I had intended saving  this chapter for  Saturday 21st September, which is supposed to be Ed Straker’s birthday (according to the unfilmed  UFO  script ‘The Patriot’) , but all being well, I am hoping to post  a new short story here on the day , simply to celebrate.

Keep watching!

Chapter 14

‘Here you are. I saved them for you.’ Mary put several newspapers onto the bed as Straker raised himself up. ‘How are you today?’

He shrugged, leaning forward for the topmost paper and she pulled one of his pillows out, fluffing it up before tucking it beneath his shoulders. Her hand touched his shoulder and he looked up at her. ‘I’m fine. Jackson says I can leave in another week or so.’ He spread the newspaper out and concentrated on the words.

‘Oh. Will you go back to the States straight away?’

‘I don’t know. I doubt it though, until James is recovered. A lot depends on that. But…’ Straker held out his hand, letting his fingers touch hers for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. I was hoping…. ’ He pulled his fingers away. ‘Thank you for bringing these in.’

‘You’re on the front page of most of them. The young American Colonel.’ She smiled at him. ‘It’s a good picture.’

He dropped his gaze to the words again, fumbling fingers smoothing across the page as Mary perched on the edge of the bed.

‘Ed?’

‘Yes?’ He wondered how a photographer managed to get that picture, syndicated as well, the same shot on each front page. He wondered why they had not shown Henderson; perhaps consideration for the seriousness of the General’s condition.

‘What happens next?’

‘Next?’

‘I mean. Well.’ She twisted one edge of the sheet in her fingers. ‘With us.’

‘Oh. Us.’ He put his hand on top of hers, thinking about her kindness over the last few days. Waking to see her there beside his bed, No awkward questions, no tiring conversation. She was just there. Every day. His only visitor apart from the police asking questions and government investigators demanding answers that he couldn’t give. Henderson still in Intensive Care, no word from Thornton or any other senior minister. Not that he had cared much until the constricting tubes and drains were removed and he was able to get out of bed for the first time. She had bought him pyjamas and a dressing gown, pestered Jackson to get a locksmith to remove the wrist cuff, even brought in all his postcards and letters from the last few months and read them back to him. Sharing memories and laughter.

A newspaper slid off the bed and she pulled away to grab it. It was an instinctive reaction to reach out for her hand again, catching her fingers, holding them and staring into her eyes as if seeing her for the first time. Mary.

He had no idea what to say. He was a Vulcan but that was no defence against the surge of emotion rushing through him without warning. Gratitude, friendship, pleasure. Relief. And with a shock he sensed a deeper emotion behind them. One that he never expected. Not here. Companionship maybe in later years, a friend such as Alec, but not this. He thought his ability to love again had died alongside T’Shaan. But T’Shaan would not resent this, she would rejoice for him. She would smile and tell him to be happy. ‘Peace and long life.’ He murmured her last words under his breath, his eyes closed now yet still clasping Mary’s fingers, aware of her closeness, her perfume. The softness of her hair. Her smile. But he was a Vulcan. How could he ……?

His fingers tightened, a painful grip and she winced. ‘Ed?’ He let go with a look of guilt, lifting her hand to his lips to soothe the brief discomfort.

‘I’m sorry Mary. I wasn’t thinking.’ He reached out to stroke her face with his other hand, a hitch in his voice as he answered. ‘I don’t know what is going to happen now. I might have to go back to the States. It depends on work.’

‘Military Intelligence? I know that’s what you do. Look Ed,’ she blushed, ‘Why don’t we stop worrying about where you might end up, and just enjoy ourselves? At least until you know for definite.’

‘Enjoy ourselves? You mean ..’.

‘Silly. I mean spend time together. Dates. That sort of thing.’

A slow smile now. ‘Yes. I’d like that.’ Not a binding commitment. He could not tie her to that. It was too soon anyway. It was enough to be together for now and when it was time to leave .… well, that was in the future. A long time in the future. James would need help once he was out of intensive care and it looked like it would be a slow process of recovery. ‘I’d like that very much.’

……………………

Straker signed his name on the discharge papers and reached out to catch the walking stick before it clattered to the floor. An encumbrance, but necessary all the same, at least until he had regained full use of his knee, but his fractured ribs were healing well and the worst bruises reduced to dark smudges on pale skin. Two more weeks, Jackson said, two weeks until he would be mobile and by then Henderson would be out of his induced coma. But it might be months before the General was well enough to resume his duties. Until then, as far as he was concerned, SHADO was on hold.

He was booked into a nearby hotel for the immediate future, close to the hospital and under Jackson’s careful supervision. Another anonymous room, another rootless existence. More waiting. He turned as Jackson appeared, holding the door open and looking at his watch. ‘Come with me, Colonel, if you please. We have an urgent appointment.’

He followed at a distance, stumbling a little in his attempt to keep up, as the doctor hurried along several of the quieter corridors of the hospital into a delivery area well away from the main exits, unseen by most visitors.

There was a car waiting outside, nothing special: an ordinary 4 by 4, tinted windows, dirt encrusted number plate, slight scuffs on the bodywork. The sort of vehicle seen on every road everyday, taking children to school or in Sainsbury’s carpark. Jackson opened the rear door and held his hand out, taking the walking stick as Straker hitched himself onto the seat expecting Jackson to join him, but the doctor handed him the cane, nodded once and slammed the door shut. There was a bang on the roof and the car drove off. Straker, caught unawares, was still pulling the seatbelt across his chest, wary of the pressure on sensitive skin.

He twisted round with a sharp intake of breath as his ribs complained, then saw a motorcyclist alongside of them, pacing the car. Another one behind as well. Both riders well-masked, on powerful, unmarked bikes.

With a desperate lunge he reached out for the door handle, alarmed at what appeared to be a kidnapping, and the driver turned his head for a moment. ‘No need to panic, Colonel. A senior government official wants to meet with you. Security thought this would be safer. The motorcyclists are our men.’

Straker leaned back with a sense of relief yet still wary, watching the outriders weaving their way through the traffic, never too close to be noticeable, yet near enough to take action should there be any problems. But if a UFO attacked them here, there would be little hope of evasion, not on these busy roads. He wondered if whoever had planned this had considered putting in air support. That would have been his first priority. There was nothing he could do now apart from wait, and hope the car was not an obvious target.

The meeting would no doubt be another interrogation about the accident, though there was little more he could say without getting into awkward and embarrassing explanations about aliens and UFOs.

There was a briefcase on the seat beside him and he twisted it round. Identical to the one destroyed in the crash. More of Jackson’s work, he realised with a grim smile and he slid the name plate across, hesitating for a moment before opening it.

A leather-bound file. Copies of all the documents, all the photographs. Everything. And a note in Jackson’s thin, spidery writing. ‘Colonel, when you meet the Prime Minister, please give him my warmest regards. Doug Jackson.’ The Prime Minister. Straker leaned back. No wonder everyone was cautious. There was nothing to do now but prepare himself. This was Henderson’s purview, not his. He was a researcher, a scientist, mathematician, farmer even, not a mediator trained to deal in the finer nuances of diplomacy and international politics. It would be very easy to make a mistake, to say the wrong thing and ruin everything. He clenched one fist, swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. He could do this; he would have to do it.

He opened the folder and started reading. Familiar words, the pictures as vivid as the originals, the reports and details as he remembered. In the end he put it back in the case, wary of what had happened last time. They were on country roads now, out of the town and he looked at his watch. Not Chequers. They would have arrived there by now. He stretched his leg out and rubbed his knee, easing the stiffness and then, unable to do anything else,  relaxed. If the aliens found them again, well, he had survived one attack. And this time he was prepared.

Narrow country lanes now and slower speed, the driver ignoring him, the outriders closer to the vehicle now and watchful. He could see them, looking up at the sky every few moments as if they were expecting something to appear between the canopy of tree branches that overhung the narrow lane.

The car turned off, bouncing along a well-used farm track between flailed hedges. The farmhouse at the end was half-hidden behind a collection of barns, most of them in use and well maintained. As the vehicle drove into one of the traditional barns, slewing to a halt among rusting farm equipment and dusty remnants of hay, a small group of armed police stepped forward from the shadows. He flinched. They had deceived him; it was all a trap.

He grabbed the stick, a futile action he knew, but as the barn door slid closed he recognised a familiar figure standing to one side. His fingers released their grip, and he gave a long sigh of relief as Josiah Thornton came round to open his door and offer a hand before leading him through an access door into another outbuilding. A modern one this time, milking machines lining the sides of the barn, the ripe smell of dung filling the air, water puddling on the floor from recent hosing. A working farm then, and he wondered why he was meeting the Prime Minister here of all places.

He followed the other man across to one corner and a steel door, heavy and solid from the way it swung open. Steps leading down. Steep and stone. He hesitated for a moment, and Thornton took hold of the briefcase and started making his way down.   Straker followed holding the rail and hobbling his way, his knee protesting at each step. Another armed guard at the bottom, waiting for them. Straker handed over his credentials and gave Thornton a questioning look.

‘This way gentlemen.’ The guard preceded them down a narrow corridor, its roof curving over them. Straker kept his head lowered to avoid grazing his scalp on the rough stonework above, trying to still the rising panic. Such a tiny space; they were walking in single file and he could almost feel the walls brushing against his shoulders, a sharp bend ahead in the tunnel. He could not see the exit. There was no escape. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, his hand trembling on the stick, his leg aching from the unaccustomed strain of walking on the uneven flagged floor.

‘Straker?’ The murmur from behind startled him and he twisted round to see Thornton’s concerned face. ‘You okay? Jackson warned me you might have problems in confined spaces. Came out in one of the psycho-analytical tests. Hang on, it’s not much further.’ It was enough to spur him on. A few more paces and they were round the curve and he could see space ahead.

A different world now. Large rooms opening onto each other, well-lit with a high ceiling. An everyday office environment, people working at computers, answering phones, maps and charts on display boards. It seemed normal somehow, apart from the lack of windows and the whitewashed stone walls with random touches of colour from the vibrant modern artwork that relieved the rough interior. He straightened up with a sigh, rolling his shoulders to release the tension.

‘Josiah. And you must be Ed Straker. Welcome to Westminster Farm, Colonel.’ The Prime Minister held out his hand. A firm grip, intelligent eyes regarding Straker with interest. ‘A working farm and a prize winning herd of Jerseys. Supplies the House with cream and so on. It’s a good cover.’ He waved a hand at the activity. ‘This used to be a system of cellars. They were bunkers during World War Two and I had them restored couple of years ago. Solid steel above us, virtually bomb-proof. Useful for back-ups and security and so on, especially at times like this.’

He led the way to a group of leather chairs around a coffee table with tray and teapot and cups waiting for them. ‘Josiah, I’ll catch up with you later at the defence briefing. Ed? We have forty minutes. Take a seat. I want to know all about your plans for SHADO.’

………………

‘So, a base on the Moon. That’s rather ambitious. Not to mention expensive.’ The PM added sugar to his tea and stirred it.

‘It’s doable. Expensive, yes, but the pay-off would be a much higher interception rate. That in itself should justify the initial cost.’ Straker looked at his watch. Well over an hour now and no sign of the inquisition ending. No one had interrupted them, apart from the arrival of an assistant bringing a fresh teapot.  Tea. He disliked the taste as soon as he tried it, having got used to drinking coffee for so long, but his mouth was dry from talking and he drank it gratefully, before letting the assistant  refill his cup. A civilised meeting, the formalities adhered to, the brief message from Jackson delivered, the unpleasant topic of aliens and abductions hinted at in guarded words and phrases: incursions, enemy, unexplained disappearances.

‘Very good. You’ve convinced me Colonel, not that I was in much doubt before.  I now have to persuade the other members. Not about the threat – we are all in agreement that something has to be done about the enemy – but about the funding required. Not an easy task, but we have time. I understand that General Henderson is likely to be incapacitated for some weeks yet?’

‘Dr Jackson says at least three months before he’s fit for work.’ Straker waited for objections.

‘It will take that long to get agreement on your proposals.’ The PM gave a brief laugh at Straker’s expression. ‘Colonel. Politicians work slowly, especially where inter-governmental cooperation and funding on such a massive scale is required. May I suggest that you go away and relax for a few weeks? Do some sightseeing while I talk to my friends in other places? Take time to recover and get yourself properly fit. Because once approval is granted, both you and the General will be too busy getting SHADO set up.’ He held his hand out across the table. ‘Nice to have met you Colonel. Oh, and tell Dr Jackson I still bear the scars from our last encounter, will you?’ The PM turned away as one of the officials approached to speak, and Straker eased himself up and stood there for a moment until someone came forward to escort him back to the car.

The tunnel was just as narrow as before, his leg even stiffer, and it was a relief to sit in the car and unwind as he was driven to his hotel. It was raining, a tangible reminder of his arrival on Earth so many months ago. And so much had happened since that first night, the hotel room then so empty and quiet and lonely, as this one was tonight after the warmth and bustle of the hospital. But he had found his place here on Earth, found his purpose and found something he had not expected in the last nine months. Nine months. He had not reckoned the number until now. Longer than a year on Vulcan, but that world was behind him, in the past. It was time to look to the future.

He shook his head in amusement at the over-sentimental human emotion then paused. He had not thought about his home for a long time, as if his mind was quietly preparing him for his life on Earth. And he stumbled to the bed and sat before his legs gave way with the shock of real understanding. He would never return to Vulcan now. His place was here. Whatever happened, he was bound to this world. Mentally as well as physically.

He clenched his fists in fear, then let go with a long sigh of acceptance. He had made his choice a long time ago, not on Vulcan but before, there in the darkness of the market place, sitting close to T’Shaan and holding her hand. This was his home now. Not such a bad place when all was said and done.

His stomach disturbed his thoughts with a growl of hunger and he shook himself free of the past, bringing his mind back to his current situation; an evening alone by himself, Jackson busy at the hospital with Henderson and he had nothing to do, so after only a  moment’s hesitation he picked up the phone and called Mary.