In my absence, the Maras had devised a special type of restraint just for me, a modified sort of dog catcher's collar with a wide loop and a built in shocker with enough juice to immobilize a horse. When I resisted or attempted to remove the collar, they only had to push a button to drag me, drooling, to any place they so desired.

Since the Biology lab in which I thrashed uncontrollably on the floor had been compromised, the androids `so desired' to drag me to another lab a little closer to the northern end of the base.

It had been a long time since I had seen this particular region of the facility. Unlike the older rear section, the areas closer to the front end had a modular structure, like a series of large hexagonally shaped mobile homes joined together, with flimsy looking metal bodies, painted across the middle with broad yellow stripes, floors carpeted in places. I ruined several stretches of gray pile with my constant drooling, most notably when I tried to say hi to a curly haired overall wearing boy on a Big Wheel.

As my body spasmed, the boy stopped pedaling his yellow three wheeled vehicle to stare at me, small fingers absently poking the Weyland company logo between the handlebars.

Up ahead, little Sarah still lay slumped over her captor's shoulder. If one didn't know any better, one would presume that the girl had merely passed out from a day of innocent childish amusements, and now rested peacefully in her mother's loving embrace.

The androids dragged me past rows of identical looking sliding doors. Strangers clad in jumpsuits, uniforms and denim stared as we passed by.

Mara stopped, opened the security door to a room marked `Bioscience 9B.'

A young labcoated man with a striking resemblance to Shaggy from the Scooby Doo cartoon greeted us. Stubbly beginnings of a beard, brown hair in an appropriately scraggly hairstyle, his tall lanky body possessing a slight build and crooked posture. The man seemed unsurprised to see me.

Granted, he stared at me intensely, but his expression never changed, as if I were as ordinary as a mineral sample. "Is this Ernie?" (31)

The droid nodded. "Yes, Mr. Shattuck. You have a secure containment facility for her?"

Shattuck gestured to the doorway. "Right through here."

I got dragged through an automatic sliding door and past a row of work tables in a cramped hex trailer. A couple people busily worked on things in petri dishes and computer screens.

The android pulled me into a cell roughly the size of a small bathroom, more or less the dimensions of my original prison, but you could almost fit a metaphorical second shower in the added space.

The neighboring cell actually did have a shower, by the way. Mine did not.

Not wanting to lose my freedom, I attempted to escape again, but only received electroshock therapy for my troubles.

As I lay convulsing on the floor, the androids stepped outside, securing the reinforced glass and metal door.

The cell, a concrete and glass box, contained a drainage grate and not much else. I had a polygonal window near the ceiling that afforded a view of the sky outside, and a glass wall allowed me to see into the other cell.

As an experiment, I attempted to shatter the glass, but it proved to be impervious to attack, so I gave up, flopping on the floor in resignation. I stared listlessly through the glass.

The robots placed a cot in the other cell, then a sleeping bag and blankets. I stared, unsure exactly who or what they intended to make my neighbor.

An hour later, to my relief, I discovered my little human friend had become my `cell mate'. Although I could do nothing to preserve her from harm, I at least would not be lacking in companionship or conversation.

I stared up at her little boots, contemplating how vulnerable human feet were to injury simply by stepping on the wrong things.

I fell asleep, and probably rested better than I had in a few days, though memories of death, and the horrors of DAMBALLAH troubled my dreams.

I awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the glass. At first I thought to be Sarah, but she happened to be showering at the time.

Shaggy blinked at me, mouth curled in a half smirk. "They tell me you talk."

I nodded. "I also read. Do you have any interesting books lying about?"

He twisted his lip, then sort of laughed through his nose. "I have World War Z. It's about zombies. Want to read that?"

I didn't know what a zombie was, so a few minutes later I thumbed through the book.

Mr. Shattuck stared at me as I read, but being used to it, I didn't care. "You don't have eyes. How are you reading that?"

"Very carefully," I joked.

This confused him. "Okay?" And after a long pause, "Is it...something to do with using...sonar to detect patterns of raised letters or ink on a page?"

I tapped my dome, explaining how it's like two way glass. He became lost in thought for a few moments. "So what do you think of the book so far?"

"Too violent...why do people say fuck so much?"

"It's an interjection, like `ouch' or `ay caramba.' Has anyone ever taught you what an interjection is?"

I gave him a blank look.

"There's a very good Schoolhouse Rock about interjections. I could show you..." He glanced at the entrance to our jail. "I mean, I could show you if Mr. Siegler gives the go ahead." He rubbed his chin stubble. "Do you have a name?"

Invisible eye roll. "Humans...have trouble with it. Just call me Erni or Ernestine."

Wry smirk. "I could call you that, or I could try to pronounce your actual name."

He called me `shithead' a few times until Sarah came out of the shower and coached him.

He eventually got it right, but preferred to call me `Ssueblik', or `Hunter', because it was shorter.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He introduced himself as Roger. (1)

I figured it would do me no good to insult my jailer. "Nice to meet you, Roger."

"I hear you set fire to one of our labs."

I just sighed in resignation.

"Care to explain?"

"It's called cremation. I believe you humans perform a similar ritual when your loved ones have died."

"So you were trying to cremate Specimen 22C."

"Her name is S'Caizlixadac. She was my mother."

An awkward silence fell between us.

At last the man said, "From what I hear, there was an electrical neuron exchange between you and Sarah during a simulation. One that the computers can't explain. Any thoughts?"

I hesitated to mention the Wooby Worm, despite them probably finding out about it eventually anyway. I valued what was left of my privacy. "I have no idea."

I pointed to a green bracelet on the man's wrist. "What's that?"

He undid the Velcro, holding it up to the glass. "Following the little incident with our quote-unquote `gas leak,' everyone's required to wear these to track our position on the planet. There's talk of using RFID implants under the skin, but we haven't gotten to that stage yet."

I skimmed over a chapter in the book where some guy watches zombies from a space station. "Does this book have anything to do with Resident Evil?"

Roger laughed and shook his head, explaining the video game and its rather preposterous situations.

"Does DAMBALLAH make zombies?"

He blinked at me in surprise. "To tell you the truth, I don't know what they do. I'm just the lab assistant. That's way above my pay grade. I suppose anything's possible, but..." Roger chuckled, rubbing his face. "Great. Now I'm going to be sleeping with the lights on, thinking about that!"

He waved to my young friend behind the glass. "Hi, Sarah! How are you?"

She rounded her shoulders. "When's lunch?"

Mr. Shattuck sighed. "We'll uh, get something for you in a minute. Does your friend need something too?"

Sarah glanced at me, but I just shrugged.

"I think she's okay. I'm bored. Why do I have to sit in this little room?"

The man sighed through his nose. "Uh...about that." He forced a smile. "You've...got interesting brain activity, and I hear you ripped out an android's jugular. I don't know the circumstances surrounding the incident, but I do know what you are capable of.

"This is not to say that you would personally rip out my jugular, but there's a chance you might. I mean, don't get me wrong, I actually trust you more than your friend over there, but we already lost two biologists..."

Roger looked at me, raising his hands like I pointed a gun at him. "No offense, Ssueblik. It's great that you can read and talk, but we lost thirty people the moment you left your cage..."

"And at least two before," I argued.

"Really! Hmm. I admit my source of information on this particular subject is, shall we say, rather limited. You telling me you had help?"

"No. I'm saying that I didn't do it. I have sworn an oath to God to never take a human life or devour the meat of his flesh."

"While we're on the subject, tell me something: What's your god look like?"

"Well..." It pleased me to discuss my favorite subject. In my previously mentioned near death experience, I didn't actually see `God the Father,' so..."He's got an exoskeleton, kind of like me, but more beautiful, and He loves you very much."

He stared at me wide eyed, mouth shaping into a grin, as if expecting the punchline to a joke. "Okay?"

I suppose he expected an elaborate alien mythology or something, for after a puzzled silence: "And why does he love me? Because I'm tasty? If so, would coating myself in hot sauce make him love me more, or less?"

It seemed I needed to develop some Ss'sik'chtokiwij gesture signifying eye rolling. "Mr. Shattuck, are you familiar with Jesus at all?"

"The name...rings a bell," he said dryly. "Care to enlighten me?"

I turned my dome towards the ceiling, spreading my arms like a rabbi going `Oy vey.' "If we're going to do this right, I'm going to need a bible."

Roger gawked at me. "A what?"

I put my claws on my hip joints. "Don't tell me you've never heard of a bible."

"Are you talking about a bible bible, or do you guys have your own thing? I mean, I'm assuming you'd at least have some sort of alien scroll, or a beaded thing that serves as a mnemonic device, that you might possibly call a bible..."

I cleared my throat and quoted 1 Corinthians 2:1-2.

"Ohhh..." Roger groaned. "That bible. King James or New International Version?"

"NIV please."

He stepped out. It took him a few minutes, but he eventually located a black book, pushing it through the door slot.

As I flipped it open, the man seated himself on a stool near the door, giving me this look like I had somehow been ruined.

I read a few more passages from 1 Corinthians to him.

"Why," he said.

"Why do I believe? It is the work of the Holy Spirit."

"Oh my God," he cried in disgust. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. A million years of separate evolution, millions of light years from the planet earth, and you latch onto one of the most brutal, bigoted and discriminatory religions in the entire world, and I'm not going to even go into all the scientific and historical inaccuracies...Again I ask you, why."

"Because I'm a sinner. In the past I have killed humans and eaten them. But the Lord Jesus has forgiven me, and given me a new righteous life, granting me a home forever in heaven. This faith has given me hope and peace, despite...all that stuff you said."

"Thank you," Roger said with a fake half grin. "This has been...surprisingly anticlimactic."

He marched to Sarah's cell, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Has your friend Ernie always been this religious?"

Sarah nodded. "Ever since I met her."

"Do you have any idea why that is?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I guess you are what you eat."

Before Roger could respond, a shorter man with glasses and a labcoat waddled in.

"So what do you think?" the Germanic nosed stranger said to Roger.

"Well...I'd say he's fairly intelligent. In fact, he tried to engage me in a theological debate. Of course, that's also the sad part. It appears as if he's been indoctrinated..." He crossed his arms. "Craig, did either Doug or Keith strike you as the religious type?"

Roger's pasty faced coworker frowned, a muskrat's overbite pressing into his bottom lip. "Not...that I recall...though I can't say I spent that much time with them. I'm often far too busy to involve myself with other people's personal lives, so I'm not really sure of their religious views, if they had any. To the best of my knowledge, their work was unbiased and relatively objective. Are you saying that that thing is a Christian?"

"I'm assuming. It quoted bible passages at me."

The short bony man sighed, staring into my cell.

I waved at him nervously.

"Are you going to stick probes in his brain?" Sarah asked. "I really hope you don't. The last time he almost died trying to pull them out."

"Not to be insensitive or anything," said Roger. "But that's kinda the point. You weren't supposed to take them out."

"So you are going to put probes in his head."

Roger gave her an apologetic shrug.

I whimpered. "Don't you have enough information about my brain from the other lab?"

"Sorry, bud. A lot of that was inconclusive. For example, we still don't know for certain if Lobe 12 actually corresponds to memory, or if it's really Lobe 30. The frontal lobe appears to relate to conscience, but that one's a bit hard to pinpoint as well. So yeah, we're going to need to do a few more tests."

"If it's not supposed to be removed. Then what happens if I outgrow the probes?"

"That's why we're here. Brain surgery should only be performed by licensed qualified physicians."

"You don't understand." A sob crept into my voice. "When I encountered other Ss'sik'chtokiwij, other aliens, they always hit me right on the probes." I pointed to one of my patches. "All they had to do is hit it to cripple me."

"As long as you're in there, you're in no danger of being brain damaged."

I gazed up at the ceiling, and in a loud voice cried, "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt."

Craig scratched through his matted blonde hair thoughtfully. "I suppose we could make the leads smaller..."

"You think there's some way to put the business end with all the equipment inside so the outer part is seamless? Or at least make it like a gas can where the lid can flip both ways?"

Craig sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

I folded my claws again. "My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, thy will be done."

The pointy beaked man stared into my companion's cell. "Anything you can tell me about this one?"

Roger joined him at the window. "Uh...she's helpful, kind of like the other one's interpreter. No noticeable signs of aggression. Really haven't worked with her that much." He paused. "And she hasn't had lunch yet."

"Get her something from the cafeteria," Craig muttered.

"I want to say...we're having hamburgers," `Shaggy' said. "I'll see if I can get one."

I set down the bible. "If it's not too much trouble, would you mind picking up an extra one for me?"

Roger chuckled through his nose. "I'll see what I can do."

He stepped out.

"Is Rebecca okay?" I asked the long nosed one.

Craig gave me a blank look.

"Rebecca...Jorden?"

The man checked a computer, gave me a nod. "Your friend is alive and well."

I thanked him, returning my attention to Roger's book. "What does DAMBALLAH do?"

"It's an international research consortium," Craig replied. "The name is an acronym for something in Arabic. I don't remember. Biological research, medical, pharmaceutical. So, in short, they do a lot."

"Why wasn't Mara allowed to tell me that?"

Craig shrugged. "She's an android. They may have placed a block on her to restrict information on a particular project." He adjusted his glasses. "That's really all I know. I have what they call `L1' security clearance. I only know what they tell me, which, right now, is currently limited to details regarding the alleged `gas leak' and a fraction of the data from Bio Facility 1A."

"So you still need to study my brain," I groaned.

"I'm sorry." I'm certain he really wasn't.

Roger returned to the prison, sliding a tray through Sarah's door.

To my delight, I got one too. Fries, ketchup, beef patty, sesame seed bun, lettuce tomato and pickles. I suspected one of those ingredients would induce vomiting, but didn't know which one.

The results? Deliciousness. The fries, covered with sufficient (presumably) animal fat, did not disagree with me too terribly, and the hamburger, according to Roger, from an actual cow, the meat shipped from earth.

Roger suggested my incident at breakfast might have had something to do with sugar or maybe corn syrup, both abundantly present in orange juice and pancake sauce, concluding that ketchup shouldn't be too good for me either.

I admitted that the fries did upset my stomach a little, but he said they generally do that anyway, and asked if I ever had gas.

Although not completely ignorant on the subject, but I didn't know all the science behind it, either. He had to explain a little.

"I have vents," I said. "Beneath my shoulder plates. They're rigid, so there isn't any sound."

Roger chuckled. "Sounds like a smelly air conditioner." He stroked his stubble. "You've actually given me some very valuable information. I was just about to dissect one of the specimens from the other lab, and I think this is going to help me crack it open without damaging anything."

"Wait, who are you cutting open?"

Roger looked puzzled. "Who? What do you mean?"

I seemed to conveyed my indignation well, for then he frowned. "Oh."

He cleared his throat. "We, uh, found one of your friends in the back hallway. Incidentally, is there any special purpose for those dreadlock looking things dangling from its head? Is it like hair, or some kind of sensory apparatus...?"

Kiarsshkoy, I thought. "It's like hair. You're dissecting my sister."

"I'm sorry. Would it help if I said her sacrifice will help humankind to achieve a better understanding of the...uh...your race?"

"Understand? In what way?"

"Well...uh, medically, maybe we could figure out how to help you when you're sick...or, maybe something we can learn about your bodies can help us figure out how to help human beings when they're sick!"

I paused and thought about that for a moment. As well meaning as that sounded, I figured it also gave an opportunity for them to learn our vulnerabilities, to destroy us. "Would it help you any, to tell you that if I hadn't killed my sister, you wouldn't be alive enough to be having this discussion?"

He chuckled a little. "Oooh! So you saved my life!"

"Yes."

Roger frowned. "Is that why there's a ragged laser burn going through its skull?"

I didn't like where this was going. "Maybe?"

He grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. "Did you have to burn a hole through both hemispheres?"

I sighed. "If I'd thought that far ahead, there would have been a lot of things I would have done differently. Suffice to say that it was self defense, and there were circumstances outside my control."

Roger smirked. "I see."

He walked to Sarah's cell, smiling at her. "Hello! I apologize for not talking to you much, but this is the first time I've ever actually spoken with a real life extraterrestrial. How are you?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "When can I leave?"

"We, uh, we're going to need to run a few tests before we can even think of releasing you. EEG, CAT scan, MRI, that kind of thing. Nothing major, really. But I think we definitely will need a psych eval when all is said and done."

Sarah sighed and nodded.

"See? The fact that you understood everything I said, at your age, again tells me that we need those tests. You're, like, twelve, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"When I was that age, I was putting frogs in the microwave. I don't think I actually knew what an EEG meant or what its initials stood for, but I could kick your ass at any Mortal Kombat type game." He leaned on the door. "I'm still not exactly clear on your connection to...Ms. Ssueblik. How on earth did you get to be so close?"

"This isn't earth," she said evasively.

"I realize that," Roger groaned. "Forgive me. But how...?"

"It's not hard to get close to Ernie. She loves everybody. You know, because of Jesus."

Roger smiled, but the expression on his face said he didn't buy it. "I don't think that's it. I think there's something else you're not telling me. From what I hear, you speak its language perfectly even though you just barely met, and then there's your unusually well developed fighting skills..."

"Did DAMBALLAH do something to my brain?"

"I...don't know. If course, if we find out they did, you might be staying with us for a very long time..."

Neither of us could think of a proper response to that.

I had long ago expected lifelong imprisonment each time I encountered a human in a human setting, but Sarah...I couldn't imagine what she felt.

Roger clapped his hands together, grinning at her. "So. What would you like to do?"

"Get out of here."

Roger made a face that said `stop joking around.' "Besides that. I've got books, board games, toys. Maybe even some video games when I get the go ahead to put electronics in your room."

She just stared at him.

"Do you like puzzles? We've got some interesting picture puzzles..."

Sarah visibly shuddered.

"How about Puzz 3D? You have your choice of the Giza Pyramids or the Cylon Battle Cruiser."

Sarah didn't reply, looking miserable.

Mr. Shattuck spread his hands. "Or not. So..."

"You're not my friend," she growled. "Leave me alone."

Roger sighed and shook his head. "Kid, I'm only trying to help. I know it feels like jail, but it doesn't have to be one. Think of me as your, I don't know...personal butler. Okay?"

Sarah just stared at him.

"Look. This can either be a hotel or a prison. It's your choice."

He turned his attention to me. "Would you like some more reading material? I think I've got a Star Trek novelization and Treasure Island..."

"Sure." But as he headed toward the door, I called to him again. "Wait. Could you get me a book on human reproduction?"

Roger looked at me like I were crazy. "Why."

"I don't know how humans produce children, and I'm curious."

He snorted in amusement. "I'll see what I can do."

Roger left in search of said items.

Sarah knelt by the glass partition dividing our cells, looking forlorn. "Isn't there something you can do to get us out of here?" she asked in Ss'sik'chtokiwij.

I shook my head. "The glass is unbreakable. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you...burn the metal with your acid or something?"

"Perhaps. But I wish to make peace with the humans. They are not in any danger, and it comforts them to know we are in this chamber and unable to harm them. By gaining their trust, we will be entrusted with greater freedoms."

Sarah didn't look so sure. "What if we never get those greater freedoms?"

I placed a claw on the glass. "Remember the Apostle Paul, who, while praying in prison, was delivered from bondage by an earthquake, and Peter, who was freed by an angelic messenger."

She only frowned. "Saint Paul made the mistake of appealing to Caesar and spent the rest of his life in prison."

Wow. Taking the contents of my own brain and throwing them back at me. "Yes. But he wrote many powerful letters during that time, letters that built the foundation of the modern church."

"You want to save their souls, don't you?"

I nodded. "Is that not what you also want?"

Sarah stared at the floor. "I just want to be a normal girl."

"We are what God made us."

"But that's just it. God didn't make me. I'm a clone. Someone else made me."

"How did you get that information?"

She explained the basics to me. How a scientist could take a cell and insert modified genetics into it.

Since Roger hadn't brought me the requested book yet, I didn't understand the complete meaning of what she said, but did have an inkling. "Did they make the cells `from scratch'?"

"I...I don't think so."

"Then they didn't make you. They just grafted things to your existing cell, like they attach limbs to a tree. It's God who gives life."

"I guess you're right."

"After the explosion, I went to heaven. I saw the other Sarah there. Maybe you have a place there too."

Sarah smiled. "I hope so."

The man returned to our little prison with colorful plastic boxes and a stack of books. "Still looking for an educational sex book. But I did find Watership Down." He showed me a paperback. "Also, I got Narnia, Wind in the Willows, Stephen King's It, and in case you think those are too lowbrow, I also found a copy of Pride and Prejudice (Not mine, by the way). Maybe you can read to your friend!"

He slid the books through my door slot.

"Also..." He held up a box with pictures of boats on it. "Battleship. It's perfect. She can be red, and you can be blue. There's no way you can cheat!"

He handed us our boards. "Oh, and one more thing..."

He gave Sarah a sketchbook and felt tipped pens. "I saw them and said, `What the heck. It's not like it's dangerous or anything.'"

After studying the rules of Battleship a bit, we set about trying to sink each other's naval fleet.

Periodically, as I paused to contemplate my next move, Sarah scratched on the sketch pad.

"What are you drawing?"

She showed me some symbols. "It's the Ss'sik'chtokiwij alphabet. I'll be like the Sequoya of the alien world."

Apparently Rosedale Square has a module about Native American history.

I stared at the shapes on her paper. "Only if other Ss'sik'chtokiwij can write them. B-20."

Sarah groaned. "You sunk my battleship!"

Not much to tell about the rest of the twenty four plus hours. Sarah's Ss'sik'chtokiwij alphabet progressed to a kind of dictionary, with pronunciation guide.

Unable to read each other's thoughts, our Battleship scores often ran close but never tied.

When we tired of boat wars, we played chess, awkward to be sure. One of us had to call out moves while the other physically moved the pieces. When I had the board in my cell, I kept knocking the pieces over, so Sarah ended up taking the board instead.

At least, thought I, as I drifted off that evening, Rebecca is safely in her parents' care, and no harm would befall her, at least by the likes of my family.

The next day, Roger put a mirror in my cell.

Novel experience, looking at myself. Not being a vain creature, I'd never really looked at myself before then.

When we ran around earlier, I'd seen my reflection a few times, and the image startled me so much that I hissed and bared my teeth at it until I realized its harmlessness.

My image fascinated me. Often I would go on a silent journey of introspection as I pondered my identity, and whether lipstick and makeup would improve my appearance.

In the afternoon, they had my new probes assembled. As much as I prayed for this cup of suffering to be taken from me, it was not.

They couldn't figure out what kind of chemical to use to put me under, for, as you know, Ss'sik'chtokiwij bodies resist many kinds of gases, and I felt hesitant to let them inject anything, insisting they not use them at all, rather than poison my bloodstream. They hadn't used anesthetics the last time I had work done.

Androids strapped me to a table, standing guard as Mr. Siegler took apart my brain patches.

A terrifying experience. I kept thinking about Kihoon's brain damage, or about the brain surgeons in The Planet of the Apes. Helpless beneath their gloved hands, I could only whisper prayers as bits of metal got pulled away with various tools.

To say that I hallucinated is an understatement. A couple times I saw sound as color, lost vision completely, or temporarily forgot...important things. I stopped breathing once or twice, lost motor function, ruined the table with acidic urine.

Not sure what Craig did up there, but it was unpleasant, so much so that I found myself unconsciously flexing my brain tissue to resist him, until he threatened to inject me with something if I didn't stop.

The probe itself: Not ideal, but it did provide protection, hypothetically. A sort of tiny funnel inside each opening, each one ending with a little pronged device. This funnel had the potential of being plugged with a flat ended object to prevent a foe from grabbing something they shouldn't, though to serve research purposes it also interlocked with a sensor that sent feedback to a computer.

Not ideal for either one of us (They thought the thing at the end might melt off like the head of that chess piece I ruined) but a terrific compromise, one that renewed my confidence in the human race.

As the weeks progressed, and my body grew larger, they would refit these probes several times, resealing vulnerable areas and replacing components.

Sarah had her own probes, but not as invasive because humans already know a lot of things about their own brains to begin with.

We sat in those cells for days, reading and playing board games, enduring whatever test they picked for that particular day. The Tower of Hanoi one day, a book of logic puzzles the next, then a Tetris-like game, or inhaling and commenting on various kinds of fragrances.

I asked Roger if people could use the south end of the facility again, and he said yes, things were going fine.

When I asked about Abednego, he told me Barbara had found it shortly after the repairs neared completion, and now the `specimen' rested safely in a glass tank somewhere, still in its egg.

I eventually got my book on human reproduction. If you think it disgusting that we Ss'sik'chtokiwij burst from people's rib cages, you can imagine what I thought about your methods. At any rate, at least I understood the cloning thing, and you humans in general, a little better.

I also received a kit and picked up some new craft skills, like crochet.

Sarah's manuscript of our language proved of great interest to both scientists, especially when she added crude glyph-like illustrations to some of the words. Thanks to her, they thought they had my language all figured out.

From my cell's upper window, I watched the terraforming machinery begin its job. We had turbulent thunderstorms several days in a row. I heard the hydroponics people took full advantage of the situation, channeling water into the farm, and its reservoir at every opportunity.

An endless shower of rain pounded the glass, the sky perpetually overcast, a testimony to the power of the machinery. I wondered if the ammonia pools would remain, or if the machinery would obliterate or dilute them with their endless showers.

Sarah and I watched the Schoolhouse Rock video about interjections. Cute, but nobody explained the word "fuck."

My body slowly developed adult characteristics, my skeletal structure shifting from its small quasi-canine form to a sort of bipedal human arrangement, my plates and ridges shifting and expanding.

Although unsure about the calendar date on earth, Valentine's Day arrived for us on the base. I mention this because, for some strange reason, Roger made us both little paper hearts saying we were `special.' Still not sure what to think about that.

I asked if I could make some Valentines, and he gave me art supplies. I wrote mine to Rebecca, telling her that I still thought of her. My handwriting wasn't very good due to the shape of my hands, but I tried my best.

Not sure if he actually gave it to Rebecca or if it got filed away or ripped up by someone. Guess it's the thought that counts. Sarah wrote one for her too.

Out of courtesy, we also crafted Valentines for our captors. I made mine particularly thoughtful, because I thought of them like the centurions that imprisoned the apostle Paul. They framed my valentines and put them on their desks.

Speaking of which, Rebecca visited us only once, by accident. The encounter proved disastrous.

Apparently, after all her traumatic experiences, before and after DAMBALLAH, she'd developed an obsession for climbing in tunnels. Her nickname originally had something to do with her flexibility or hiding in small crevices (we were not the first to give her the nickname), but rumor has it the other kids officially gave her the title `The Newt.'

During one such little expedition through the ventilation system, this `Newt' just so happened to stumble into our prison.

At first she seemed fine. She gazed into our cages, waved, gave each of us long contemplative stares.

Then, all of a sudden, she got struck by seizures.

Doctors got summoned. Her parents came and took her away, all the while scolding her for playing in such a dangerous place.

They gave me fearful looks as they said this. Maybe they thought I had evil psychic powers or something.

I thought this would be the end of it, but the very next week, lo and behold, the same imprecisely shaven man stared into our cells as he spoke at length with Roger. I think, when he saw me, he saw gold.

I, who had been resting at the time, feigned sleep in order to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"I know it plays chess, and talks, and maybe quilts. What else can it do?"

"Have you seen the afghan it made? It's pretty nice. It wasn't our idea. It asked us for information and supplies, totally unprovoked."

I had made a nice afghan.

"Let me ask you this, Mr. Biologist. How much would you pay to get another one of those to study?"

"I'm the wrong person to ask. Our funding comes from a joint cooperative of various trusts and organizations. Talk to Craig. In fact, better yet, bring in a sample, then ask us for a price. I'm sure we'll figure out something from there. I'm sure the reward for such a find is pretty sizable. We're already being offered fifty thousand for `Ernie', probably double that once we actually freeze him up and ship him live to earth."

"Does it matter if they're alive or dead?" Mr. Jorden asked.

"We prefer live samples. Dead ones are nice too, but there's more market potential for say, a traveling zoo, or a permanent live display."

I sighed. So that's what they thought of me: A circus sideshow. I supposed, in any event, a situation vastly better than its opposite.

Newt's shabbily clothed father rubbed his hands with eagerness.

I would never hear from him again.

Up until this point, I have said very little about Grandmother. The reason: She was an old curmudgeon, and she and Mom didn't get along.

Oh yes, we occasionally dropped by her `house' from time to time, to check on her, but not every day.

Our family history began with a woman named Ellen Ripley, and Grandmother being shot out an airlock.

Many stories on this subject have circulated over the years, but only one version I recognize to be the truth:

(Please excuse the brevity. Not having been there, I have to rely on word of mouth, which often paints an incomplete picture of events).

Grandma and a young woman met in a spaceship of human manufacture. The two immediately got into an altercation, culminating in a bitter conflict in which the brave human, clad only in her underwear, cruelly tricked Grandma into backing into an airlock door.

Everyone knows the next part (or thinks they do), but our version of events doesn't stop there.

Grandma's exoskeleton, being the resilient thing that it is, firmly resisted the pressures of deep space, her internal organs squishing up like a dolphin's at great aquatic depths, blood pressure regulating similarly.

So, as the young human traveled on to...wherever it was she went, poor Grandma floated through the void, flipping end over end for what seemed like an eternity.

One would think that a long, solitary experience like that would give her pause, and cause her to re-evaluate several questionable life decisions, but she instead spent the time stewing about her rough treatment.

An object shot out an airlock has a certain amount of momentum. If no object gets in the way, it will slow to a stop and just float in the middle of nowhere until the end of time. Fortunately, this Grandmother shaped object encountered the Pale Ones' spacecraft before she starved to death.

I would describe this amazingly fortuitous circumstance as a miracle, but it proved a rather unhappy circumstance for the ship's inhabitants.

When the massive horseshoe shaped vehicle passed within a foot of her, she stuck out a claw, latching onto the hull.

A little blood and saliva, and Grandma had a small hole opened in the cargo bay. She immediately set about feasting on the crew.

Very good stock, I've heard. You couldn't eat but one or two of them without getting full. Of course, Grandma was younger then.

Let's just say eating the pilot counted as one of her questionable decisions.

For a few days, the craft traveled along its course unimpeded, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Grandma slowly dined on the remains of the crew and passengers, impregnating chest cavities, blissfully unaware that the ship needed to adjust its course to avoid getting caught within a planet's gravitational field.

I can only describe the following events as miraculous, for the Lord, in all His power and wisdom, decided to spare the lives of Grandma and her growing daughter.

A catastrophic crash landing, from what I've heard. The wreckage should have smashed Grandmother and her daughter like a barbell dropped on a roach motel, but instead they only sustained a few minor injuries. Only her larvae and eggs didn't survive.

What's more, the ship contained large amounts of whole refrigerated alien bodies, so they essentially had their own personal grocer's freezer they could just reach in and eat from.

The two knew nothing about the new world they'd landed in. Mom, after making several forays out on the rugged landscape, declared it to be "Nothing but rocks and dirt."

For a long time, they just camped out in the wreckage, lazing about, thawing bodies in the sun to make them edible, generally defacing the property. But as the food supply decreased somewhat, the arguments began.

"Go out and get your own food!" Grandma would roar.

"There's nothing here but rocks!" Mom would bark in response.

To which Grandma would say, "Then go eat a rock! You're driving me crazy!"

The arguments progressed to fighting, in which Grandma, the much bigger Ss'sik'chtokiwij triumphed over (as humans say) the `young whippersnapper'.

Mom slunk away like a beaten dog, bitterly bemoaning her fate as she wandered the rocky terrain.

A heavy dust storm drove my mother into a cave, and for several days, she meandered aimlessly through it, facing the harrowing dangers of cave-ins, false cavern floors and confining bottleneck passageways.

She became weary, and nearly gave up, but as she turned around to creep back into Grandma's wrecked spaceship, she heard the sound of a machine.

Upon investigation of the sound, she discovered a group of humans in overalls driving a beat up yellow vehicle marked with the letter W.

She killed and ate a couple of them, and then, when she discovered the base, grabbed a large, healthy looking man and had me.

The rest you know.

Sadly, no one informed me that Rebecca's parents had gone to scavenge in the territory surrounding Grandma's house. If I had known, I certainly would have warned somebody, but alas...

Mr. Jorden, sincerely believing he would find wealth, either in the form of treasure or a traveling sideshow, followed rumors about spaceship debris.

To the best of my knowledge, this is what transpired that fateful day:

Due to Rebecca's tendency to get into trouble, and her seemingly random epileptic attacks, she and her brother Timmy (whom I had never before seen, by the way) got taken along in her parents' vehicle, where they squabbled in the back seat. The vehicle then arrived at Grandma's House.

At about this time, Grandmother's supply of corpsicles had run low, so she wandered out in the wasteland, searching for food. Sadly, her eggs remained where they were, and one found a new home on Mr. Jorden's face.

Mrs. Jorden, bless her heart, cared too much for her husband to just leave him there, so she of course brought him back to the base, as-is, since she couldn't figure out how to remove the socmavaj.

I didn't get to see Newt's father when they brought him in. I suppose I couldn't have helped anyway.

Roger did ask me if I knew some way to extricate the socmavaj from the man's face, but socmavaj, as I have stated previously, are very stubborn, mindlessly disobedient things that rarely listen to emotional pleas or reason.

The socmavaj laid its egg in the man's chest cavity, fell off and died. Roger and Craig studied it for a few hours, then dropped it in a tank full of nutrient solution, assuming it would somehow not be dead.

Not too long afterward, a young Ss'sik'chtokiwij was born.

They apparently had heeded my warnings, knowing to capture the larvae the moment it burst from Mr. Jorden's chest, but as rumor had it, the larvae escaped its tank, killing a repairman.

Trapped in my cell, I couldn't do much but pray and hope that someone would stop the new Ss'sik'chtokiwij before it hurt anyone else.

The days passed. Sarah and I whiled the time away with various diversions and tests.

Every day, Mara would stop by our cells, bringing food and teaching us lessons, inquiring about our day. In some fashion, she served as a mother to us both, though, I suppose, not quite the same as a real flesh and blood mother.

Still, nice to have someone, anyone, thinking about us like normal family members.

Whilst studying a lesson about George Washington with her one day, the power went out.

"What was that?" Sarah asked.

"I thought Barbara repaired the power station," I added.

"The volcano is becoming too cool, and many generators are still damaged. The plant is running at a third of its original capacity. We're transitioning to thermonuclear power." Noting our puzzled looks, the android explained the scientific principles.

Once the power came back on, she showed us pictures of the machine. It looked like the top of a container of Fix A Flat or fuel injector, a tapered cylinder with a flat top, but metallic and massive in scale. "This machine also doubles as an atmospheric processor."

When she showed me the location on a topographic map, and photos of the site, I became alarmed.

You would have thought a man receiving a socmavaj to the face would be sufficient enough deterrent to prevent others from visiting Grandma's house and doing the same, but only a few short weeks after the incident, they started building a giant atmosphere processing station on that very spot.

They did send androids to extract many of the socmavaj eggs from the premises, and yes, it contained a highly sophisticated alien power source, but it still reflects poor decision making.

With undue haste, they had built this complex right on top of a buried spaceship, uncaring or unaware of who and what still lurked in the spaceship's bowels.

Had I known about this beforehand, when the androids and construction equipment had been working nonstop, I could have warned someone. But now...far too late. I stared at the pictures in dismay.

Roger got the `go ahead' to put electronics in our cells, so we could watch movies and play video games like Monopoly and Clue and various sports simulations. The equipment, of course, got placed by a synthetic human (Mara taught me the proper respectful terminology for an android). We tried a few of the more violent games, but the carnage disgusted me, and they didn't sustain Sarah's interest. We'd seen enough of that in real life already.

More importantly, we got a `green light' for for something else I'd been asking about for weeks: A meeting with another Christian.

His name: Taylor Ferguson, a young minister who doubled as a general technician. He came to my prison in his black shirt and little white collar piece, immediately stopping at Sarah's cell.

"Hello Ernie!" the small, mouse eared man said to her with a nervous smile.

Sarah frowned and pointing to me. "Ernie's over there. I'm Sarah."

His large Adam's apple bobbed up and down behind his collar as he approached my cell and gave me a timid wave. "Hello?"

"The peace of the Lord be with you," I replied.

The response shocked him so much that he backed straight into the wall, eyes bugging out of his head. "They're right! You do talk!" He swallowed. "You're a Christian?"

I nodded. "I have found few with like minds in this base. I am very pleased to meet you."

He kept staring, nervous perspiration dripping over his square, black framed glasses. "How...How is that you came to the faith?"

I told him.

The color drained away from his already pasty white face. "You...killed Mr. Hughes?"

I bowed my head. "I am a sinner in need of grace. I have sworn an oath before God to never again partake of human flesh."

"Wow. Have you...kept this oath faithfully?"

I sunk down a little. "Let me put it this way: Since I have accepted Christ, I have not murdered a single human being. But the Devil tempts me with the bodies of the dead."

His body seemed to lose some of its nervous tension. That being said, Taylor still didn't look particularly eager to jump in the cell with me. "I suppose...we all have our particular...struggles against the flesh."

"What's yours?" Sarah asked.

Taylor let out an uncomfortable laugh. "My struggles? Well..." He coughed. "I admit to sometimes being prejudiced against people of color...and there's some people...on this base...that I haven't exactly loved like a Christian should...To be honest, I've harbored hatred in my heart...and as you probably are well aware, our Lord says that hatred is just like murder."

The power flickered out for a moment. Another glitch with the geothermal-thermonuclear change over. My heat vision showed the man cowering against the wall, terrified at the thought of me getting out. He relaxed when the power came back.

"What do Christians do every day?"

"Do?" Taylor paused, thoughtfully stroking the tiny sprig of hair on his otherwise baby-hairless chin. "Oh. I guess you've never been in a fellowship before..." He furrowed his brow. "We're just like regular people, except we behave differently. We try to be faithful to the commandments, we don't cuss or swear, we honor marriage..."

"A little difficult for me to commit adultery. I think I have that last one covered."

He chuckled. "Care to explain?"

I told him how Ss'sik'chtokiwij reproduce.

"Maybe we should pray that you...find self control in that area, or maybe find a...less destructive method...to procreate."

"Oh yes!" I eagerly folded my claws and he said a prayer.

And so that's what we did.

"I'd like to have communion."

Taylor took a deep breath. "Okay. Um...let me get the stuff."

He walked out.

"I could do it," Sarah said.

I stared. "What, communion?"

She shook her head. "The other thing. I'll be your host."

I cried. "You mustn't say something like that!"

"What's wrong with being your host?"

"You're a little girl! The process could end your life! You don't understand what you're asking!"

"I do understand! You'd have a nice baby, and I'd be in heaven. It wouldn't be so bad!"

"Yes it would," I moaned. "You would leave a void in my life. I don't want an egg. I want a friend."

"I think you'd like to have both."

"Our friendship is the priority. If the Lord wants me to have an egg, I will, but I will not choose it above friendship."

"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak," she insisted. "If you do this, you will still have me as a friend. Genetically, I will be an integral part to the baby Ss'sik'chtokiwij."

I shuddered. She knew my heart too well. Already I imagined myself wrapping a slime cocoon around her little body, pushing an egg through her trachea. "No, Sarah! Absolutely not! Do not ask me this again!"

She shrank back from the glass.

Was she heartbroken? Embarrassed? It was difficult to tell. Regardless, I did not like her tempting me in this way.

What could have possessed the girl to make such a request?

But then I thought: It was me. Our transfer of minds.

"Sarah, you must grow older. I want you to discover boys. Become a woman. Be the human that I cannot."

She nodded gravely. "I understand."

Taylor returned to the cell with a package of rice wafers and tiny plastic cups. After giving the Eucharistic blessing, he carefully slid them on a tray through the door.

I put the paper thin disk in my mouth, then slowly slurped bitter wine from the cup.

Hard for me to understand the concept. Even after my near death experience, I wasn't sure about how this bit of flattened rice could somehow be a body, or what absorbing Jesus into your digestive system was supposed to do for you (or to you if you wish to be more theologically correct).

Probably not to give you salvation, I figured, for you must be saved to even partake of the Lord's supper. The obvious point seemed to be remembering Jesus, but there are many ways to remember a person without resorting to cannibalism, so I continued to puzzle over this, and still puzzle over it to this day.

Sarah asked to receive this ceremonial supper as well, which Taylor administered with much greater gusto. With me, I suppose he must have felt like he just communed a cow or something.

Once Sarah had partaken in this mysterious ritual, I addressed our minister once more. "I know this is out of order, but I have never been baptized before. Would you be willing to grant a fellow Christian this great honor?"

He stared at me like a zoo patron who noticed they had accidentally dropped their camera into a lion pit. He brought the subject to Roger for a second opinion.

Mr. Shattuck laughed. "No. Not unless you want to sign a waiver saying that I told you this was a bad idea."

"You put in the monitors and games without a problem," Sarah said. "I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"When we put those in," Roger said. "We had androids..."

He paused. "Well..."

About ten minutes later, I got flanked my Maras, with my neck stuck through an electric hoop.

Although on my best behavior, and didn't need all those precautions, it made Taylor more comfortable around me. I would have done anything to receive that life giving mark upon my head.

With shaky hands, the man scooped water out of a little stone bowl with a shell, sprinkling it on my head as he gave the important words.

Sarah, of course, asked to receive the blessing as well.

Again, our minister did this task with greater confidence than mine, but I bore no grudges. The fact he honored my wish at all testified greatly to his faith.

Afterwards, Taylor met with us once a week, leading us in prayer and bible study, occasionally bringing friends along.

A fine bible study. Twice a week, he'd present Sarah and I with comprehensive lessons from the book of Genesis, which proved to be far more involved than my independent reading, and upon our second meeting day, we had regular worship, wherein I got taught many religious songs.

Sadly, this peaceful time of gathering came to an abrupt end.

The day we studied Genesis 33, Taylor sat alone with us, Roger having lost interest in our little services, preferring to monitor my brain activity from a desk in the other room, Craig, as always, occupied elsewhere in the facility.

After concluding a very fascinating lesson about the golden calf and its historical background, our pastor friend stepped out of the room for the last time.

His life concluded with an agonized scream.

I could do nothing about it. Even if I could have managed to melt the metal bits off the door, my assistance would have come far too late. The gurgling sounds I heard did not bode well.

I prayed for Taylor's loved ones, his family, and wept.

An unsettling silence fell upon the room. Even Roger made no intercom or radio communication.

A glistening black head popped up from below my window, its speckled features unmistakable despite being badly scarred.

"Hissandra!" I cried in horror.

Although relieved to see her alive, I dreaded to contemplate her intentions.

"Hello, sister!" She dug her claws into the glass, scratching the surface with an unpleasant squealing sound as she slowly dragged her digits to the bottom of the pane.

[0000]

In case you didn't notice, I revised the first Ernie novel with more concise, dynamic writing. I'm currently working on revising Book 2: Worm Master. My plan is to avoid the entire plot of Alien 3. Once I get to the end of Ernie Book 3, I'll be able to figure out what happens to Ernie when Newt doesn't die and Ripley doesn't give birth to larva.

(31) This is where the printed version of book 1 ends. Save yourself some eyestrain and order it from Lulu.

(1) I based this character on a coworker, but it's an unflattering portrait, so I decided to change his name from Rick to Roger so I can possibly share the book at work. If you see the name "Rick" anywhere in this story, just remember it's supposed to be Roger.