This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism, and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.

This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don’t read it.
Unfortunately no politicians were injured or killed in the writing of this story, and no one else was either.
If you enjoyed it, then please Email me and tell me. If you hated it, Email me and lie.
I will always welcome contact.
tanya_jaya@yahoo.co.uk
The legal stuff.
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.

AUTHOR’S HEALTH WARNING
Dear Reader,
Life can be a crock sometimes, so if it all right with you, I actually prefer happy endings. So, if you want the hero(ine) to have a really miserable time, READ SOMETHING ELSE.
But if you want to see good prevail, and end up with a soppy smile, then I have achieved what I set out to do.
Please enjoy.

Tanya

Whispers in the Mind:

Book 0ne

<<Captain, scanners show landing area is clear.>>

<<Good, silent mode, activate cloaking screen.>>

<<Screen activated.>>

<<Begin descent. Number Three, keep your eye on the scanner, and abort descent at the first sign of any contact.>>

<<Aye Captain.>>

<<Beginning descent, Captain.>>

<<Notify science officer to make ready his team. I will give them four time units to get the job done.>>[1]

The Captain was seated in the command chair, and the bridge officers were seated at the crescent shaped console in front. There were eight of them on the bridge, and had a human been there, he, or she, would not have been able to tell them apart. The lighting on the bridge was dim, but the controls were sufficiently illuminated for the job at hand.

The Captain, as were they all, was a hairless biped, with a large domed head. With skin the colour of an elephant, with a similar texture, leathery grey, and with a basic humanoid form, these beings were definitely not from earth.

They had two arms, two legs, with feet and hands with four digits on each. They were quite puny looking by human standards, with slight muscle development on the limbs and a narrow torso. All were between 4’6” and 5’ in height, and the size of furniture and room was proportionate.

The strength of these creatures was not physical, but mental. For in the large cranium lay a brain that was three times more efficient than the human brain, and as the entire previous conversation took place in silence, one would understand that they were telepathic beings.

They had facial features that would not necessarily be considered ugly by Earth standards. Not human, but the large dark eyes were actually hypnotically attractive. There was a vestige of a nose, and a small thin mouth, which was used solely for eating. Two small ears were where they should be, but as these creatures never used spoken language, their vocal chords and hearing abilities were severely restricted.

The race was an old one, belonging to a system many parsecs beyond the far rim, thousands of light years from earth. Their sun had gone Nova several thousand generations ago, and the race were scattered amongst the stars in vast mother ships.

Now doomed to search out suitable planets for colonisation, this planet, called Earth by the inhabitants, seemed quite promising when first discovered two centuries ago.

The race were omni-sexual, in that for much of the time they were neuter, but at will the individual could assume the gender of their choice depending upon the situation they were currently experiencing. This was a development of assisted-evolution, as their survival factors were vastly increased by such a characteristic.

Offspring were nurtured in co-operative units, allowing parents only the responsibility of conception, pregnancy and birth. Any individual could lactate at will, allowing those who were skilled in child care to undertake the task, and allow others to continue with their specialised tasks unimpeded by children.

Theirs was a race on the edge of extinction.

Their life expectancy was in the region of four or five times that of an Earth human, but their fertility was about one eighth.

It took an individual twenty Earth years to reach maturity and become fertile. It took another twelve years to reach basic optimum mental operating capacity, and able to function efficiently. Each hoped to have four offspring during their lifetime, but recently, the reality was two or three at best.

The Captain of this scout ship was two hundred Earth years old, and was exceptionally experienced at the task in hand. This task was to identify a suitable location whereby a small colony could be seeded away from the indigenous population, in order to create a living cell that could exist apart from the rest of the race, thereby increasing the chances of their race’s survival.

Such colonies were seeded on hundreds of planets across thousands of systems, and they were bound by strict rules.

· No contact was permitted with the indigenous people for a minimum period of one hundred local years, and only thereafter if full knowledge and acceptance had been achieved.

· Should accidental contact be made, then no harm was permitted to be affected against the locals, and steps must be taken to eradicate any memories of the contact.

Thus they managed to co-exist without any awareness by their hosts, and by using their incredibly powerful mental skills, this co-existence was assured.

<<Captain, landing in one-quarter unit.>>

<<Thank you. Notify science team to attend exit section.>>

The ship assumed a hover, and at no time did it come into contact with the ground. As the technician responsible for maintaining the attitude of the craft adjusted the final hover, for a split second, the screen flickered as power was diverted into the anti-gravity device.

The Science team exited down a ramp, and briefly, the glow of the internal section of the ship escaped into the New Mexico desert. But then darkness and stillness returned, and the team of fifteen dispersed into the still night.

Each was clad in a black one-piece suit. The term chameleon would be a good one, as the suits were designed to take on the characteristics of the local terrain, both in colour and in texture. Clothing was rarely worn, and only for specific purposes, such as this.

They rarely carried weapons, as they knew their mental powers were so sophisticated, that there was no need for anything as crudely destructive as a weapon.

They wore hoods and facemasks, as a precaution against local germs and bacteria, and so as not to import theirs to the planet. They were seeking to ascertain whether this remote part of North America, could sustain another underground colony. They had already tested the soil, the vegetation and the local fauna. Humans were a known risk, and this part of the desert was as safe as they could find.

They needed to know whether their digging machines would be able to operate effectively here, and so tests were being conducted to ascertain the strata and formation of the rock to a depth of 1000 metres. Their machines were so effective, that with the right conditions, a complete system of tunnels and chambers could be constructed in 1000 time units. This would be suitable for a colony of 500 individuals.

There were already eight colonies of this size on Earth, and the Captain of the Mother ship was hoping to double the numbers over the next 12 months.

The New Mexico desert was cool and the night air was still. The stars were displaying their glory against the inky black sky, and small creatures scuttled about on the dirt.

The highway stretched like a black piece of elastic, stretched in a straight line across the flat plain, the white lines merging with the edges in the distance. A pair of headlights approached the small bridge over a small dry gully, and the 4x4 police truck pulled over onto the hard shoulder just before the bridge. The driver switched the engine off, and the silence resumed. The voice of the police dispatcher punctured the peace, and Sergeant Mike Dunwoody turned off the set.

Mike frowned, and eased his seat belt off. He felt a tightness across his chest, and had been feeling rough for a few days. Carol, his wife, had told him to see old Doc Henry, but Mike thought he was just having a spell of indigestion.

With twenty-five years in law enforcement. That was after seven years with the Air Force Security Police. He had completed fifteen years with the NYPD, and then he and Carol had brought the family out to New Mexico, and he had joined the local Sheriff’s department. Stillswood was a sleepy town, and he liked it. Mike was eligible for retirement, and now his kids were both in employment, he knew that he would be silly not to go for it soon. But the truth was, he loved the job, and would miss it like crazy.

He was glad to have left New York, as it was getting manic there. He was grateful that he had left before 9/11, as his life style here was much more laid back.

He reclined the seat a couple of notches and looked at his watch, 3 a.m., he was waiting for the Tucker boys. They were due to come this way at around 3.30, in their hotted up pickups, and their races were the talk of the town. So much so that several thousand dollars were being bet on the outcome of the next race. It was time to put an end to their games, and Mike planned to do just that.

He had a spike strip that he would deploy across the road, and then book the sons of bitches.

He settled down to wait, and absently looked out across the desert at the mountains to the West.

Movement caught his eye, and he frowned. It was hard to tell what the movement was, or how near it was to him. At first he thought it was an aircraft, but then it seemed to be on the ground. He lost it for a moment, and then a brief pulse of light flashed and was gone.

He opened the box in the back of the truck, and took out the night vision head set. He then started the truck, and drove down into the dry gully and drove towards where he thought he had seen the flash.

There were rumours of drug smugglers flying choppers into the desert and meeting fast trucks that took the drugs to Las Vegas. If he could go out with a big drugs bust, he could be made for life. There may even be a movie made of him. He smiled at the thought.

He was a big man, six three and 238 lbs. He had been a hard muscled man a few years ago, but now he was fifty, most of it was fat. A lack of exercise and too much of the wrong food was the cause, and he kept meaning to change - Tomorrow.

He drove slowly and very carefully. There had been a lot of rain in the mountains recently, and this gully could become a torrent in no time. But, such was the dryness, that the torrent would come, and the gully would be dry again within twelve hours.

Several times he stopped, and listened through the open windows. Nothing, just the usual night sounds of the desert. He was about to give up and return to catch the Tuckers when he heard a roar.

He smiled, he knew that sound, and he immediately drove up the bank onto the desert floor.

Sure enough, within a couple of minutes, a wall of raging water surged past his truck, and headed for the bridge some two miles away now.

Mike stood and looked at the water, and was amazed as he saw what he thought was a child being swept along, with arms and legs flailing.

He took the head set off, and trained the search light onto the figure, and drove as the beam locked onto the unfortunate individual.

He drove fast, past the figure and headed to a bend in the gully. He parked and immediately unclipped the winch hawser, and clipped it onto his duty rig. He watched as the water swirled past, and then he caught sight of the child.

They must have been camping up stream. Damn kids, he thought.

He waded into the water, and was almost knocked off his feet several times. He waited in the middle, and a log hit him on the chest.

Winded, and unsteady, he caught sight of the figure, and as it approached, he grabbed, and held onto a leg.

Activating the remote unit for the winch, he just held his casualty, and allowed the truck to pull them in. He felt a tightness in his chest return, and this time, it hurt, a heck of a lot.

He felt his feet touch the bank, and managed to scrabble up onto dry land. He pulled the bedraggled figure to safety, and fell onto his hands and knees. He was gasping for breath, and he thought that the log must have hit him harder than he had thought.

He unclipped the winch, and turned the kid over onto his back. He blinked a couple of times as he looked at the child’s face.

Then frowning, the heart attack caused him to pass out.

<<Captain.>> the science officer said.[2]

<>[3]

<<Ruma is still alive.>>

<<Accepted. Have you visual?>>

<<Negative, the water swept it out of our range.>>

<<It is stationary now, six clicks east.>>

<>

<<Do it.>>

The science officer paused. It was well known that, unusually, this particular casualty was the offspring of the Captain, and was some twenty years old. It was a young science student attached to the ship. The Captain had only ever had one child as a female, so was particularly attached to it, having carried and given birth. This was not usual, but certain eccentricities were accepted, particularly in one so respected.

<<Aye Captain.>>

The science team made its way cautiously yet rapidly in the direction the flood had taken their companion. The technician, who arrived first, saw the unconscious human and the now spluttering student lying side by side.

<<Captain, Ruma is regaining consciousness. It would appear that a human has saved it.>>

<>

<<Barely, my senses detect cardiac arrest.>>

<<Number One, anything in scan range?>>

<<Negative Captain. All clear.>>

<<Then proceed to that location, and retrieve both casualties.>>

<<Both?>>

<<Do it.>>

<<Aye Captain.>>

The large ship gently floated towards the scene, and came to rest yards away from the parked police vehicle. The winch cable was lying on the ground, where Mike had dropped it. The door of the truck was still open, and the small internal light gave off a bright glow in the otherwise inky dark.

The science team assisted Ruma back to consciousness, and were ready to transfer the half drowned student to the sick bay on the craft.

The police officer was lying where he had fallen, his breath coming short and rapid, and his pulse was weakening and sporadic.

Within moments both casualties were on board, and the craft left as silently as it had arrived.

When a safe distance from Earth, the craft simply stopped, and the Captain made its way to the medical unit.

It stood looking at the still figure of the human, and three medics were working hard to save his life.

Ruma was in a cubicle to the left, and the Captain went to see it.

<<Captain. I am sorry. I failed you.>>

<<No, it was an accident. You were not to know that there would be a flood.>>

<>

<<Then you have learned, and are the richer for it.>>

<<What will happen to the human?>>

<<It is very sick, I think it will die>>

<<It saved my life.>>

<<It has come to the end of its life, it is nature, and we do not interfere with nature.>>

<<It sacrificed its life for me.>>

<<What would you have us do? We can’t just save it and put it back with no memory, as that is against the rules. The humans are not stupid, there are those who are aware we exist, and will try anything to uncover our colonies.>>

<>

The Captain agreed, but kept its thoughts private.

<<Rest, you will be ready to work soon,>> the Captain said to it’s child.

It returned to the emergency room, and stood as technicians attached various devices and monitors to the human.

<<Captain?>> the senior medic thought.

<<Yes?>>

<<The human is stable, but critical. I do not have the knowledge of human physiology to risk open heart surgery. I fear it will die.>>

The Captain thought for a moment. Ruma’s words echoed in it’s brain.

<<Is it possible to create a replica?>>

The medic was surprised, and its body language expressed this. The creation of copies, or clones, was legitimate for their own species, but rarely used with other races.

<<In theory, yes. The cellular composition is not that different to ourselves, but isn’t it risky?>>

<<Only if we create a perfect copy. What do you know of the humans?>>

The medic paused.

<<Not much, they are short-lived, and quite inefficient mentally. Physically strong, and quite primitive.>>

<<Are you aware of their sexual differences?>>

The medic was embarrassed, as the permanence of the human’s gender was almost a taboo subject. The exceptionally rare members of their race who were ‘stuck’ in one gender in perpetuity were considered to be faintly deviant.

<<Yes Captain. They are born with a gender, and keep it all their lives.>>

<<Indeed, their short lives mean they are fertile from about their tenth year until their fiftieth. They can have a child a year during their fertile years.>>

<<Amazing, and just one of a pair does this?>>

<<Just so, and many couples mate for life.>>

The medic was silent, as the enormity of this statement affected it deeply.

<<The human, it is male?>>

<<Yes captain. It, sorry, he is a large male, and in poor physical shape. Overweight, with chronic heart disease and related difficulties. He has reached the end of his natural life.>>

<<It is wearing a uniform, and is that a weapon on the belt arrangement?>>

<<We believe that he is a law enforcer, a POLICE officer. The weapon is a handgun and fires small metal projectiles in order to cause deep trauma to the targets.>>

<<To the point of death?>>

<>

<<Barbaric. Imagine a people who need their protectors to be so armed. It is indicative of a society that is dangerously ill equipped to face up to its responsibilities. They do not deserve this planet.>>

<<No sir.>>

<<How long has it got?>>

<>

<<How long to create a copy?>>

<<Twenty units, in the accelerator.>>

<<What do you need?>>

<>

<<No, for two reasons. One, the replica will have the same in-bred potential for heart disease, and two, he would be identified and cause us potential problems. Even if the memories are erased, there is a chance that some vestiges remain and we will be put at risk.>>

<<Then what do you want me to do?>>

<<We will construct the human to new specifications. We cannot alter its DNA, but we can change everything else. So, you will change the subject’s gender, but you will also make necessary improvements to the cellular development. This human saved one of us, so make it stronger, faster and give it mental capacity to communicate as we do. For too long we have been alone, so I have in mind to create a being who will become an ally, even if it may not be immediately aware of us. Perhaps its offspring will inherit its abilities, and we may grow closer as a result.>>

<<What form do you wish it to take?>>

The captain moved over to a console, and pushed a few onscreen buttons. A picture of a human TV film appeared, and it was Sigourney Weaver in Alien.

<<This female displays the protective qualities and the necessary courage that appears to be admirable in the human society. So I want it to be physically strong but with all the necessary the female physical and psychological qualities that seem to be desirable amongst the humans. There are seventy of their allegedly beautiful females in this data base, I want it to be as good as they are.>>

The Captain allowed various images to flick on the screen, those of the Charlie’s Angels, Lara Croft, Linda Hamilton from Terminator, and many more.

<<Aye Captain.>>

The Captain left, and the medics busied themselves.

Mike Dunwoody dreamed.

He was floating and was looking down at himself. His body was lying flat on his Mom’s kitchen table, and his eyes were shut. Mike looked around, and saw stars all around him.

He tried to remember why he was here. He remembered the pain in his chest, and then he remembered the log in the water.

Why had he been in the water?

The effort to remember was too great, and he floated watching the stars for a while. They were very beautiful.

Then he remembered the child, and why he had gone into the water.

He remembered the torrent of swirling water, and the thin leg that he grabbed. For an age his mind went through the battle against the current, and the pain in his chest was ever present.

Suddenly, he was watching his own wedding, and then he watched his children playing softball in the park near their home. Before his eyes the kids grew into the young man and woman whom they were when he had last seen them, and he wondered if this was when he was meant to die.

He felt frustrated, because he couldn’t remember whether the child had lived or died.

Then he recalled rolling the child over, and gazing at a face that surprised him.

For the face that stared up at him was not of a child, but a grey creature with enormous eyes.

He recoiled into his brain in shock.

He had saved an alien.

<<How is it?>>

<<The transition has been completed, Captain. But it is showing some signs of mental shock.>>

<>

<<We will not know until it regains consciousness.>>

The Captain gazed at the figure of the human. This human was younger and very different to the other form, which was now lying very still on an adjacent table.

Its mental anguish was very apparent, and was causing consternation amongst the whole crew.

<<Is the source unit redundant?>>

<<Affirmative, it is a simple shell. What would you have us do with it?>>

<<Take it off life support and allow it to die.>>

The technician switched off the machine, and the body that had once held the life and soul of Mike Dunwoody breathed it’s last.

<<Do they all have those large globes on their upper chest?>>

<<Yes Captain, all mature females have the mammary glands. Some are larger than others. Large ones seem to be considered more attractive.>>

<<They seem enormous, do they not affect balance?>>

<<Apparently not. These ones are not excessive, but I believe they are above slightly average. We have kept everything in direct proportion. It would be dangerous to create something that was deemed unnatural.>>

<>

“Indeed, The shape is directly connected to the female’s primary function. This function of the female is to bear children exclusively has created a physiology appropriate for the task. They carry their foetus for almost twice as long as do we, and therefore the babies are nearly twice the size to our children. The pelvis has to be shaped like this as the baby could attain a size of around 20 Hals.>>[4]

The Captain was silent in thought for a moment.

<<Also, Captain, the deceased male body has been permitted to acquire surplus fat deposits, and mainly on the lower half of the torso. This would also be a deviation from the ideal shape. It seems that these creatures have the knowledge of what is good for them, but too many enjoy a diet containing too many destructive elements.>>

<<What is that on the top of her head?>>

<<Hair. Many human females maintain long hair, it is considered fashionable. We simply permitted it to grow as long as we could in the time available.>>

<<Fashionable? What is this?>>

<<The humans adorn themselves with constructed textiles and paint. They even alter the length, colour and shape of their hair to be in fashion. The popular trends are what are considered fashion, and whole industries have grown up to support this.>>

<<These beings are truly foolish. Their planet is being destroyed under them, and they waste time an effort on such things?>>

<<Quite Captain.>>

<<All the more reason to establish colonies here, for these creatures are bent on self destruction.>>

The figure on the bed groaned and moved slightly, and several medics appeared and all watched it with interest.

Mike fought the fog. He felt he was floating in fog with the consistency of treacle.

He was hearing strange voices in his head, and he kept seeing monsters float past him. Huge eyes stared at him, unblinking and boring right into his soul.

He believed he had died, and was under scrutiny before being damned.

He smelled a strange scent, and it calmed his uneasy spirit. He smiled and drifted into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

<<It is asleep. I have administered a mild sedative. The transition is complete, and it needs to rest.>>

<<Good, for how long?>>

<>

The Captain left the medical unit and returned to the bridge.

<<Number One. Return to the site of the accident. I want the dead human returned to the vicinity of its vehicle.>>

<<Captain, it is daylight.>> The officer was concerned that the Captain was taking an unnecessary risk.

<>

<<Is this wise?>>

<<Scan the area, Number One.>> The Captain was determined, and the officer relented.

<<Aye Captain.>>

The ship returned, and having discerned no potential threats, was above Mike’s police vehicle in a matter of moments. The dead body of Sergeant Mike Dunwoody was left a short distance from the vehicle, all his clothes and equipment intact.

“Sheriff McGuire?” said a female voice; it was Sally, the dispatcher.

“What is it, Sal?”

“They have found Mike’s pick-up.”

“Where?”

“Out by Booker’s Bridge. Up the gulch towards Harry’s Hill.”

“Have they landed?”

“Not yet sir.”

Steve McGuire turned his jeep round and headed for the bridge. The sun was hot, and the dust blew in clouds from behind his spinning wheels. The floods of the previous night had now evaporated, and it was as if they had never been.

“Sheriff?”

“Go ahead.”

“They found Mike sir, and, sir, I’m sorry, but it don’t look good.”

“Damn!” Steve swore.

He and Mike had become good friends. Mike was a good cop, they had first met in New York, and Steve had been responsible for persuading Mike to consider moving out here.

Twenty minutes later, he arrived at the scene. Mike’s truck was parked with the door open, and the winch cable lay where it had been left. The helicopter settled fifty yards away, looking like a lazy dragonfly.

The two deputies from the helicopter were standing looking at the ground.

Steve got out and ran over to them. Mike’s body lay on the ground. He was curled on his side, and he looked remarkably restful.

Steve looked at Sean, the pilot.

“You checked him?”

“Sure, no pulse and he’s as cold as ice. He’s dead Boss.”

“Any wounds?”

“Nope, looks like natural causes, but he has been in the water.”

Steve looked at the man’s clothes. They showed the classic signs of having been wet, even though they were almost dry now. He reached down and took out his Glock from his holster. The leather was damp, and all rounds were still in the weapon.

“Why did he go into the water?” he asked.

Charlie, the other deputy, shrugged.

“Who knows, maybe he thought he saw someone?”

Steve walked over to the bank. He squatted down and looked at the edge. Then he jumped into the by now dry gully.

“Look here. What do you see?”

The two deputies walked over and looked where Steve was pointing.

There were obvious marks of where Mike had clambered out of the flood. The hawser had cut a deep furrow into the bank as it was hauling the weight of its burden back to dry land.

They saw marks of where Mike had put his feet, and even where he had placed his left hand. There were also the marks of where whatever he was cradling in his right arm had been rolled over the bank onto dry land.

“Any footprints?”

The men looked, but this part was so hard and dusty that prints were not even a vague possibility.

“Okay, we know he went into the water, and he brought something out. It looks like he unhitched himself, and then keeled over. So, what did he bring out, and where is it?”

The deputies shrugged and Steve felt frustrated.

“Okay, take a good look around, and tell me what you find.”

The guys moved off and Steve looked at the dry riverbed. He jumped back into the gully and walked slowly down stream.

He saw Doc Henry’s car turn off the highway and start towards the other cars. He ignored him, as it was too damn late.

He was about to return, when something black caught his eye. It was half covered by dry mud, and he pulled it out.

It was a rubberised facemask, but a very odd shape.

He placed it up against his own face and found that the eyepieces were in the wrong place, and his nose got in the way. He examined it carefully, and felt that it’s design was just all wrong. Not even a child could wear this.

He then had a really stupid thought, and it made him shiver.

No, he told himself, don’t be stupid, - Aliens don’t exist.

Then he looked at the mask, and he almost dropped it. He swallowed, and began to feel very afraid.

They took the body back to the hospital, where Dr Hutchins, the coroner’s pathologist, conducted an autopsy. The doctor phoned Steve, who went over as soon as he could.

The doctor was clearly upset at dealing with a well-known and loved local cop, who was also a personal friend. He shook Steve’s hand solemnly.

“Steve. Bad business this. I’ve just finished with Mike. He had a massive heart attack. He had a really bad heart, and it was a miracle he lasted as long as he did.”

“Anything else?” Steve asked.

The doctor shook his head, but was clearly uncomfortable. He led Steve into the back room. Mike’s remains were under a sheet on the operating table.

“Not really. There’s doubt about it, it was a heart attack. He had an impact bruise on his chest, probably a log or something. There were some odd marks, but I suppose he may have sustained some more injuries in the flood.”

“Odd marks?”

“Nothing serious, abrasions and minor bruises, not to worry about. It is weird, because it looks as if someone placed him on a medical monitor. The marks are where the pickups were stuck on, and he has what looks like an intravenous mark on one arm.”

The doctor pulled back the sheet, and showed Steve what he meant. Steve saw several slightly red perfect circles on the upper chest area. They did indeed look like the marks of medical monitors. Small bruises and scratches covered Mike’s body, where the rocks had scraped against him as the winch dragged him from the water.

The small hole in his wrist was inconclusive; a thorn could just as easily have made it.

“What are you telling me, that someone tried to save him?”

“They are not conclusive, but that is a possibility.”

“Go on.”

“Well, the way skin behaves, these marks were made when he was still alive. They were removed after he died.”

“Where?”

“I really don’t know. But there was something else that would support this theory, as it is pretty strange.”

“What?”

“His shirt buttons were done up wrong, and his shoes were on the wrong feet. I’d say that someone undressed him, and then re-dressed him.”

All the clothes were now in a bag, but there were Polaroid photographs of everything he had mentioned. Steve took them and put them in his file.

Steve got nothing else from the doctor, and left, returning to his office. He looked at the piece of paper on his desk. He had written down some bullet points.

· Mike had left the highway.

· What did he see?

· Mike had gone into the water attached to the winch.

· What was in the water?

· Mike came out of the water carrying something.

· What was he carrying?

· Mike unhitched the winch.

· He died of a heart attack.

· His body shows that someone tried to save him attached to sophisticated medical equipment.

· Who tried to save him?

· Where are they now?

· Where did this happen?

· Why did they leave him?

· Whoever he saved lost a mask.

· What was it for?

· Why did they need it?

· Who undressed him and why get his shoes wrong?

· Who wouldn’t know about shoes?

o Native Americans…not any more.

o Hippies…not many left.

o Aliens

o African tribesmen…not many in New Mexico.

o South American Indians….the same.

o Aliens

o More aliens………….shit.

Steve stared at the bit of paper. He reached for the phone.

Mike stirred. He opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed, and there was a thin sheet covering him.

The room was in semi-darkness, but a faint light seemed to glow from the top corners of the walls, where they joined the ceiling. There was enough light to see.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see no furniture in the room at all. He figured he was in hospital, and he knew that his heart had probably given out. He could see no heart monitor, and there were no drips attached to his arms.

His brain was still in treacle, and he had a problem trying to form thoughts. Images and stray thoughts flitted in and out like butterflies in a beautiful flower garden. He formed an image of his badge, and focussed on that image. He was a cop, so he thought that he could cope with anything.

He moved his head, and became aware of a strange sensation about his head and ears. The small movement made him feel nauseous and he stayed still for a moment, just looking at the ceiling. He frowned, as he knew that normally his eyesight would mean the ceiling would be out of focus, yet he managed to focus perfectly. He smiled; maybe his eyesight had improved through the experience.

He raised an arm to his head, and felt panic as he touched a vast mane of hair sprouting from his head.

“What the fuck?” he said, aloud.

The sound of his voice also startled him, for gone was the deep bass he was accustomed to, and in its place was a melodic but definitely feminine soprano.

He gently sat up, leaning on his elbows, and experienced a moment’s dizziness. Thankfully, the sick feeling passed. As the sheet fell away to his waist, he felt a slight chill. He raised his right hand to his chest. His hand froze as soon as it came into contact with his chest, and very slowly he looked down. A feeling of shock and disbelief grew from the pit of his stomach, as his eyes adjusted properly to the poor light.

That poor light was sufficient for him to see that his hand was now cupping one of a pair of substantial, yet perfectly formed female breasts, which his chest now sported, with large nipples and deep brown aureoles.

It was a feeling of surreal detachment he watched as his forefinger and thumb gently rolled the hardening nipple, and a strange feeling of pleasure seemed to well up deep within him.

Slowly, with racing heart, he pulled the sheet away from his groin with his other hand. He dropped it onto the floor, and stared in disbelief at his crotch.

There, with a gentle covering of fine golden pubic hair was a perfectly formed vagina. He moved his legs, and was strangely unsurprised to see they were beautifully shaped and very feminine. He swung these lovely limbs over the edge of the bed, and stood on his pair of now trembling legs. He had seen beautiful women in his time; indeed, his wife Carol had been stunning in her youth. He knew he was now looking down at the most magnificent example of female beauty, and from the inside.

Somehow, someone had managed to make him dream that he was an incredibly stunning female.

The light came on, a door opened, and he saw everything in stark clarity. In total shock, he looked up and saw the monsters that entered the room.

The girl who had once been Sergeant Mike Dunwoody fainted.

<<It was not anticipated, Captain. The human is physically stronger than we are, and the sedative wore off faster than expected, and seemed mentally incapable of accepting reality.>>

<<Surely we could monitor its mind?>>

<<For some reason, even when unconscious, this human can shield its mind from us.>>

They looked at the unconscious woman on the floor by the bed.

<<Why has it passed out?>>

<<Shock. I believe that human brains simply shut down in times of extreme anxiety.>>

<<How inefficient. Why is it in shock?>>

<<Quite inefficient, yes. We are endeavouring to open a means of communicating with it. I fear the stress of discovering that it is now a different gender has aggravated the situation, but I fear our appearance is probably the primary reason for the shock.>>

<<Open communications as soon as possible, and attempt to reassure it that we mean it no harm.>>

<<Yes Captain, and I will also attempt to remove the mental stress of being female. I can insert a very strong feeling of contentment at being female.>>

<<Do so.>>

Mike came round again. She was back on the bed and the lights were on, and she raised her arm to her breast again. She felt first the right one, and then the left. She let her hand slide down to her crotch, and delicately allowed her fingers to encounter the soft female flesh she encountered. She smiled.

She was still naked, yet a sheet covered her. She felt slightly light-headed, and had a feeling that she was supposed to remember something, but it was illusively beyond her recall. She allowed herself to pinch a small piece of flesh on her inner thigh.

“Ow. Fuck, that hurt. Shit, this is one hell of a dream,” she said aloud, and again, in a girl’s voice. It wasn’t a dream.

She remembered that she was a girl. Had she always been a girl? She frowned, as her brain was playing tricks.

<<Do not be afraid,>> came a voice inside her head.

“Who’s there?” she said, turning round.

<<My name is Lyja. I am a medical technician. You would call me a doctor.>>

“Where are you?”

<<It is not wise for you to see us without some mental preparation.>>

Mike realised that somehow they were talking directly into her head.

“I’m a girl?” she asked, half a statement and half question. It sounded stupid even to her ears, as the evidence was overwhelming.

<<You are female, correct.>>

Some memories returned, but in no specific order.

“How come? Last time I looked I was a man,” she said, wondering why she felt she ought to be really worried, and yet she wasn’t.

<<Your other body died, it was necessary to replace it.>>

It made sense, of sorts, but she was still confused. She tried to make some order of her maelstrom of memories. There was a river, a flash flood, and the pain. She remembered the pains in her, no his chest. She looked down to her new and very female chest.

“Why with a girl’s?” she asked.

<<The Captain had reasons.>>

“What reasons?” asked Mike, getting slightly angry now. She wanted straight answers, and they were avoiding providing them.

<<The Captain will come and converse with you. Do not be afraid, but we are not human.>>

Mike remembered the monsters, and sat up, wrapping the sheet under her arms and over her magnificent breasts.

The door opened and a figure walked in and stood at the end of the bed.

It was about 4’5” and naked. It was grey, with wrinkled skin. Two large dark eyes stared at Mike, and made her feel very uncomfortable. The head was bald and there were small ears, nose and mouth. The build was as a child’s, but the limbs were slender, and the fingers long and appeared sensitive. Funnily enough, she was not afraid, nor that shocked, and she wondered whether they had managed to brainwash her into accepting the situation.

<<Do not be afraid, I mean you no harm.>>

“I’m not afraid. If you wanted to harm me you would have hardly have gone to all this trouble first,” she said.

<<Exactly. I am the Captain. You saved the life of my child, and for that you yourself have been saved.>>

Mike frowned, and then she remembered the figure in the water.

<<Quite so, the child was in the water. You risked your life to save it.>>

The door opened and another similar creature entered. The skin looked slightly less wrinkled, but Mike was hard pressed to tell them apart.

<> the new-comer projected.

“I am glad you are okay,” Mike said.

<<You do not need to vocalise. Merely focus your response as thoughts,>> the Captain said.

<<Okay, how’s this?>> she asked, mentally.

The two creatures held the sides of their heads and appeared in some discomfort.

<<Quieter, if you please.>>

Mike frowned, how the hell do you whisper in your mind?

<<How’s this?>> she thought, as quietly as she could.

<<Better. Now you have questions?>>

<<You bet. Now why am I female now, and where the fuck am I, and who the fuck are you? Oh shit, I don’t know where to start.>>

The two creatures reeled under the mental shout that Mike unwittingly unleashed.

They recovered, but Mike took the time to take stock of the situation. She was female, and by the look of things, not unattractive, although she had yet to look in a mirror. Hell, alive was alive, and the chest pains had gone. She remembered waking up the first time, and the shock she had experienced at discovering she was now a girl. Why did she not feel so worried any more?

<<Please, much quieter. You are female because we cannot take the risk of you being identified as the person you last were. This way, even if you tell anyone your story, no one will believe you, as your old body has now been found, and your death must be common knowledge.

<<You are on a scout ship. This is not a military ship, and we mean no harm to you or your race. Indeed, your race is in more danger from itself than from us. We are currently a long way from your planet, and outside the range of any scanner.>>

Mike, or Michelle, as whom she decided she ought to think of herself, stopped panicking.

<<What are you going to do with me?>> she asked, calm now.

<<You will be returned to your planet.>>

<<Like this?>>

The creatures stared at her. Clearly they did not understand.

<<Look, I can see you guys are naked, and that you ain’t got not whoozies, or whatsits for that matter. But in case you don’t appreciate things, you have given me huge jugs and a real cute butt. If I appear in the nude, they will lock me away.>>

<<What do you require?>>

<<Clothes, for a start, and if I can’t go home, I’ll need some cash and ID.>>

<<ID? Cash?>>

<<Look, on our planet, everyone has a name. Everyone had a social security number, or similar. We are all registered at birth, and registered wherever we go. Everyone is traceable, and if I appear with nothing, I will get thrown in the slammer.

<<That is ID, now cash is what makes the world work. It is a kind of bartering system, if I want a chicken, and you want a pot and then I swap a pot for a chicken, right?>>

<<Right.>>

<<But if I don’t have a pot, and I don’t have anything you need, how do I get your chicken?>>

The captain looked vacant.

“I have a token, it is either a metal coin, a paper bill, or a piece of plastic, but it means that I give you the value of the chicken, and you can use that value to get your pot from someone else, and so on.>>

The captain understood, and a few seconds later another alien appeared.

<<We took these from your clothing. Are they money?>>

There were two $20 bills.

<<Yeah.>>

<<We can make these.>>

<<Oh brother. You can’t make them, that is illegal.>>

<<Why?>>

<<Because these are made by the bank, and the bank covers their value. If you make your own, you devalue the real ones and cause economic problems.>>

The third alien left, and returned a few moments later. It passed over two more $20 bills. They were exact copies of the originals, even down to the serial numbers.

Michelle examined them, and found her eyesight was far better than before. She was able to focus real close, and it was almost as if she was able to magnify without artificial aids.

The bills were perfect.

<<Your eyesight has been enhanced by a factor of ten.>>

<<You what?>>

<<As a form of gratitude and a sign of our good intentions, you have been given some qualities that are an improvement on your old model.>>

<<What improvements?>> Michelle asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

<<Eyesight, hearing, strength, speed, lung capacity, agility, reaction, and others.>>

<<Others?>>

<<You are able to communicate without using speech, and you should be able to develop some thought reading.>>

<<You mean I can read minds?>>

<<With practice, perhaps.>>

<<Why?>>

<<Because you deserved some reward for losing the life you had. We understand you were mated for life, and now that relationship has to be no more. Although unimaginable for us, we appreciate the level of commitment that action requires, and the sense of loss such separation will bring. This is some small compensation.>>

Michelle was staggered. The creatures had handed her youth and all these other qualities. Just because she saved a life. Then she thought of Carol and the kids. A deep sadness fell on her, and she found herself crying.

<<Why does it leak?>> the captain asked the medical technician who appeared.

<>

Michelle stopped crying, and looked at the three aliens.

<<Why?>> she asked.

<<For us, each life is very valuable. Unlike your people, we are few and getting fewer. The value of each life is priceless, and so our gifts to you reflect this.>>

Her mind was an open book to them, and now they could read her mind. It was a very different mind, and they saw intricacies they never imagined. Concepts so alien to them that they were baffled. The Captain was determined to learn more from this human.

<<May I have a mirror?>> she asked, displaying one concept for them.

They obviously did not have such a thing, but they made one, and brought it to her.

She took a deep breath and looked at her reflection.

She gasped.

She was stunningly beautiful.

Large blue eyes set at a perfect distance apart, a pretty nose, ever so slightly turned up at the end. A lovely mouth, with full lips and perfect white teeth. The face was heart shaped, with high cheek bones, which gave her a slightly exotic Nordic look. She had perfectly shaped ears, and cascades of wavy golden blonde hair fell past her shoulders.

There was nothing in her reflection that was of Mike, except perhaps that cynical glint in the baby blue eyes.

“Well if I gotta be a girl, then let’s at least have looks and a body to die for,” she said.

She looked at her fingers, they were long and slender, with perfectly formed nails. Her sight was such that she could clearly see the whorls and ridges of her finger prints, and a thought popped into her mind.

<<They are different to your old ones.>> the Captain answered.

<<How do you know?>>

<<We have changed anything by which you could be linked with the old body. Even your DNA is slightly different. You are cloned, but we have made sufficient changes to render you a new and unique individual. Of course you have XX chromosomes now, and not XY.>>

She frowned, as all the disquiet she had experienced initially had gone, and in its place was a kind of excited expectancy. She thought about the ease by which she accepted all this.

<<Did you help me to accept this?>> she asked.

<<Slightly. However, we have found you are remarkably resilient, and have adapted surprisingly well, considering.>>

She looked at the $20 bills, and then at the aliens.

<<You can make anything?>>

<<As long as we have an original or a design, yes.>>

<<And you are gonna put me back?>>

<<Yes. But not anywhere close to where you came from.>>

<<Like where?>>

<<We shall have to be very careful. It will be important that you must be nowhere near your original location, and in circumstances that will not draw attention to you.>>

Michelle thought for a moment. She was frowning as she tried to work out the most effective means of creating a brand new identity that could not draw undue attention to herself.

The Captain watched her and was concerned, as the human naturally managed to shield her thoughts from them, and even the most powerful mind on the ship was unable to penetrate her defences. It indicated that her mind, as yet untried and still immature, actually had unlimited potential, and that could turn out to be exceptionally dangerous for the Captain, the ship and the entire alien race.

<<You need not fear me.>> she said, and in horror the Captain realised that even with shields up the human could read it’s mind.

<<I have as much to fear as you. Humans are nasty suspicious bastards, and they will go for anyone who is the tiniest bit different. So, I am hardly likely to betray you or be a danger to you. You have saved my life, and so we are even. I understand your desire to have at least one human who can act as an ally, and I am willing to be that person. There is one condition.>>

The large dark eyes of the Captain stared unblinking at her for many moments.

<<What condition?>>

<>

Relief flooded through the Captain, and this emanated to the others in the ship, as all had been mentally tuned in with equal concern.

<> the Captain stated, and the large human held her hand out.

<<It is customary to shake hands on an agreement. It means that we each promise to uphold our end, and may trust the other.>>

The Captain offered his long slender hand, and she took it gently and they solemnly shook hands.

<<Now, Captain, do you get Earth TV here?>>

Michelle sat in a seat designed for someone far smaller, and watched a small flat screen TV. The sheet from the bed was fashioned into a crude sarong, and she was drinking some water from a clear plastic-like bottle.

The Captain was curious, and stayed with her. It found the human amazingly diverting, and was learning things about the humans every second.

Michelle was watching a BBC documentary on eastern European girls being smuggled to the United Kingdom as sex slaves. She had a germ of an idea.

<<Captain, can you make clothes?>>

A moment later a technician arrived and answered.

<<Yes, but we have limited resources for textiles.>>

<>

She described what she wanted, and together they managed to find information and designs on the vast database they had accrued by interface with the Internet. The Captain was pleased, as they had all this wealth of knowledge, and for the first time, here was someone to help them understand it all.

<<Captain, perhaps if we could make just one or two other little things?>> she said, looking at the $20 bills.

“Sheriff McGuire?”

Steve looked up, and saw two Air Force Officers at the door of his office.

“Yeah, Colonel Robertson?”

“Jim Robertson. We spoke on the phone. This is Major Kyle Bennett, my number two. The Major is also a Doctor.”

Steve noted the coiled serpent insignia on the Major’s uniform.

The men shook hands, and Steve closed the door to his office.

“You mentioned an artefact?”

Steve passed over the mask.

The Colonel looked at it, and his colleague went pale.

“Anything else?”

“Nope, just my sergeant lying dead a short distance away.”

“You said it was natural causes, but you also said that there were signs of medical intervention?”

Steve explained everything, and they went to the Morgue to look at the body. Steve had held up the release of the body for a few hours just so the military could take a look. They had been very interested to see it, and had flown down from Nevada especially.

Kyle examined the body thoroughly, and looked at the Colonel. He simply nodded slightly, and the Colonel nodded once in reply. They returned to the office.

“Sheriff, it is important that you tell no one about this. Let the body go for burial, Kyle has taken blood, fingerprints, and a DNA sample, so there is nothing to be gained from upsetting the family further.”

Steve immediately informed the coroner’s officer to arrange release of Dunwoody’s body to the next of kin.

“So, I ain’t stupid?”

The colonel was looking at the artefact. He was certain now.

“No, I am convinced that your sergeant managed to extract someone or something from the flood, and he died doing so. It is possible that this person was not from this planet. Note the formation of this mask, clearly not designed for any human face.

“But they obviously tried to save him in return, but failed. Just forget it, his time was up, and this is one investigation that you will have to just pass over to us.”

“Can you tell me the truth, were they really aliens?”

Jim Robertson stared at him, and frowned.

“If I say yes, then you will get worried. If I say no, you won’t believe me. You already know the truth, so I will simply say that I don’t know for certain, but I have an open mind.”

Steve smiled and nodded. He understood now.

He passed over the rest of the file he had started, including the Polaroid photographs, and watched as the Major slipped them into his briefcase.

“Sheriff, you did the right thing. You can go back to your life and forget all about us.”

“So Mike is dead, for sure?”

“Oh yes, your Sergeant is dead.”

Steve was happy to do so, and when the Colonel left, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was someone else’s problem now and he wasn’t mad after all.

The two Air Force Officers were quiet in the car. The driver was a sturdy NCO who had been on their team for six years.

“Jim, why do you think they broke their own rules on this one?” the Major asked.

“Hell Kyle, I don’t know. But the theory that the cop saved one of them from a flash flood is highly reasonable. My question would be, why use their medical superiority to let him die?”

“Are you thinking what I think you are thinking?”

“We know they can replicate themselves, we saw that in Utah in ’89. So, it is reasonable to assume that they have the technology and knowledge of human physiology so that they could reward the cop by replicating him, and then discarding of the old and useless corpse. They never attempted heart surgery, why not?”

“Perhaps they hadn’t the knowledge.”

“Possibly, but why should they if they could replicate? Keep him alive long enough to create the clone, and then transfer the personality and mind of the cop when ready.”

“I never saw the Utah ship, what happened?”

“There was an accident. It sounds silly, but one of their craft hit some power lines. There were five aliens on board, all dead, and in a special unit, a clone was being created of another alien, and it was almost complete.”

“Didn’t the evidence disappear?”

“It was taken to a hanger on Base X, and in the morning it was gone. No one remembered it. I had to leave to speak to the General, and I had the videotapes in my bag. We still have that evidence, but nothing else.”

“So, what do we do?”

The Colonel took out some photographs of Sergeant Mike Dunwoody. One had been taken many years before, when he had been a rookie in the NYPD.

“Get these to our computer specialists. Have them make a composite of how he would look as a young adult, say twenty one or so. Circulate the results, fingerprints, his blood type and DNA to all our people, I have a feeling that Sergeant Dunwoody will be back.”

Michelle was working out.

Her new body utterly amazed her, and the aliens hadn’t been kidding when they told her that certain improvements had been made. They had built a set of weights for her, and even a crude running machine. She had managed to bench-press almost twice the load she had managed at her best as a younger Mike, and that was not inconsiderable. Her stamina was truly unbelievable, as she was able to run for an hour at a very rapid pace without tiring.

She had overseen the construction of a few items of clothing, taken from the many Internet sites and TV recordings the aliens had logged in their databases. She had decided to be smart, and not tramp. All her clothes were on the conservative side, but somehow managed to emphasise her feminine shape in a far more effective manner than the more obvious low cut tops, or short skirts.

Their technology could duplicate anything. She was able to supervise the production of the most fashionable styles in the most luxurious fabrics - even synthetic leather, silk and satin.

The underwear had been the most difficult, and they had managed to construct one white, and one black lacy bra, and a couple of pairs of panties. She had two dark skirts, a couple of plain white blouses, and one jacket. She has one ‘little black dress’ and a pair of leather trousers and a matching leather jacket. One silk nightdress marked the limit of their resources, with the exception of one pair of black leather high heel shoes.

The leotard she wore for the workout was simple yet comfortable. She stepped into the refresher unit, stark naked.

This unit cleaned and refreshed without water. It cleansed all her pores, and her hair was left feeling freshly shampooed and dried without the hassle of either.

She had found that she had come to terms with her gender remarkably quickly, and the Captain had confessed that they had to ‘tweak’ her mind so as to make it more acceptable for her. She wondered how many other ‘tweaks’ they had done and weren’t telling her.

They had produced identity for her, a Ukrainian passport in the name of Michelle Nadia Czakan. They had even managed to produce a perfect replica of a birth certificate, showing her born in the Ukraine on the 11th August 1980, making her just 23.

She was curious to know how they managed to acquire the original passport from which to copy hers. She was told that a great many encounters with humans (of the third kind.) had occurred, and they possessed a vast number of documents. Their mental powers were such that they could eradicate any trace of memory in all but a few isolated cases.

The plan was for her to give herself up to a police station in Britain, and give the story that she managed to escape from a group of men who wanted to use her as a prostitute in London.

She would use her mental powers to ‘persuade’ the Immigration authorities into allowing her to stay in Britain, and grant her asylum, and then citizenship.

The technician managed to acquire a complete language program, and whilst Michelle was asleep, they imprinted fluent Russian and French onto her hyper-efficient brain. When she awoke, she was immediately aware that she had the ability to converse in all languages (including English).

The Captain found itself intrigued and fascinated by the large human. They would sit and converse for long periods of time, as Michelle described some of the exciting events of her former life, both in the Air Force, and later as a police officer. The Captain was eager to find out more about this strange race.

Their whole non-intervention policy had kept contact, and indeed research of the humans, to an absolute minimum. The Captain had never before been in the position to openly converse with one in a completely open and voluntary manner.

Michelle was a colourful character, and as such was prone to guild the lily whilst spinning a yarn. A concepts as complex as exaggeration, and indeed, deception were as alien to the Captain, as was Michelle herself. The Captain discovered the whole ship’s company stopped doing what they were doing to ‘listen in’ to Michelle’s stories.

After several days, the Captain knew that it was time to throw the fish back, and wondered whether to eradicate all memory of the ship from her memory.

<<Don’t bother. Firstly, I don’t think you could, and secondly, even if you could, I see no point. No one would believe me, and how could I be of any assistance to you if I don’t know about you? If I suddenly appeared, with no memory and in suspicious circumstances, all the alarm bells would ring, and the last thing I want to do is draw undue attention onto myself,>> she said.

Once again, the woman had managed to discern the Captain’s innermost thoughts, and seemed quite unperturbed that she had possession of such awesome power.

<<It is only awesome if I use it to instil awe. I don’t intend to be stupid enough to shine out. If I use those gifts you have kindly given me, it will be subtly and for the greater good. And perhaps just to give myself a social boost every now and again,>> she said with a chuckle.

PC Rob Chapman had been a traffic officer for six years. Having spent five years at Reading as a shift officer, he had transferred to traffic, and loved every minute.

He was on the M4 motorway patrol with his colleague PC Colin Mitchell in a marked Land Rover Discovery. It was six o’clock in the evening, and the rush hour traffic out of London was dying away slightly.

It was November 2003, and it was raining, which had already been partially responsible for two damage only accidents on the motorway already. The main cause was people driving too fast and too close to the car in front, but no matter how hard one tried to tell them, they would never learn.

Their 4x4 was parked on a special elevated ramp set off to the nearside of the hard shoulder, so they could observe the traffic safely, and be a visible deterrent for the speeding motorists.

“I got dragged off Christmas shopping last rest day,” Colin moaned.

“Already, but it is only November?” Rob said.

“Yeah, but Rachel likes to get everything done by the middle of December, less panic, she says.”

“Jenny isn’t bothered, the kids can’t make up their minds as to what they want. Apart from Simon, he wants an X-Box.”

“Everything is so bloody expensive. I will have to do some major overtime to pay for it this year,” stated Colin.

The radio broke up their scintillating conversation.

There was a report of a lone female walking on the Reading bound hard shoulder, a couple of miles past Maidenhead, in the forest area.

“Silly cow, she’ll get herself killed,” said Colin, as Rob drove onto the Motorway with the emergency rear red lights flashing.

They drove slowly down the hard shoulder, keeping an eye out for the woman.

“Probably some silly tart broken down, and decided to walk for it,” said Rob.

But they came across no broken down vehicle.

“There!” said Colin, and Rob saw her at the same moment. A tall woman was walking away from them, on the hard shoulder.

Tall?

She was in excess of six foot three.

They pulled along side the woman, and Colin wound down the window.

He looked out at the girl, who stopped and looked at them. She was stunningly attractive.

She was wearing a knee length skirt, a white blouse, and a dark jacket. She had high heel shoes on, and was carrying a small case. She was wet, and her long blonde hair was plastered to her back.

“Get in,” he said, and opened the back door.

The girl got in, and brushed her hair back from her face.

“Why the hell are you walking along the motorway, it is so dangerous, apart from being illegal?” Rob asked.

He watched the girl in the mirror, and he was shocked and surprised to see how beautiful she was.

“Tank you. I has bin rooning vrom sum ver bad men,” the girl said. Her heavily accented English displayed that she was not English. Even Traffic officers picked up that one. She had an incredibly sexy voice, very husky and melodic.

Michelle smiled, but was rather shocked to find herself almost the same height as she had been as Mike. The Aliens had been so small, she had not even considered that they would make her in any other size than average. It never would have crossed their minds, as they were almost all the same size, it was inconceivable to them that she should have been smaller than her male counterpart.

“Where are you from?” Colin asked.

“I kum here vrom Ukraine,” she said.

Colin frowned, and glanced at Rob who rolled his eyes. They came across eastern European asylum seekers every day, but rarely looking quite as good as her.

“How did you get here?”

“I vas in a trook. Zere ver eight girls. De men say ve verk as, how you say, helps in hotels, but zen I find zey vant oos to lie viz men for sex?”

Colin looked at Rob, both men were aware that there was a case going through the courts in London about the sex traffic. Girls were being promised good jobs and when they arrived they found themselves forced into brothels and working as sex slaves for East European gangs.

“Why are you here, on the Motorway?” asked Rob.

“I roon avay. I yam not a girl who give sex for men, not unless I vant to.”

“Good for you. Where is the truck now?”

“I don’t know, ze trook, it slow in ze traffic, und I joomp. Many kilometres I haf walked.”

“Did you know what the truck looks like?”

Michelle shook her damp head.

“Joost a green one, Hungarian, I sink.”

“Would you know the men if you saw them?”

She shook her head again.

“What do we do, Rob?”

Rob shrugged.

“Fuck knows. She is probably an illegal. There is no point nicking her, they will only send her to the reception centre.

“Have you got a passport?” Rob asked, and she produced a very wet and dog-eared Ukrainian passport.

“Da. I hide in my oondervear,” she said, and both men smiled.

Colin looked at the passport, and it seemed in order, except it had no stamp signifying entry to the UK.

“Michelle, is it?”

“Da. Michelle.”

“How did the truck come to Britain, Michelle?”

“By boat. Ve stay in trook all time,” she said.

“Which port?”

She shrugged.

Rob pulled off the motorway.

“I know. If we take her to Heathrow, then she can go speak to the Immigration officers, and we can get back and do what we should be doing.”

Colin nodded, it made perfect sense, and Michelle smiled to herself in the back.

Rob drove over the motorway and rejoined it heading east, and back towards London.

“Michelle, we will take you to the Immigration officers. Do you understand?” Colin said very slowly to Michelle.

“Da. Vill zey send me back to Ukraine?” she asked, looking worried.

“I don’t know. If you claim asylum, they may let you stay.”

Michelle nodded, and let her head fall back against the rear seat headrest. The big 4x4 was warm and dry, and it was nice to be back on Earth, even if she had to put on this outrageous accent.

She had spent many hours looking at the databases on the Ukraine, and had pictures of Donetsk imprinted on her brain. This city was in the east of the country and sufficiently obscure for her purposes. But she had memorised the street names, local history, and the geography of the surrounding area.

She sat back and watched the lights stream past in the other direction, and the noise of the police radio reminded her of her other life. She experienced a sudden lurch of regret and mourning for things lost forever. All the memories came flooding back.

Tears came to her eyes as she wept for Carol and the kids, Andy and Mary Jane. She had deliberately not thought about them whilst on the alien ship, but now, in the company of two men very similar to the person she had once been, she cried for everything she had lost.

Colin saw their passenger was weeping, and turned round.

“Hey, Michelle, don’t cry, you are safe now,” he said, misunderstanding why she wept.

His words of comfort and care only made her cry more, and Colin passed over a tissue roll.

She wiped her eyes, and blew her nose. She had no make up to spoil, as even if the aliens had been able to manufacture the stuff, she had no idea how to apply it, and besides she was stunning without any.

The police vehicle turned down the M4 spur towards the airport, and pulled up the ramp just prior to the tunnel into the central terminal area.

“I am going to ask the local police what to do,” Rob said, as they entered the secure police station yard at the top of the ramp.

He parked in the yard.

“Wait a moment, I’ll just ask in their control room,” he said, and left Colin with a miserable Michelle.

Colin, feeling slightly uncomfortable being left alone with the tall attractive girl, tried some small talk to pass the time.

“So, Michelle, what do you do?”

“I vas a student, boot has not enough money to study. Zis man, he say I go to England und verk and zey pay me enough to be rich.”

“Bastards,” said Colin, with some feeling.

“Do you have any money?” he asked.

“Da, a little. I has twenty American dollars,” she said, omitting the fact that there was $50,000 under a rock in a woodland near the motorway embankment not far from where she was dropped off. Mind you, it was all counterfeit.

“That won’t get you far,” he said.

Rob returned.

“Right. I spoke to a DS who was interested in her story. He knows a bit about the job that is at court at the moment, and wants to talk to her. He says he will contact immigration, and will take her from here.”

Michelle took hold of her bag, and Colin opened the door for her. Only when he got out and stood next to her did he realise just how tall she was. She had taken her jacket off and her damp blouse clung to her breasts, displaying her large nipples.

Colin swallowed and averted his eyes. Michelle smiled, and licked her lips.

“Stank you. You haf saved me,” she said, and kissed the already embarrassed officer on the lips. She enjoyed the feeling of power she had, and felt a little sorry for the obviously uncomfortable officer.

They took her into the custody block, and a plain-clothes officer introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Bill Richardson. The traffic officers reluctantly took their leave, and returned to their motorway patrol.

Bill looked at the bedraggled, yet spectacularly attractive girl, and was drawn under her spell. Within moments, she was out of the custody block, and seated in an interview room with a hot cup of coffee in her hand.

She went through her deliberately vague story and the officer took copious notes.

She told him how her parents were dead, and she had no family left. She had no home, and everything she had was paid to a man who was going to get a her a very well paid job in England. After a while another woman in plain clothes arrived, and she saw a circular badge on a fine chain round her neck. She was an Immigration Officer.

“Hello, Michelle Czakan is it?” she asked.

“Da.”

“I am Helen McMorran, I am an Immigration Officer. Do you have a passport?”

She handed over her passport, and the woman examined it closely.

The woman then broke into very good Russian. Not fluent, but good.

Michelle answered, and in the same language, fluently with a marked Ukrainian accent.

The woman went through all the expected questions, and Michelle answered them all with ease. She realised that she could actually read her mind, and know the question before she was asked, and also knew which answers she should give. The police officer left, obviously to check her story.

“I was brought here under false pretences, but would like to claim asylum. If I go back to Ukraine, the men will kill me for running away,” she told the woman.

The woman had the unenviable task of the initial screening of asylum seekers, and could enter a suitable recommendation on each application. She took Michelle’s photograph with a Polaroid camera, and then took her fingerprints. Michelle wondered whether these prints really would be different from her old body’s prints, and thought that there was little risk of a cross check being run. Particularly as she was now a different gender in any case.

When Helen finally left Michelle, and submitted her forms, she had written on the bottom of the form : ‘This subject fulfils the criteria for asylum, I recommend asylum be granted to this subject, she is temporarily landed with permission to undertake employment.’ She even stamped the passport, and gave her permission to enter the UK, and with a work permit.

She gave Michelle a card with an address near Croydon, a reception centre where temporary accommodation and social security details would be arranged.

The police officer came back. He was frustrated because the girl had given him all the right information, but not quite enough to work with. The green truck on Hungarian plates was sufficiently vague to be of little value.

The girl was patiently sitting in the room, wearing her still damp clothes.

“Do you have a change of clothes?” Bill asked.

“Da, but I do not vant to poot my vet cothings in zer case.”

“When did you last have a shower or eat a meal?”

She smiled and shrugged, and Bill felt dreadfully sorry for her.

“Look, we have a drying room here, why don’t you change, and I’ll buy you some food.” he said.

Bill had never bought an illegal immigrant a meal in his life, but she was so helpless and lost, that his heart went out to her. He went into the custody block and returned with a towel, some shampoo, soap and a disposable toothbrush. He gave them to Michelle and told her to follow him.

He took Michelle to the ladies locker room, and waited while she showered and changed. A couple of female officers entered and were surprised to see the very tall and attractive girl changing in their locker room. The detective had to explain, and one girl called Sarah Ross, asked the girl if she was all right.

In the end she allowed Michelle to ‘borrow’ some of her mascara for her eyelashes, and helped her apply some lipstick and eye shadow.

The girl appeared wearing her leather trousers, a clean white blouse, and leather jacket. She had gone in looking like a displaced asylum seeker, and came out looking like a film star. Her hair was dry and brushed, and framed her face beautifully. The little makeup accentuated her amazing eyes and gorgeous lips, and Bill was literally rendered speechless.

He decided against taking her into the police canteen, and drove the short distance into the central terminal area, and took her to a restaurant in Terminal One.

Bill was a tall thin man, and was often embarrassed by his six foot four inches. But he stretched himself to his full height, as the girl was a good inch taller than he as she was wearing her high heels. Her generous mane of honey blonde hair made her seem even taller, and Bill noticed that every male eye in the restaurant watched every step she took.

She walked like a model on a catwalk, and to her own surprise, she had no trouble coping with the high heels and the unfamiliar attachments to her chest. It was if she had always been a girl.

She was only too well aware of what she looked like, and her spirit soared. Never in her last life did she ever experience such a feeling of control or power over anyone, and yet here she felt she could walk up to a complete stranger, and make any demand she wished, and in all probability he would undertake it on her behalf happily.

Every now and again she caught her reflection in a shop window or mirror. The very tall and very attractive girl smiled back at her with a curious glint in her blue eyes. She felt joy bubble up in her throat, and a small laugh almost escaped. She managed to change it into a cough at the last moment.

Michelle was starving, as the aliens had fed her sufficient vitamins and nutrients to keep her sustained, but she had yet to have a decent meal.

She ordered a steak and all the trimmings, and demolished it so fast that Bill was yet again astounded at his glamorous companion.

He joined her in a dessert, and watched fascinated as an apple pie disappeared in a matter of seconds.

“So, I understand that the Immigration officer has landed you in the country?”

“Da, it ees good, no?”

He smiled. He loved her accent and her broken English. He was aware that his wife would not approve of the thoughts that found their way into his head, and he struggled with the overt sexuality that the girl exuded so naturally. To see her was to desire her, and she knew it.

“What will you do?”

Michelle shrugged, as she genuinely had no plans at all.

“Did the immigration officer give you a card?”

“Da, boot I do not vant charity. I vill get a job.”

Bill smiled.

“You need money to survive until then. You only have $20, right?”

“Da, it is all I haf.”

Bill then did something that he had never done before, and would never repeat. He opened his wallet, took out £50 and passed it to her.

“Look, it isn’t much, but it will be enough for you to get a bus ticket to Croydon, and some food until the social security payments come through. You will need to register as you will need a National Insurance number in order to work legitimately.”

Michelle had exerted no mental pressure to cause this man to do this, and she realised that he was just a good man who felt sorry for her. She felt a pang of guilt as she was tricking him all the time. However, she took the money, leaned over and gently kissed his cheek.

“Tank you, Beel. I pay you back ven I can.”

He smiled, as he was pretty sure he would never see the money again.

He paid the bill, and they left. He drove her back to the police station, and her clothes were now dry. She packed them in her small case, and he drove her to the bus station. She got out of the car, and he stood there, feeling awkward. She smiled and looked at him.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“Eet is nor your problem, Beel. You haf done a lot for me. I vill never forget you.”

He smiled self-consciously.

“Goodbye Michelle, and good luck, he said.

She kissed his cheek, and walked to the ticket office.

Lt. Colonel Jim Robertson was frustrated. He returned from the Pentagon in a foul mood, as the joint chiefs’ budget committee had cut his funding by 25%. He stared out of his office window at the Nevada mountains, and tried to rationalise his thoughts.

He had been in Project Gopher since it’s conception. He had been a Captain in intelligence then, and as it had grown, so had he.

Ever since the first discovery in Arizona in 1980, the primary concern was secrecy. He had been the second officer to attend, and had been utterly amazed at what had literally been unearthed.

A team of scientists from UCLA were in the desert, testing a new design of seismograph in order to assist in the prediction of earthquakes. L.A. and the Californian fault was a real concern, so money was available to improve the early detection and hopefully the warning systems for the west coast area.

Professor Frome and his team were camped out in a remote area not that far from Phoenix, and were setting a series of small charges at different depths to test the accuracy and sensitivity of their equipment.

They had been operating unmolested for three weeks, and were planning a final huge charge to conclude the experiment. In order to test the equipment fully, the last charge was a random one, the equivalent of a conventional ton of H.E.. Loaded onto a remotely controlled vehicle, the charge was set to explode at some time over the next 4 hours, and anywhere within the declared area.

The buggy set off, reaching speeds of around six miles an hour. The small onboard random timer was unpredictable, and the team only knew that it would detonate sometime in the next four hours, and anywhere inside the programmed area.

When it finally exploded, some two hours and twelve minutes later, the equipment worked perfectly and they managed to pinpoint exactly the point of detonation, and the severity of the shock.

Two technicians were deputed to go and clear up the wreckage, as that had been a condition of their permit to use the area.

Richard Cummings and Walt Barrie arrived in their Jeep to find an enormous crater.

They were perplexed, as they expected a crater, but not as deep or irregular as the one they now looked at.

Then they noticed the workings or cave formations, and the bodies. The bodies of several non-human creatures, which now littered the desert.

Richard was a Lieutenant in the Air Force reserve, and immediately called it in. Captain Jim Robertson sent a team of security Police, and followed in a chopper within the hour.

The area was sealed, and they declared it a national emergency area. The scientists were all sent back to California, and Richard and Walt were ‘detained’ at the site for some time.

Two hundred bodies were recovered, and an extensive underground community was unearthed. None were found alive, yet several members of personnel reported weird experiences.

Jim himself actually experienced a ‘black moment’, when he was at the site and the engineers were excavating a newly discovered tunnel. One minute he was watching their progress, and the next he was staring at a blank wall of earth. The engineers were all wandering about forgetting what they had been doing.

Jim walked rapidly away, conscious only of a feeling that someone, or something was manipulating his mind. He had all the service personnel interviewed, and nearly everyone had experienced similar ‘black moments’.

The site was finally declared empty, and the bodies were recovered and placed into sealed metal coffins. Somehow, they all vanished whilst being shipped to Base X by truck. The trucks arrived, and all the seals were intact, all coffins were still in the trucks, but each one was empty. The vehicles had not stopped, as their tachographs showed continual movement from the minute they set off.

Jim was convinced that there were more of the aliens left alive, and their mental powers were such that they could manipulate humans in order to prevent discovery.

He completed his report, and his Colonel agreed, and funding was authorised from the highest level to continue the investigation.

Jim had managed to acquire three highly qualified para-psychologists who were experts in the field of E.S.P., and they were trying to recruit personnel whose telepathic ability was sufficiently strong for them to at least attempt to discover a little of their illusive quarry.

The last sighting was at the end of the 80’s, and they had nothing since. Until now, and the facemask from New Mexico he now held in his possession. But the committee was not impressed, and in this era of value for money, and plans were afoot for a possible Manned Mars Mission, Project Gopher was no longer in favour.

Kyle knocked on the open door.

“Come in Kyle. They actually did it.” Jim said.

“You thought they might. How bad?”

“A quarter.”

“You thought they might have taken a half.”

“Yeah, but still, that’s over a million bucks.”

“We need some results.”

“True. Look, have you a map of the New Mexico desert?”

“Sure, why?”

“Well, if there was a ship, why was it there? I think they could have been looking for a site to dig in another colony.”

“It is possible,” said Kyle as he extracted a large map of the area. They laid it out across the desk.

“Here is the highway, and here was where we found the dead cop. The tracks of the 4x4 came from a point about a quarter mile upstream, so lets say the cop first saw the one in the water here. That means he was swept away from a point anywhere up from here, to say here,” Jim said, pointing at each location on the map with his index finger.

“Send in a team to examine this area, and I want satellite and aerial pictures, both infra-red and conventional photographs.”

Kyle nodded and left. Jim stared at the map.

“Where are you, you little grey bastards?” he said aloud.

Several thousand miles to the east, an overworked clerk was trying vainly to clear a backlog of forms.

“Michelle Czakan?” he shouted.

A very tall girl approached the desk. He remembered seeing her when she had first arrived some ten days previously. He had instantly been attracted to her then, and apart from being the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, she was always polite and respectful. Something that most of the asylum seekers were most definitely not. As a result, he had sent her forms off very quickly, with a pink ‘URGENT’ slip attached. Somehow, they had been returned in just a few days, this was unheard of, but he was pleased for her.

He smiled, and the girl rewarded him with a lovely smile in return.

“Your papers have been processed. Here is your National Insurance Card, and your National Health card. You need to report to a police station where you end up living, and register with them. We need to have an address where we can contact you, and if approved to send your papers relating to your permit to stay in the country. Your application for naturalisation has been received, and hopefully you will get confirmation through in due course. You will then be issued with a UK passport.”

Michelle signed the forms, and he gave her the cards. They had supplied her with some money, and she had been able to buy some essentials. Some of these were feminine hygiene products, as a few days ago an unexpected, unwelcome, yet natural little visitor, which indicated that she was a normal fertile female, had visited her.

She detested the reception centre, but acknowledged the necessity of being as normal as possible. Several other Ukrainians were here, and she tended to avoid everyone. However, they had sought her out, and actually found them no risk to her at all. They were from Kiev, and knew little about the area she claimed to be from. Her accent was perfect, and no suspicions were raised. Indeed, they only reinforced her story as they accepted her for who she purported to be.

Her English ‘improved’, and she deliberately joined an English class to make her improvement appear natural. It also allowed her to pass the time, as there was little to do except watch TV, play table tennis or read. They were free to come and go, yet with little money, there was little point. The local people were antagonistic towards the foreigners in any case, and it was better just to wait and hope the bureaucracy wasn’t too long.

Several of the male asylum seekers had attempted to form a romantic relationship with the tall girl, but all had been successfully repelled. Two Iranians had failed to take no for an answer, and were now in traction in the local hospital. The police thought they had jumped out of a third floor window as protest at being refused entry. Only the two men and Michelle knew the truth, and no one was telling.

Michelle scoured the papers each day for jobs, and finally she was now able to apply.

There was one that caught her eye.

INTERPRETER WANTED BY LONDON BASED COMPANY

Must have English, Russian and a third language, preferably French.

To operate as personal interpreter for the C.E. of a progressive Communications Company that is opening an installation in Eastern Europe. With plants in the UK, USA and France, the successful applicant must be fluent in spoken and written languages, and of a smart appearance. Must be prepared to travel extensively, and with little notice, and also be prepared to work long and sometimes anti-social hours.

She went to the payphone and called the number on the ad.

Keeping her accent, she asked about the job, and was relieved to hear that it was still open.

She asked where the company was based, and wrote down the address. She explained that she was a recent arrival in the country, and had no CV, but was prepared to come in person to the company and take any tests they wanted.

The personnel officer was unaware that a little manipulation was being undertaken, as she pencilled in Michelle’s name as an applicant for interview that very afternoon, and completed the application form over the phone.

Michelle packed her bag, and walked out of the centre without a backward glance.

Gordon Fenwick was fed up. His company was doing well, and he was optimistic about the inroads they were making into new markets. His company’s computer and communications package was a desirable product, which actually was a potential money saver for emerging and new businesses. But the language barrier, and the skills of the agency interpreters who had no vested interest in the company restricted getting it across to customers who had no English. They were paid for the job, and were not interested if a sale was made or not.

He was in the Fulham office for a week, before flying out to a couple of meetings in New York. He had wanted to be able to have an interpreter on board by then, as they were due to be in Paris for the computer and Communications fair the week after.

So far, the interpreters had all been middle-aged women with children or young graduates whose practical skills were just not up to the task. He spoke French well, and had a basic understanding of Russian, but not enough to deal as an equal. He really wanted someone who could act as his representative and be able to really make an impact.

He arrived back from his lunch and went into his office. He checked his Emails, and made a call to his mother.

He was a big man, six foot six, and broad. He had short slightly unruly fair hair and a slightly battered face from his rugby days. He had been almost good enough to play Rugby for England a few years ago, but his work came first, and he decided to stick to his job, and was now a very wealthy young man. He would turn out for the occasional game for his club, the Saracens, but was not often available. He was thirty, and nurtured an image of respectable power. Always dressed in the best suits, and driving the best cars, he was the epitome of the successful yuppie.

On a personal basis, he was rather lonely. He told himself that he didn’t need the complications of a relationship, and indeed his lifestyle was hardly conducive for a stable domesticated relationship with a woman and children.

But in his heart he yearned for a family. He longed to have a woman to whom he could come home, and children to whom he could pass on the skills and knowledge of life.

His secretary came into his office with some mail.

“Thank you Mary, any more interpreters?”

“Just one, Glenda called to say there was a girl booked for three o’clock.”

“Girl, how old?”

“I think she was early twenties, I’m not really sure. Glenda put the details on your desk.”

“Probably another insipid bloody graduate, with no experience of life. Well, we can only give her a try.”

“Yes sir.”

Mary then left the office. She was wary of her boss, as although he paid well, he was prone to sudden mood swings. When things were going well he was great, but he was very unpredictable when things went badly.

At two thirty, she was completing a document on the computer when the personnel manager, Glenda, came into the office. Following close behind her was the tallest girl she had ever seen, and also the most stunningly beautiful.

She was wearing a very smart looking suit, in navy with a pinstripe, comprising of a skirt and jacket. Her pale blue blouse was silk, and she wore a stylish cravat/scarf at her throat. Her long blonde hair was neatly arranged up, and appeared to have been recently set, and very professionally too. Her make up was very discrete, yet accentuated her amazing blue eyes and high cheekbones. Her long elegant nails were varnished and perfectly shaped.

Everything about her screamed ‘elegant sophistication’ and she smiled warmly at Mary, who felt positively dowdy in comparison.

Michelle had spent nearly all the money she had on her hair, makeup and clothes. Being so tall presented quite a problem on the clothes front, and she had found only a couple of stores that catered for the taller woman. She had nowhere to stay, and just enough money left for one decent meal.

“Mary, this is Miss Czakan, she is here for the three o’clock interview. Is Mr Fenwick in?”

“Yes, I’ll see if he is free.”

Mary knocked and entered the office, and found her boss staring out of the window.

He didn’t turn round.

“Yes Mary?”

“The applicant is here, she is a little early, do you want for her to wait?”

He looked at his watch.

“No, I’ll see her now. Send her in.”

Mary retreated, and he was still staring out of the window.

“He will see you now,” she said, and rolled her eyes to Glenda to show the mood of their boss.

“Thank you,” said Michelle, and went straight into the office. Mary closed the door behind her.

Gordon was still staring out of the window.

He turned and looked at the latest applicant.

For a moment, he was completely stunned, as he had already formed an impression in his mind’s eye of a small shrew like creature, with a squint and bad teeth. Nothing prepared him for the vision that stood before him, staring him straight in the eye, and from the same level.

Feeling confused and embarrassed and being so wrong footed, he fumbled for the necessary forms on the desk.

“Please sit down, Miss, ah, ah, Miss Czakan,” he said, mispronouncing the awkward name as Cha-kan, as he found the document. He sat behind the desk, and watched as she sat in the chair opposite him, and delicately crossed her silk clad legs. He felt increasingly uncomfortable under her direct and seemingly unshakable stare.

“That is pronounced Za-kan,” she said.

He read the form and asked some basic questions about her background. Michelle enjoyed the feeling of power she held over this man. He was so obviously surprised by her appearance, and also apparently attracted to her, that he was slightly tongue tied and rather awkward.

She spoke in perfect English, allowing a slight American accent to sneak in along side the Ukrainian. Many East Europeans leaned English from an American source so that it was not unusual.

“May I call you Michelle?”

“I’d prefer it,” she said with a smile, and he smiled in return.

“Parlez vous francais?”

“Certainement monsieur,” she said, without hesitation, and with a faultless accent.

He conducted part of the interview in French, and then switched to Russian. His Russian was basic, and not fluent, whereas he recognised that she was both fluent and very used to it. He began to warm to the girl. Not only did she look wonderful, but she also had all the language skills he had been so desperately seeking.

Part of the package involved the scrutiny of documents, and so he passed her a legal document written in Russian.

“Can you translate that for me?”

“Of course. Into English or French?”

He smiled.

“Both?” he said, and she calmly smiled, and proceeded to rapidly read the document in English, and then in French. Her translation was perfect, and Gordon found himself grinning broadly.

“Wonderful, when can you start?”

She smiled.

“I have exactly eleven pounds to my name, how about now?” she said.

She explained her passport difficulties, and Gordon frowned. The United States were awkward about such problems, but he had had dealings with the Home Office before, and knew someone in a position who may be able to help.

“You have the job,” he said.

They spent some time discussing salary and other related matters. As soon as he mentioned a salary in excess of £30,000, she had to calculate it across in to dollars. It came to around $50,000 a year. That was almost more than she earned as a cop.

“I am concerned about your immigration status, particularly in respect of the USA, and if you wait a moment, I will see what I can do about your passport. Leave me the H.O. reference numbers, and go and have a seat. I hope this won’t take long.”

She left his office, and did as was instructed, as Gordon rang his friend in the Home office.

She was on her second cup of coffee when Gordon came out of his office to see her. Mary frowned, this was unusual, as he would normally have people ushered into his office, and never came out to them. She glanced at the girl, and smiled. No wonder, he was smitten. She thought.

“Michelle, good news, I have arranged for your passport to be hurried through. They will send it by special delivery to this office, so it should be here in a couple of days. It is rare for anyone to have their papers processed as quickly as yours seem to have been. What extra deal did you make?” he asked with a smile.

She simply smiled, and his heart melted.

“Ah, where are you staying?” he asked.

“I am between places right now,” she admitted.

Mary found she had some urgent business in the post room and left them to it.

“Well, I have a spare room in my flat, if you don’t mind sharing?”

“That is very kind of you, but I couldn’t impose on you,” she said.

“It is no imposition, it would be my pleasure,” he said and grinned.

I know what is on your mind, buster, Michelle thought.

“Then I will accept. Thank you.”

“No problem, I am delighted that you are now part of the company.”

She smiled, and stood up and she shook his hand.

He liked the firmness of her handshake, but she was still soft and so very feminine. He held her hand for a long time, and eventually, and reluctantly he released her.

He felt awkward again, and took the plunge.

“Are you free for dinner, tonight?”

“Yes,” she said, and smiled again.

“Then, I will give you a lift to the flat, and we could go out to a nice little restaurant I know.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” she said, and he received a warm glow whenever she smiled.

“Have you any luggage?”

She looked at the small bag by the secretary’s desk.

“That is all I have in the world,” she said, and another poor sucker fell for her charm.

Mary returned to see her boss leaving, and with the tall girl. She smiled, as perhaps the man had met his match at last.

Typically, Gordon had a Range Rover. Not because he ever went off road or towed anything, but because it matched his ego. London was packed to overflowing with cars, so his answer was to have the biggest and most inefficient he could get. The V8 engine rarely got more than twelve miles to the gallon the way he drove, and it reflected his attitude to everything - big, expensive and in control.

Michelle appreciated the ample legroom, as a very tall girl, she found the smaller cars too short, and was pleased to be able to stretch out in comfort. She noted the windows were smoked, and therefore no one could see inside. She smiled, as this car was the exact mirror of its owner.

She watched as London streets flitted past, and was interested, having never been here before. Gordon glanced at his passenger, and smiled slightly.

`She was the most beautiful girl he had ever met, and found himself falling for her in a big way. Most of the women he met were either little more than prostitutes supplied by companies as softeners for his use. Or otherwise, they were girls whom his mother decided he ought to consider as potential wives. He had never actually managed to attract and hold onto a woman all by himself, and he had thought that perhaps he never would.

He suddenly remembered his mother.

“Damn!” he said, and Michelle jumped slightly. She had been following his thoughts, but the suddenness of his expletive surprised her.

“I’m sorry, but I have just remembered, my mother is dropping in this evening.”

“Then I will go to a hotel,” she said.

“No, don’t be silly. It is just that we will all have to go out.”

“I could cook for you?” she offered.

Gordon was silent, and Michelle smiled as she read his mind. Never had his mother been round when a girl he had been seeing had cooked a meal. He smiled as he tried to gauge her reaction.

“I couldn’t expect you to do that,” he said, half-heartedly.

“You are helping me, so I help you, and you pretend that you at last have a domestic girl friend,” she said with a wicked smile.

He stared at her in surprise, and then started to laugh.

They stopped off at a supermarket, and for the first time in his adult life, Gordon went round pushing a trolley as Michelle selected various products. She took her time, as it was no act that the products were unfamiliar to her. He paid by credit card, unaware whether she had bought cheap or expensive items.

The flat was in a select mews in Kensington, and he even had two garages, one for the Range Rover and one for his 1969 MGB roadster.

He put the car away, and unlocked the front door.

It was a beautiful flat, thoroughly modernised internally. It had four spacious bedrooms and two bathrooms, a modern kitchen (which had rarely seen food prepared), a dining room and a large living room with small study to the rear.

They carried the groceries and her small case into the house, and he showed her to the largest spare room. She placed her case on the floor, and gratefully went to the bathroom.

He went and tidied up a little, and when she appeared again, they were both surprised.

She was surprised that the living room was now tidy, and he was surprised at her change in clothes.

She had taken off the suit, and wore a very fetching black dress, and let her gorgeous hair down. Gone was the efficient P.A., and in her place was a veritable angel.

“My God, you look lovely!” he said, and then was embarrassed that he had vocalised his thoughts.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled, blushing delightfully.

She went to the kitchen and started to sort through her purchases. Back in her previous life, she had been a good cook, and was always adventurous with new dishes. It had been a way of relieving stress, and so the skills were still there. Her speciality was Thai food, and adored red and green curries.

So, she calmly and efficiently made the curry paste, and the started to prepare the dish.

It was only five o’clock, so once all the ingredients were prepared, she put them in the fridge, and thumbed through the microwave instruction and recipe book. She looked through the cupboards and using the ingredients that were there, she prepared a chocolate sponge cake.

“Do you like chocolate?” she asked.

“Yes, why?”

“I was wondering.”

He was on the computer, checking his Emails, and she walked over to where he sat. Gently, she began to massage his shoulders with her long fingers. He stiffened slightly at her touch, and then relaxed.

That felt so good, Gordon suddenly felt euphoria hit him, and was at a complete loss to understand what was happening to him. Michelle frowned, as she had yet to even attempt any mental manipulation on this man, he was falling for her so fast and hard, and with no help whatsoever. He was sexually attractive, in an aggressive and dominant way, but his personality was minimal, as his life was his work, and as a consequence there was very little left to be the real Gordon.

She delved deeper into his mind, and found that underneath the cool-headed and somewhat ruthless businessman, was a little boy who was rather shy, and socially immature. She looked into his heart, and liked what she saw.

Under her skilled fingers, Gordon relaxed more than he had in ages, and he adored feeling her touch.

“You work too much,” she said, and with an almost critical tone. However, he nodded, he agreed, he did work too much, but then it was important. Wasn’t it?

Suddenly, he was given a glimpse of what was really important, and he saw that there actually was a lot more than work. There was family, friends, children, home, fun, hobbies and relationships. He frowned, as he experienced a feeling of loss, and looked up at the girl behind him.

“Do you have family?” he asked.

“They are all dead,” she said, in a way that dissuaded any further discussion.

“I am sorry,” he said feeling bad he had asked.

“You did not know. My father died many years ago, but my mother was ill and died in the sickness four years ago. My brother was in the army, and died in Chetchnya. There is no one else.”

“It is not right to be alone,” he said.

“You are alone,” she said, and he smiled.

“I have my mother, and a sister somewhere.”

“You do not even know where she is?”

“She lives on a boat with her partner. They live somewhere in the Caribbean. The boat is a large sailing yacht, and they take a paying crew on adventure holidays.”

She smiled, an indolent and useless lifestyle, but fun nonetheless.

He took one of her hands, and turned round, looking up into those hypnotic blue eyes.

“Why are you so beautiful?”

She smiled, and he felt his pulse increase.

“I am to big to be beautiful,” she said.

“No. Whoever told you that is a fool, and blind. You are perfect. You are spectacularly beautiful, a true Goddess amongst women. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.”

She stroked his cheek.

“Poor boy, you are falling in love with me, yes?”

He stared at her in undisguised admiration and infatuation, his sexual arousal obvious to all but the blind.

“I, I don’t know what I feel,” he stammered, honestly. “I only know I have never felt this way about anyone before.”

She smiled and licked her lips. He wanted her to kiss him, as he was paralysed with desire. She was about to do just that.

The telephone rang, and the spell was broken.

“Shit!” he said, and she laughed. Her laugh was such a delightful sound that he instantly felt better. He went and answered the phone.

It was his mother checking that she was still, expected.

“Yes mother, seven o’clock, as we agreed.”

“We aren’t going to that horrid little Italian place you like so much, are we?”

“No mother. I thought we’d eat in.”

“Good God, since when have you ever cooked?”

“Michelle is making something nice,” he said, and grinned as he said it. He met her eyes, and she grinned back at him. He smiled, and his heart ached for her.

There was a pause.

“Who is Michelle, pray?”

“She is a girl who has just come to work for the company. She is staying with me until she gets her flat sorted out,” he said, and adored having one over on his mother.

“Have I met her?” she asked.

“I doubt it, not unless you have travelled expensively in the old Soviet Union. Ukraine to be precise.”

“Ukraine. Oh, Gordon what are you doing?”

“We will see you at seven. Trust me mother, you will approve, I promise,” he said, and put the phone down.

“You are a very bad man,” Michelle said, smiling at him.

“Why?”

“You tease your poor old mother.”

He laughed.

“My poor old mother is neither poor, nor old. She is fifty-one, and looks forty, and behaves like a seventeen-year old nymphomaniac at times. She wore out my father, God rest his soul, ten years ago. He had a massive heart attack whilst making love to her. She goes through young men as if they are going out of fashion, and the last one was five years younger than me.”

She smiled, and looked around the flat. There were some nice pictures on the walls and the furnishings were obviously expensive, yet it was characterless.

“You need a woman,” she declared, and he blushed. No girl ever made him feel like a bashful sixteen-year old as she did.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, somewhat defensively.

“Your house has no soul,” she said.

He looked around. It was nice, but she was right, it lacked depth.

He then looked at her, and his entire being ached with desire for her. She looked at him and smiled. For an awful moment he thought she could read his mind, then he told himself not to be so silly.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Da. Please.”

He loved her accent, as it made her seem more exotic somehow.

“You name it, I probably have it,” he said.

“Vodka?”

“Of course. Neat?”

“Nyet. With orange or tonic. We are not all barbaric alcoholics,” she said, and he laughed.

“Ice?”

“Please.”

He poured himself a whisky, and her a vodka and tonic. He handed it to her, and their fingers met. He felt an electric thrill as they briefly touched.

“Cheers,” he said, and she raised her glass.

He took a sip, and watched the girl. He was uncertain of himself for about the first time in his life, and did not enjoy the sensation. He wanted to reach out and take her, but he knew, with a high degree of certainty that if he did so he could lose her forever.

He watched as she went into the kitchen, and heard her filling a pan with water. He took another sip, and felt the amber liquid burn pleasantly on its way down. He had an erection, and felt guilty, but she had a profound effect upon him, not only sexually but emotionally as well. It was almost as if he was unable to exist without knowing that she was near. He shook his head, as if to shake away the thought. But it prevailed, and he frowned.

“I am going for a shower, if you want anything, just help yourself.” he said, and went and shut his bedroom door. He put the whisky on the side and undressed. He stepped into the shower and stood under the hot jets for a while. He closed his eyes, and could still see Michelle’s smile. He tried to think of other things, anything, but he couldn’t. He was totally besotted with her, and he recognised that his life would never be the same again.

Michelle was smiling. She had read Gordon’s mind, and acknowledged that the man was falling in love with her. She analysed her own feelings, and discovered no real feelings at all. Life was almost a dream, and everything was so new that it was almost as if she was playing a computer game, and if things went wrong, she could re-boot and start all over again.

Her smile faded, as it dawned on here that this was no game, no dream, and was for real. The surreal quality faded with her smile, and the seriousness of life settled on her. Yet, she was well equipped, both in experience, and thanks to the aliens, with the most efficient body. Life was to be lived, and she intended to make the most of it.

Her smile returned, and she moved into the living room. The shower was still going, and she went to her bag and picked it up. Leaving the front door on the latch, she went out into the mews, and down to the small florist on the corner.

They were about to shut as it was almost six o’clock, but she bought £10 worth of cut flowers, and they threw in some foliage for nothing. She walked back to the flat, and let herself in again. Gordon was still in the shower, and she smiled.

She went to the kitchen, and hunted for some vases. She found a couple, and attempted to do some form of flower arrangements. They were not brilliant, but better than nothing. She put the smaller one in the middle of the dining table, and the other on the mantle piece in the living room. It wasn’t much, but it made the place a little less masculine. It gave it a softer edge, and she liked the feel. The colours of the roses and chrysanthemums brought some life to the rooms, and it pleased her.

She heard the shower stop, and she tentatively explored Gordon’s mind.

He was still thinking of her, and she was rather shocked to discover he had masturbated in the shower whilst thinking of making love to her. She had not intended this to happen, and it worried her. She withdrew, and wondered if she could do anything to reverse the effect she had had upon the man. She decided that any such attempt would probably aggravate the situation until she knew what she was doing. Perhaps he would lose interest and as she moved on.

She sat on the sofa and picked up a magazine, and flicked through the pages. She sipped her drink, and wondered what Gordon’s reaction would have been had she asked for a beer.

There was an article entitled ‘Women are from Venus, men are from Mars.’, and she read it with interest. She smiled, as she was from somewhere else entirely.

She looked at her watch, and went and started the curry. She browned the sliced chicken, and then added the sauce and peppers. She turned the heat under the wok down low, and covered it.

The smell from the kitchen gently permeated the living area, and Gordon appeared in a clean shirt and casual trousers. He sniffed the air, and smiled.

“That smells fantastic,” he said.

She smiled, and ran a hand across his cheeks.

“You have shaved,” she said, and smelled his aftershave. “You smell very nice.”

Gordon felt on overwhelming desire to take her in his arms, but managed to control it, just.

“All the better to ravish you,” he said, half joking.

She said nothing, but simply smiled at him, and he had to turn away.

“Another drink?” he asked, refilling his empty glass.

“No, I need to keep sober, otherwise you may take advantage of me,” she said, her eyes gleaming with humour.

He smiled, but his heart was racing. So, he thought, this is what is feels like to be in love.

The doorbell rang, and Michelle looked at him.

“Do you want for me to answer it?” she asked, a naughty glint in her eyes.

“Would you?” he asked, seeing the potential for winding up his mother.

She laughed, and said, “Of course, would you like me to speak with a heavy accent?”

“No, just be yourself, please,” he said.

Rebecca Fenwick was very cross, as her son had done something without her knowledge and out of her control. She was a very attractive woman of medium build. She was what could be described as a ‘good’ fifty-one year old. In fact, she was excellent for her age, and she knew it.

However, it was not without much expense and effort both on her, experts and surgeons parts. Her hair was a deep russet colour, and mostly out of a bottle, as underneath she was totally grey. Her figure was that of a thirty-five year old, and had cost her a small fortune.

The only daughter of a wealthy country doctor, Rebecca discovered sex at fourteen and with it the power she had over men. By the time she was eighteen, she had lost count of how many men she had had. When George Fenwick had thought he had seduced her at a spring Ball, she identified that there were only two important things in life, money and sex.

George was forty, and a rich man. He was an experienced and moderate lover, and within six months they were engaged.

Rebecca’s mother had been horrified at her daughter’s choice for a husband, as he was only a few years younger than her. But Rebecca loved him in her own funny little way, and the marriage had gone ahead.

They lived well, and Rebecca enjoyed a healthy sex life, and mostly with her husband. They had two children, Gordon, and then Sally, eighteen months later. Rebecca found children distressingly hampering as far as her social life was concerned, and decided that two was enough.

The children were sent off to boarding school at the earliest opportunity, and shortly afterwards she persuaded her husband, now in his fifties, to buy her a house in the Caribbean.

Everything went well for a while, George’s business flourished, as did Rebecca’s sex life. George was spending six months or more in Europe, and she was free to find eager young men with whom she could cavort to her heart’s content while he was away.

But the business started to struggle, and they had to sell the house in Tobago. She returned to England, and was more restricted in her amorous liaisons.

George was blissfully unaware of his wife’s extracurricular activities, as she was discrete at least. However, one evening, whilst indulging in legitimate marital sex, he suffered a massive heart attack, and died in his wife’s arms.

“Fuck!” she had said, and called an ambulance.

He was well insured and had catered for her amply in his will, thus her future was relatively secure. After receiving, and declining, twelve proposals within the first six months of widowhood, Rebecca discovered that her age was no barrier to having a healthy sex life.

Now, momentarily between partners, she had taken upon herself to identify a suitable bride for her idiot son, who seemed to be unaware that his genitals were for anything other than passing water.

She stood on the doorstep of his flat, having breached one of her steadfast rules, that of never being early or on time for anything. She was almost curling up in frustration and curiosity, and as the door opened she was wholly ill prepared for the reception she received.

Michelle opened the door, still with the blue and white striped apron around her waist.

“Ah, you must be Gordon’s mother. I am Michelle, I have heard all about you,” she said in faultless English, with a faint accent that Rebecca couldn’t place, and held out a hand.

Rebecca stared upwards, and then allowed her eyes to travel down the extensive length of the girl’s voluptuous yet athletic frame, and then back up to her eyes again. Totally controlled and unafraid, Michelle stared into Rebecca’s eyes, and simply smiled.

Rebecca came in, and shook the hand that Michelle offered. Her son was by the drinks cabinet.

“Hi Mother. Drink?” he said.

“Usual darling, please,” she said, and before she could move, Michelle had removed her coat, and was hanging it up.

“Michelle, what a surprise. I didn’t know that Gordon had a house guest,” she said, as her son placed a strong gin and tonic in her hand.

“I am between apartments at moment, and as I have just been employed by your son, he was kind enough to offer me his spare room for a little while.” Her English was excellent, but Rebecca was frustrated as she could not identify the accent.

“How nice. You accent is illusive, where are you from?”

“I was born in Donetsk, in the east of Ukraine, and my family come from a small village to the south of the city.”

“You speak very good English. But is that an American accent?”

“My teacher leaned from an American, so I learned the accent too.”

“So, when did you start working for my son?”

Michelle smiled.

“At about three o’clock. Excuse me, I must see to the dinner,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.

Rebecca turned and looked at her son, who stared back with undisguised amusement. She walked across and sat next to him on the sofa.

“So, what do you think, mother?”

“She will have you for breakfast and spit out the bones,” she said, and he laughed.

“Isn’t she wonderful?”

“Gordon, she is rather bigger than I think is proper.”

“Mother, she is perfect. She is the first woman I can look at without getting a crick in my neck, and besides, her figure is wonderful.”

“She is not English.”

“So, she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. She is intelligent, funny, charming, and quite stunning.”

Rebecca looked sharply at her son. Never before had he reacted to any woman quite like this. She was a little surprised and shocked. She glanced round the flat and immediately saw the flowers, and frowned.

Michelle returned, with