"Guys," Shelly protested. "I know this is a stressful time, but I think you should leave Ernie alone."

"He let Mosby get ripped open," Dalgren spat.

"There was a lot going on. I'm sure Snake wouldn't appreciate it if we killed off our asset."

"Some asset! He can't even fight!"

"Maybe you should just think of him as an Indian guide."

"Native American guide," Frye corrected.

"Whatever. The point is, maybe Ernie can't fight, but he can teach us things. He did point out those creatures in the ceiling back there..."

Dalgren made an indistinct grumbling sound that seemed to be reluctant agreement.

"I think it's safe to come out," Shelly called.

I crept out, claws raised to show I was unarmed.

Although I risked my very life, I marched straight up to our fallen human companion.

Seeing him already dead, I asked, "When should we bury him?"

Dalgren made a `hmph' noise. "Surprised you didn't ask to eat him."

I almost made a joke, but felt it to be in poor taste. I shook my head.

"Let's get the job done first. If we're alive by then, we'll do something about Mosby."

They allowed me to resume work.

The next tunnel seemed simple enough, as they had nothing of perceived value there. On the left, however, we had the supply room, so, after detonating the first charge, I got instructed by Dalgren to march ahead to the far end of the passage.

Shelly asked, "But wouldn't that leave the back end open for those things to get through?"

Dalgren smirked. "You worry about watching the entrance, darling. Let the big boys figure out the structural targets."

Shelly frowned, but didn't reply.

Frye had rigged up a few pieces of debris into a crude tourniquet, using a piece of pipe as a cane. She backed behind the redoubt when I blew the wall.

At long last, we reached the main entrance, which someone had already barricaded off.

Hines took out his phone. "Hey, Snake? We got that tunnel finished."

Hissing static answered him.

"Snake?"

He frowned at the talk button, clicking it a few times before calling the man again.

Dalgren took out his own phone. "Snake." Static. "Snake."

He pushed some buttons. "Hey, Porter. It's Dalgren. We're done with the tunnel. What are we supposed to do next?"

After a long stretch of static, Sparkles answered, "Hell, I don't know. Snake's plans are kinda spur of the moment. Sounds like you got half the battle finished already. We can at least get our people outside, get the radio working...Good job, man."

"Well..." Dalgren's tone reflected reluctance. "The way Snake described it, we'll need to reconvene, no matter what we do. The repairman, the troops, they're all back at base."

"That's right," said the voice at the other end.

"What about the PTD's?" Frye asked. "Weren't we supposed to locate survivors?"

"I've been checking that the whole time we were on this march, but I haven't seen Jack."

I hadn't studied every colorful human expression, but I figured Jack to be a relatively important individual.

We returned to the main fortification.

I asked if we should check out the supply room, perhaps collect something I missed last time, but he said no, they already had toilet paper, so they'd be okay until the Sani-Bar system got repaired. The devices already had their fluid reservoirs topped off.

Colonists had closed off a large portion of the base to create their temporary encampment. Within this territory, they had the showers, the kitchen, mess hall, food storage, a library, and the classroom that served as their new medical station.

A door lead to the south end of the base, but apparently something got jammed, so it wouldn't open anymore. Instead of fixing the problem, they decided it should remain as a barricade.

When we entered this encampment, a group of colonists argued amongst themselves, one of them the fat balding man I'd seen with the whore. His name patch read Wiedeca.

"I always told them, we need to have a gondola system," said a thin slack jawed man with a ponytail. "But nobody took the idea seriously."

"They didn't take it seriously because it wouldn't work. It rains all the damn time, so it'd rust and leave everyone stranded in the air."

"That's why you have to waterproof it."

This fascinating discussion got cut short when Devon came up to us, staring at my companions' wounds. "You guys look like a mess. Where's Mosby?"

"Mosby didn't make it," said Mustache Man. "But we got the job done."

Devon sighed and shook his head. "What about the PTD's? Find anyone?"

"Unfortunately, sir," I said. "It appears we have been unable to locate...Jack."

Devon burst out laughing.

He forced himself to be serious. "Man, that's a real shame...C'mon, guys. Let's get you patched up."

I had guns pointing at me, so I came with them to the hospital/classroom.

An awkward sort of arrangement. The teacher's table had been converted into an operating stand, other patients lying on sleeping bags on the floor. Instructional wall monitors now displayed patient vitals, except for one displaying an endless loop of famous female authors.

Other walls retained pictures of various educational things. A series of images depicting Earth as various geometrical figures other than spherical, a map of the earth's solar system, and a chart of the universe surrounding LV426, containing objects children had helpfully renamed from a list of rather uninspired lists of letter/number combinations. It amused me to see one of the largest nearby asteroids had been named Snoopy.

They had posters honoring Rosa Parks, Mama Cax, Abraham Lincoln, Oprah Winfrey, Louise Bennett Coverly, Martin Luther King Junior, and Eli Whitney with his famous cotton gin.

They had a small library, and desks, but most of the desks had been shoved to the corner of the room to make room for patients.

`Uncle Sam' was alive and busy, as usual.

No sign of Kumar anywhere. I guessed he wasn't currently in need of the man's services.

The doctor had the Arabic woman assisting him, like before. Frye ended up being treated by her, as Uncle Sam kept busy with his field medicine, cutting through someone's leg with a bone saw. The operation made even me cringe.

Hines, Shelly and Dalgren had received superficial wounds, a few cuts from attacking Ss'sik'chtokiwij, Hines grazed by a bullet, Dalgren receiving one in his fake leg. They got sent away with a few bandages. Well, except Dalgren, of course.

Shelly wrapped her own hand. "I'm going to check on Amber. I'm worried about her girl."

Throughout this whole time, I remained under armed guard, limiting my movements. "May I come along?"

My guards said no, but Shelly said, "It's okay, guys. He's a Christian. If he really wanted to kill me, he would've done it by now."

Hines frowned. "Maybe so, but I still think you need some kind of armed escort."

"Would you like to do the honors?"

Hines looked reluctant. "All right."

"You sure you don't mind?"

He shrugged. "To me, it sounds kind of easy."

The moment I caught the scent of Boger Hernandez, I knew the dwelling didn't originally belong to Ms. Jones.

An oversized painting of a bullfight occupied one wall, a crowd of multicolored blotches cheering from the roughly defined stands of an arena as a figure in white waved his red cape at the oncoming horned beast.

Mosaics decorated other areas. He had a Virgin Mary shrine and ritual candles, a brass wall hanging of a sun face marked with glyphs from a Mayan solar calendar, and that picture of Jesus with laser beams shooting out of his heart.

[0000]

The air had a faint lingering scent of tortillas, rice and tamales, but it seemed that grilled cheese and macaroni had been the most recent staple on the menu.

A plump teenage Hispanic girl eyed us warily from the kitchenette, her clothes appearing to be a poor fit for her beautifully growing figure.

She held a knife covered in peanut butter. We had interrupted dinner.

I waved to her, but she just regarded me sullenly.

"Hi, Magda," Shelly called. "Sorry to intrude, I just dropped in to see how our patient is doing."

Magda sighed. "What's that thing doing in here?"

"He's...a friend."

I smiled at the girl. "I was friends with Boger Hernandez."

Magda dropped her knife. I had rendered her speechless.

By her facial expressions, I could tell that she didn't want to believe me, but was also desperate to reconnect.

"No se lastimar," I said.

"Were you a friend of my father's before or after you killed him?"

Shannon stared at me. "You knew Boger?"

"I didn't kill him. I was trying to save his life. My sister got him before I could stop her. I wish I could have saved him. There were so many interesting things he could have taught me."

I pointed to the Mayan calendar. "That, for example."

Magda didn't speak for a whole minute.

And then, "Dad always told me not to copy his bad mistakes."

"Is...your mother named Rosa?"

The look on her face told me Rosa was no more. "Make your visit and go. You're not welcome here."

I sighed, agreeing to her terms.

We walked around a cluster of padded chairs, entering a small bedroom.

Large bed with a spring mattress. Pictures of colorful South American birds. A painting of an ancient tribesman saluting Teotihuacán. A Lady of Guadalupe statue. Candles depicting Saint Peter, Jesus and The Virgin. An interesting native rock.

Someone sobbed. When I looked at the bed, I knew why.

A little red haired girl lay unmoving on a pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Pale and sickly in pallor, she neither moved nor blinked, hands crossed over her chest.

Amber sat hunched over in a nearby chair, weeping into her hands, hair obscuring her face.

Tears rolled down Shelly's cheeks as well. She knelt by the other woman, putting an arm around her as she sobbed and told her about how little Julie was with Jesus right now and wasn't suffering anymore.

I never met the girl before, but felt saddened by the loss of the poor child. The thought of never getting to know this...Julie still caused me to cry.

Hines frowned. "Hey, man. Not to alarm anyone, but this thing is sneezing."

Amber stared at me for a moment. "He can't hurt Julie anymore."

I took the doll out of my purse, sliding it gently between the dead girl's arms.

"Yo, I really think this thing should be quarantined," Hines said. "I mean, what's to say Julie..."

"She died of the flu," Amber snapped. "Maybe Reyes Syndrome. I did give her aspirin. I don't know, maybe I didn't have the right antibiotics...The point is, she's never gone near one of those things."

"Begging your pardon, but you don't have to go near a rat to get Bubonic Plague. I'm just sayin'."

"I am only sick of all this death. I sneeze my grief." I turned my face straight in his direction. "I need to see Rebecca and Timmy. I must know if they are all right."

Hines looked uncertain. "All...right...I guess we should go see Snake anyway..."

He marched me ahead of him, pistol at my back, telling me where to go.

We found Snake lying face down in a corner of the compound, two bullet holes in the back of his skull.

Hines stared at his fallen comrade's body, shaking his head and making tsk sounds. "Damn," he said under his breath. "Shot him in the back like a dog!"

I sniffed. It did not surprise me to detect Jeff's nauseating combination of chemicals and body odor. "You know how Shelly said I was an Indian tracker?"

The man only shrugged. "What about it?"

"I know who did this, and I can find them."

He gave me an uneasy smile. "You know, as great as that idea sounds, I think we should probably go back to the others, bring some people over here. Just to be safe."

I'd grown impatient. "Then let me go on alone. I'll take care of it."

Hines gave me a pained, slightly amused expression. "I'm sure you will. I admit it's a clever idea, but I really think we should just hold on and sit tight for awhile until we get some help."

He took out his phone, calling the apparent second in command. "Hey. Dev. We've got a problem. Something happened to Snake."

Crackling static answered.

"Dev. Snake's dead. You're going to want to see this. I dunno, you might want to bring along some muscle."

"Jeez, I thought we had this place blocked up pretty tight! How the fuck did it get in?...It wasn't Bert, was it?"

"Uh, actually..." Hines frowned at the corpse. "I kinda don't think so. Unless they've figured out how to use firearms. Like I said, you're going to want to see this. He's in the back end."

"All right. Stay put. I'll be over there in a sec."

"Uh, about that, Ernie says he might be able to track the killer down."

Devon hissed through his teeth. "...I think I'm going to go with no on that one. No offense, but Snake was an ex-Marine. If the creepy motherfucker can sneak up on Snake, you don't have a chance."

"I hate to agree with you, man, but you're absolutely right. Snake was a tough son of a bitch. You do, did not want to tangle with that mofo. I still remember that one time he sent Antonio to the hospital."

"I remember that. Never touched Snake's shit again."

Static.

"You sure about not letting Ernie track this guy down himself? The way I figure, he's kinda expendable anyway..."

After a long interval of white noise, Devon said, "You know, it's really hard to say which one I trust more, that thing or the fucking killer."

"That's not exactly an answer, Dev."

He let go of the talk button, letting silence fill the air as he thought.

"Call me crazy," Hines added. "But right now, I'm leaning towards the thing. So far, he been cool. He acts just like a person. He even gave Amber's kid a doll to take with her to heaven."

Not my intent, but I decided it disharmonious to argue to the contrary.

"I just don't know..." Devon said. "I thought he was supposed to be our attack dog."

"To be honest, he ain't too good at that."

A toilet flushed on the other end of the phone. "Sounds like Fido needs some training!"

"That's what I was thinking."

"Still, we don't know where our pet's going to go, or what he'll do. We don't want to put the other survivors at risk..."

I already had my nose to the trail, moving further and further away from my companion as I followed it. The newer scents continued north.

"Uh, our bloodhound is running off. I think he's got something."

"Dammit! Tell him to wait!"

I marched ahead. "In the words of Benjamin Franklin, `Lost time is never again found.'"

"He's not waiting. He just quoted Ben Franklin."

"I'm not sure I follow. He's saving pennies now?"

"No, uh, he quoted something else. He's got a woody for something over there..."

"Well, shit. Keep an eye on him. Stay back as far as you can, but tail him. If he pulls anything, I mean anything, blow his damn head open. We can't afford any more fuck-ups. Got it?"

"Yes sir! Loud and clear."

Jeff's scent trail led me between two housing units, turning a corner near the mess hall.

"The guy came up here?" Hines said.

I nodded.

"I find that hard to believe."

I gave him a shrug. "I am only following his scent. He took the children this way."

My companion narrowed his eyes a moment. "Hold up. I got an idea."

I followed him into the mess hall.

A rather basic cafeteria, little decoration. Long tables with built in stools, a row of child seats in the back. One side held a food window.

A video monitor along the back wall played the scene from Flipper where Paul Hogan uses a wielding torch to make toast. The adults had their own screen, but it was off.

A scattering of about twenty people sat around the tables, arguing about this or that problem with the base, and their inability to access the things of their livelihoods. Also, the satellite download of television had been interrupted for some reason, which did not make them happy, either.

A pair of people discussed General McClausland and his easy escape from their makeshift brig below one of the units.

[0001]

Near the door, someone had nailed long sheets of paper naming various individuals, their offenses and punishments. Certain offenses received flogging or stocks, like the base had regressed several decades in legal precedent.

An overweight African man in a general's uniform stood along one wall, one arm in a sling, the other bandaged, face patched in sections, due to burns. He nursed a beer as he stared at us with suspicion.

Wiedeca sat nearby with a plate of donuts and a cup of coffee, chuckling as he read a comic book.

I remained near the door, but people cried in alarm, just the same.

"Everyone chill!" Hines shouted. "I been with him this whole time and he hasn't touched me."

The crowd murmured, but the room fell silent as people stared at me and tried to adjust.

Hines pointed his gun at me, mainly to calm them down some more. "There's a man. He took a pair of kids this way. A little blonde girl and an older boy. This is a populated area, so I'm hoping someone saw something." He looked around. "Anyone?"

No one spoke.

"Don't all everyone start talking at once!"

A red cheeked old man with receding hair stood up. His face looked pinched, as if continually smelling something foul.

"I bumped into him in the hallway," the narrow, pot bellied man said in a deep but nasal voice. "He told me Snake had given him the kids to take care of while he fought the Martians."

"Did any of you hear...gunshots?"

Nobody said they did.

"Wait." A fat guy with a crew cut and horn shaped silver earrings stood up. "If we're talking about the same guy, I just complimented him on his silencer. It's a great idea. Ordinarily, a couple pulls on your standard hand cannon and those things are all over you."

Hines let out a low whistle.

"Problem?"

"I'll say. That guy with the kids? I'm thinking he didn't shoot no alien."

I crept into the hall, picking back up from where I left off.

Pinkston had gone east from the mess hall, down to a duplex unit near an entrance to the compound.

Hines stayed near the corner, watching me with puzzlement. "He in there?"

The scent trail didn't lead anywhere else. I gave him a curt nod, examining the door opening mechanism.

I'd surprised my enemy twice by going through the vents. It was unlikely he'd be so unprepared again. My best approach, it would seem, would be a frontal assault.

Of course, I had to at least survey the area to know if any dangers lurked directly behind the door.

I climbed up the wall, crawling into the ventilation passage.

The moment I neared a register overlooking the room, a muzzle of a shotgun pointed back at me.

The dark compartment filled with light and loud noise. I shrieked as a bullet struck me.

At the same time, the duct work in that section collapsed, and I fell.

I hit the unseen ground. Something exploded.

I shot airborne, feeling like a bug in a roach motel being soccer kicked down a staircase.

The man had obviously planned this trap for some time.

Aluminum shrapnel peppered my exoskeleton. I'd compare it to a tire rolling over an exploding can of Fix A Flat. Okay, not a very accurate analogy, but the point is, I didn't spring a leak. Plus the blast hadn't been that powerful.

Being no Rube Goldberg, Jeff hadn't thought out his trap any further than the bomb. The moment I popped out, I momentarily faced no dangers.

The place resembled a studio apartment, the main space both a living room, a bedroom and a kitchen. Plain. Undecorated.

Both children sat in their underwear, with Mickey Mouse ears on their heads, eating ice cream with expressions like they had been forced to eat it, and would never touch mint chocolate chip again. The man had also given them Jell-O shots. Shackles held them to the table.

Jeff had a bandage across the chest where I shot him. Despite the injury, he moved quite well.

In fact, whilst I straightened myself out, unsteadily re-orienting myself to my environment, he already had his weapon out, pulling the trigger.

A slug hit me right in the arm.

The children made use of the distraction by shoving the table on its side and sliding their chains off.

Jeff got so mad that he shot a hole through the wood. Rebecca screamed.

I now wanted this man dead.

I ran and leapt at the vile fiend, but before I could reach him, he dove aside, snatching up a pistol with a silencer.

Jeff aimed the barrel at my head, clicking the hammer back.

The door came open with a noisy grinding sound.

"What the fuh—"

Hines had overridden the mechanism.

Before my ally could move a muscle, Jeff turned the gun on him, firing three times, two hitting him in the chest, the third in the face. Hines collapsed to the floor with a gurgling scream.

So much for the cavalry.

"Yo ho ho, the scratching cat," Jeff muttered as he searched Hines's pockets. "Its tails are nine, you know, and when their writ upon your back, to Davey Jones you go."

I had to stop him.

I coiled my body like a spring, prepared to leap and rip out his jugular, maybe tear open his stomach with my toe claws like a Velociraptor.

Pinkston faced the victim, temporarily forgetting his primary target.

I had him.

Blam. A bullet ricocheted off the wall.

Timmy had a pistol in his hands, leaning over the kitchen counter.

Jeff pointed his gun at him, but didn't fire. It would have defeated the whole purpose of kidnapping him.

Rebecca's head popped up next to the boy. Grinning, Jeff aimed for her, but Rebecca ducked before he could get off a shot.

I growled, creeping closer to the man.

When Jeff's gun turned my way, Timmy fired again.

The shot went wild, but Jeff became nervous, retreating toward the door.

"Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik?" a familiar voice called.

When he saw Pain standing in the open doorway, Jeff screamed.

He pointed the gun at her. One shot could probably obliterate her whole tiny body.

I looked at her, looked at the man, and froze up.

I couldn't kill Jeff. Sure, I killed Jeff's friend, but if I did this act now, I'd show a Ss'sik'chtokiwij Christian it was okay to kill humans.

A bullet whizzed off the door frame right above Mr. Pinkston's head. It seemed the boy's aim had improved.

Jeff, who had been pulling the trigger on his gun at the time, missed his target, the bullet hitting the hallway carpeting.

The reinforcements showed up.

Devon. The man with the plastic leg, Wiedeca, and a strong looking bearded black man in desert style camo fatigues, all bearing guns.

Pain darted into the room, to hide.

Devon frowned at Hines' dead body, then at the poorly dressed children, now creeping out of hiding. "Things aren't looking very good for you, Pinkston. Admittedly, it's all circumstantial, but I've seen people hanged for less circumstantial. A lot less."

Justice at last! Inwardly I did a little victory dance.

"What do you got to say for yourself, Mr. Pinkston?"

"No thanks!" Jeff slammed his hand down on the door closing mechanism.

The door only closed a quarter of the way before stopping on Hines's dead body. Three bullets tore through Pinkston's chest and stomach.

When the men chambered more rounds, Devon lifted a staying hand. "Hold up. Cease fire."

Devon glowered at the man. "I'd put down that pistol if I were you, Mr. Pinkston. It's four against one, hell five or six counting the kid, and Bert, maybe. I know you ain't that quick."

Trembling, Jeff slowly lowered his gun to the floor.

[0002]

"Here's what we're going to do. We're going to get you patched up at our little hospital, under armed supervision, and then you're going to have a little court martial hearing, all nice and civilized."

Devon frowned at Timmy's pitiful state. "...Which apparently will be something new to you. Being civilized, I mean." He cleared his throat. "You are under arrest. Whatever you say may be held against you. You have a right to remain silent. Something about court."

I don't think he said that Miranda completely, or correctly, but instead of continuing or amending his statements, he just stopped there, gesturing for the men to grab the crook.

Devon told a man in fatigues, named Van Cleve, to pin Jeff's arms behind his back.

As the men bound Jeff's hands, ironically with zip ties, Devon took pictures with his phone, documenting the evidence, which was a good idea, considering how things in that base tended to walk off.

Since Jeff had been rendered harmless, and fully within my power (by proxy), I came close to him, gesturing to the guards to give me a minute. "I confess that I have committed the sin of murder. I repent of killing. I only ask that you, in turn, admit your actions toward children are immoral perversions, that you have sinned before them and before God."

"No!" Jeff shouted. "You have no right to come at me with some obsolete Middle Eastern theology and tell me how to live my life! What I do with my body is my own damn business!"

"And the children's bodies?"

That comment seemed to give him pause. For a second. "That boy is old enough to be mentored in the ways of love. If you hadn't killed my husband, he would have seen what a real marriage looks like, and he'd see for himself how natural and pleasurable certain types of sexual activity truly are."

"Sick fuck," Dalgren growled.

"I have a mind to knock his teeth out," said Van Cleve.

"It is my understanding that forcing individuals, especially minors, to do such activities, is illegal."

"Times change. A few hundred years ago, my wedding was illegal. Plus we're out in the middle of nowhere. No one cares."

"I think this feller is forgetting he has a right to remain silent," Dalgren growled. "His lack thereof is turning my stomach."

Van Cleve nodded. "My best friend is gay, and even he does not believe they should have marriages. This man before us makes the practice doubly questionable."

Jeff sneered at him. "Bullshit! If your friend was truly gay. Then he would understand."

I growled. "I think I understand very well. I believe it had something to do with `adopting' children, which you could use to receive special credit on shipments?"

Jeff's face flushed a bright red. "It might, but you had to go and fuck everything up!"

"I cannot help but think you are not the best choice in a guardian for these particular children."

"Understatement of the year," Dalgren mumbled through his mustache with a chortle.

"So being raised by a murdering homophobic bible thumping Nazi alien bug would make them little angels!"

"I believe we are at an impasse. But I thank you for your confession." I paused. "Also, about your dead friend...it appears you cannot tell me what to do with my own body, either."

You could have held a piece of red cloth up beside the man's face and it would match the color. He screamed in outrage.

I followed the men from a cautious distance as they carried Jeff away.

Behind me, Pain asked, "Can I eat that guy on the floor? I don't see the harm...No one's touching him..."

"Pain," I scolded. "You must respect their burial rites."

"What about that carcass I found bearing your scent? You appear to have eaten a large portion."

"I am still struggling with the moral implications of what I have done. I stopped a great evil, but Jesus calls for us to forgive all sinners." I sighed. "How is Kumar and his family?"

"Not so good. Their infant died, and they blamed me for it, though it had nothing to do with me. It just got sick, and they sent me away...But perhaps this is for the best. You appeared to be requiring my assistance."

We would have talked longer, but at that precise moment, Jeff rammed his body into Van Cleve, running up the hallway to the mess hall.

Dalgren and Van Cleve fired off a couple shots, but their chief shouted, "Whoa whoa whoa! Hold your fire! Civilians! Civilians!"

Mr. Pinkston ducked behind a group of people coming out the door, using them as a shield as he made his escape.

Devon swore in frustration.