Bad News 1. The Warning

Bad News

Volume 1. The Warning

By J.Russell Steel

Copyright © 2012 by J.Russell Steel

Cover design by John Barrie

Published by J.Russell Steel at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to dedicate this book to Carolyn Gray without whose constant encouragement and feedback might never have been written at all.

Special thanks also to Mr David Grainger, my teacher of English in Secondary School, who also very kindly proof read my manuscript. Any remaining errors are certainly mine and not his.

Alan Blyth, old friend and confidant helped enormously with his contacts, in particular...

John Barrie, artist and responsible for the wonderful cover illustration.

Chapter 1: The Landing

LEUCHARS AIRFORCE BASE, Fife, Scotland

Sunday, September 2nd 2009 02.40 hrs

The trouble with night shift wasn't so much the staying awake but the monotony of it all. Flight-lieutenant Robert Anderson recalled the stories his Uncle used to tell him of the cold war when the Soviets would have their Bear reconnaissance aircraft encroach on British airspace at regular intervals. He would regal the young Robert with tales of his exploits in the old F4 Phantoms intercepting the slow moving, Russian turbo-prop aircraft and freaking out their aircrew by activating their targeting radar. Not that Robert relished a return to the days when east faced west and the threat of a nuclear confrontation was very real but for a bored twenty-five year old it seemed like interesting times indeed. Robert's musings were interrupted by Sergeant Steve Grogan.

Sir, I've got something!

Oh, very good Grogan, said Robert sarcastically. I just love the way you give full details as per the book with range, heading, speed, etc. Lets me evaluate the contact and make command decisions, that sort of thing.

Sorry sir, replied the young Sergeant sheepishly. Contact is about seventy klicks south-west of us, bearing zero-three-zero magnetic. Pausing for effect he continued, I estimate its speed at something in excess of mach six at about twenty thousand metres!

Bloody hell! exclaimed Robert rushing over to the station. What on earth is that?

Um...could be the space shuttle sir, piped up the third member of the duty watch. Leading aircraftsman Danny Ross wilted under Robert's scathing look.

Of course! Why didn't I think of that? NASA must be bored as well tonight and decided to land at Leuchars instead of Edwards. Any other sensible theories? he asked the room.

Maybe it's a meteor sir, suggested Steve.

Oh, that's a possibility I...,

Robert was interrupted by Steve again, Nope, not a meteor.

Why not? queried Robert.

Um, meteors are not noted for their braking ability sir. Steve answered Robert's blank look by adding, It's slowing down sir, less than mach four now and dropping under fifteen thousand metres.

Are we under attack? Robert voiced the possibility. It doesn't match any missile attack profile I've ever heard of and missiles tend to accelerate in their final phase. OK, give me an estimate on where this thing is coming down.

Already done sir, replied Steve. It's coming straight down our throats but it's hard to be exact because its speed is still dropping.

Right Danny, get on the blower to the regiment and see if they are tracking this, ordered Robert referring to the RAF Regiment who amongst other things manned the Rapier anti-aircraft missile detachment tasked with defending the airfield. And you Steve, firm up your estimate on where this thing is going to land.

Sir! acknowledged the pair together.

Waiting for his two subordinates to carry out his orders, Robert considered the situation. In common with other western armed forces, the RAF's policy was training, training and more training. The philosophy behind this idea was to prepare the troops on the ground for every eventuality and be able to react effectively, hopefully after learning what not do to in simulation. Occasionally situations arose that were not covered in the manual and officers were then expected to use their own initiative to deal with the event. This, Robert decided, was definitely one of those situations.

Sir, the Rapier team have gone to standby but it’ll be a couple of minutes before they’re able to get a reading on our bogey.

Right Danny, replied Robert. Get them to give us a call back as soon as they’re ready. I must be going soft, thought Robert. Of course the Rapier squadron didn't sit with their Radars on all the time, at least not in peace time. Apart from the sheer cost in power and component wear it would just be duplicating their job.

Sir, I've got a rough estimate on where it's liable to land, said Steve in that hesitant way people get when they are doing mental arithmetic. That's assuming of course it carries on doing what it's doing.

And what might that be Steve?

Well it's coming down at a hell of a lick but shedding speed almost as fast, Steve hesitated. I say almost as fast because it appears it will run out of height before it stops.

You mean it's going to crash - where? asked Robert.

I reckon somewhere to the east of us, maybe Tentsmuir, replied Steve tentatively. I reckon it'll still be supersonic - you should get a ruddy big bang.

How long?

Less than a minute now sir, replied Steve.

Right Danny, ordered Robert. Get out there with the bins and see if you can see it. As Danny grabbed the binoculars and rushed outside, Robert considered the situation. The bogie had to be man-made or how else could it slow down so dramatically. But that just raised other questions. Nothing in the British inventory could do mach six and even if the Yanks had anything like that it was highly unlikely that it would be flying over Scotland. Perhaps it was some elaborate exercise to test his reactions under stress. The easy option would be to call his commanding officer but at three in the morning the old man would be really pissed off. The other thing was he didn't have any real answers, only loads of unknowns.

Sir, it's down! announced Steve proudly. And right where I said. Smack in the middle of Tentsmuir Forest. Just then, Danny returned looking rather bemused.

Well? said Robert expectantly.

Um, I didn't see anything, said Danny. But I think I heard a whooshing sound.

A whooshing sound? asked Robert incredulously. It was supersonic for Christ’s sake! Did you see it crash?

No Sir, replied Danny sheepishly. Just a whoosh as it went overhead.

Do you remember what I said to Steve earlier about accurate reporting with details and all that?

Um, yes sir.

Well you’ll forgive me if I say that ‘it went whoosh’ wins the all time crap description award for piss-poor commentary, fumed Robert. Do you know that in about five minutes Flight-lieutenant Rogers and his motley crew will be here to relieve us. Rogers is going to say anything to report? And all I’ve got for him is an errant shuttle-cum-comet that goes whoosh. He’s either going to laugh or ask for some of our drugs. Right, continued Robert reaching a decision. Here’s what we’re going to do. Danny, go and get some transport, preferably a landrover. Oh and while you’re at it requisition a couple of sidearms and some torches. Steve, you get a detailed map of Tentsmuir with a big red cross on it showing your best guess at where this thing came down.

Fifteen minutes later after a hurried conference with the relief, Robert was heading out the base with his men. Danny was driving the rather venerable landrover ninety with Robert in the left seat. Squashed between them, with his legs straddling the gear stick sat Steve who was poring over a map with a torch.

Without looking up, Steve said, What did you tell Rogers, Sir?

I told him that we had an anomalous contact about half an hour ago but apart from that, nothing to report.

Did he buy it? queried Steve.

I think so but it might have been that he just didn’t know what anomalous meant, replied Robert.

What does anomalous mean sir? asked Danny. "And is that why we’ve got sidearms?

Robert shook his head sadly and said, Yes, something like that Danny."

Ok, Danny, said Steve, head into town and bear right at the church, heading up Pitlethie Road.

At three o’clock in the morning the old town of Leuchars was deserted and being a Sunday there wasn’t even a milk float on the road. Heading roughly north-east the street-lighting ended abruptly as they left the town, plunging them into a darkness normally known only to country dwellers.

On this class of road there weren’t even cat’s eyes prompting Robert to say, Take it easy, Danny. I want to get there in one piece.

Right, sir, he replied easing off on the accelerator.

We should be passing Pitlethie Farm in a minute, said Steve. And the turning we want is about a mile further on.

A couple of minutes later, as Danny slowed down, Steve said, There it is.

I see it, replied Danny. Christ, this road is even worse!

Now you know why I asked for a landrover, said Robert.

We’re heading due east now towards the coast, advised Steve. And we’re running out of road. There’s a car park and picnic spot just before we hit the beach though.

Let me see the map Steve, asked Robert reaching for it in any case. Your big red cross is about half a mile north of the car park, so we’ll get out on foot from there.

As predicted, the road petered out into not much more than a forest trail with a car park and bench seating off to the right. There was a solitary light illuminating a toilet block and not unexpectedly no other vehicles in any of the bays. To the north there was a path leading off into the forest and the map showed the whole area to be criss-crossed with similar trails.

Right boys, announced Robert. We’ll head up this trail here, indicating with his finger on the map the trail leading north. If we don’t see anything after a mile we’ll break off the trail to the west and join the next trail, this time heading south. As he jabbed his finger on the second trail the impact was matched by a raindrop rapidly followed by another. Oh, wonderful! Just what we need. I don’t suppose you packed my wellies Danny?

Um, no sir, he replied. Sorry.

After walking up the path for about twenty minutes without seeing or hearing anything out of the ordinary, Robert announced, Right let’s head off to the left now, the next trail should only be a couple of hundred yards away.

Off the path, conditions deteriorated rapidly. Although the trees were not set too close together the undergrowth was mostly thick bracken, sodden with the steady rainfall. Soon the three of them were soaked from the waist down as they struggled up the side of the next trail.

Can you hear that, asked Steve cocking his head to one side.

Yes, replied Danny. It sounds like singing or something.

A few yards behind them, Robert stopped too, I can’t hear a thing. Continuing forward he said, Oh, I hear it now. It’s coming from the right.

As one, they altered course and started heading north with the singing getting louder all the time.

Must be a Beatles fan, said Steve. Because that’s Yesterday he’s singing.

Agreed, said Robert. But Paul McCartney he aint! Sounds more like Danny after a few beers.

Ignoring the jibe Danny said, What’s all this white stuff everywhere?

Looking at where Danny was shining the torch Robert noticed that the surrounding foliage was festooned with great dollops of foam. Pointing his own torch to the left and right it became apparent that it was everywhere. Bloody hell, he swore. It looks like someone’s gone mental with a fire-extinguisher. As they continued onward, the singing got louder and the foam got thicker until they were ankle deep in the stuff.

Steve, who was a couple of yards ahead of the other two, topped a small rise and stopped dead. Oh my God…, he trailed off.

What is it? shouted Robert rushing to join him but he too stopped, his jaw dropping open. The scene that confronted them was bizarre beyond belief. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the onset of dawn and as they gazed down the slope they saw that hundreds of trees had been flattened and were now lying in a sea of foam. Towards the centre of the devastation the foam lay piled up around an object…and on that object sat a figure. The figure clearly saw them too because it stopped singing and gazed in their direction. As Steve pointed his torch at the figure it raised an… arm? It wasn’t human. Not knowing what else to do, Robert raised his arm and waved back. Danny, you stay here, he ordered. Just watch. If anything happens, I mean if anything bad happens, leg it back to landrover and call the base, otherwise do nothing, got it?

Understood, sir, replied the young aircraftsman with a slight tremor in his voice.

Right, Steve, said Robert. You’re with me. So saying he started off down the slope, his mind racing furiously. This can’t be happening, he thought. Jeremy Beadle’s going to pop up any second with a microphone in his hand, the lights will go on and the rest of the base will start laughing. Christ, it’s probably Beadle himself dressed up as E.T. But somehow, deep down Robert knew that it was for real. What do you say on First Contact? It certainly wasn’t in the bloody manual, that’s for sure.

Bob, said Steve. This is really weird.

Steve’s use of Bob rather than sir whilst on duty was enough to confirm that even the normally stoic Sergeant was shaken up. I know Steve, I’m just winging it for now. Not what Steve wanted to hear of course because officers were meant to know what to do at all times. But just for once, a situation had arisen for which there was no precedent and Robert didn’t mind admitting that he was as stunned as his subordinate.

As they approached the object, Steve reached for his sidearm but Robert, with a quick shake of the head said, No! That’s definitely not the first impression I want to make. The figure hadn’t noticed, probably because it was attempting to get down to the ground. This was proving difficult due to its diminutive size – it couldn’t be more than five feet tall. By now, Robert could see that it was basically humanoid in that it had two arms, two legs and a head but it was still too dark to make out any detail.

In his mind, Robert realised the incredible significance of the moment. What should he say? It was okay for Armstrong, he had months, years even to come up with his one small step… routine. Robert had, he estimated, about fifteen more seconds. In the end, it didn’t really matter because the figure finally took the plunge and slid off the craft, landing with a dull splash in the foam.

Instinct took over and Robert moved in extending his hand, Let me help you up. As first words go, they were hardly in the memorable category but perhaps the sentiment behind them was the important thing.

The small being reached up with its own arm and grasping Robert’s hand said, I give you thanks.

You are welcome, replied Robert automatically and feeling that the situation deserved something more added, My name’s Robert. Flight-lieutenant Robert Anderson, Royal Air Force.

I am Nabling, it replied. Where am I?

You are in Tentsmuir Forest, Scotland, replied Robert amazed at the normality of the exchange.

Ah! said Nabling, the tone of his voice suggesting recognition. Oh flower of Scotland – is the aggressive Edward still attacking the hills?

What? asked Robert, I don’t know what you mean.

I think he means the song, suggested Steve. Flower of Scotland. They sing it at the rugby.

Oh! said Robert catching on. No, no that was a long time ago. Robert looked at Steve, who shrugged his shoulders.

I intended to land on the continental land-mass America, home of the Elvis, said the alien ruefully. There was a problem with the landing sequence and the safety over-rides kicked in.

Robert looked the visitor up and down, perplexed by the bizarre music references. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask but he had no idea where to start. What’s all the foamy stuff? he asked, realising as he did so that more pressing matters like, ‘where are you from?’ should have taken priority.

This, said Nabling, batting some of the foam into the air, represents all that is good and bad on this day.

What do you mean, asked Robert.

Without it, the stresses of the landing would have caused my death. The bad thing, he continued is the damage done to the ship’s systems.

Surely foam couldn’t do that much damage, queried Robert.

Not as you see it now, no. But on deployment, it emerges from every surface as a thick, viscous mass, rupturing everything. Encased in this matrix the rapid deceleration experienced by the crew is mitigated. It is designed to destabilise after a few moments to release the forces built up within it and, of course to allow the occupant to emerge.

Maybe it’s like an airbag sir, said Steve. Deploys for a second, then deflates to avoid suffocating the driver.

I don’t know, said Nabling, but the physical damage to the ship then renders it vulnerable to the foam in its liquid state. Does this also happen with your airbag?

No, replied Robert. But in fairness, we’re not usually supersonic at the time. And, by the way, my colleague here is Sergeant Steve Grogan.

The appellations you use, they denote status?

In a way, replied Robert. But we call it rank. It is mainly used by the military and police forces.

The Police! exclaimed Nabling. I have heard of them and their giant steps on your satellite. Did someone get their messages in bottles?

Don’t tell me Steve, said Robert. I get this one. Sting and the other two. To Nabling he said, You seem to know a lot about our music.

And so I should, said Nabling. I am after all a musician myself and I have been listening to yours for years. Such variety! he gushed. It is why I learned your language and also, sadly why I am here. In saying this, Nabling’s voice dropped and he lowered his head.

Sensing his discomfort Robert asked, Why sadly?

It is a long story but ultimately I am the bearer of bad news I’m afraid, replied the small alien.

That sounds ominous, said Robert. But before we hear it I think there are a few things we must do. Although it’s early there’s always a chance that some bird-watcher or rambler may come across this and before you know it, the place will be crawling with paparazzi. I need to contact my base and secure the area. Is there anyone else still on board?

No, replied Nabling. I came alone. It seemed as if he was about to say more but instead just turned and looked at his stricken ship.

Right then, announced Robert. Steve, I’m afraid you and Danny are going to have to stay here while I get Nabling back to the base. I shouldn’t imagine you’ll have to wait very long but in any case we can’t leave the site unattended. If we’re lucky, no civilians will turn up but if they do you must detain them. Robert paused for a second to see if he’d forgotten anything. And don’t allow anyone to use their mobiles – in fact confiscate them. Speaking of which, are you getting a signal here? Robert fetched his own mobile phone from his pocket and added, I’m not.

Me neither, sir.

Speaking to Nabling Robert said, Is there anything you need from your ship?

The interior is full of foam, he replied. I have some things but I cannot get to them.

Of course, replied Robert. I’m sure we can help you with that later. Turning to Steve, Robert said, I’ll send Danny down, fill him in the best you can, particularly my orders concerning civilians.

Yes sir! said Steve, coming to attention.

If you don’t mind Nabling, said Robert, I’d like to take you back to my base. There, you can meet my commanding officer and tell us your story.

I am in your hands Robert, he replied. My ship will never fly again and I have nowhere else to go.

With that, the two set off back up the slope leaving Steve on guard at the crash site.

Chapter 2: The Real Deal

Driving back to Leuchars with Nabling, Robert reviewed the phone call he had just made to Wing-Commander O’Toole. As anticipated, the C.O. had done his nut at the early morning intrusion, exacerbated by the fact that he had been late to retire following a function in St Andrews. At the mention of an alien landing he even accused Robert of being intoxicated. Robert then, for the first time in his career, shouted at the senior officer, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was not in the habit of making hoax calls, especially not to superior officers. On reflection, he may even have said so called superior officers and that probably was a mistake. Given Robert’s hitherto exemplary conduct it did seem though to have the desired effect as the C.O. stopped ranting and made him repeat his report from the beginning. To his credit, the C.O. immediately assumed control and ordered Robert to park up a hundred yards from the base entrance where he would be met by himself and probably Squadron-Leader Raymond Simpson.

Not knowing anything about the small alien’s habits, Robert asked, Do you require food or water? In fact, come to think about it, will you be able to eat our food?

I don’t know for sure, replied Nabling. But I have concentrated food items on my ship. They are in sealed containers which should remain resistant to the foam. As to water, if you mean the oxide of hydrogen then yes that serves the same function on my world.

Thinking back to his GCSE chemistry lessons Robert said, Yes, H2O. I suppose it is an oxide of hydrogen. Um…what about other domestics?

If you are referring to body waste disposal, he replied, then what I have seen of your media broadcasts would suggest a broad similarity to us – without, he added, the same reticence in discussing it.

Oh, right, it’s a British thing really, explained Robert. A kind of throwback from more formal times.

It’s ok, I was teasing you, said Nabling.

Yes, but you’re right about our attitude to toileting and sex for that matter, confessed Robert. It’s why we use so many euphemisms for it. Turning into Leuchars he announced, Here we are and there’s the old man’s car.

Why do you call your leader, ‘old man’. Is he very ancient?

No, not at all, laughed Robert. He’s older than me but not an ‘old man’ as such. It’s just traditional in Britain to call the commanding officer by that name.

Parking the landrover behind the Wing-Commander’s Audi, Robert killed the engine and got out, seeing as he did so his C.O. and S/Leader Simpson doing the same. Nabling tried to follow suit but was defeated by the door handle until Simpson opened it for him with a smart salute.

As Nabling got out, Robert said to W/Commander O’Toole, Sir, this is the visitor I told you about. His name is Nabling.

Despite his fore-knowledge, O’Toole was momentarily stunned, Well… I’ll be blowed, he stammered before recovering himself and saying, On behalf of Her Majesty’s government and the people of Earth I bid you welcome. Wing Commander Brendan O’Toole, at your service.

I too greet you commander of wings, replied Nabling. I only wish the tidings I bring were better.

Ah, yes, the bad news. Robert mentioned that but first, I wonder if you could indulge me a moment?

Yes of course.

Although you look the genuine article would you object if my M.O. gives you the quick once over?

I am sorry, replied Nabling, I don’t understand. What is an M.O.?

He wants our base’s medical officer to verify that you are, well an extra-terrestrial, explained Robert.

It won’t take a minute and she’s very nice really, said O’Toole, trying to put Nabling at ease.

I don’t mind at all, said Nabling. In fact I am keen to meet the female of your species.

Splendid, beamed O’Toole gesturing towards his car. If you could come this way please.

In the back seat of the Wing-Commander’s car sat Dr Carolyn Cooper waiting with a fair amount of trepidation. Yes, she had been briefed by the C.O. who, incidentally, was half-convinced that the whole thing was a hoax but what if it was the real deal? Bob Anderson thought so and he was neither gullible nor given to playing practical jokes, especially on senior officers. Just then, the door opened and she gave a start.

Ah, Doctor, said O’Toole. This is Nabling, our visitor. And with that he stepped back to allow a small figure to climb into the back seat beside her.

To her surprise, the alien spoke saying, Hello, I am ready for the once over.

Carolyn couldn’t help but smile at the colloquialism. Pleased to meet you Nabling, she said then turning a professional eye on the visitor she performed her preliminary assessment. The figure was wearing a one-piece garment that covered most of its torso but at least she could see the face and that certainly didn’t look human. In fairness it did seem to have two eyes and a mouth but the former were very large, covering half its face and as for the mouth, well! Could you open your mouth please?

Like this? said Nabling and as he did so his lower jaw dislocated until a gaping maw was revealed showing two sets of teeth and a small red tongue.

Yes, that’s fine, stammered the doctor, visibly shaken. You can close it again thank-you. Now, she said, recovering her composure, I wonder if you could loosen your… garment so I can listen to your chest?

Certainly, replied Nabling and with a twist of a cuff his garment flowed off his body like a snake shedding its skin until he was naked from the waist up. The first thing Carolyn noticed was the smoothness of the alien’s skin with no sign of underlying ribs. It looked more like a shark or dolphin’s skin and indeed felt like it when she placed her stethoscope against his chest. Listening carefully she heard a distinctly non-human thud-whoosh-thud sound.

Do you have two hearts? she asked moving the stethoscope across Nabling’s torso.

Yes of course, he answered. Don’t you?

No, replied Carolyn, Just the one although it is multi-chambered. Putting her stethoscope away Carolyn said, Well if nothing else it proves beyond doubt that you are not from earth. She hesitated before continuing, I hope this does not cause offence but may I have a sample of your blood?

Nabling smiled and said, I expected you to request that, and to the doctor’s astonishment flexed the digits of his right hand causing five long claws to appear. The movement was so rapid that Carolyn gasped at the change but before she could comment, Nabling drew the claw from his thumb across the back of his left hand. A small wound appeared, oozing a yellow fluid. Holding his hand out Nabling said, Will this suffice?

Carolyn was momentarily stunned by the alien’s action but managed to blurt out, Yes, but I was going to use a needle! Reaching into her Doctor’s bag she added, Let me take a swab and then I’ll put a dressing on that.

Nabling let her take a swab but then said, The dressing is not required, emphasising the point by placing his other hand over the cut and applying pressure. After a few seconds, he removed his hand and the wound had healed. The cut had been quite deep and if done on a human would probably have required stitches but Carolyn was astonished to note that it hadn’t even left a scar!

How on earth did you do that? she asked with a touch of envy in her voice.

We are quick to heal, replied Nabling. I have no special gift.

So it would have healed just as quickly if I had pressed my hand down on the wound?

Yes, I’m sure it would have, confirmed Nabling extending his claws. Do you wish me to do it again so that you may try?

No! I mean thanks but no that will not be necessary, said Carolyn, alarmed at the thought of more self mutilation. Doesn’t it cause you pain?

Nabling considered this for a moment before answering, I suppose it does but the sensation is not severe.

I am glad, said Carolyn earnestly. And thank you for allowing me to examine you.

So, the once over is finished, he replied. It was indeed quick, as the Commander of Wings indicated.

Ideally, I would have examined you at a hospital and run many tests on you, said Carolyn. Maybe, if you are willing of course, I will be able to do that at a later date?

Would that be a twice or thrice over then? said Nabling with what could only be a smile on his face.

Smiling back, Carolyn replied, Yes, I suppose you could call it that. Opening her door she turned back to Nabling and said, Thanks again. It was a privilege and a pleasure meeting you.

For me also, replied