(3)

Their food varied very little. In the morning they received a sweetened oatmeal substance and an odd piece of fruit with a warm milky drink. Koenig always felt energized and a little nervous after consumption so he assumed there must be some kind of stimulant involved.

"Like coffee." He told Helena one evening as they rested in their beds, talking between the cell bars, "But with triple caffeine."

"It helps to keep you energized for working on the land." She replied. "They need to regulate the tonic better. We've had some workers come into the clinic highly agitated, too nervous to do their jobs properly."

'They're giving us cocaine.', John thought but he did not say it aloud.

During lunch he normally ate in the field with some of the other workers. Donda, a being John learned had been imprisoned for nearly thirty years, an alien with many arms and dressed in the same robes as all the other land workers, was their food distributor. He came by and brought them heavy bread, cheese, nuts, and sometimes cold meats. Having never seen cattle, Koenig did not wanted to ask where the meat came from.

Donda also brought them a beverage. This one was cold but just as stimulating as the morning brew. It reminded John of beer. The prisoners also had easy access to water. It was a convenience when the days were particularly warm.

If time permitted they played games with the nut shells or whatever else Donda could spare.

By sun down, John would come into his cell exhausted, sweating and grimy. Food, clean towels, and a fresh robe were always delivered just before he arrived. He'd strip off his dirty clothes, shove them into a bag hooked on his cell door, and he would shower.

The Commander would then towel off, slip on the new robe, and take his evening meal with him to bed. This dish would vary but always contained fruit and a vegetable, crops they grew on the land he farmed.

He would call over to Helena and ask her what she was served. She would always reply "Chicken." No matter what was on her plate. It became a treasured joke between them over the months.

They were the only two prisoners or slaves in their small block. They did not question it, satisfied with the privacy and the ability to speak freely with one another. They did not care if their alien overlords heard what they said but, working with the other prisoners, they did not want them listening in – especially when their conversations became intimate.

Every night before they went to sleep, when the lights turned out, they would push their hands between the bars and touch fingers. It had taken on a new meaning, an intimacy nearly as lovely as a kiss.

He would do anything to hold her in his arms again.


Nearly a year into their capture, Koenig became ill. He had what he thought at first was a cold and flu but the virus eventually became so threatening that an overseer was dispensed to his cell.

Through a fog he could hear Helena cry: "I'm a doctor; a healer. Let me see him. Let me try to help him! We must take him to the infirmary!"

The alien did not answer her but for the first time Koenig saw the creatures who had abducted Helena and himself. Robed in red, he was as tall as John, his eyes large and black, and the hands that reached for John were long, distended, and the fingernails were oddly hooked. He was humanoid but also something else.

The alien placed a palm on John's forehead. "Infection." It said in a raspy voice.

Koenig was too weak to react as he might had he been stronger and more aware. "Grasshopper." He whispered, "Giant … grasshopper." Dazed and a little delirious, that was the only comparable Koenig could think of. The alien produced what looked like a hypodermic needle from inside his cape. He injected something into John's arm.

"Sleep now." it said.

"What have you done?" Helena was crying. John could hear her. Unable to see what was going on Helena was justifiably anxious, "I'm begging you …"

But he passed out before she finished.

When Koenig awoke the following morning he did feel better, although still weak, and he saw his breakfast awaiting him on its tray on the polished floor.

"Eat." A voice said over the speaker. "Rest."

That evening, when Helena returned to her cell, John told her he was better, hoping to ease her mind. He was aware that something was wrong from the sound of her voice, quiet but saturated with emotion. "What is it, Helena?"

"I asked why I was not allowed to care for you – and they told me."

He waited.

"We are not allowed to see each other ever, John. We can talk and they allow us to touch, but they will never consent to …" She broke off, unable to continue.

"Why?" he asked, hoping all of these months of service would make a difference, that he and Helena would be allowed time together if he and she proved to be assets to their masters and stayed humble and good despite their urge to strike out and escape.

"Parted, you are worthy." The voice crackled over the speaker, explaining. "Together, you are a threat."

Koenig hated the voice and its intrusion. "After all this time, how can we be a threat? Shall we show you what a threat really is?"

"Commander, you have privilege because you were a leader of men and women. In the eyes of my people you are a captured king. This is why you are treated so much better than our other captives." The voice said, "Do not make the principals sorry they allowed you the concession of having your woman close. They can very easily move Dr. Russell somewhere else."

"No!" Koenig quickly said, hearing Helena gasped in her cell. "Don't do that …"

He felt weak and foolish, attempting to speak courageously for them both. Neither he nor Helena had a leg to stand on. What was he thinking? What would he do if they took her away from him?

It would be five years before Koenig laid eyes on Helena Russell again. Even then, it was by accident - and the two took a chance that could easily destroy them both.


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