To Kyra and Back

2023-3 March - Abducted! Contest


To Kyra and Back

My name is P James O’Neill. If anyone asks what the P is for I tell them to mind their own business. Because of a few generations ago Irish ancestry my parents lumbered me with the name Patsy, not Patrick, Paddy, or even Pat, but Patsy. All through school and college that had caused me no end of problems, Most of my classmates deliberately called me Patsy to annoy or bully me, even though they were corrected time and time again, and I lost count of the number of times that I was made to associate with or sit with the girls, as the boys either ridiculed or ignored me.

I thought that when I left college that I would be free of all that nonsense and that the name PJ O’Neill had quite a cool professional ring to it. When I was drafted however the US army had a totally different agenda for me. All through basic training I was constantly referred to as Private O’Neill or Patsy depending on why I was being addressed by the staff-sergeant instructors. In the barrack room I was always called Patsy, particularly when there were any ’household’ chores to be done, tidying the place for inspection, making coffee for the rest of the platoon, or taking stuff to the laundromat. Because I was the smallest in our platoon I just had to grin and bear it, there was no way I could stand up to the rest of them. At least they left me alone physically, I had heard rumours from other platoons where the weakest link had been forced into being the platoon bitch to give pleasure to the testosterone-filled young men.

Despite all that I passed out from the basic training camp with a good reputation in my approach and because I had graduated from college with a decent degree in Psychology and Mental Health I was passed on to an officer training academy. Despite my size, or lack of it, I was always near the top end of our group, intellectually and surprisingly physically too, and was chosen for the Sword of Honor.

I was issued with my dress uniform for the award ceremony, but due to some bureaucratic incompetent who had misinterpreted my name it actually was a’dress’ uniform, intended for female officers, skirt, blouse, collar bow, fitted Jacket , black shoes with thick 2” heel and the gold-banded cap. No matter who I complained to I was told that it was too late to arrange for another male uniform before the ceremony and that if I wanted to pass out and be presented with the sword of honor that I would just have to wear what had been supplied.

I was taken aside by Staff-Sergeant Karen Coulson who convinced me that it did not matter how I was dressed and that I should be proud my achievements, and offered to help me to at least look female for the ceremony rather than ridiculous as a man in a skirt. By the time the passing-out parade arrived, she had me fully dressed from the skin outward looking every inch a smart female officer graduate. That included a bra and false breasts, padded panties to give a bit of shape to my hips, a shoulder length wig fixed up in a formal bun and a light makeup appropriate for the ceremony.

I was disappointed that the formal photographs would never be put up by me on public display in my quarters wherever I was posted, but still felt proud at my achievements. We were temporarily quartered in half-way-house accommodation while we awaited details of our postings. As I had passed out wearing female clothes I was quartered with the women in the group as it was felt that putting me in with the men would reignite the possibility of being treated as the ‘barrack-room-bitch’. The girls all knew about me and apart from a lot of jokes at my expense were pretty sympathetic to my situation and as much as possible treated me as another girl and coached me in appearing female and in the black arts of applying makeup and how to conduct myself. The army seemed in no hurry to correct or even admit the mistakes it had made about me, and in the short time I was there I gradually accepted and got used to the idea that I wasn’t going to change their minds.

Our postings eventually came through and along with another officer graduate Sharon Gillespie, I was posted to the 61st airborne division , told to collect my parcel of uniforms and gear from the quartermasters, and put on a transport plane to McCarran airport, Las Vegas. We had no idea of the role of the 61st and where the actual base was located, and when we landed we, along with a batch of other recruits, all male, were bussed to the other side of the airport and boarded an unmarked plain black-liveried army transport plane. An announcement came over the intercom just after we had taken off.

“Welcome to the 61st everyone, we are now on a short flight to Groom Lake base, which some of you will know by the popular name of Area51. You have all been chosen for top-secret duties which you will be informed about in more detail when we arrive and you are settled in. Because of the nature of your duties, all cell-phones, tablets and laptops are to be handed in on your arrival. For your time here you will be totally incommunicado with the outside world, except by letters, which will all be scrutinised and where necessary heavily redacted. Enjoy your stay with us.”

On arrival, all our electronic equipment and personal items and clothes, except our uniforms, were confiscated, and we were issued with a full set of everything we would need for our tour of duty at Groom Lake. Unfortunately for me, the army now totally disregarded the ‘James’ part of my name and I was now on record as Second Lieutenant Patsy O’Neill, female, and all the clothes and personal items I was provided with were appropriate to that identity, although somehow they all seemed to be a suitable size and fit.

Luckily our rooms in the female quarters were next to each other and Sharon agreed to help me adjust to my new life as a woman officer. We both felt that the Army Corps was an immovable object and that it would be easier just to go along with it all until a time arose when it could all be sorted out.

“Get your stuff unpacked and put away Patsy. We are on a casual night in the mess tonight, no uniforms, so we can choose an outfit from what we have been given, I’ll sort myself out and then come in and help you choose something and refresh your makeup before we go to meet our new colleagues.”

A short while later, with my wig groomed hanging loose rather than in the uniform bun, a light makeup and wearing a plain white blouse and black pencil skirt I went along with Sharon to the officer’s mess. When we entered the room it went deathly quiet, and I noticed that we were the only females there, the rest of the contingent, all men, eyed us warily as if we were an enemy species to be avoided at all costs.

As we sat down for our evening meal our welcome became even colder, only when all the other table places had been taken were we joined by the two remaining men.

“Welcome to the 61st Ladies, I’m Captain Bob Ewing, and this is 1st Lieutenant Harry Palmer, for your sins you both will be in our team, but more about that tomorrow.”

“You seem to know who we are already but just to confirm, I’m 2nd Lieutenant Patsy O’Neill and this is 2nd Lieutenant Sharon Gillespie.”

“Despite the reception you received from the others in here, we are quite informal in the mess, Captains and below you can address by their names, although some prefer to use their family names rather than their first names, Majors and above prefer you to use their rank titles or just ‘Sir’, you’ll soon get to know who prefers which. When on duty you should always use rank titles and formal styles of address.”

After the formal introductions were over, Bob and Harry were quite pleasant company during our meal and afterwards, and did their best to make us comfortable in these strange surroundings.

“Right we’ll see you girls at 9:00 in the morning, my office is in the South wing corridor B room 22, Harry is next door in room 23. No need for full uniform, day fatigues will be fine. We are not used to having women officers here but I believe that you will be expected to wear trousers rather than skirts, but whatever you are comfortable with will be ok with me.” Bob advised as he led us back to our rooms.

“What do you make of all this Patsy? I have heard so many rumours about this place, secret aircraft development, specialist weapons testing, alien spacecraft stored and even alien captives being held. I don’t know how much of it is true, but there is definitely an air of mystery about this place.”

“I’ve heard the same, but the official line is that is just a specialist air base and that all other stories, particularly about aliens and flying saucers are just fabricated conspiracy theories.”

“We’ll find out soon enough in the morning. During your time with the girls in the half-way house you always had someone to pick up on any masculine traits you were showing and help express your femininity. Here it is just me and I can’t watch you all the time, so you will have to learn quickly and start thinking naturally as a female otherwise we will both get into all sorts of problems. As part of that take care of yourself at night, put your wig on a stand, brush it out and style it ready for the morning, I can give you a jar of night cream for tonight and to last you a few days, but once we find out where the Commissary and PX are we can get you some of your own. With your light beard and body hair, depilatory cream might be longer lasting and more effective than regular close shaving.”

In the morning suitably dressed in fatigues Sharon and I made our way to Bob’s office to start our duties.

“Right girls, welcome to the team. Before I tell you about your duties, because of the work we do here you have to sign strict confidentiality agreements, much stricter than that in general army divisions. I must advise you that any any breach of the agreement carries severe penalties, a lot of the work carried out here is classified as top-secret and must not be discussed with anyone outside the team you are assigned to, not even to other officers in the mess, is that understood?”

“Understood and agreed Sir.” We both replied in unison and read and signed the forms he passed across to us.

“As is public knowledge much of the work on this base is advanced research into safety and security systems for our combat aircraft particularly in regard to radar invisibility and quiet running engine systems, and trials and testing of new aircraft containing those systems. However that is not the role of the team I am leading.”

“What is you role then Sir.”

“Despite strong official denials, some of the conspiracy stories you must have head are correct. Over the years there have been several captures of what would be commonly referred to as alien spacecraft or flying saucers which were brought here for detailed analysis, particularly in regard to their propulsion systems which have allowed them to carry out interstellar travel. There have also been several instances in the past of alien captives, but in the past they have succumbed to earth diseases to which they have no natural immunity and have unfortunately died before investigations could be carried out on how they operate and communicate. However we have recently captured a craft and have taken into custody two of the crew who for some reason have survived outliving they colleagues. My job, and now your job, is to learn to communicate with them and find out more about their origin and lifestyle.”

“Fascinating. What are they like, are they humanoid or have they some weird physical appearance?”

“Surprisingly they are remarkably similar in appearance to us although they have a lot of characteristics that make it obvious that they are a totally different species. I will take you down to the holding area in due course but here are some photos, and as you can see they are quite pleasant looking, upright bipeds, abdomen, thorax and head similar to our own. The most noticeable differences are the presence of a third eye, a lack of a protruding nose, a totally bald head, and a snow-white, albino-like satin-smooth skin.”

“Do they speak or communicate in any way?”

“So far we have got nothing from them, which is why you are here.”

“I don’t understand, there must be people better trained than us, those communicating with animals or with those able to break through people with off-the-scale autism that are totally withdrawn into themselves, what do we have to offer?”

“Unless one of them dies and an autopsy can be carried out we cannot be 100% sure, but we believe that they can be classed as female, whereas their colleagues, who were all male, all died. We think that there is something in their female genetic code which somehow gives them additional protection.”

“That still does not answer the question, why us?”

“We feel that they might respond to females rather than male investigators and are looking to you to see if you can get a breakthrough.”

“You do realise, don’t you Sir, that despite how I am dressed and the army’s determination to ignore the fact, that I am not female?”

“I am obviously aware of that, but what you are not aware of is that detailed analysis of your genome shows a strong influence of female criteria which apparently has been sensed by the dogs that you were faced with in your training programme and that was followed up by detailed laboratory investigation. Genetically you are almost as much female as male. Maybe our captives will sense the same things in you. You two were top of your group at the training camp, showed excellent communication skills and respect for and empathy with your fellow trainees, especially you Patsy with your major in psychology. You were both chosen because of those attributes and we feel, despite what you think, that you are our best chance of success.”

“ Ok Sir, I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“Without wishing to sound patronising, please go back to your quarters, wear your dress uniforms with skirts, put on a bit more makeup and a spray of perfume, we want to show you to them as obviously different from the male interrogators we have unsuccessfully used up until now.”

As we had been told that the aliens were bald and hairless, I dispensed with my wig and shaved my head smooth, and otherwise looking extremely feminine I made my way with Sharon back to Bob’s office.

“That should do girls, and I like your idea of the shaven head Lieutenant O’Neill, that is what I meant about empathy.”

There were no openings in the thick reinforced-concrete large holding cell other than the solid concrete door which was firmly barred in place, Cameras within the cell allowed the only way to view the aliens, who seemed placid enough and not looking aggressive in any way.

“Has anyone been in there with them?”

“Yes but they are completely impassive, they just stand there silently not responding to anything that has been said to them”

“Let us in to see if they react any differently to us.”

The electronic lock on the air lock outer door was released and we entered, waited until the outer door closed and the inner one was released and entered their cell.

The aliens looked up, their third eye in the middle of their forehead opened and scanned us from top to toe. Continuing to stare at us they emitted squeaking noises as if trying to tell us something, but otherwise made no gesture towards us. Suddenly there was a rushing noise in my head, not through my ears but directly into my brain. I looked at Sharon and she seemed to be having the same sensation.

The rushing noise turned into images and sound within my brain and they ‘spoke’ to us in thought waves.

“Who are you and why are you here?” one of them asked.

“You have been held here for some time, we are here to see if there is a way to communicate with you and find out more about you. Why are you visiting our planet.?” I spoke back and they seemed to understand, I was unsure whether it was the actual sound I was making or whether they were reading my thoughts, but it seemed to work. I would like to sit and make myself comfortable while we talk, do you understand?”

“ Of course, we do not like being held here but at least the seats are padded and comfortable.”

Sharon seemed to sense the rapport I had built with the aliens and was content to let me lead the discussions. “I ask again, why are you visiting our planet, do you come in peace?”

“For a long time we have observed your efforts to investigate other planets and it seems that your efforts are in pursuit of knowledge rather than with any warlike intentions. We are doing the same, we are trying to understand our near neighbours and are well in advance of your civilisations, but there are huge gaps in our understanding and knowledge of life on your planet.”

“I am Patsy and this is Sharon, how do we call you and where are you from?”

“You can call me Astikal and this is Hokal, we are from the planet Kyra, which you know as Proxima Centauri C, we are your nearest inhabited neighbour in a life form that you would recognise. As well as learning about you we need your help, which is why we remained silent until they sent females of your species in to meet us. The previous inquisitors have been male, and just like on our planet, they are much more aggressive and assertive than females and we did not care to get into discussions with them. Besides the help we need we can only get from females.”

“With what you can read in my mind you must know that I am not female.”

“You have the a adequate level of attributes that will help us too as well as your colleague.”

“Are you prepared to help us, we promise you will come to no harm?”

I looked over at Sharon who replied “Why Not.” Astikal and Hokal walked towards us touched our shoulders and there was a blinding flash and an overpowering noise before everything went black.

When I came too, I realised that we were no longer in the holding cell, but in a large chamber inside what appeared to be an opaque plastic dome, looked across and saw Sharon appearing to still be asleep.

Soon afterwards Hokal came into the dome. “You must feel strange, you are not used to the teleport, but it does you no harm. You are now on our craft heading back to our home on Kyra. We are in hyperdrive and should arrive soon. We will then explain what we want from you and you will be returned unharmed to your planet before long, although you may find that your lives have changed.”

When we arrived Hokal touched us on the shoulder again and when we came to we were lying on what were effectively operating tables with our wrists and ankles clasped to the table,

“Do not worry, you will suffer no harm. I am Hatikel, what you would call a doctor, and you are under my care. Hokal and Astikal did not explain to you how you can help us. Many of the females of our species, like them, carry a mutated genetic code which gives them in our timescales a relatively short life. We are going to harvest many of the eggs from your ovaries, separate the genome components we need, and use them to correct the defects in their cells, which will prolong their lives, and consequently the existence of our species.”

“ I understand that Sharon may be suitable for you, but as I explained to Astikal and Hokal, I am not female.”

“As they told you, you have a genetic defect yourself and unusual for a male, you carry the female genetic components we need. I promise that you will come to no harm and suffer no ill effects from what I am about to do, please trust me.” and when he said that and touched us lightly on our heads. There was not a bright flash this time as he touched us, just a deep feeling of calm and sleep.

When I awoke we were no longer in the operating theatre but in what was similar to the holding cell where Astikal and Hokal had been kept. I felt strange sensations in my body and instead of the uniform I had been wearing when I was abducted I now was wearing a casual skirt and spaghetti strap top showing a deep cleavage between what now seemed to be natural breasts, and with hair tickling the side of my cheeks.

However the was no opportunity to think about what had been done to me. For some time there was an incessant buzz in my head as if data was flying back and to between us and our interrogators. Eventually they smiled at us and the buzzing stopped.

“We have read your memory cells and now have much more information about life on your planet and have a much better understanding of how to relate to earth people in the future, you will now be returned to your planet.”

We immediately found ourselves teleported back to the bubble dome of the spacecraft for our journey home
.
“I’m glad you are back with us, we are now approaching your planet and are returning you unharmed as promised. You have done a great service to the females of Kyra and we will forever be in your debt. You have already helped many of us and have given us the basic supply of the cell components which we can now reproduce to maintain and correct any of us that suffer from the faulty gene in the future. You may notice Patsy that we have corrected the faulty gene inside your cells which has caused changes in your body and will continue to do so, until you are as naturally female as any other of your species. You will be teleported into a private room in McCarran airport, cases with clothing and other items you need, including money, are waiting in storage lockers 360 and 361, with access codes 4.2465LY, which is the distance back to our planet. For reasons which will become apparent you must now make new lives for yourselves, thank you and goodbye.” Astikal disappeared in a flash and I found myself, along with Sharon, in a staff locker room which opened out into the main arrival hall of the busy McCannon International airport.

We collected what had been left for us in the lockers and made our way to sit down with a coffee to consider what had happened to us and what we needed to do now. We were examining ID cards, driving licences and passports in our bags, with different names and details, when a news item on the public information screen caught our eyes.

“There is still no explanation from the Department of Defense in response to rumours of a recent explosion within Area 51 Groom Lake secure airbase and the associated deaths of two junior army officers. We can only report that there is a major security clampdown on all routes in the area.”

Sharon and I looked at each other remembering Astikal’s last words to us ‘You must now make new lives for yourselves, we collected our things and got the shuttle into the centre of the strip to have a fun weekend and plan our futures.

The end.

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Authors notes.

I have some apologies to make in advance of any corrections that may be suggested.

I am not a great follower of science fiction, in print or onscreen, so if any of the associated descriptions of Astikal and Hokal and their powers and qualities are too far-fetched or reminiscent of other works, please remember this is a fantasy work of fiction.

As will be obvious from my other stories, and some of the expressions I use, I am British not American. If any of the references to US Army standards and procedures are inaccurate or insulting please do not send the MPs round to discipline me.

To Astikal ,Hokal, Hatikel and the other occupants of Kyra, if you exist, I hope I have fairly represented your culture and character and hope that one day in the future my people and yours will meet again in peace.



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