Disclaimer: Same as in Chapter 1.
Chapter 2
Red's vision slowly came back to him, as the ships's flashing display sharpened into view. It was already running an automatic damage assessment before he had woken. The Irken groaned and fought with his harness to free himself from the pilot seat. Finally undoing the straps, he looks over at Purple who was still unconscious but still managed to grip onto the technetratanium and the stick things. He didn't appear dead, and he himself didn't appear to have any major injuries. Paying little mind to his partner, for a moment, he looks over the ongoing damage report on the ship.
The runner's engine systems had been shorted by the storm, and were on a long hard reset to recalibrate themselves. The left side thruster was damaged by the landing, and the cabin space shield had been several cracked on impact, but still sealed. Other than that, the ship was in one piece and nothing the auto-repair system couldn't handle while they got their bearings. Setting the ship to begin its own repairs, Red unfastened his partner, and opened up the hatch to drag Purple a few feet away from the crash. During the rough move, the unconscious Irken dropped his things and now lay on the ground a few feet away. Red bent over his unconscious friend, shaking him to wake him up.
"Hey . . . hey. Come on, you need to get up." Red said to Purple, completely exhausted and out of breath. He knew his efforts were in vain, as only a small murmur escaped Purple's lips. Red couldn't muster up enough strength to go any further, and began to feel lightheaded and passed out next to his partner.
A Willies Jeep drove up to the crash site. A tall man with dark hair stepped out. He was wearing off duty WWII era army fatigues and major leaves on his collars. Stepping out of the vehicle, ogling at the sight before him with bewilderment. He had no words, no thought to what he was looking at. He just stared at the crashed spittle runner, the fire now dying out. He looked to the left at Red and Purple.
"Oh my god!" Was all he could spit out, almost out of breath. He could not believe his eyes! He walked over to the two and tilted his down toward them. "This is . . . unbelievable." The man said. He bent down toward Purple and rose back up; holding the technetratanium and the sticks in his hand.
"Space foil and sticks with weird writing on them . . . COOL!" the man shouted, as if, he had won the lotto. "I can't wait to show this to my son!" With that, the man ran back to his jeep and drove off.
A few hours later, half a dozen jeeps and a few trucks and a flatbed drove up to the crash site. About two dozen soldiers armed with M1 Garand rifles surrounded the perimeter of the crash. A dozen other men, head to toe in hazmat suits, walked over to the crash and the unconscious aliens with stretchers. A hazmat in front looked down at Red and Purple.
"They still seem to be alive. Let's get them on the stretchers and to the base." The hazmat's voice was muffled from the mask, but the others managed to understand him. The other 11 hazmats carried Red and Purple to one of the trucks and covered them with a black cover.
"What shall we do with the ship, sir?" one of the hazmats asked the leader.
"Load it onto the flatbed and take it to the base." The hazmat leader ordered. The other nodded and motioned to a small crane attached to the flatbed. It picked up the spittle runner in one shot and placed it on the bed.
The assistant hazmat looked to his leader, who was for some reason, staring at where Red and Purple used to be laying. "Sir, what are you doing? We're ready to leave." He said poking the leader's shoulder.
"Huh? Oh, I was just thinking what such a discovery this is. Everything we knew about space and alien life can be now answered from those two." The leader spoke with such enthusiasm; it's as if he had found the answer to the universe itself.
"Well sir. That's only if they survive long enough for us to talk to them, and even if they speak our language." The assistant hazmat said.
"Ah yes, you're quite right. We better be going then." The leader said. They both walked over to one of the jeeps, as the soldiers reloaded back into the trucks along with the other ten hazmats. They sped off, leaving the crash site barren. Except for the impact crater, there was no evidence that anything landed there.
The leading hazmat sat in the back right seat of the second jeep; being chauffeured by a soldier. He turned to his assistant who was sitting next to him. "This is going to be a very promising year for Roswell, New Mexico."
P.S. To Jesse Marcel Jr. If by some chance you ever read this, I apologize if I cameo-ed your father incorrectly.