Alien Impulses

The airlock swung open and we were thrown out into a bright, sunlit morning over the eastern Atlantic. The altimeter read 184,000 feet, which already made this the most ambitious parachute jump in history. We held hands and angled downwards, heads towards the sea, an quickly achieved terminal velocity. The altitude spiralled downwards as we approached the top cloud layer. The view was spectacular; thin, whispy layers of cloud defined the upper atmosphere. Below these were towers of rainclouds, thick and billowing, and then the lower cloud deck. It was a rainy day over Ireland, we noted, drifting East with each passing moment. My navigation computer kept us on track, recommending a turn or a tweaking of the suit's aerodynamic properties to force us further east, a little south, ever lower and lower.

The parachutes opened over Snowdonia at 12,000 feet and we drifted serenely, silently down towards a pleasant valley in the National Park. To avoid totally freaking out any hikers or farmers we encountered on arrival, we both removed our helmets and stowed them in bags attached to our suits. The Park looked peaceful, undisturbed, despite the momentous goings on of the past few weeks. There were no crowds of journalists or divers around the lake, I was pleased to see, although they would get a hell of a shock next time they went down there, I knew.

The suits operated perfectly, linking up seamlessly with the navigation system, and we landed neatly in the car park I knew so well by now. A family, packing up a picnic lunch, gawped at us and their kids waved as we sorted out our gear. The father, as I assumed he was, walked over, slightly tentative.

"Are you two from the forces, then?", he asked.

I gave Gemma a look. She had no answer, so I chimed in. "That's right. Practice jump. All went to plan."

"What, Parachute Regiment?", he asked.

I paused for a second, lifted a finger to my lips and just said, "shhhhh", with a sly wink. He tapped the side of his nose, smiled broadly and returned to his family. "People will believe anything. Remember that, love. We're going to be relying on that very precept extremely heavily."

Brunel, posing as a Golf owner out for a late spin, had brought the car. The risks we took... If the cops had stopped him for a random breathalyzer test, or if some idiot had run into him... Still, I was glad to see the old Golf with its new engine, waiting for us. We were home in an hour.

An hour with the sleep inducer and we were both well rested, if a little phased by the journey. I had surprised myself with the decision to go as far as Jupiter, let alone land on any of her moons, let alone throw ourselves 60km down into half-frozen, alien ocean... That had been awesome, truly. But now Gemma had to get back to London, Hal was just champing at the bit, and both of us were extremely hungry.

"What are you going to tell your friends about this weekend?", I asked, munching on a bowl of cereal.

Gemma laughed. I liked that sound so much. "Oh, you know, the usual stuff. Watched some TV, did the laundry, washed my hair. The usual thing." We grinned at each other.

"Babe, you were great. Anyone else I know would have totally freaked at... well, any aspect of this whole thing that we could name. You just dealt with it."

She put down her spoon. "What's the alternative? Scream at the top of my lungs? Go to the police? You're smart, cool and sexy. The fact that you've got friends on different planets is a groovy bonus, not a reason to get my knickers in a twist."

"Well", I retorted, "if they get twisted, the easiest thing is to take them off". She grinned lasciviously at me. We hadn't had a nice, quick fuck since being together in the shower on the Phoenix, which was, I knew, achieving a solar orbit about now. "What time is your train?"

We had only twenty minutes until she had to leave, so she brazenly lifted her dress, pulled off her panties and leaned forward over the kitchen counter, parting her legs. I was on her in seconds, a new erection raging and demanding release. I pulled my jeans down enough to free my cock, rubbed it against her entrance and quickly pushed inside her. This was to be a mutual search for an orgasm, I knew, not the leisurely lovemaking we were used to.

"Fuck me, baby", she gasped. "Give it to me." I needed no encouragement. My freshly-lubricated cock was slipping effortlessly into the depths of her cunt, which moistened more with each stroke. I knew she liked it deep, liked me to probe the walls of her vagina and find her G-spot, to give her my complete length. I held her hips firmly and fucked her with as much energy, almost violence, as I ever had before. "Wait... let me sit on the counter. I want to kiss you."

I withdrew and stroked my moistened cock while she turned around, got comfortable on the counter, and then beckoned me to enter her again. I slid into her pussy, kissed her passionately, and fucked her for all I was worth. My mouth moved over her neck and we shared the struggle of freeing her breasts, which responded immediately to my warm lips, sucking and teasing them. She came as I bit gently on her nipples, her lovely pussy cream forming a delicious smear on the kitchen counter. The rippling of her muscles was too much for me to resist, and with a low groan, I reached my peak and shot a huge amount of cum into her pussy. Five large spasms jolted through my cock, sending ever more seed into her.

As we allowed our breathing to return to normal, she fondled my balls and said, "you should let scientists look at these. They're a medical miracle." My semen was already dribbling from her opening, and this only increased after I withdrew. "I've never had a boyfriend who produced so much... and so often", she quipped, kissing me and dashing to the bathroom.

I cleaned up the counter, grinning to myself. What a girl. What a weekend. But now she was going back to her flat, and I wouldn't see her until Thursday. My heart sank at the thought. As she returned from the bathroom, I approached her with an idea. I wasn't totally sure about this, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

"Gemma, I want to talk to you about something." She was brushing her hair.

"Let's talk in the car. I'm going to miss the train." I grabbed her bag from the hall and we set off to the station. I noticed that she was holding her stomach, pressing it for some reason.

"Are you OK?"

She looked across at me. "Fine. It's just sometimes when you put your whole length inside me, my cervix reacts a bit, and it feels odd. It doesn't hurt. Just feels like you're still there... which isn't a bad feeling, I suppose. I miss your cock already." I flashed her a grin. "What did you want to talk about?"

I took a breath. "I want to live with you." There was silence. "I'd like us to find a way to live together. Either here in Wales or in London or somewhere else. What do you think?"

She smiled. "I think it's a good idea", she began, and then stopped.

"But?"

"Baby, I'm sorry. I lived with a guy before and he totally screwed me up. I lost all my personal space, I couldn't follow my usual routines, and I like my routines. They work for me."

"I wouldn't change any of that", I protested. This was not what I had expected.

"I know you wouldn't try to, but I'm just not ready for that again. Not yet. We've only been together a few weeks -- three, isn't it? -- and I know we're been to Jupiter together and that should count for a lot, but I need more time on this. I need to think before I commit myself."

Commit herself? Jesus. I tried to keep my voice calm, but I was livid under the surface. "OK, so spell it out for me, so I know where you're coming from. Where do we stand?"

She fidgeted with her bag for a moment, looked out of the window. Then, "we're very close friends, with very special privileges. I care about you a lot. I love having sex with you. I love spending time with you. But I need my own space, my own time. Can you understand that?"

I nodded slowly. 'No', I thought to myself, 'I fucking well can NOT understand that'. My hands tightened invisibly on the steering wheel.

"Of course", I managed.

"I don't want to upset you. This weekend was... out of this world, literally... but can we slow down? Please?"

All my months on Takanli and a girl had never said no to me. I'm back on Earth for a few weeks and I get this. Don't get me wrong -- she was right to slow things down. We had rushed so quickly to this point, missing out all kinds of other things, preparatory things, getting-to-know-you things, meeting each others' friends. It just hurt. Really quite badly. And I hadn't experienced that for 85 years.

We pulled into the station and she gave me a quick kiss, promised to call. I accelerated out of the car park feeling like I'd been ditched. I wondered if she would call, I really did. Jesus. Had I been an idiot, with the Jupiter trip? Was I just guilty of showing off? Had I scared her away? Should I, in the context of my relationship with Falik, be dating her anyway?

The journey home passed in a blur caused by these questions. I resolved to put it aside for the rest of the day, try to relax, get some work done with Hal. It was a little early for a drink, but they hardly effected me these days and I felt like I needed one.

"Scotch, neat over ice", I asked the Replicator, who obliged within his usual ten seconds. "Hal, what have you got for me?"

Turning back to the Project, with its manifest complexities, after the carefree weekend with Gemma, was a mental challenge and a welcome one. Hal had been in touch with various bodies related to our airfield in Norfolk. The Ministry of Defence had confirmed the details of the deal, including a formalised, legal-ese version of my wager with the Minister. Three months to an engine test. Six months to the first atmospheric flight test. Guaranteed British government support for everything I did, provided those tests happened on schedule.

Hal had also heard back from the local council, who were co-ordinating responses from the public. They were largely favourable. Part of this was due to our 'spin', Hal's way with words. The new agreement was billed in Star Trek terminology, exciting, blood-pumping stuff. This move would herald a new era, not only in the local history of Norfolk, but in the history of our solar system. Norfolk would be at the nerve-centre / forefront / heart / insert your emotive noun here... The local people were on board before they even knew it. The doubters I had met in the pub turned out to be in a minority. And certainly they were responding well to our noise-reduction ideas. It wouldn't be like living under the flight path at Heathrow, they agreed. This would be quiet, sexily high-tech and a major cash-cow for the area.

The one truth I hadn't the heart to tell them was that not one local person would gain employment because of me, my spaceplanes or Hal's construction efforts. The entire thing would be managed with robots. I asked Hal to remind me why this was. He sighed heavily.

"Security, for one thing. We're using materials which are entirely unknown on Earth. We're using a propulsion system which, even at an accelerated rate of development, is twenty years in the future. We're latching onto an asteroid and mining it, for God's sake. This isn't the production line for Mattel toys, or IBM Computers. This is alien technology", he reminded me. "Besides, humans are too damned slow. There's no way we'd be in a position to fire up an engine test in three months, and absolutely for certain no way we could do the flight test three months after that, if we were limited to the speed and accuracy of the human hand and mind."

I bristled slightly. "Humans can be smart, too, Hal".

He uttered a colourful oath, the first really rude thing I'd heard him say. He was learning, I noted with a big grin. "Have you noticed", he went on, "that the furthest out into space your 'smart' humans have ever gone is to spend a few fleeting hours on your moon? Didn't your experience on, and off, Takanli teach you anything?" I nodded, deferring to his sage wisdom once more. Bested in argument by a computer. What was next?!

"Sure, Hal, but technologically, Apollo and the Shuttle are the best mankind has done... we're in our infancy..."

He cut me off rather rudely. "Laziness. Corruption. Incompetence. Lousy prioritisation. Crap financial and economic systems. Political connivances. Intellectual dereliction. Need I go on?"

He was always at his harshest, his most acidic, when elucidating upon the failings of humanity. He did not see how we could be so stupid, so wasteful, so... amateurish. I kind of accepted all of these things are naturally human traits -- we plan poorly, we make bad decisions, we take steps for the wrong reasons. Apollo was a case in point. All those billions of dollars were not funnelled into the furtherment of man's presence in the solar system. They bought a technological and therefore a geo-political lead over the Soviet Union. What a crap reason to do anything.

But our project was different. The haste, and the need for an exclusively robot workforce, was driven not by political expediency or the trawling for votes, but by the need to put in place mechanisms by which mankind could avoid totally fucking up its only home. These different forms of damage we had so successfully imposed on our planet were cumulative, I knew. Modest stupidity led to serious consequences. Serious stupidity led to calamity. Being sensible, right now, was the only option.

So, the people of Norfolk would not benefit. Hal would have to come up with some press release or other about how our workers were being brought in from elsewhere. The need for security would be stressed -- state of the art technology, dangerous chemicals, intellectual property issues, you name it -- to justify the perimeter fence and the lack of public access to the airfield. It would only be for a few months, until the asteroid mission was successfully away. Then we could be more open about things.

And no press. Hal was adamant about that, despite my reservations. He could handle interview requests, which would take the form of written questions with written answers. If I wanted to contribute, I could, but there would be no face-to-face meetings with journalists. I was to keep out of the public eye if at all possible. This company, this endeavour, would be denied a human face. I didn't like the idea. People were bound to find it sinister, particularly when combined with the security fence and zero access to the base. But he convinced me, after several hours of argument, that the dangers of the press were great enough to warrant a blackout. We didn't need their approval, he reminded me, or even that of the public, now that we had passed the planning stages. They would benefit in the long run, but for now they had to be silently complicit.

We worked, I ate, we worked some more, and the hours passed. I tried not to think about Gemma, despite the jolt in my nuts whenever I remembered how gorgeous she had looked, sitting on my couch with her legs spread and her lovely, soft pussy beginning to get juicy. It was enough to drive me up the fucking wall. When we have achieved the equivalent of a committee's weekly work in a few hours, I decided to give Hal a break. He didn't find that joke particularly funny -- I was still radically under-using his capacious processing power -- but didn't make anything of it as I grabbed my jacket and headed out to the pub.

The evening air helped clear my head. Too much going on at the moment, I reasoned, and too much of it theoretical. All planning, no action. The Cruiser trip to Jupiter, now that was action. Slipping stealthily off the planet, and then that hair-raising parachute jump back from sub-orbit.... Wow. Fucking incredible. And not one other human being knew about it, except Gemma, who was probably just enjoying her time and space in London. Unless she was with someone else.

I banged open the door of the pub, entirely unwittingly, at the thought, and a slightly startled Sally bid me a good evening with concern on her face.

"Girl trouble?"

I sighed, took a long pull from the freshly poured pint. "You're as perceptive as ever, my dear. Remember the girl in the raincoat who was in here... I don't know, a few weeks back? I was chatting her up a bit." Sally nodded. I explained what had happened, omitting the inter-planetary travel, record-breaking parachute jump, Relocation to a submerged alien vessel, zero-G sex and interactions with my supercomputer. The story lacked much thereby.

"Well, you know what they say, love", she offered, pouring me a second pint. "There's no better way of getting over the last one than by getting on top of the next one!" She lapsed into hysterics at the raw wit of her sage advice. I did my best to offer a chuckle, far more interested in getting to work on the pint. I left Sally to serve others, and perhaps brighten their evenings with nuggets of wisdom, and turned to the evening news on the little TV halfway up the wall.

There was a report from somewhere snowy, perhaps Norway or Greenland, with the journalist flying over a bay filled with icebergs. I leaned closer, trying to hear. It didn't sound good. Something serious had happened underneath the Greenland icecap, it sounded like, and the meltwater had begun to lubricate the main body of ice, allowing it to shift further southward at a great rate. The grim-faced reporter was talking about a significant risk of sudden sea-level rises, flooding and a change in the salinity of the North Atlantic.

"Fuck", I breathed silently. Tomorrow's work became all the more important. These things couldn't be reversed, but they could be slowed, brought under control. Nobody was doing anything concrete. There would be meetings in the UN, maybe a special document by the G8, perhaps even an international accord like Kyoto. But, in principle, at the end of the day, when all was said and done, fuck all would actually transpire.

Not if I have anything to do about it.

The drone had been out for seven hours, its longest flight yet, dropping Relocation beacons throughout the farmland of Wales, central and eastern England, and East Anglia. In three missions, all at high altitude and carried out with admirable precision, more than fifty of the devices had been dropped into fields or areas of wasteland. Hal was certain there were sufficient for several of them to fail or to be discovered, whereupon they would disintegrate automatically and resemble a bunch of pinball machine parts. The problems of commuting to work were over.

The lease technically did not begin until midday, and there would be a small ceremony which would mark the official handover of the facility. I had come back from the pub with a yet more resolved sense of my purpose, grilled Hal on every last aspect of the plan, and then slept. It was now 7am and we were ready to drive over. It would do for me to simply appear in the middle of the airfield, not where a whole Ministry delegation would see it. One more long slog across the country, then Relocation would take care of the rest.

Hal had done a sterling job putting together examples of the revolutionary materials we would be using, and I had these in a small briefcase, along with the usual PowerPoint presentation about the Orbiter and Carrier plane. The drive was smooth, although we hit rush hour at 8.30 and I sat twiddling my thumbs while thousands of other motorists allowed their cars to pollute freely in order to cover zero distance at zero speed. I could just imagine Falik, Carpash or the Boffin laughing themselves silly at the sight. 'And you wonder how it is that your atmosphere is getting warmer! Hello? Hello? Anyone home?!'

I was waved onto the base by the security guard and parked up by the control tower once more. The Minister was there, as well as Knowles and a few other people. We exchanged pleasantries and I made a big deal of showing them the materials, insisting that we had some privacy. Knowles drove us out to one of the hangers in the Ministerial car, and the whole thing took on a rather enjoyable cloak-and-dagger feel, like I had smuggled these samples back from some factory in the Urals and it was 1985 all over again.