I stared at the little computer in horror. You didn't play with a socmavaj. I didn't want Sarah anywhere near it.

Shaking my head no several times, I folded my hands and tapped this message with my claw: `Stay away from it. Eggs are dangerous. Do not touch Abednego.'

After a long pause, Sarah replied with: `Abednego might not live much longer.'

`It is God's will whether Abednego lives or dies,' I clicked back. `Leave it alone.'

`It is all that is left of your mother.'

I hit the floor with my fist, repeating my warning.

A longer pause followed. Despite all the damage Sarah had made to the Mara droid, Craig managed to fix her, again placing her outside my door. Although vigilant to spot potential prison breaks, she didn't appear to pay much attention to all this praying. After all, I prayed quite frequently already, and she could make no sense of it. She watched me, all right, but my back faced her when I tapped out messages, and she only entered Sarah's cell once to observe.

`You saved him because you saw goodness in him,' Sarah messaged back. `I grabbed that egg from your memories because I saw hope.'

I clicked no, repeating my warning.

`I'm in Unit 110. Try to stop me.'

"No!" I screamed, tugging against my leash until I became a drooling mess on the floor.

"Lord, please don't let Sarah do this. I beg you."

Craig marched to my door. "Is there a problem?"

"Sarah's in Unit 110! She's found a socmavaj egg! You've got to stop her!"

"If you are referring to what I think you are, that egg should be safely contained, as to not cause any unfortunate casualties."

I slapped myself in the face. "She escaped your cell. What makes you think she can't remove a few safety devices?"

Craig scowled. "And how did you acquire this information?"

Not wanting to compromise our method of communication, I said, "I just had a strong feeling. Please. Send someone, anyone, to 110 before it's too late!"

He called his robots and stepped out.

Then I waited.

Nervous and fidgety, I occupied my time with darning with my aluminum needles.

I had limited access to the world of crafts, due to prison safety and our being light years from earth. We had paper and markers and such, but I couldn't explore the world of `macramé' (whatever that is), macaroni art (base rules-no wasting food), `decopaj', or the crafts Becky informed me about.

I got monitored closely whenever I did needle craft the first few times in the shock collar, since, although invulnerable to melting, someone talented could pick it. When they realized I only knew about lockpicking from movies, and didn't even try, they let me knit.

I knitted a scarf, I prayed, and waited, tapping out my friend's name every so often to see if I'd get another message.

An hour later, Craig reappeared at my door. "You were right. It almost seems as if you are telepathic after all. You sure this was merely a strong feeling?"

"Yes," I lied.

Craig frowned like he didn't believe me. "I see."

"Is she okay? Did she get to the egg?"

"She and the egg are both fine." His tone reflected disgust. "The eggs are still in the tank, and your friend dove into a sanitation duct the moment the synthetic humans showed up." He fell silent, staring at me in suspicion.

At last he said, "I suggest you start sharing more of these `feelings' with me, before something worse happens. The next time we might not be so fortunate."

Afterwards, things returned to a state of relative normalcy. I ate, I slept, I watched One Day At A Time, Small Wonder and Three's Company. Craig said it was the first time they'd detected brain activity in an individual watching these programs. Not sure what that meant.

Also, according to Craig, he'd witnessed the first time in recorded history that Small Wonder provoked a fear response in a viewer.

Near the end of the day, he left me with a recording of Columbo as he stepped out to do something else.

Sarah's computer flashed again.

`Without Abednego, all that's good in your family will die with you.'

`You're my family,' I tapped back.

She sent me nothing for a long time.

Then, as I turned my head to observe Columbo, I noticed the computer flashing one last message:

`I love you.'

I bowed my head, hoping this wasn't farewell.

`Stay alive,' I tapped.

No answer.

The following day, Craig appeared to have given serious thought regarding my so-called `indoctrination', for I got subjected to several programs that did not portray my faith in a favorable light.

Science programs that questioned the bible.

A cartoon entitled South Park, deliberately chosen because it featured a plot about the alleged evils of converting space aliens to Christianity.

Documentaries about the crusades, phony faith healers, and big time evangelists getting caught doing evil things, as well as programs about evolution and the Big Bang.

Despite the barrage, I wasn't entirely convinced, continuing to pray and read my bible. I mentioned this to him.

"I knew I shouldn't have shown him Three's Company," Craig muttered, walking away.

While Becky drew my blood, Sarah's computer flashed one brief message:

`I'm okay. 1 Thes 4:23.'

I checked the verse. Not a code.

The morning after, I just so happened to awake before everyone else, and noticed the computer flashing again.

`Good morning,' it said.

`Hello,' I tapped out. I then broached the subject that had been troubling me for days. `You should not have injected Roger with that virus. I do not blame you for escaping, but you could have done so without harming Roger in such a way.'

`Prov 26:27,' the message read, meaning that Roger intended her harm, but it only resulted in his own injury.

I responded with Romans 12:20. To forgive and shame him with our love.

`So you want me to die like a good little girl?'

I sighed. `You already volunteered to be my mother's host. What is the difference?'

She paused so long I thought she would never speak to me again. `The difference is that I can choose what I do with my own body.'

I shook my head. `I wish neither upon you. You do understand that, don't you?'

`Yes.'

`All I mean to say is that you have caused Roger great suffering. Surely you could have found a better method of escape.'

`I didn't know any. I am only a child.'

Someone rapped on my door.

I looked up and saw Craig standing next to the glass, hands folded and raised, as if in prayer.

`Very clever, telepath,' he tapped with his index finger.

The man must have either examined the bible before allowing it in my cell, or used his cameras to spy on me until he figured it out.

Regardless of how he broke our code, we lost communication. He removed Sarah's computer from her room, had mine fitted with a device, presumably to block or trace Sarah's transmissions.

We had `radio silence' after this.

Craig probably could've gotten better results if he'd simply allowed the communication to continue until he gained enough information to entrap her, but I suppose he lacked patience.

A few hours after the communication breakdown, Craig subjected me to music with irreverent lyrics, programs with Carl Sagan, and even asked Mara to read The DaVinci Code to me.

Perhaps he intended this as punishment, but I took it as a test, a spiritual trial, even.

Lacking other crafts to show me, Becky stepped into the other cell, attempting to interest me in dance, particularly ballet. Not a particularly kind thing to teach someone fitted with an electrified collar.

Apparently she took the subject in grade school and hadn't practiced in years, but she had videos.

You can probably understand why I might possibly have problems `twinkling my toes,' but I tried.

Following her example, I danced, pivoted and turned, sidestepped, and so on, doing so gingerly to avoid getting shocked. I could have let the jolting discourage me, but I ascribed to a faith that teaches that godly traits are born from suffering.

Waltzes and other formal dances look awkward and silly without a partner, but Becky made a fool of herself by dancing solo, so I found enjoyment in it anyway.

I promised not to hurt me if she taught me a waltz in my cage, but she didn't trust me that much. Understandable, considering the circumstances.

Whilst we explored the arena of the performing arts, Craig, for some reason, decided to help me explore arts of the culinary realm.

Nothing new about food experiments. He'd attempted this the moment I became his prisoner.

But now I sampled something new every hour, many of them risky items.

Plain pancakes.

Pancakes with syrup.

An orange.

Orange juice.

Twinkies.

Chocolate.

I found the process highly enjoyable and instructive, except when I threw up.

I discovered I could enjoy grain products and items with relatively low sugar content, such as wine or ketchup, but sugary snacks, chocolate, and things with high corn content gave me trouble.

Whilst munching on some roasted peanuts and watching old news programs about various worldly evils (more of Craig's attempts to shake my faith) the scientist tapped on my door. "Ernie, I have a favor to ask you. This is very important."

He pressed his tablet computer against the glass. "What can you tell me about this?"

I squinted at the screen, then gasped in shock.

Video footage of a large Ss'sik'chtokiwij, crouched in the bowels of the pale ones' craft, with a small cluster of eggs surrounding her.

I swallowed hard. "That's...my grandmother."

"I see. Care to go for a little walk?"