The two humans stared at me like I'd grown another head.

"It talked to you?" Kurt asked his companion.

"Yes."

I only sighed. "I'm tired. Please let me go." Again, I had trouble with letters that required lips, so I said please with a B.

Doug laughed. "Wow! Isn't that amazing?"

The other human's walrus face scrunched in thought. "It does seem to be an intelligent statement."

"It actually said please!"

Grinning ear to ear, Doug leaned closer. "Sorry, little guy. You're going to be staying here awhile."

I hissed in outrage, but he held up a hand defensively. "That being said, I promise to make things here as comfortable for you as possible."

I shook my head. "I not comfortable. Can't move."

"It's for your protection. We operated on your brain, so if you touch the stuff we put in there, it could hurt. It might even kill you."

Can you blame me for looking at him like he were the most evil thing in the universe?

I felt like spraying acid in their faces, but even if my saliva had gained its full potency, I would still be stuck in the trap, and the equipment appeared to be mostly acid proof. It seemed I'd need those guys to get out. "Why you operate on my brain?"

Yes, I knew some proper English, but nobody really explained the concrete rules. Even if I did, I probably wouldn't care about them, since I only cared about being understood, and getting what I needed.

"We wanted to know more about you. We know absolutely nothing about your...people, and they don't communicate with us. We had no way of knowing how to talk to you. You're the first of your kind we've ever been able to hold a conversation with. Do you understand?"

I nodded, then coughed in helpless fear.

Kurt frowned. "It's sick. We should get the masks."

Doug shrugged. "It could be allergies."

"Ever notice how squirrels appear to become docile once they've contracted rabies?"

"Yes, but in the simulation, coughing seemed to be an emotional response. Besides, rabies is communicated by the saliva."

"And it projectile spits saliva."

"Not sick," I moaned. "I sad. Please free legs. Promise no run away."

I at least partially meant it. Though tempted to escape, I still eagerly desired to learn about their culture.

Doug sighed. "We're still afraid you'd pull the probes out of your head and damage your brain."

Kurt nodded. "Or roll over in your sleep and drive a probe so far into your brain that you won't be able to do anything but drool for the rest of your life."

"Then take probe out," I moaned. "I am so tired."

Doug, appearing to consider this seriously, gave his companion an expression that said, `Well?'

Kurt rubbed his face in frustration. "We can't pull them out yet. We have to monitor its REM cycle and brain activity now that it's out of the simulation."

"Damn," Doug muttered.

The two paused and thought for a moment, rubbing their chins and staring at me with long serious looks. I didn't speak because they probes in to begin with.

Doug snapped his fingers. "I got it! We'll make a little helmet for him."

Kurt shook his head. "I don't see how that will work. Even if we put a Styrofoam pad over the area, any pressure against an exposed probe would cause it to puncture essential brain regions."

I sighed in frustration.

"I know, Sh'kassk, I know."

It impressed me how Doug still pronounced `hunter' perfectly in my language.

"We're trying to get this fixed for you as soon as we can. Just take a few deep breaths and meditate or something while we figure this out. Okay?"

I gave him a reluctant nod.

"What happened to Gretchen Goose?" I asked.

"Gretchen Goose is gone. That thing we put you in, that's a game. Do you understand what a game is?"

Thinking back to my Scrabble games with Gretchen Goose, I said yes.

"Did you want to go back there?"

I paused in thought.

"I mean, you could if you wanted to..."

I preferred real life to a fantasy with inconsistent laws of nature. "No."

Doug smiled. "All right, I'll be back in a few minutes with your helmet. Just hang in there, okay?"

I reluctantly said okay.

The two disappeared for what seemed like an eternity, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The men had violated me. I had every right to be angry, and was, mostly. Still, I couldn't completely hate them. Not all the way. They had shown me an entire new world, one I didn't even know existed. They had shown me language, the value of friendship, and I could even converse with them.

Regardless of what selfish, self serving motives they might have had for such things, I valued being a pioneer, the first Ss'sik'chtokiwij ever to bridge the gap between our cultures.

What's more, even if they proved to be my enemy, knowing their language gave me power. What kind of power, I didn't know, but I did know the meaning of `electricity,' `law' and `money', things that their world revolved around.

My contemplations got interrupted by Doug and Kurt measuring various things on my head.

They disappeared for another hour.

The ponderings resumed, I began to weigh the value of friendship.

Could I really consider Dug and Kurt friends? They seemed concerned for my well being, but they also put things in my brain. Should I really be friends with someone like that?

And then it came to me, crystallizing in one simple phrase: "Jesus, Amen."

A phrase, and an associated gesture that had both saved my life and ruined it.

I must know, I thought. Why so many confusing things associated with this (What, human? Alien? Being? Known as Jesus. These humans seemed obsessed with it, whatever it was, and my lack of understanding irritated me as much as the annoying itching sensation of traveling up and down the dome of my head.

At long last, the two scientists came out with a strange little padded hat, which they fit over my head. Holes had been scooped out of the inside to hold the probes in place, to avoid damage to my brain.

They attached this helmet to my head by means of adjustable straps, which, if I understood how to operate properly, probably would have caused my untimely demise.

"We can still get a signal?" Kurt asked his companion when they had it secured.

"Yes. Like I told you, the chip on top acts as an antenna. It'll collect the data and broadcast it in one band."

Kurt frowned. "The moment this thing malfunctions, the helmet comes off and he's back in restraints. The information is too important."

"Fine, fine. But think about it logically. How much REM sleep would you get standing up for eight hours?"

His companion took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "The way I'm feeling right now, I'm certain I could get in some."

"I promise I won't touch head probe," I said as they unplugged a water tube from my leg.

"I hope you won't, little buddy." Doug removed a tube from my urination duct. "I hope you won't."

He pulled the meat tube out of my mouth, then something else attached to me. The first leg shackles came off.

I gave my upper legs a reflexive stretch, causing him to flinch.

"I not hurt you," I said.

He didn't seem so sure I told the truth, but stammered, "Okay."

Soon they had my other limbs free, and I shook myself out like a dog.

Freedom!

Before I could run, gloved hands shoved me back in the glass container.

Doug closed the lid. "Nighty night, Sh'kassk."

I curled up on the cage bottom and fell asleep.

I dreamed that eggs around the bird's nest had hatched, laying larvae in the chest cavities of everyone in Rosedale Square, the entire neighborhood filling with puppet and human cocoons, and shiny black soldier Ss'sik'chtokiwij...And some Ss'sik'chtokiwij puppets.

With all her friends dead, Gretchen Goose stood alone in her fight. I could either join Gretchen, fight Mother and possibly die, or join Mother in destroying my avian friend.

I stood in the middle, uncertain about what side to take.

The dream ended before I could make a decision.

I leaned against the glass and moaned, feeling depressed and sorry for myself for several minutes.

"Gretchen Goose," I moaned.

"You are a fool," my sister growled from the cage next to me. "What is the point of you memorizing all this human nonsense? They are livestock! Their only purpose is to breed to provide us with food and egg laying material. It is they who should be in these containers, not us. What do you expect from all this communication?"

"Power. It is knowledge we can use to escape."

Hissandra sighed. "Let me know when you are free and I will believe you."

I slumped back on the cage bottom, letting out a deep sigh.

The sound of an object scraping across the laboratory floor distracted me from this funk.

Peering through the glass, I spotted a large female head covered in curly blonde hair.

I nearly jumped through the back end of the container when her face appeared in front of me.

The young girl smiled. "Hi."

"Hi," I grunted.

"I'm Sarah. What's your name?"

I told her my alien name.

She grinned. "No it's not! You're Ernie! Like on Sesame Street!"

This baffled me. Did she think of me as a puppet? If so, why?

"Er-knee?"

Sarah nodded. "I've been thinking about it a long time. You're not Bert because you're not grumpy and mean like all those other aliyums. You're silly, just like Ernie."

"Sil-lee?"

Sarah giggled. "Yeah. You're funny."

"My name is not Ernie. It's Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik."

She tried repeating that a few times, but she only ended up saying `asshole' instead.

I shook my head and tried to correct her, but it didn't work.

"I can't say that," she pouted. "It's too hard."

I slumped my shoulders. "Okay, I'm Ernie."

Sarah clapped her hands. "Yaay!"

"Yay," I grumbled.

Suddenly Doug's face appeared next to her. "Hi, Sh'kassk."

"It's Ernie!" said Sarah.

"He say it good," I protested. "Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik."

Sarah pouted again. "But you said you were Ernie! Er-knee!"

"Okay," I groaned. "I am Ernie."

She became happy again. I figured this fickle tendency to be part of being human.

"Uh...Ernie," Doug continued. "Look, uh, we built you a house. Well, not exactly a house, per se, but it's at least a nicer cage than what you've got. Want to take a look at it?"

I nodded appreciatively. Anything had to be better than my current one.

"Power," I hissed to my sister.

"You are a tool," she hissed back.

Gloved hands took me out of my glass prison, and I got carried through rows of containers of face hugging young suspended in liquid, to a large table that held my `mansion.'

What Doug and his friend had done was basically mold two glass cages together, connecting them to an open area framed by tall glass walls, like a little fenced in yard. A series of fasteners along the walls indicated that they could make the yard into a box if they wanted me to stay put, but hadn't done so yet.

With some amusement, they placed me in this yard, allowing me to run free and familiarize myself with my surroundings.

"See? That's a little better than Tank 73, isn't it?"

If I could have rolled my eyes visibly, I would have.

The yard held a large hamster wheel, presumably for exercise, a drinking bottle, and a bowl, I guess for food. It took me only a few seconds to lose interest.

Something rattled. The young curly haired girl offered me a large box with black and white horses on it.

"Can I play chess with Ernie?" she asked Doug.

He only sighed. "I'm sorry, honey. It's too dangerous."

"But you and Kurt handle him, and he doesn't hurt you."

"I know, Sarah, I know. Ernie may seem nice, but there's a lot we don't know about him. He might still be dangerous. His spit can really burn you. That's why we made his house out of strong glass."

"But Ernie's my friend!" Sarah wailed, almost on the verge of tears. "He wouldn't hurt me!"

"Sarah," Doug said in a firm but gentle tone. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to get hurt." He paused. "Tell you what. Go ask daddy. If daddy says okay, you can play with him."

He stared at the box. "You have given me an idea. Can I see that chess set?"

The next thing I knew, a large board, covered in squares, got lowered into my `yard'.

"Ernie, we're going to play a little game. It's an ancient game of war that shows how smart a person is."

As he set the pieces into their regulation spots, he explained each item to me, and its function.

I had the honor of moving the first piece.

"Quick!" Doug cried to his friend. "Get the camera! This is historically unprecedented! The first ever game of chess played between a human and an extraterrestrial intelligence!"

Kurt complied, as fascinated by the proceedings as his associate.

I played a brilliant game, forcing Dug into a checkmate in only a couple moves. The win secured my place in history as the intellectually superior species.

I'm kidding.

I found the game confusing and the human got my king almost immediately.

Doug decided, to be fair, rematches were in order, so we played again and again, but the playing field didn't even any. He might as well have been playing Sarah.

The man must have noticed my diminishing interest, for he put the pieces away. "Is there anything I can do for you, bud? Anything to make your stay nicer?"

"Bible, please," I replied.

"Hey!" Doug called to his friend. "We've got ourselves an evangelist! He wants the bible again!"

A second later, the yellow book thumped into my yard.

"I can only guess what Hughes would think about all this."

Doug watched as I flipped open the cover, staring at the first onionskin page.

"What is this?"

"That's just an introduction page. The bible is a very old book. It's been translated and transcribed a few thousand times."

"Hebrew," I read.

"Yes. That's a language. Not what we're speaking, though."

"Greek?"

"Yeah. Another language."

"We're speaking Greek?"

"No, we're speaking English."

I sighed and turned the page.

"That's a table of contents."

I gave him a blank look.

"A lot of books in the bible are tiny and hard to find. Like Micah, for example. Since all the pages have numbers, you can just look for page...er, 656, and there it is."

I frowned. "I thought this was a book."

"It is. It's a book containing books. They were separate a long long time ago, but now we have them together. Who decided what to put where, I really don't know. Some humans are...er, a race, called `Jewish', and they often don't have the New Testament books in their bibles, because that's generally what they do, but yours has the whole thing."

I turned to Genesis, reading every sentence out loud like a kindergartner reading Sweet Pickles, asking questions about every word.

Well, until I asked what a firmament was. At that point, Doug handed me a small computer device with some kind of protective coating over the keyboard.

"Here, buddy. This is called a dictionary. You can type in anything and get a definition."

He demonstrated by typing in `firmament'. The machine gave me the definition with helpful illustrations.

For the rest of the day, I read from the book of Genesis, looking up every confusing word in that little computer. Doug and Kurt just periodically observed, taking notes in between working on other projects.

I had always thought of my creator as a sort of impersonal force that had little or nothing to do with me, so I found the description of a God that communicated and did things in an intelligent manner was highly unusual.

I read nothing about aliens in the story, but God made stars, wherein I supposed God could have fashioned a thing like me.

I resolved that, if I ever had the ability to communicate with this being directly, I would ask God why exactly He created us with the capacity of laying eggs in human chest cavities, and where the proper place for our eggs should be, since the text did not clearly explain.

Despite all this, when I read about God and all He did, I really didn't have much difficulty accepting it. Actually, I found the terminology and old style writing the most difficult thing.

I moved on to the extreme punishment one received for eating fruit, a brutal murder, then the absurd complexities of being a nomad with livestock.

Although fascinating to read about Joseph and his enslavement to the desert ruler, I ended up feeling frustrated because I didn't see anything about Christians there.

"Where is Jesus?" I asked Doug.

"He's in the back of the book. A lot of stuff happens before that part."

I closed the book and looked in the back part, but only found a weird story about dragons and hell and insects that stung people forever.

"You went too far," Doug muttered.

"Where?" I repeated.

Instead of showing me the book, he got Kurt's permission to set up a flat black box in my yard. "I think this will help. It's called a `movie'. This will tell you about Jesus."

He pushed a button and a series of pictures appeared on the screen, shown in a succession to give the illusion of movement.

I had seen researchers use such devices before in their rooms, but never seen one up close while it operated. I flinched when I heard the majestically swelling music, but then it faded and the world of Jesus opened to me.

The most peculiar thing I'd ever seen. A program all about humans in robes, humans with no electricity, no spaceships, no guns, labs or special devices.

The story centered around Jesus, an ordinary looking human being who healed the seriously injured, did amazing things like making food out of nothing and walking on water, and said intelligent things that I couldn't quite understand.

The man always seemed friendly and welcoming, which confused me because he ended up being murdered in a way that made chest bursting Ss'sik'chtokiwij seem `humane' by comparison.

The men in skirts took hammers and nailed his arms to a board like they were building a table! I coughed and sniffled so much at that part that Doug almost shut it off, but I cried, "No! Want to watch!" And he put it back on.

Coughing softly, I watched Jesus die, watched them put his dead body in a cave.

I thought that would be it, but the story kept going, with winged glowing humans opening the cave, and Jesus walking out alive.

What!

A few more confusing things happened, then they showed a bunch of names of people called `grips' and `cast'. At the time, I figured `grips' to be the name of the guy who sold goats in the temple that Jesus made a mess of, and `cast' the guy they lowered through the thatched roof of the house.

When Doug shut off the video, I asked, "Was that real? Did it really happen?"

He rolled his eyes. "It was a movie. Not exactly the same thing that happened in the bible, but it gives you a good idea of what happened."

"So that man not Jesus?"

"No, that was an actor. If Jesus were around today, he'd be really old."

"What is an actor?"

Doug explained the process of acting.

I nodded. "If all that really happen, why have Christmas?"

"Well," he stammered. "I'm probably not the best one to ask, but as you could probably see in the movie, Jesus gave people a lot, and he taught people to give a lot, too."

"Is he still alive?"

Kurt crossed his arms and said no, but Doug gave me a fake grin and said, "Of course he is! And if you want to be a Christian, you have to believe it. Otherwise..."

"You're us," Kurt finished.

"What he means is, you're not a Christian."

I eyed him suspiciously. "So...you do not believe Jesus is alive?"

"Whatever gave you that idea? Of course I believe he's alive."

"Have you taken leave of your senses!" Kurt hissed. "I thought you were a dyed in the wool agnostic."

Doug gave him a sheepish grin. "So what if I am. It's time to let those prejudices aside and let the alien decide what he wants to be."

"By lying to him?"

Doug only shrugged. "You can't prove it's a lie."

"You can't prove that it isn't."

"Must we dampen his spirits so soon? He doesn't even know what the religion is about yet."

"Look. Assuming that the religion is true and all things associated with it, such as ghosts and spirits, are also true. How do we even know that this thing has a soul?"

"Why does that even matter? The little guy is obsessed with religion, and I think we should foster the obsession any way we can."

"I don't know about you, but the last thing I want to see on this planet is an extraterrestrial version of the Inquisition. We have enough religious wars and persecutions on our own planet as it is without polluting this one with jihads, slavery and racist cross burning. We don't need to bring more of that insanity here."

The whole debate went right over my head, so I decided to ignore them, flipping through the back of the bible.

I never once considered the idea of an intelligent creative force talking through words on a page in a book, but when I stumbled across Philippians 3, it was like this `God' spoke directly to me.

For, as I have often told you before and now say again even with tears, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their destiny is destruction, their god is their stomach, and their glory is in their shame.

This was about me! I thought. And Ss'sik'chtokiwij!

My birth was literally the result of murder, and Genesis said murder was a sin. The magnitude of the crime!

I read to the end of the chapter, but didn't find the story about Jesus I just watched, so I flipped back to what I'd later know as the gospels.

I found the words of Jesus deep and mystifying, especially the weird parts about seeds becoming bushes, and eating his flesh, but I learned the value of giving and not hating those who are different.

The man sure talked about hell a lot. When I read about him describing it for the third time, I wondered, am I going to hell? And, as Kurt previously asked, would I have anything nonmortal to put there?

"Dug," I said. "Do I have a soul?"

The man smiled. "Sure you do!"

"Don't lie to him!" Kurt protested.

"How do you know it's a lie?"

"And how do you know it isn't?"

Kurt sighed. "If there is a hell, you're going there. Mark my words."

"Careful. Your Catholic background is showing."

"Am I going to hell?" I cried.

Doug had a less than certain answer for that one. "Uh...I don't know."

"Oh, so now you don't know?" Kurt snapped. "Right after you said with absolute certainty that he has a soul?"

"Wait. This could be good." Dough brought his big nosed face to my level. "Ernie, what makes you think you're going to hell?"

I lowered my head to the ground. "I killed Reverend...and...other man I do not know."

"Are you sorry you did that?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Well, Christians believe that if you confess your sin, Jesus forgives you. As long as you don't keep doing it."

"Forgive means no go to hell?"

"Yeah, little buddy."

"Then I am sorry."

"No, you say it to Jesus."

"I do not see him."

"That's the hard part. You're not going to see him."

A long pregnant pause followed, in which I stared at him in puzzlement. It made absolutely no sense for me to talk to an invisible man, but this seemed to be what he suggested.

I guess you can't blame him. The man technically didn't believe a word of what he told me, so he wouldn't know right away what needed to be said.

As an afterthought, he added, "Uh, not yet, at least. You won't see him yet. You just sort of believe he is there, and you talk to him."

Following the directions, I confessed my sins to a place in the air where I believed Jesus to be, then asked Doug what I could do to guarantee my salvation.

His answer: "Nothing", but he did say something about the need to be saved.

This confused me, so I coaxed him into explaining the difficult concepts of the second Adam, sin offerings, and the substitutionary sacrifice of Jesus. It took time, as he said he had not thought much about it since college, but it helped.

Doug couldn't explain why this Jesus would die for a space creature that didn't even exist in his book, but he claimed he did, and I took it on faith. I wanted to know more.

And so a self professing agnostic whom I learned had not done anything religious for ten years, led a space alien into a close personal relationship with the Lord Jesus. Yet another item on my ever expanding list of things I didn't understand. (17)

Following my conversion, Doug set a little black box in my yard, a box with arrow keys and other strange buttons. A pair of speakers joined this thing, and I almost jumped a foot in the air when he pushed a button and the percussive sounds of the Surfaris came roaring out.

I stared speechlessly as the noise washed over me.

Doug picked Popcorn by James Brown and danced, encouraging me to imitate.

I felt obliged to do so, but not for very long because I wasn't wild about the song, at least not at first.

Doug then demonstrated how to use the device, switching between a song called Poker Face, a band called Flock of Seagulls, and the theme song to Rawhide, then let me try it.

A lot of songs made me feel upset. Angry, violent sounding, or pessimistic songs reminded me of the old Ernie, the one that disemboweled human beings without a second's thought. For this reason, I avoided the songs labeled Korn, Manson and Insane Clown Posse.

I listened to one where people growled something about `booty' and `trunk', reminding me of animals guarding territories. I skipped that one, and a dismal sounding song by Sarah McLaughlin.

I probably would have fixated on the Beatles, had they been the next one down, but no, I found El Paso by Marty Robbins.

I think the random selection of genres intentional, to test what flavor of music aliens prefer, but I very early on made the decision that the "jukebox" was definitely not meant to be "rocked," in the words of Alan Jackson. Of course, I also felt partial to Reggae.

"He's a cowboy!" Doug complained as I did a little dance to John Deere Green. "A friggin' cowboy!"

"Disliking your monster, Dr. Frankenstein?" Kurt quipped.

Having no idea what they spoke about, I continued having fun.

Sarah reappeared, giggling at the sight of me dancing. "See? He's not dangerous! Can I please play chess?"

"Did you ask your father?"

She gave Doug a sideways smile. "Yeah!"

The man frowned. "You didn't ask him, did you."

She shook her head, then nodded.

"Honey, you know it's wrong to lie, don't you?"

"Uh huh," she sighed. "I know. But look at him! He's so cute when he dances!"

Doug just shook his head, giving me an annoyed glance when I selected You Supply the Light.

Sarah's pink skirt twirled as she fled the room.

Minutes later, a short little bearded man with well trimmed hair and glasses stepped into the room, peering into my `house' with suspicion. "That thing plays chess, huh?"

The chess board came out.

They tried to take the bible away, but I growled no.

"Hey, little guy!" Doug cried defensively. "We weren't going to rob you of it! We were just going to move it out of the way so you can play chess!"

The book ended up resting on a rear wall as the game again got set up.

I and Sarah played.

During the first two games, her dad looked super cautious. "Not so close!" he would cry. "Careful!"

But as the game progressed, his advice changed to things like, "Don't take that pawn. He'll beat you in three moves!"

Sarah's hands brushed my claws a couple times, but I don't make a regular practice of drooling on my claws, so she remained unharmed.

The fact that we came together for this game at the same board, as equals, filled my heart with contented joy.

The game concluded, and I went to `bed.'

My imprisonment continued for months. Not exactly torture. I cherished my times of studying The Word, playing chess and listening to Johnny Cash.

Kurt commented that I had been a redneck in a previous life, but I didn't know what that meant, and he wouldn't explain it to me. Doug later told me some people believe in something called `reincarnation', explaining what it meant in detail, but I worried we might not get another chance to do what we're supposed to in life, so the philosophy did nothing for me.

Doug then made a joke about making me a cowboy hat.

I ate different meats, like sausage and barbecue, read strange books like The Wizard of Oz and The Wind in the Willows, and they showed me movies of all genres, though I preferred to not see the ones with blood and guts in it (it made me hungry in the wrong way), and they refused to show me sex movies, despite the fact they had no more appeal to me than their videos about breeding lions.

I also picked up sewing. I only had to say, "I want to make quilt."

Difficult at first, because I tried to do that trick where you moisten the thread with your saliva in order to put the string into the eyelet and melted ten needles, but then they gave me a sponge, and I made a rather ugly row of stitches. Not great, but an okay start, and I had lots of free time to develop my skills.

It felt like I belonged to a pack, me, the scientists, Sarah, and Sarah's father. We even had a little addition to our unit.

Ann Jorden, an occasional member of our pack, who had walked among us for a long time with a full and swollen belly, announced one day, to everyone's surprise, that her water broke.

"What's a water break?" I asked.

Doug smiled, stroking the less sensitive area of my dome as he explained the "Birds and the bees," as it were.

The idea both disgusted and fascinated me. Squeezing an object the size of a watermelon through an opening the size of a lemon? Menopause? Cravings? Both partners staying alive? I had so many questions that he had me sit down and watch Look Who's Talking.

It sort of helped, I suppose, though I'm uncertain of its accuracy, and I didn't understand how a baby could drive a car with only a breadstick in the ignition.

Shortly afterwards, Ann gave birth, but I wasn't allowed to see the baby.

At first, I got offended, but Doug explained, "With a baby that young, they have no immune system. You can't so much as fart around it without it getting sick or dying." I, in other words, was a contamination risk.

Life went on. My body expanded, my shell darkened, and they had to take out some of the probes and move other ones due to the shape of my head elongating.

I grew to the size of a great Dane, and could no longer fit inside those little containers. Instead they gave me a giant glass and steel tank just like my sisters a few weeks previous.

My room resembled the interior of a missile silo, but smaller, a bathroom sized drum shaped area with charcoal gray walls and a ring of lights running around the floor.

I had spartan furnishings, but nicer surroundings than some of the other cells. I had toys, games, and a little area devoted to crafts projects where I had half a quilt going. I used a grating in the floor to eliminate waste, substances which, I believe, they tested daily.

Doug thought the place needed some cheering up, so he hung a photo frame on the wall, cycling images of beaches in Fiji, the rings of Saturn, the Alps, Stonehenge, and, of course, several pictures of the Holy Land, for obvious reasons.

Unlike my fellow aliens, I got visitors, got to read, listen to music, and even allowed to run around outside and play catch on the rocky Archeron terrain.

They all wore space suits, of course, but I had fun.

During this time of my imprisonment, Sarah also matured, growing to the size and shape described as `adolescent', roughly twelve years old.

Ann Jorden's baby grew up too.

Rebecca. I'd been studying a bible commentary when Sarah brought in the gleeful little blonde with a narrow face and an adorable upturned nose. Her light blue eyes opened wide as she strolled nervously into my chamber, clutching her little plastic human toy like a weapon.

I instantly fell in love with her, resolving to do anything within my power to perpetuate the aura cheerful giggling and merriment that seemed to continually surround her.

She talked an awful lot, a regular motormouth. But I didn't care. I liked this kid.

She and Sarah stuck together like sisters. Rebecca and her older friend would come in my little chamber, feed me bacon and play Monopoly and Clue with me on the metal flooring. We played and talked.

Keep in mind that, at the time, no one knew how dangerous a Ss'sik'chtokiwij could truly be.

One fateful day, we had the Monopoly board set up, and we'd all had a round past Go.

Rebecca, after drawing a card, asked me, "Do you have a mother?"

"Yes. She's somewhere on this base."

"Do you miss her?"

"All the time. I didn't ask to be captured, as interesting as it is."

Amidst the act of purchasing Park Place, I heard someone screaming outside my cell door.

[0000]

Warning: This story is about to get more religious. If this bothers you, feel free to read "Dangerous Prey" by Scott Sigler instead. The novel is also told from the alien's point of view, and is probably inspired by my writing.

The idea of a xenomorph hero isn't exactly groundbreaking. As I have stated previously to my readers, the Christian angle is the only thing that makes this story unique. If you want to know why I haven't made it less religious, Sigler's work is why. It's been done before, probably several times on Fanfiction net.

(17) The odd thing about this story is that people have complained about it being "too religious" in much, much later chapters. For some reason, they're okay with this one, and they keep reading. Which leads me to wonder: How religious is "too religious" anyway?