The stress from losing her brother had taken Rebecca over the edge, damaging the very safeguards I had worked so hard to build up in her brain.

A neurological disturbance. I didn't know what to do.

For a few moments, I just leaned over her, watching her go through her blind thrashing motions.

Remembering some of the stuff I'd heard about epilepsy, I did clear a space for her.

In desperation, I picked her up and held her. "C'mon, Rebecca. Come back to me. I love you."

She continued to convulse.

Ss'sik'chtokiwij gathered around me. We had attracted a crowd.

"Rebecca, please. Come back."

The girl stiffened, her involuntary motions slowing. Her eyes, though, remained rolled back in her head. "Mom?"

I wanted to say yes, but knew it was wrong. I just shook my head. "I am someone who loves you."

The moment her eyes rolled forward, she took one look at me and screamed.

And hit me in the face.

While screaming.

Rebecca wiggled free from my grip, fleeing to the nearest maintenance hatch.

Before she could grab the handle, a pair of large Ss'sik'chtokiwij jumped out in front of her, two more closing in behind her.

"No!" I yelled, rushing to overtake the nearest Ss'sik'chtokiwij. "You stay away from her! She's my prey!"

The noise level in the corridor became shockingly quiet as I uttered that last phrase.

My aunts had retreated, the nearest one standing no closer than two yards away.

Rebecca's body had become rigid, her face expressionless as she stared at me glassy eyed, gaze unnervingly meeting mine, like she could see straight through my shell. Such a thing is not impossible, if you can pinpoint the right facets on our exoskeletons.

What I found more difficult to explain: Her next words, which she spoke in Ss'sik'chtokiwij. "So I'm your prey. I'm just food for you, like Timmy was!"

I froze, not believing what I just heard.

How did she speak my language?I never gave her Ss'sik'chtokiwij language lessons.

My only guess: The information had been somehow absorbed by her subconscious during her many encounters with beings of my race.

I have spoken with Pain frequently, and before that, Rebecca must have been present during at least a couple Ss'sik'chtokiwij discussions. Maria, perhaps.

"No! I was only saying that to protect you from the other Ss'sik'chtokiwij! I love you, Rebecca! Can't you see I'm trying to help?"

She shot me a cold glare. "I don't need your kind of help."

Rebecca crawled into the tunnel alone.

I let her go, but only for a moment. I may be a terrible parent, but I sometimes had enough sense to know the difference between giving a child what they want and doing what's best for them. Though not her mother, I could still be her guardian, in the most literal sense of the word.

I lurked in the narrow service tunnels, watching the entrances, pressing my head to the wall from time to time to listen for sounds of the child.

I couldn't hear everything, due to the turbine, but detected the sounds of her awkwardly clanking the can opener and scraping beans out of a can, spotted her small form crouching in the dark.

I heard the girl speak to her dead brother.

I didn't see any ghost. More than likely just a part of the grieving process. If it helped her survive and become a normal woman, I was all for it.

Speaking of which, I planned to bury Timmy with the ceremony and respect I had shown the others I'd found, but when I returned to the place I'd left him, someone had carried him away.

I briefly considered hunting the thief down, but that would have required a fight, and whoever it was would have just stolen it back.

Who knew, maybe they also stole from the graves in Hydroponics, too. Maybe it was all a wasted effort.

More importantly, I couldn't afford to leave Rebecca alone. Her dead brother would have to wait.

As I kept watch in the dark, the events of the last few hours kept playing in my mind:

"Eat, sister. You are weak and malnourished."

Hissandra still cared for me. As misguided as the attempt had been, it was still an act of affection.

Love. A little sweetness to go with all the bitter.

Yet, how could I not feel guilt from being joyous about such matters?

And Esther: "Eat up, mother. You need your strength."

She actually called me mother, and wanted me strong.

I wept, though I couldn't from happiness or sorrow. Maybe I didn't want to know.

A few days ago, Rebecca discovered recordings of the entire Harry Potter film series. She spent the entire evening watching them, whispering the words.

Escape is another defense mechanism. Although Sarah, who had spent most of her short life inside a simulation, would not approve of this waste of time, it comforted this scared little girl enough to allow her to sleep.

I found Rebecca curled in a ball in front of the laptop, dozing through a rather uninteresting forest scene in Deathly Hallows.

I closed the computer down to conserve power, draping my friend with a sleeping bag for warmth.

I typed this on a tablet, as I guarded the entrance to her burrow. I've documented more of my memoirs. Will now work on assembling a nice quilt for Rebecca while this device recharges. I can sew in the dark.

P.S. I neglected to mention my discovery of a sewing kit in a nearby room. It contained more interesting tools than the one they gave me in the lab.

ACD 24:

Ever since Timmy's death, Rebecca refused to accompany me to burials. For this reason, I could no longer safely continue the practice. I now served as babysitter, pure and simple.

Although she still resented my presence, she came to tolerate me being in the same room with her, perhaps out of loneliness alone. Since her mind refused to accept the situation, she alternated between calling me `mom,' Ms. Pederson, `Tootie,' Miss Turley and Minerva McGonagall.

More Harry Potter films. The child only ate and watched the movies over and over. When going to the bathroom, she waved around a leg from a metal utility cart, growling Ss'sik'chtokiwij phrases and "Expelliarmus." At times she said strange things with a British accent.

A coping mechanism, the fictional persona of...whoever it is serving to provide stability to her fragile, damaged psyche. Harry Potter was also an orphan, I suppose therein lies the reason for the fixation.

I supposed if she needed this in order to survive, she could be anyone she wants, Hippogriff, Puffwart, Sleestack or anything else featured in those films.

ACD 25:

Rebecca kept biting her fingers this morning, and hitting herself in the head.

Then she cried because hitting herself in the head hurt.

I wanted to comfort her, but didn't think that would be welcome.

I fell asleep when I was supposed to be watching her. I'd been doing nothing but guard duty, and it had taken its toll.

When I awoke, I nearly jumped through the top of the tunnel.

Rebecca had been there the whole time, watching me.

"How long have you been lurking out here?" a false Cockney accent with tall vowels.

I decided to play along, like she always spoke that way. "Yes. I am keeping guard over your dwelling."

"I did not ask you to guard anything." The tone of a snooty child of some European monarch. The expression on her face, though, looked completely serious.

Not intended as a joke, I decided. "There are many things that you get when you do not ask for them. But I am the only thing standing between you and a base full of hungry Ss'sik'chtokiwij."

[0000]

She had a small flashlight out, staring at my incomplete quilt. "Dementors do not sew."

I laughed a little, but she remained serious, perhaps due to her disassociative break. "I...am a special Dementor. I have been sent by the Ministry of Magic to guard your castle."

Her royal facade abruptly dropped. "You don't have to be insulting."

This made me confused and a little hurt.

Rebecca brandished her flashlight at me. "Expecto patronum!"

She couldn't see me rolling my eyes.

"Go away, asshole." Her expression seemed genuine, so I retreated into the darkness.

Of course I didn't `leave' leave.

Some time later, the laptop died, probably due to not being charged, or maybe due to it being an antique.

Rebecca spent the next ten minutes noisily smashing it to bits, alternating between growling strings of Ss'sik'chtokiwij nonsense and British sounding insults as she did so. A lucky thing the turbine above her provided its own noise.

ACD 28:

She still spoke to Timmy.

Every morning, Rebecca bid farewell to her dead brother, and greeted him again when she returned to the hideout.

She also had been in the habit of wandering aimlessly around the facility, waving her `wand' and shouting "Expecto patronum" at shadows. She got scared a lot, and I guess that helped her to face her fear.

I think the only reason why she hasn't been attacked was me.

The other Ss'sik'chtokiwij had been growing larger, but I still remained the bigger one, by a few feet, and they respected me for that.

That, and my severed worms.

Whenever my aunts approached the girl, I made it a point to ask their names, try to get to know them a little, then commence an aggressive proselytization attempt that sent them running.

This particular strategy had been developed by accident, for I would have preferred to actually win souls for Jesus, but it achieved the primary objective of keeping Ss'sik'chtokiwij away from Rebecca so I soon became quite repellent.

While trying to enter her parents' home today, Rebecca inadvertently caused the roof to collapse. I pulled her back mere seconds before the unit above the home and the connected flooring came smashing down in front of us. Despite that, she punched me for doing this.

Still, we were all too happy to retreat to the hideout, estranged friends or not.

Rebecca spent the evening drawing things and playing games on her tablet. I, of course, continued writing.

I had just finished writing the last portion about Bambi and the transmitter, and set down the tablet when I noticed I had company.

Esther. I recognized the shape, even in such dimly lit surroundings. "You would rather starve to death than eat that little human."

I nodded. "Yes. He was a friend."

"You view her as your larva."

"I view her as your sister."

This gave her pause. "A sister. As in: Your daughter. That would mean you despise her as well."

"I do not hate you, daughter. I hate myself. I hate my sin. I wish you could have been born like Maria, with love, from a willing host, instead of contradicting everything I fought for."

"That sounds like a beautiful fantasy," she scoffed, scampering away.

ACD 30:

Already skilled in navigating debris strewn rooms, cramped service tunnels, and vents, Rebecca's looting talents have become honed to a science.

She broke into dwellings, raided their cabinets for food, toys and trinkets, recorded her findings on a map she'd made on the tablet computer.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she would sometimes mutter as she examined her diagrams.

One time, she found a liquor cabinet, sampled a little from each bottle, then staggered drunkenly into a strange bed.

She awoke, vomited on the floor, then complained to me about a headache. Her precise words: "Mom, my head really hurts. Can you find something to make me better?"

I gave her some ibuprofen and she laid down again.

"She's really a simple animal, isn't she?" Hissandra asked as I watched the girl sleep.

"God does wonderful things with the simplest of individuals, and most uncomplicated items."

Hissandra said nothing in reply, only stared for a few moments.

"She's not going to live very long. Not here."

"The Lord has protected her so far. I have faith that He will continue to do so."

"That hasn't worked so well with the other people you tried to save. You killed Sanchirck, Kiarsshkoy, Ahxalybij, Mother and everyone else, and this pathetic larva is the only thing you have to show for it...An entire base full of humans, all dead or cocooned, save for this one. Was it really worth it?"

When she put it that way, it all seemed rather pointless. The implication: Even if I hadn't been there, events would have still turned out exactly the same.

The battle with Ssorzechola, the distress signal, none of that really mattered. All those people: Still dead.

But as I gazed at the small creature asleep on the mattress, I decided that all was not lost. "There is a parable about helpless aquatic creatures washing up on a beach. Being out of water is fatal to them, so a child rescues a handful of them. An adult challenges this child. `You're only saving an insignificant fraction of these star fishes. What is the point?'"

"`It matters to this one,'" Hissandra finished with a sigh.

I stared in surprise. "You know the parable?"

She nodded. "I shared minds with Sluuplalgigya."

"Her name is Esther. Her other name was given out of self hatred."

"She wishes to have a more honorable Ss'sik'chtokiwij name. She does not care for the human one you've chosen. We've had discussions about this, but she does not like my choices."

My heart pounded. So it wasn't just out of spite! But how do I express everything I felt for her in a simple name? "...Shauqauzjarruba. Beautiful Loving Daughter of a Shameful Mother."

Hissandra chuckled. "Are you certain about that? She will have this name for a long time."

"No one can stop from being a chief of sinners. At least, not within their own lifetime. Especially me."

Hissandra had nothing to say to this. Instead, she leaned over the bed. "So this is to be Shauqauzjarruba's sister."

"Yes. I love them equally."

"I do not envy you, sister. Your first family gathering, I fear, will not end well for either one of your daughters."

With that, she left me.

ACD 34:

Still no rescue ships.

Rebeca climbed back up into Mike's dwelling, taking his sock monkey. Along the way, I acquired some more sleeping bags for her.

Obviously she's been lonely, spending a great deal of time in simulations. I could imagine Sarah shaking her head, but all Rebecca had to fill that void of social contact in her life were this digital world and its imaginary people.

Today she fell asleep in front of the machine.

I completed the quilt, wrapping her in it while she slept. I left a little note beside it, reading `Merry Christmas, from Santa.'

A wonderful design. I borrowed many clean scraps from all over the base to assemble it. I felt really proud of how I worked in the interesting patches I found, the scary tiger, the flags, the eagle and the NASA patches...I left out the nametag patches (too depressing), but included bits from the uniforms I found in closets, such as the ones that said `security' and `food service.' I also added one about cigarettes because of the beautiful picture of the Native American woman and canoes on a lake.

"How come you never make me anything?" Esther asked as I backed out of the room.

"Because you never asked. What shall I make for you? Another quilt? A scarf, mittens, a little hat, perhaps?"

My daughter froze. "I do not know if you are mocking me, or if this is a genuine question."

"If you're being genuine, daughter, so am I." I took a tailor's measuring tape out of my sewing kit, getting her measurements. "I'm going to make you a nice little sweater. It'll be cute."

"You are very weird, mother. Did you really name me Shauqauzjarruba?"

"Yes. You didn't like Esther, so I thought Shauqauzjarruba would be better than the cruel name I gave you before."

"It is fitting." She gazed at Rebecca, sprawled on the floor under the quilt. "We could never be sisters."

A second later, she was gone.

ACD 35:

I got awakened by thundering, banging noise.

During my rest, Rebecca had run away from me, but, to my good pleasure, she took the quilt with her.

I hurried after the girl as quickly as I could, praying that nothing bad happened during my slumber.

I found the girl standing at the north entrance of the base, quilt draped around her shoulders like a cape.

I had discovered a com system with a little video screen near this door. When I switched the device on, I found a group of people staring back at me, I shrieked.

I had gone days without seeing a live adult, and here was a regular army.

All in green — tan camo fatigues, bearing all kinds of dangerous, oversized weaponry.

A black man with a cap chewed on a cigar, his fat faced male companion operating on the door's security lock.

A small Hispanic woman with a red bandanna shifted impatiently, adjusting and readjusting her gun strap.

A rather handsome military man with a crew cut stood a few feet back, crossing his arms. He rather resembled a muscular version of Sting, with the interesting haircut and everything.

Behind him, a small slick haired man, not military grade, held out a camera, took pictures of the building. His coffee colored windbreaker and checkerboard plaid shirt seemed more like Old Navy than army issue.

When I noticed the stony faced black haired figure next to him, I sucked in my breath.

Another Bishop unit.

"Rebecca!" I hissed. "It's not safe. Get out of here while you still can!"

The moment Rebecca glanced at the screen, she cried out in horror, disappearing down the tunnel.

An angular faced, curly haired brunette appeared on the screen, pushing the talk button. "Hello? My name is Ellen Ripley with the U.S. Colonial Marines. Can anyone hear me?"

The woman reminded me so much of my night terrors that I ran away screaming.