Following a taxi-way at barely walking speed, it floated towards the vehicles as they spread to a wary crescent with personal, pintle-mount and shoulder-launched weapons evident. It halted. Three landing legs deployed. There was a final wobble, but then it was a-ground.

Several minutes passed. Then, from one side, a hatch swung down. A cleated ramp telescoped to the hard-standing, a flimsy hand-rail hinged up. After a few seconds, a silvery sheet fluttered in the hatch-way. When it drew no fusillade, a pipe extended that corner-knotted sheet into plain sight, waved it about. Apparently satisfied, the pipe was withdrawn.

"Honk-Honk-Honk. Hooot-Hooot-Hooot. Honk-Honk-Honk." After some seconds, the sequence repeated. Then a third time. When still no response came, "Blaaart !"

If not a raspberry, a fair facsimile. Finally, some-one had the wit to surmise Morse, authority to toot 'SOS' reply on a car horn.

A few seconds later, came, "Bip-Bip-Bip-Bip-Bip. Bip-Bip."

Again the silver flag was warily extended, waved. This time, a silver slipper-shod foot appeared at the top of the ramp. A second foot followed. Then long, slim, grey legs. A silver mini-skirt wrapped an improbably thin waist. A skinny, grey tum showed, then a deep-cleft, bow-tied silver crop-top that barely in-held a disproportionately large bust. A slim neck supported a long, grey, hairless head, with big, entirely black eyes, no ears or nose beyond small openings, and a small, round mouth of unhuman aspect. One slim hand, three fingers and thumb, clutched the flag's pipe. The other, the ramp's rail.

Reaching the foot of the ramp, the arrival stood from her part-crouch, towered seven feet. She walked towards the waiting group. She handed her pipe and flag to the nearest figure. She pointed to her lipless mouth, flapped fingers, shook her head. She mimed writing on her palm, pointed to the cluster of buildings, began walking that way.

Given she was too tall to fit in a car, and the guards were not prepared to let her near their weapons, took the group a while to reach an office. The arrival calmly pointed to the water dispenser, motioned drinking, then to a yellow pad of 'legal' and a tub of pens. Escorted to an interview room, she sat with what seemed a sigh, sank two plastic cups of water with evident relief. Then, casually un-capping an obviously familiar pen, began to write in ragged half-cursive.

My name is John Ignatius Smith. I was born 14 Feb 2002 in Blackburn, UK. When I was six, my parents' car was t-boned by a drunk driver. They and my baby sister died. Orphaned, I was raised by Mum's ditzy twin aunts. Covid and pneumonia got them during my first winter away at Uni reading 'Sport Science'.

The following summer, I was on a walking holiday in the 'Lake District' when a 'Flying Saucer' like the one outside swooped from the morning mist and zapped me.

I woke like this in their mother-ship. Seven feet tall, stick thin. Absurdly big bust. Boy-bits everted to a faux-female 'front pocket'. Alien eyes. No teeth. Shortened tongue. Jaws fused. Sucking mouth. Mute. My 'missing' pinky fingers wiggle my big nipples. My 'missing' little toes are inside my 'Front Pocket'. A chip in my head sent me 'Into Heat' on demand. Think 'Super Viagra'. When it lit, I could literally 'Shag a Sheep', never mind a Tall Grey. Now their ideal 'Joy Girl', the mother-ship's sixteen crew took turns bonking me witless.

That mother-ship is big, cylindrical. It is in a deep rille on the Lunar far-side. They do not have 'grav plates'. In orbit, there was a 'carousel', but it could not be used a-ground. They have some sort of 'stealth' or 'holographic camo', so lunar mappers miss them. And they can mung radar. You saw me turn the saucer's jammer off and on ? Tried for Morse, but I only know the basics. And sweep times ?

Tall Greys have FTL comms, but need a relay about a light-hour up from the ecliptic. Seems math works different out there. Also ship FTL, but that is much slower. They're about a year's flight from their base. Their long deployment was extended once. Second extension left them climbing the walls. Seems a lot of luxuries ran out. I don't know if my make-over was authorised, or just the captain's blind-eye to prevent trouble. Whatever, he used me, too. Often and hard.

Four Tall Grey bodies in the saucer are ready for autopsy. You will need HAZMAT suits, they're a bit smelly. Their blood is green. I think they talked with ultra-sound chirps, by nose-whistling. Under this 'Grey', I'm mostly still me, with red blood. I do not know if my make-over is stable, or my body will reject it. A bad way to go, no ?

They had three saucers. One was spare, another did the 'Mars Beat'. Not all 'Deep Space' probe failures were screw-ups, some were sabotage. A laser zap to jam hinges or what-have-you gave a mission-kill. That some sabotaged probes could still be wriggled or shaken to functional astonished them. They attacked a lot of probes, but there's something on Mars they really want to protect. I do not know where or what, it has now been 'stealthed' like their mother-ship. Only, it's really, really old, and they're scared of us finding it.

Me ? One of our college teachers was an 'exchange' from Australia. She could get a boomerang back, could play the didgeridoo. And she taught us. So, when I found that spare piece of pipe, I blew a note on it, then a tune. The Tall Greys thought that was so funny, like whale-song, or a tame chimp playing at tea-parties. They let me ride along on several local saucer outings, even handle the controls. It relieved the monotony, and I was a much better bonk afterwards.

I don't think they cared what I'd been before they grabbed me. Or that bonking me so often might develop some tolerance to the mind-blowing zap. 'Sport Science' is more than 'Track and Field'. More than mat work, vaulting horse and bars. I did Tae Kwon Do, was a Second Dan. With Kendo side.

Pipe in hand, I stalked and killed the entire mother-ship crew by ones and twos. I disabled their FTL comms, loaded a saucer with tech, came here to 'Area 51'.

I'm sorry I startled your pilots on the way in, I'm still an 'L-Driver'.

[jemhouston]

Good one

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

FWIW, tale's just blown through ~350 on Reddit/HFY.

Not bad for a saucy 'short' for which I scribbled second half one evening, wrote start and better ending 'on the fly' next day...

Now if only my Muse would return to targeting 'Fresno', or figure better wording for that long-stalled WIRS chapter...
D'uh...

[jemhouston]

FWIW, tale's just blown through ~350 on Reddit/HFY.

Not bad for a saucy 'short' for which I scribbled second half one evening, wrote start and better ending 'on the fly' next day...

Now if only my Muse would return to targeting 'Fresno', or figure better wording for that long-stalled WIRS chapter...
D'uh...

You know what Kyle Reese said about Terminators ably to muses:

Listen. And understand. That terminator is out there. It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.

The only problem, muses won't start sometimes until you're dead.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Perhaps significant ingestion of chocolate will jump-start it ??