Tag: stiff upper lip

#15 – The Gray Gentleman

the kiai | November 16, 2011 | 0 Comments

Working with the Martian was a pain in the ass.

Mostly, because he took offense on being called a Martian. He had explained countless times he did not come from Mars, and neither did the creatures that invaded in 98 for that matter, that he came from a planet thousands of some alien distance measure he and his people used away from Earth, and once again repeated the name of his planet. Trying to even attempt to transcribe what came out of his mouth is an exercise in madness. So when asked what he would like to be called, he would respond he would like to be called by his name, and muttered more illegible gibberish. And thatâ€™s how people usually got right back to calling him a Martian.

His biggest issue with being called that, he explained is that it was also the name the common folk used to refer to the Invaders, the other aliens that almost burnt England to the ground. He took great offense in being compared to them in any way. He hated them, more than he hated anything. From his own recollection, heâ€™d been chasing them from halfway across the galaxy until finally managing to catch them here. Many times he admitted both privately and publically, that at that particular junction he didnâ€™t really cared for us. We were many, and we wanted the Invaders dead. That was enough to consider us allies.

And without the Martianâ€™s assistance, England and the World probably wouldnâ€™t have survived the invasion.

Now, Her Majestyâ€™s Secret Service, on the other hand, had a very different name for him. Theyâ€™ve codenamed him â€œThe Gray Gentlemanâ€. Heâ€™d joined just as soon as the century turned, after we were done with all the rebuilding, but only under one condition: He would serve Queen and Country only in matters of extraterrestrial treat and he refused to borrow his services in any matters that pertained to our planetâ€™s science and politics. He also refused to let anyone examine his very peculiar sidearm, which he carried with him at all times for fear of it being stolen.

Many thought Gray, as many finally settled on calling him as the years went on, was just being a prick. England had all of this extraterrestrial technology in their hands, scientists and scholars pouring over it day and night trying to get even a small glimpse of how it all functioned and he refused to lift whatever he had instead of fingers to help us in that effort. Thatâ€™s because Gray knew better than anyone that no sooner had he explained the British how to use the Invaderâ€™s weapons, they wouldâ€™ve turned their armies against all nations and brought the entire World under their flag. He knew we werenâ€™t ready yet. He knew whatever we could learn from that technology, we would have to earn it on our own. And again, while most people hated him for that attitude, other really respected him.

For the most part, Gray lived a very quiet, boring, English life. He had a small flat only a couple blocks away from Scotland Yard, where he worked in a consulting capacity for the detective department. He did this entirely pro-bono. His Secret Service stipend was more than enough for him to live a very posh lifestyle, but for him it was something to do to pass the time in between alien sightings. And not only did it kept his mind nimble, it also helped him to slowly understand mankind a little better.

He was fond of the tuba, tea and biscuits, reading and, especially, stargazing. He would sit in the roof of his flat, with a gigantic telescope of his own invention and just look into the emptiness of space for hours, a look of nostalgia on his face every time he did. No one ever asked him. It was very clear not only by his attitude but by the way he never tried to leave our planet, regardless of how many spacecrafts descended on British soil, always a convenient excuse right after the flying saucer had departed. Anyone could tell that the Gray Gentleman simply had nowhere or no one to return to.

Gray died on December 20^th, 1961, on a private room in St. Maryâ€™s Hospital in London. On his bedside were the director of MI6, the Prime Minister, Her Majesty the Queen and Nina Mumford, her housekeeper and close friend. He had a private funeral where his body was cremated and his ashes spread from the top of the London Bridge.