[Why am I having such problems with the fact that this is written in present tense? Why? You'll probably have to excuse me again, but I'll try.]

My breath is caught in my lungs. To have that kind of honor… I'd have fallen over backwards in joy. Why then does Willow look so depressed? It doesn't make sense, but Willow doesn't look interested in elaborating, and I'm certainly not the type to push her for information. "She has her father's pretty eyes, doesn't she?" Willow sighs. A second later, she shakes her head and seems to snap out of her daze.

"Come on, I want to show you some of the nicer places to sit and have a good conversation. Or in your case, sit and read," she says brightly. I'm surprised she took her attention off herself long enough to notice me. We head off, leaving the young Irkens behind playing "Tallest of the Hill."

That night, I lay back in my incubator. The top is still open, as I'm not ready to sleep yet. Moby's bright yellow eyes shine as he lies on my stomach. I pat him gently on the head, causing him to make happy purring noises. Willow certainly is one of a kind. I giggle a little. If her baby daughter grows up to be like her AND a tallest, the empire is sure in for some wild times. I can't help but wonder at her sadness, though. I roll over and sleep.

***

We were all jarred from deep sleep by the sound of a low, buzzing siren and the flashing of red lights. I look across the sleep room to see rows upon columns of confused, sleepy Irkens clamoring out of their incubators. The mist rising out of our beds sank into the cold night air and curled like snakes around our feet.

"Attention, attention," a stern female voice commands out of the ceiling. A couple of shorter Irkens look up so quickly that they fall right over on their backs. "All available fighter and Voot pilots to your docking bays, please. All available pilots to the docking bay for engagement. Engaging hostiles in progress. All non-military personnel are ordered to the backrooms. Guards begin lockdown procedure in ten. Attention, attention."

Around me is a flurry of activity. Nightgowns are cast on every tile underfoot as the pilots and guards scramble into their clothes. Those dressed run wildly down the dimmed corridors towards the sides and front of the ship. "What's going on?" I cry, clinging to the side of my incubator as if it were a life raft. I'm trying not to get crushed by the small green forms zigzagging all about me.

"Come on," a heavy set female guard I knew as Lissa orders in her thick Devastus accent. "We have to begin lockdown."

I grip onto Moby, pulling the surprised and half-asleep robot behind me even as Lissa pushes me into a back hallway. The normal overhead lights are out, leaving me to see only by the dimmed yellow-orange emergency lights on the ground. "Go to the backrooms," she says as she pushes me from the sleep chambers. "Your robot knows the way."

So I find myself running along, Moby clenched like a smeet in my arms, pointing the way to me with his flashlight eyes. I have no clue what is happening, but when I pass the occasionally window I see bursts of painfully brilliant white and yellow lights, like fireworks in the blackness of space. The entire ship seems to be vibrating around me. I am afraid.

One shock sends me sideways into a wall. I am studying the neatly bleeding cut that had been torn into my arm by a rusty bolt when I notice the silence. It was all silent. It was all too silent. My antennae bristle, prickling and tingling with unknown emotion.

"Moby, kill your lights," I order in a hissed whisper. He does as told, clinging to my arm and shaking. The silence in the darkness surrounds me like a funerary shroud, thick and woolen, and as black as the very night itself.

Then I hear the motion. It may seem strange to hear motion, but the dark left me blind. It was heavy shuffling, like concrete feet in furry slippers. My blood turns to ice and my antennae flattened themselves against my form, though I know not why. I press myself against the wall, Moby huddling between my legs. My heart races so loudly it threatens to give me away. Again, I repeat to myself that I know that I am afraid.

A flash of explosives lit the window, allowing me to see it. It stands over six meters tall, far taller than me but small compared to semi-tallests. Its six blood red eyes glitter in a color unmatched by Irken eyes. It is covered in dark brown hair patched with lighter brown, like a great patterned insect. Its fangs are as large as my eyes, and glisten with wet saliva. Claws as long as a male's antennae and as thick as pencils hang from its hands and drag on the floor, scraping like nails on a chalkboard. It is a most appalling noise, and my antennae twitch in reaction even as I press myself closer to the wall.

In the after glow of more explosions, I watch it tip back its head. A leg, ending in a black boot, hangs from the left corner of its oversized maw. With a toss and a gulp, the leg vanishes into its gaping mouth. I wait in sick silence in the dark as I listen to it munching, hearing with my own head the sound of cracking bones.

I hear it gulp as it swallows, both satisfied and still hungry. I pray for it to leave. I pray for it to anything it wants, as long as it stays away from me. I hear it snort as it begins moving, shuffling and scrapping as it comes towards me. I debate my options quickly in my head. I could run scared and almost assuredly die, or I could keep my place and hope the crunching didn't hurt for long. I know I am short on time. It began snorting more heavily than it had been before. It knew I was there, but it couldn't tell where yet.

"Run!" I scream, pushing Moby ahead of me as I take off down the hall. My legs feel like jelly but I run for all that is in my soul. My hands are thrust before me as I follow the smooth wall in my blindness and panic.

The thing behind me rears up with a noise like a power drill. I hear it simply crash off the walls as it pursues me. I am so terrified that I begin to cry as I run, still screaming, my already dulled vision slurred by my tears.

The ground swelled beneath me and I fell, landing hard on my pack. The floor was gone! I realize this in a dull haze as I stand, nervously placing my hands on the wall to steady my shaken body. The thing was snorting a floor above me. It, apparently, had noticed the hole and had no intention of following me through it.

I figure this has to be a good thing. I weakly limp along, supporting my little bruised body with the wall. Everything hurt from antennae tip to boot edge. I know the wet, coppery trickle coming down my face is my own blood, but I am currently helpless to stop it. My head felt as if I'd used it to play a game of spinning tops.

A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, sending me into a screaming fit. I try to run, but fall flat on my belly, my injured legs screaming louder than my vocal chords every could. "Don't eat me!" I beg. Very logical of me, don't you think?

"Calm down! I'm Irken," a familiar, delicately feminine but strongly masculine voice intones dully.

"Willow?" I ask, rolling from my belly onto my back.

She grins ludicrously at me, squinting her eyes in the process. Moby and a robot I didn't recognize were sitting on her head, holding onto her antennae like they were reins. A limp young male is draped loosely across her left shoulder. His dark red tunic is stained brown-black with his own blood. I find myself staring.

"Can you walk enough to help me with this guys?" Willow asks. I nod, my mouth dry as cotton.

"How did you find me?" I ask as I help drag the male along, despite my own throbbing ankle.

"I didn't. Moby found me and led me to you," she replies, adjusting the soldier's arm. "Come on, everyone's headed towards the back to protect the smeets and eggs."

"Eggs?" I ask. "What are… eggs?"

"Our term for bottled Irken, just add nutrients!" Willow quips. "In the old days, before technology became so tied to our bodies that we couldn't exist without it, we used to actually lay eggs, which would hatch into immature young to develop in an adult's pouch. Even now, the demand for soldiers is too great for natural reproduction to keep up with, if we still could. Most of us are born sterile, its better for the army that way, but some… some are different." I still don't understand, so I make a mental note to get a book on the subject. If I survive, that is.

"How did those things get on the ship?" I ask, changing the subject. The soldier supported between us seems to be getting heavier as we walk onward. "I mean, isn't the Massive supposed to be invincible?"

Willow's eyes narrow and her face set into a hard scowl line, her lower lip jutting out. "A common assumption that probably got us into this mess. It's all government propaganda, you know," she growled. "As far as how, well, we'll wait and see what our beloved tallests tell us we should believe happened." I notice an acidic tang behind her accent, but I figure it was just because she is scared. I certainly am.

The solider suddenly shudders. His deep green eyes fly open as his head flips backwards, his skin turning whitish as he begins to sweat heavily.

"Hell's bells!" Willow swore. "This way," she cries, dragging him off towards a room at the side of the long hall. "You guard the door," she orders the strange little robot, who simply saluted and sat down. Pulling me inside the room, she turns to Moby while shutting and locking the door. "I'm going to need some of your parts. I'm sorry. I'll have you rebuilt with better parts," Willow promises.

It was my turn to narrow my eyes. "No!" I cry.

Willow looks surprised, even angry. "What did you say?" she snarls.

"I like Moby the way he is! I don't want him rebuilt!" I cry as I throw my arms around my SLAW. Would he be the same? Would he still tell me strange poems? Would he still find simple joy in oil? I don't want Moby to change. I feel my mechanical legs twitching in my pack, eager to pop out. I'd never actually felt strongly enough about anything to fight for it before. The tingling sensation was new to me.

Willow backs down, swishing her split antennae in surprise. "You got fight," she comments simply, studying me with her dark eyes. "Fine, get me a funnel and a tube, then. He needs a transfusion, stat!"

"From who?" I ask.

"I checked your pods when you weren't looking. You two are a perfect match, blood type wise."

I raise an eye. "And when were you planning on telling me your… plans?" I ask, digging through the supply packs.

"I figured you'd be patriotic," she laughs. "Here, I got tubing."

"I got soda can," I reply, mocking her.

"It works," she says, piercing a large hole in the bottom with one mechanical leg. "Hold your arm out," she orders as she slices open his arm and jabs a large needle she'd pulled from her pod into his veins. To the other end she attaches the tubing, then places the can between her thighs and pulls my arm over the can.

I watch as Willow pulls back my sleeve, exposing tender green flesh. I watch as she tears open my arm, letting my precious blood run out and into the can. She takes a deep, heaving breath as she watches it herself. "We can only pray something this crude will work." From outside, a sound like screeching echoes down the hallways. Willow pauses. "And, that they don't find us."

I watch the thick, steaming hot liquid leaving my body in the dim lights from Moby's eyes. The sound of the creatures is still fresh in my mind, torn into my soul like a run in a pair of nylons.

I am afraid.