Allister could not say, for certain, who his abductors were due to the fact that he had been strapped face-up to a cold metal table. His head was held in place with minorly evasive clamps and his vision was reduced to a look straight above and the vagueness of his peripheral. It was not necessarily fear that crept into Allister, but uncomfortability. He had no intention of putting up a fight. Abductors, in fact, would in most cases find him quite docile. He longed only to get to know these strangers who seemed never to move into his scope of vision. It troubled him that, after this abduction was long over, he would have no way of recognizing his captors beyond their gangly green suction-cupped fingers.
But, disregarding their lack of introduction, Allister had no complaints about his abduction. The initial capture could almost even be called pleasant. He had been fishing alone on a remote crater lake in the Andes, as so often is the case with these stories, when a rope descended from the heavens. No scary beams. No bizarre noises. A simple rope, woven of simple fiber, and dangling from the clouds. Allister set his pole down and gave tug to the rope. It held fast. Allister tugged once more, as human nature made him. His head tilt in that curious, owlish fashion and he set his hand one over the next in the early stages of climbing. Immediately the rope began a steady ascension. A most comfortable ascension that lulled Allister into a deep sleep, during which Allister miraculously remained affixed to the rope. In his slumber, if this is possible, the rope became a pillow of the softest down and his hands became his resting head. This is the only way Allister knew how to describe it.
When he woke, he found himself strapped to the cool metal. He was unafraid, though. His body never nearing even the most remote sense of shock. The people of the gangly green suction-cupped fingers went about their duties and procedures in the most professional manner. Allister could not help but think throughout the probing of various dirty-fingered doctors back on Earth. Of the way they pushed and impolitely drew blood. He wished he could obtain the procedural etiquette manual from these gangly green suction-cupped fingered peoples and bring it back to Earth to offer the medical world of humans.
Towards the end of procedures, whence Allister was closest (although admittedly nowhere near) boredom, his ears could hear the distant sound of an intricately sweet soft shoe number tapping the floor of his conscience. And, once more, he faded into slumber, only to wake in his little boat floating on the remote crater lake in the Andes. Just as Allister collected his senses, the line of his fishing pole tugged and Allister reeled in, with uncommon ease, the largest bass he had ever caught. The bass neither batted its fins nor flopped around. If only it had eyelids, Allister could be certain it was sleeping. He could not help but feel as though this were a gift wrapped in scales and gills from those gangly green suction-cupped fingered friends.
In later years, he would look very closely at the fingers of everyone he met and only once did he possibly see one of his former abductors. He was unable to get a clear view, but he felt deep inside that soft shoe number tapping and only wished he could have had a cup of coffee with the guy. Perhaps he could, then, finally get a name to match the fingers. And, admittedly, there too was part of him that really wanted to know the results of his tests.
But, disregarding their lack of introduction, Allister had no complaints about his abduction. The initial capture could almost even be called pleasant. He had been fishing alone on a remote crater lake in the Andes, as so often is the case with these stories, when a rope descended from the heavens. No scary beams. No bizarre noises. A simple rope, woven of simple fiber, and dangling from the clouds. Allister set his pole down and gave tug to the rope. It held fast. Allister tugged once more, as human nature made him. His head tilt in that curious, owlish fashion and he set his hand one over the next in the early stages of climbing. Immediately the rope began a steady ascension. A most comfortable ascension that lulled Allister into a deep sleep, during which Allister miraculously remained affixed to the rope. In his slumber, if this is possible, the rope became a pillow of the softest down and his hands became his resting head. This is the only way Allister knew how to describe it.
When he woke, he found himself strapped to the cool metal. He was unafraid, though. His body never nearing even the most remote sense of shock. The people of the gangly green suction-cupped fingers went about their duties and procedures in the most professional manner. Allister could not help but think throughout the probing of various dirty-fingered doctors back on Earth. Of the way they pushed and impolitely drew blood. He wished he could obtain the procedural etiquette manual from these gangly green suction-cupped fingered peoples and bring it back to Earth to offer the medical world of humans.
Towards the end of procedures, whence Allister was closest (although admittedly nowhere near) boredom, his ears could hear the distant sound of an intricately sweet soft shoe number tapping the floor of his conscience. And, once more, he faded into slumber, only to wake in his little boat floating on the remote crater lake in the Andes. Just as Allister collected his senses, the line of his fishing pole tugged and Allister reeled in, with uncommon ease, the largest bass he had ever caught. The bass neither batted its fins nor flopped around. If only it had eyelids, Allister could be certain it was sleeping. He could not help but feel as though this were a gift wrapped in scales and gills from those gangly green suction-cupped fingered friends.
In later years, he would look very closely at the fingers of everyone he met and only once did he possibly see one of his former abductors. He was unable to get a clear view, but he felt deep inside that soft shoe number tapping and only wished he could have had a cup of coffee with the guy. Perhaps he could, then, finally get a name to match the fingers. And, admittedly, there too was part of him that really wanted to know the results of his tests.
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