I hissed and spat acid at the glass, but I was still young, so it did nothing to the material they probably used to store acids.
They slid a piece of metal under the glass, then a piece of something I think they called "Asestus," neither of which I could easily escape through. I tried to get out by throwing myself against the sides, but it only resulted in me being deposited in a "Ledbox," some kind of tough metal container.
The lid of this box clamped shut, and the hoomans argued about air holes and the use of something called "Tarantilissers".
The red beam of a thing called an "Azer" nearly punched a hole in my tail as it burned a hole through the roof of my prison.
The humans threw words like "parts per million," "atypical," and "Klorrofour" around, then shoved a small tube in the box, filling the container with a strange gas, presumably the Klorrofour.
It didn't do much of anything. I only fell asleep because I got bored of staring at the walls of my prison.
Okay, so maybe, being young, having relatively undeveloped air bladders, and essentially breathing one hundred percent gas, may have somewhat affected me. But for the most part, boredom.
The plump muskrat face of some scientist guy greeted me when I awoke. He spooked me so much that I spat acid on the glass and crossed myself.
The shape of my prison had changed during my slumber. In addition to improved lighting, a wall of thicker glass surrounded me on all sides, the top perforated with tiny holes for air. Heavy walls of metal, or possibly Ledbox, melded with pieces of "Plaztek" fenced in the glass thing around the rear and top, leaving me with only one interesting view, and Dr. Muskrat blocked it.
"See that?" the man told someone outside my frame of vision. "This could be the find of the century. Scientists have always theorized that religion was an evolutionary development, but now we could be on to solid empirical evidence proving that assertion is essentially correct."
"I don't know, Kurt," replied the unseen person. "The only thing I'm seeing here is ape-like capacity for mimicry."
"Mimicry? Hah! Its fear response provoked the creature to invoke a sort of protective spell, that's what I think. Yes, they appear to have developed their own aboriginal beliefs, and we are just now becoming acquainted with them."
"C'mon. Those things don't even know what a crucifixion is!"
"What if it means something different to their culture? What if it's instinctual to make signs of protection over one's chest when your life is threatened? Cross symbols have been known to appear in several non-Christian artifacts across the world. It could be proof that it is universal in every sense of the word."
"I don't know about that, Doctor Newton. This guy definitely seems Catholic."
Muskrat Face laughed. "You're not seriously—"
"It was a joke. Like I said, it's mimicry. He probably saw one of us doing it at some time or another and appropriated it."
"Still, it may help to examine the creature's pineal glands, possibly set up some electrodes and monitor how it responds to certain stimuli."
The conversation literally went over my head.
"I'll get you out of here," a voice hissed from somewhere outside my prison. It sounded like my cousin, Hissandra. Okay, not her real name, but it doesn't have a good English equivalent.
Something banged loudly outside my cage.
"Jesus Christ!" Dr. Newton's companion cried.
Recognizing the phrase, I finished the thought. "Amen."
The stranger laughed, but Dr. Newton gave me this look like I had grown another head.
The two suddenly got hushed.
"It spoke," Newton muttered.
"I heard."
Encouraged by the interesting response, I attempted communication again. "Jesus. Amen."
"How is this possible?"
"And why? Did someone actually think they had souls to save?"
"Beats the hell out of me."
"God. Amen," I said hopefully.
"Maybe it's swearing."
"I'd very much like to cut this one open and see how its neurons operate."
Mind you, I couldn't read, or even piece together English sentences, so not scared at all. Therefore I have no rational explanation whatsoever for the idea that came to me next.
I just remembered the book study-ers folding their hands and speaking, so I did my best impression of them, hissing, "Lord, have mercy. Christ have mercy."
The disembodied voice burst out laughing. "This guy is great! We should put him in a show and charge people for admission!"
I sat on my haunches like a dog, nervously wagging my tail.
"It's a shame to cut him up. I mean, what if we can teach him things?"
"He's not a German shepherd, Douglas. He's a cold blooded extraterrestrial predator."
"Yeah, but cutting him open..."
"We're not going to kill it, we're just going to do a little minimally invasive surgical procedure. From the other specimens, we have already deduced the location of the brain, and molecular resonance scans will pinpoint the exact centers we wish to monitor."
"How are we going to make it hold still? It seems to be showing a high resistance to sleeping gas. We had to put two different sedatives in there, and the thing still didn't look very drugged when we put it in."
"Did you try any intravenous solutions?"
"You kidding? That shit will melt!"
"Lord have mercy," I said. "Christ have mercy. Amen."
Dr. Newton furrowed his brow, leaning close to the glass. "Can you understand me?"
My tail curled into a question mark.
"Let me try one," said the other voice.
Newton stepped aside, and a narrow, big nosed man with long messy hair appeared in front of me. "Hey, little guy. My name is Doug. What's your name?"
Failing to comprehend, I just hissed at him.
He patted his chest. "Doug."
"Dug," I repeated.
"Yes! That's me!" He pounded his chest again. "Me: Doug!" Then he pointed at me. "You?"
I hissed in response, then said "Dug."
"Me: Doug," he repeated. "You?"
Okay okay! I thought. I get it! You're Dug. But we don't make sounds like that.
Sighing in frustration, I pounded my thorax, letting out a series of clicks and hisses.
"Right! Right!" the man said excitedly. "That's your name!"
He pointed at me, calling me an asshole in my own language.
I'm `Hunter In The Starless Void', which contains syllables similar to our word for anus. The two words don't sound anything alike if you pronounce them correctly, but if you mangle any name enough, it can sound obscene.
Since I now understood the gesture for no, I used it, pointing to the man as I called him an asshole. I then pointed to myself, repeating my name.
He nodded in apparent understanding. "Kurt. Write this down. The word for human in their language is..." He said asshole again.
Well, I thought. If the shoe fits...
He gave the introduction thing another go, and passably managed the word "Hunter."
Not wanting to be at this all day, I gave him a violent nod.
"Got another one, Kurt. This is his name..." He pronounced it correctly again.
I wagged my tail, somewhat pleased.
"How am I supposed to write this?" Kurt muttered. "It's all noises!"
"I don't know. Maybe make a symbol for clearing your throat, rolling your R's, one for clicking, one for hissing, and one for a growl. You got the cameras recording, right?"
"Sure, sure. As long as you can keep track of this if there's a malfunction."
A pen scraped rapidly across paper. "What's the first one?"
They documented the necessary information.
"What now?"
"He seems to have an aptitude for the language. Maybe we could teach him a little bit more? Maybe show him a few programs?"
"I don't know," Kurt sighed. "If we're going to make a genuine study of this species variant, we can't contaminate the data by imposing our culture onto it."
"All right. Fine. What if we put probes in his brain, and then show him some educational material? You know, see how the brain activity changes?"
Kurt groaned. "Yes, yes. Get the tranq cannon prepared. Small darts. Go for squirrel dosage. We'll double it if it doesn't work."
The doctors disappeared for an entire minute, allowing me a full view of the strange environment previously obstructed by their huge heads:
A lab filled with cabinets containing canisters and bottles and jars of things I couldn't comprehend.
Spotting the severed head of someone that looked like a family member, and one of our hearts, I let out a scream and crossed myself, cowering in the back of my prison. "Jesus Christ amen!"
"Mother said you spend too much time listening to Hoomans," Hissandra said. "I think she was right."
She referred to her mother, of course. The Hoomans had slaughtered my sisters.
"I have bad news, Hunter," she hissed.
I shook my head. "I'd rather not hear it."
Something mechanical hummed behind me, then a muffled voice said, "Now! Before it turns around!"
An object stabbed me in the hindquarters. A tingling sensation traveled through my body, and my eyes crossed as I got hit with a mild wave of vertigo.
"They're deceptively hardy. Give him another just to make sure."
I whirled around just in time to receive another stabbing jolt.
I growled in frustration, snapping my tail angrily as a fog settled over my brain.
Once the fourth thing hit me, I felt really tired, rolling over on my side and drifting unconscious.
When consciousness returned, my head throbbed strangely, and I discovered that all five of my limbs had been fitted with restraints.
It seemed I had been fitted with a...hat.
Of course, I've heard that brain tissue doesn't have that much in the way of alerting one to injuries.