She was growling and screeching. She was held aloft, spread-eagle, with ropy, black cables entwining her arms and legs. Arms, little ones, grasped all four of her limbs. They glided along the ceiling, pinning her up there. Her hair hung down over her face, but I could tell without seeing it she wasn’t wearing her happy face. The thin, cable-like arms that held her came out of the metal skin of the ship itself. I eyed the spots where they sprouted. The metal there rippled like puddles of silvery liquid.
“Let her go! Alamo, release her!”
“Command personnel must be protected from indigenous life forms.”
Her head snapped toward the sound of my voice. That’s when I saw her eyes. The pupils were a yellowy, metallic color. “Kyle? Is that you? What’s going on? What’s this thing doing to me? I can’t see anything, Kyle!”
Her rage shifted instantly to tears, then back again as she fought with the squirming metal arms. They bit into her flesh. I could see she was bruised and cut in spots.
“Just relax. The ship thinks it’s protecting me. It’s not going to do anything to you. Everything will be okay,” I said, but I was lying. Her eyes were full of yellow mercury. What the hell was that stuff?
“Can you see me?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I see flashes of light in spots—that’s all.”
“Well, I’m sure that will go away,” I said trying to sound calm. Now that she was calming down, I could think again. My eyes wandered over her body. I felt bad about it, but I could not stop them. She was very well-built. I couldn’t really enjoy the view, however. I was too stressed—and those freaky eyes....
“Kyle, talk to me. What the hell is going on?”
“What do you remember?”
“I—I fell out of the ship, didn’t I? You were holding onto me, pulling me back inside, when—” she stopped and made a gasping sound. “Kyle, I think I’m wiggling fingers. Do I have any fingers there? Are they gone?”
I tore my eyes off the rest of her and looked at her fingers. They were indeed there, and wiggling. But they had white circles around each one, as if she wore rings or something.
“Scarring,” I said. “They are okay, but there is some scarring. They must have sewn them back on or—”
“Or what?” she snapped, fighting the arms again.
“Or maybe they grew new ones. I’m not sure.”
“Can you get me off the frigging ceiling, at least, Kyle? I’m going to throw up if I’m left hanging up here much longer.”
“Oh yeah—sorry. Alamo, gently lower Sandra onto the wall area, please.”
Slowly, the ship and its whipping little arms obeyed. Within a minute, she was in a normal vertical position. I thought about giving her what little clothing I had. But a pair of sweaty men’s jockeys and a few shreds of shirt weren’t going to help her mood much. And besides, I couldn’t think of how I would get them on over those clutching little arms.
“You mentioned they, Kyle. What they were you talking about?” she asked me. “Have you met the aliens?”
“Not exactly. I think there is only the ship itself,” I explained quickly about the computer voice she had heard and how the Alamo operated.
“So, we are trapped inside some kind of flying robot?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure we are trapped. It thinks I’m its mother, now.”
“You’re looking at me, aren’t you?”
I cleared my throat.
“What’s wrong with my eyes, Kyle? I think I can see something now, but it’s very dim. I came awake in some room, and it was black inside, utterly dark. I felt my way around and found squirming little tentacles and—I think there are bodies in there, Kyle.”
I explained about the smaller black cable-arms and my kids on the tables.
She was quiet for a second or two when I told her that one. She was beginning to put things together.
“I was dead, wasn’t I, Kyle?”
“No more dead than someone pulled out of a swimming pool. Just think of it as an emergency room with better technology.”
She nodded. “Smart way to think about it. Less freaky that way. How long was I—? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Do you think they can fix your kids?”
“I’m hoping so.” I proceeded to explain to her what I knew of our new world. I included the things Captain Jack Crow the Aussie told me, and other things I’d figured out about the Alamo.
“So these crazy people are trying to call themselves an army of some kind?”
“A fleet, I suppose. Yes.”
“What, are they out of their minds?”
“I’m not sure yet. I don’t know everything they know. Since we can’t fully control the ships, and more of them are coming down, some sort of organization is needed.”
“Can’t the government do that?”
I explained about the requirement of the previous commander dying in order to pass control of the ship to a new commander.
“Oh,” she said, nodding. “I think I understand their motivation better now. The first thing any government will demand is to board these ships and see for themselves.”
“Yes, and as far as I can tell, as soon as they do they will be participating in the tests, which must end in death for everyone but the new commander.”
“Or getting strapped to the ceiling like a dead chicken.”
I chuckled.
“Kyle?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you do one more thing for me?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, or anything, but... can you turn around and stop staring at me? Because—I can see you now.”
“Oh! Ah—I’m sorry,” I said, turning away with a guilty start. My eyes met hers and I saw that the brass-like metallic gleam in her pupils had faded. They had turned black again.
“It’s cool,” she said, smiling at me. “You told the ship to come back and dig me out of the cold ocean, didn’t you? You saved my life.”
“Yes, exactly,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed, “and I’m glad you’ve got your vision back, Sandra.”
“Sure you are.”
-7-
I thought about what Jack Crow had said. About stealing what you needed. Maybe I could do it without stealing. I ordered the ship to return to my farm again.
When we shuddered to a stop, I told the Alamo to send its arm down and dig some clothing out of the closets. The ship was warm inside most of the time, unless it opened up the floor, but I thought both Sandra and I could use something to wear. I didn’t know how to describe which closet the ship should rummage in, so I just sent it down to find whatever it could. It came back up a minute or two later with a wadded bundle of fabric. The clothing was still on the plastic hangers, the hooks of which had been broken when the powerful arm ripped the clothes loose.
I looked at the random collection of shirts and jeans. They were clearly from Jake’s closet. Seeing my son’s clothes in my hands almost made me want to choke up, but I stayed focused on the here and now. Some of the stuff was torn by the journey up in the none-too-gentle metal hand. I put on some jeans that were too tight. I managed to wrap a shirt around Sandra’s waist and tie it like a loincloth. I pulled a football jersey over her head, and she thanked me, but the little black arms wouldn’t let go. In fact, they tightened to the point that they pained her when I was close. It was all I could do to slide the shirt down over her bare breasts.