Like a human checking produce in a grocery store, a Ss'sik'chtokiwij like to check prey for ripeness and freshness. That's why Grandma didn't kill Craig immediately.

She leaned close to him, sniffed deeply, her burning drool dripping on his shoulder. He screamed.

Two androids still occupied the chamber, one on the floor, leaking copious amounts of white coolant, the other fully intact.

The undamaged Mara unit, noting Craig's distress, turned and grabbed Grandma's exoskeleton in an attempt to intervene, but Grandma just ripped her in half.

"Now look," she complained as coolant spilled. "I told you those things make a mess! Why did you have to go and bring it down here!"

"It wasn't my idea, grandma."

Hissandra pointed her tail at Craig. "Grandmother, can I use that one to lay my eggs?"

Grandmother shook her head. "You're only asking for that one because I drooled on it."

"No, I'm saying that because there's something wrong with the other one. It keeps coughing and shivering and wrapping those rags around itself like it's xulrubdan."

Grandma nodded. "It does seem to be a bit overripe." She sighed. "Fine, fine. But I get dibs on the next one."

I pushed Craig away from Grandmother, standing in between them. "Grandmother! You can't have him! He's mine!"

She backhanded me into a wall.

Shaking myself off, I looked up just in time to see Hissandra pinning the man to a pillar, enveloping his limbs in a layer of slime.

I charged, knocking her to the floor, but a second later, Grandma had me by the tail.

One mighty swing, and I lay moaning against the opposite wall, every part of my body in pain.

I regained the ability to stand, but far too late. Hissandra already had her mouth pressed against Craig's lips, shoving her suaakudsi down his throat.

Letting out an angry sob, I ran after my sister with clenched fists, but Grandma got in the way, striking me in the head and throwing me to the floor.

Hissandra pulled her mouth away from her victim, barfing globs of slime over his body, smoothing it around so it would dry and blacken into a cocoon. Already the bands she'd placed took on that appearance.

Still very much alive, Craig's face reflected glassy eyed terror, the thick layer of film over his mouth preventing screams.

Not much you can do once a victim gets to being in that state. It's like fixing pregnant. They've got larvae in their chest cavity, the cocoon only slowly melts their limbs and bodily organs into a pliable sort of meatloaf for the infant to thrive upon. Even if I freed him from the cocoon, it wouldn't change the fact he had a Ss'sik'chtokiwij inside him, ready to hatch.

The moral conundrum of euthanasia...

Was it biblically moral to leave this man alive, to slowly suffer and die as a young Ss'sik'chtokiwij devours him from the inside out? Or would it be more merciful to end his life, to prevent future suffering?

What if killing the man killed the infant Ss'sik'chtokiwij? Would that be morally wrong? And how would I reach the victim without getting attacked?

I frowned. The man appeared to be in pain...or at least severe discomfort.

With his quality of life issues in mind, I approached the cocoon, but Grandmother only struck me again.

Someone coughed. I saw not who did it, just family, half an android, and an incapacitated human who didn't have the ability to make noise.

I glanced around the chamber for a moment before locating the cough.

During the conflict, Roger had taken the opportunity to vacate the area. It seemed, despite his terminal illness, he still had some self preservation instinct left. Unfortunately, he couldn't silence the upper respiratory issue.

Since Craig stood immobilized, the damage already done, I hurried after the sounds.

Roger hid in the Pale Ones' training room, a place arranged like an arena, flat areas of the floor sectioned out with bony dividers (possibly `rings' for combat practice) and bug-like practice dummies. The carcass of a half humanoid, half hedgehog-pig creature rotted in a holding cell nearby. Mom said the previous inhabitants once practiced on live targets.

Racks full of tools and weapons covered the walls, items which we Ss'sik'chtokiwij hadn't touched due to our God given natural defenses.

Once or twice, mom had attempted to play with these weapons, but they proved either dangerous, impossible to wield with our particular hand configuration, or otherwise useless.

As I re-examined these objects anew, I wondered if we simply didn't know how to use them properly.

A long time ago, Mom played with one such device. The `handle' exploded in a ball of rather sharp blades the moment she closed her claw upon it. She walked with a limp for an entire week, and never again entered that room.

"What is this place?" Roger asked.

I explained the room's function.

He sneezed, wiped his nose, and coughed.

I misread this as an emotional outburst. "I know. The loss of Craig grieves me as well. But we must be strong. There are many more humans still living on this base, and they need our help to survive."

Roger groaned. "Ernie, I was only sneezing because I'm sick." He pulled his blankets closer around his body and laughed. "I still remember when I showed you that movie about Max the army dog. I thought I'd have to put the lab under quarantine."

I purred in amusement. "That was a sad movie."

Roger stared at the racks of weapons. "Do any of these things work?"

I told him about mother's accident.

"Did these guys have hands? I mean, theoretically, if they did, it shouldn't be impossible to pick them up. They had to be able to do something with them to...train, right?"

I stared. "You actually want to use one of those things?"

Roger looked at me like I were an idiot. "Ernie, your grandmother is the size of, what, five men put together? I'd say a weapon is exactly what we need. The bigger the better. Or a small one, provided it can still level a city block."

"We're under a nuclear reactor." I knew this because Mara taught me about it.

"Okay, okay. Maybe not that. But if we can find something that can pop grandma like a water balloon..."

I shuddered at how callously he described killing Grandmother. "We could use something for self defense."

"There you go."

I climbed the wall with my slulwidmi, bringing a simple looking sword-like device down from a rack.

"I didn't know you could do that!" Roger cried. "You've been holding out on me!"

"I'm sorry, Roger." I examined the blade, projecting from a shell shaped device fastened to a bracelet. "I was afraid what you would do with the knowledge."

The moment I slipped the jade colored band over my right arm, I immediately regretted it.

Once fitted between my claw and my elbow, it tightened, a cluster of barbs skewering my exoskeleton. I shrieked in pain.

"Shhh!" Roger hissed. "I'd rather not have another Ssueblik family reunion!"

"It stabbed me!" I cried, desperately attempting to remove the bracelet.

It wouldn't come off. I sighed in frustration, awkwardly resting my arm with the weapon still stuck to it.

The moment I `relaxed' thusly, the blade retracted into its shell.

It seemed the device responded to me flexing certain types of muscles, for I found the blade springing out again when I bent my wrist.

"That...might be useful," Roger said.

"I'd like to be able to remove it."

For a time, I despaired of doing just that, but then, as I let go of hope, the device fell off on its own.

Roger studied my wounds. "Hmm...try something else."

Afraid of the bigger objects, I climbed up and grabbed a little gun-like device, also set up like a bracelet.

"If I were you..." Roger coughed. "I'd probably try placing those things on the same spot you did the other one."

I stared at him, wondering where he got the idea.

"Educated guess. Based on too many science fiction movies. I'm thinking if that sword thingy works after it stabs you, the other stuff here might work on a similar principle. But hey, if you're a big fan of Swiss cheese, try it any way you want."

I pulled the bracelet down over the same general spot I'd placed the other.

It actually rotated on its own, stabbing me in the same wounds the other device had opened. "You were right!"

I pointed at the dead thing in the cage, clenching my fist.

My jaw distended in shock as a projectile exploded from the end of the weapon, ricocheting off the grimy translucent box.

"That's...interesting. Kind of a glorified handgun, but - Oh God."

Hissandra had prompted this unexpected and content-less prayer. Roger instinctively pressed his back against the wall.

Hissandra ignored him, grinning at me. "I heard a scream. Are you all right, sister?"

My mouth dropped open in surprise. "You actually care?"

She shook her head. "I was only hoping you were dead."

I did not weep over the unkind words. By now I found this kind of thing unsurprising.

"Tell her not to kill me," Roger said. "I have AIDS."

Hissandra turned her head. "What did he say?"

"He wants you to know he's sick."

Her expression reflected distaste. "I have no intention of eating or impregnating him."

"She finds you disgusting," I told Roger.

He relaxed. "Thank God."

"I definitely will give thanks." I looked at my sister and sighed. "Hissandra. I'm still glad you're alive. I thought you died when you fell down that wall."

Hissandra pushed her face into mine, letting out an animal growl. "And you did nothing to help me! I saved myself! My slulwidmi caught the wall just a foot above the burning red stuff! And the red stuff was angry! It exploded as I climbed upwards, scalding me. I nearly died!" It sounded like she got caught in an eruption. "And where were you! Killing Ahxalybij! Killing Mother! To save worthless livestock like this!" She stabbed Roger's leg with her claws.

"Dammit, Ernie!" Roger yelled. "I thought you said she found me disgusting!"

I shook my head in annoyance. "She's not eating you, is she?"

I turned my attention back to my sister. "I don't understand. I didn't see you at all after your fall. I would have noticed if you were still in the plant."

Hissandra chuckled bitterly. "Would you?" She sighed. "I found an opening in one of those big machine thingies. The red stuff drove me in there. The machine started doing violent things, so I went further, until I came to a man burrow. I sensed air, and smelled food, so I kept going, on and on through a maze of tunnels, until I came to a hatch.

"That's when I found a delightful storehouse filled with dozens of small identical looking edible humans. All I had to do was crawl through an air duct and grab one."

I jerked back with a start. She had used the DAMBALLAH program like her own personal automat. "Those are my friends!"

"Were," Hissandra purred. "I've eaten most of them, and they were delicious."

I roared at the top of my lungs, firing shot after shot with that strange Pale One weapon until it stopped firing.

It only hit her once. The rest strayed from the mark, either due to my lack of familiarity with the weapon, the recoil, or my rapidly moving target. I did, at least, succeed in removing my sister from the room.

I tossed the empty weapon aside.

"You did a good job, Ernie." Roger knotted ripped pieces of blanket around his wounds. "I'm sorry I said those things about...your mother."

"Grandmother."

"Whatever. I was insensitive. Sorry I kicked you and insulted you...And I'm sorry I tried to give your friend AIDS. Also, sorry you couldn't bury your loved ones."

He must have lost a fair amount of blood, or was getting sicker, for once he'd finished that, he slumped on the floor, resting his back against a wall. "Ernie, I still think this is God's big joke."

I just stared at him.

Roger sighed. "But I have to admit, that if God exists, he knows what he's doing. I should be dead right now, but I'm not." He coughed several times. "At least, not yet...You know, it may be because I'm at death's door with this illness, but I'm thinking that, maybe, possibly, there might be an intelligent being out there, watching me, one that may or may not have made me..."

Roger shook his head. "I probably deserve to go to hell. There's so much I've done that I'm really not proud of. That incident with Sarah was just the tip of the iceberg."

I silently stared, not certain I wanted to know anything more.

"My name is actually Brian Kuminsky. I stole a man's identity so I could work out here." He scoffed and shook his head. "Wish the real Roger were here instead of me."

"So Roger isn't your name?"

"It's Brian. Roger graduated from MIT. I graduated community college. I...tampered with some police files...switched a couple pictures around and got the guy arrested for identity theft and possession of child pornography. No one believed he was `Roger.' He hung himself in prison."

He looked at me, as if pleading for mercy, stared at the floor. "I didn't think of him as a human being. I just saw him as a number and a preppie suit on a screen.

"I had to do a lot of leg work to keep up the charade. And acting. But I convinced the court...in time for the shuttle departure." He stared at a wall, looking as if looking at his victim. "I got to where I am by walking on another man's back. I lay awake at night sometimes, wondering about him, and how his family must have felt. I kept telling myself, `It's the survival of the fittest, you can either be the Neanderthal or the Cro-Magnon, but it didn't make me sleep any better. I ask myself, what would their lives be like, if I hadn't fucked it all up?"

He broke down in tears. "Oh God. How am I not going to hell for this?"

He kept crying, so I hugged him, which caused him to flinch a little at first, but then, he let go a little more, hugging back.

Brian pulled away, sniffing, wiping his tears, and coughing. "How could God forgive something so evil? How?"

"He can," I said. "He forgave me, and I killed and ate humans."

"Jesus died to pay for your sins."

After a few heavy hacking coughs, he wept. "I've heard that line before...well, more or less, but it's so hard to believe that he'd forgive me."

"He will, Roger."

"Brian, please."

"Sorry...Brian. Jesus died for many worse humans, like the Not Sees."

Brian looked desperate. "I want to go to heaven, Ernie. I want to be saved. Can you help me?"

"Yes. I'd be glad to."

I folded my claws. "...Brian, I want you to pray with me."

The man folded his hands, bowing his head.

Without warning, he stiffened, screaming as blood exploded from his chest.

How did this happen? Brian had chosen to sit in front of a wall with a hole in it, a hole possibly for ventilation or wiring. The young Ss'sik'chtokiwij chose this avenue for attack.

"No!" I shrieked.

Brian still lived, his face telling of the agonizing pain he felt. He stared with fright as the glistening head of a little Ss'sik'chtokiwij emerged from the grisly wound.

Bizarrely, with tears streaming down his cheeks, he stroked the creature's head. "The wages of sin is death."

I finished the thought. "But the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord."

He fell over, dead.

From the expression on the body, difficult to tell if Brian had found that peace he so desperately sought before his vital organs had ceased to function. I prayed that he had, but his fate rested entirely in God's claws.

I frowned scoldingly at the larvae, speaking to it in our native tongue. "This human wasn't just food. This man had family, and friends, and knew a great many things about this planet and the universe and his home that you will never know because you killed him."

The creature froze, just sort of staring at me. "Is that supposed to impress me?"

I shook my head. "I could only hope. Enjoy your food. It's tainted with something called AIDS."

"What's AIDS?"

"Keep eating it. You'll find out soon enough."

I grabbed a cannon-like weapon off the wall, and the jade colored sword weapon, shuffling dejectedly out of the chamber, depressed by my utter failure.

I paused before Craig's body, which, by this time, had been left unattended.

The man still lived. When I extended the blade of my new weapon, he gave me a nod, as if to say, `Do it.'

Slashing him across the throat as quickly and mercifully as I could manage, I departed from there, heavy in heart.

As I neared the elevator, I came across a pile of mangled body parts that used to be my robotic companions. A small lake of white coolant rippled around the door.

I looked around for the Brian's explosives, but found nothing. I don't know where they went, or where they'd been hidden.

A relatively simple task to activate the elevator. Craig had left the door open (Hissandra had been playing basketball with Mara's head, using the elevator as a goal), the key still within the mechanism.

Not knowing anything about floor numbers, I pushed a button and ended up at the observation deck.

I played with the buttons, going up and down. "I wish I knew how to get out of here."

The robot head still had enough power to understand. "Floor 2A. Main entry."

I pushed the button.

Once the door opened, I recognized the catwalks immediately, but took the head with me anyway, just in case.

As I reached the exit, scampering outside into the mud, I considered setting the head down, but she seemed too useful to discard. I kept her tucked under an arm as I followed the trail of the vehicle, scents and my claw marks and scents all the way to the base.

In retrospect, I could have used the ATV, but again I could run faster than its tires could roll. Also, me and motorized vehicles didn't exactly get along.

Upon my arrival at the base, I discovered I had no ability to get past the large security doors. "How do I open this, Mara?"

"Mara has been deactivated during the attack," the head answered. "I am Baroko."

"Yes, yes. Baroko. How do I open this door?"

Baroko made some musical sounds and the door opened automatically.

I entered the base proper, searching the oddly shaped tunnels with bewilderment, uncertain as to where to go, or what to do with my newfound freedom.

Deserted. A few humans stared, pointing at me and muttering to each other as they passed by. Some ran away in fright.

Freedom is all very well and good, but then, as I paused to examine a monitor informing the colonists of the evening's menu and some rules about housekeeping, the screen flashed to a camera image of Sarah at a desk in a lab...a lab containing socmavaj in large tanks.

I put my claw to the screen. "Sarah?"

"Hi, Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik. I'm back in Unit 110. I don't have long, so you'd better hurry if you want to say goodbye."

I coughed and sneezed, overwhelmed with emotion. "Sarah! No!"

"Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik, I love you. I always will. That's why I must do this. For us. For our family. I hope, one day, you'll understand what I am doing and you won't be sad."

"Sarah!" I sobbed. "You're not—"

"Abednego is the ideal socmavaj. Your mother created something special when she birthed you, and I want to continue that line. Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik, please. Don't try to stop me. I know what I'm doing, and I know it has to be done."

She gave me a smile that looked partly forced, but she had no fear in her eyes. I could tell by her calm demeanor that no one had put her up to this. "Goodbye."

"No!"

I held Bokardo's head up to my face. "Tell me how to get to Unit 110!"

A row of lights along the corridor flashed on and off, marquee style, directing me a few yards down and to the right.

I stared at the robot head. It looked lifeless as a mannequin. It seemed the lights had been Sarah's doing.

I set Bokardo down and followed the lights, through the twisting maze of passageways, until at last I arrived at the lab.

Another trailer-like room, one slightly larger than the one I'd been imprisoned in. Medical operating tables, cabinets full of tools and chemicals, computers, and rows of glass tanks.

The largest tank, had been opened, fluid pooling on the floor around Abednego's open egg.

A few yards away lay the limp form of my dear friend Sarah, the pink spider-like socmavaj enveloping her entire head, tail curling round and around her throat like a python.

I sobbed uncontrollably.