“Oh, fuck this!” Celeste got up from her seat and jumped out of a window.

Michael was frozen in place. The fear for his life was competing with the morbid fascination with what was going on with Rachel’s arm. Amber was gone. Period. No question. But Rachel’s arm had just dropped from her body. It wasn’t all that bloody, there was maybe the amount of blood one would expect from a finger being cut off, but it was obviously more than that. Otherwise it looked like a lifelike replica of her arm, not her actual arm. It couldn’t be.

Rachel’s head was hung low. Her hair covered her face. He couldn’t tell how she was processing it.

He imagined a world where it could be reattached. The Shil’vati ought to have it in their pocket along with all of their other medical miracles. He imagined carrying it for her and going to the hospital with her. He imagined a world where he would be there for her.

Then Shil’vati foot soldiers appeared in the window. Michael’s lizard brain took over. He was out the door.

He got to the door where he’d entered and opened it. He felt irritation on his forehead. It was a burning sensation. Nope, he thought as he slammed the door back into place.

Running out of options, he looked for the next likely exit. He saw the broadly windowed front door of the elementary school. He ran frantically towards it. Young kids’ art decorated the hallway on his way to the door. He saw several crayoned depictions of trees with scribble-circle fruits. A few showed the beach. The closer he got to the door, he saw more and more images of Human figures on the opposite side of the cardboard paper from purple figures. One on the glass beside the doorway had a circle of stick figures of all colors, pink, yellow, brown, black and purple, all holding hands.

Michael’s brain raced with the idea of children growing up thinking aliens could live in harmony with Humans faster than it could process what was going on with himself. His pants were falling. Goddamn useless phone slapped his thigh as he pumped his legs.

He got a few desperate paces before they got too low for him to catch them. Instead they caught his legs. He fell face first in the main hallway of an elementary school, pants around his ankles, skidding loudly to a stop on the waxed floor.

His escape “plan” unraveled quickly as Shil’vati soldiers burst through the glass doors of the main entrance as well as the first door he’d tried and likely many others. He was surrounded.

---

Michael was cuffed with his hands behind his back and those cuffs attached to the seat of the transport where the Shil’vati soldiers had stuffed him. Across from him was Rachel, head still down covering her face. How’d they have her cuffed?

He couldn’t decide what would be more morbid: for her to be handcuffed to her own separated arm or to have it carried between her legs in a briefcase.

The Shil’vati chose something a bit more bloodthirsty. Amber was tossed to the floor space between them. She was contained in a translucent body bag. Rachel’s arm was in a similar, smaller bag filled with ice which was then thrown unceremoniously atop Amber’s body.

It didn’t matter how long the ride was, five minutes, five hours, this was inhumane.

Luckily, their Shil’vati captors erred to the shorter length.

---

Back on base, Michael and Rachel filed out of the transport and into separate areas for interrogation.

Michael couldn’t help but to smell himself. It had been a long day. He could recall the timeline from the scents that decorated him. The getting ready to go out last night’s smells were long gone. Beer and garlic wafted from his pants, as well as crusty cum from himself and various partners. The washing Serca gave him was faint, but present. Oh God, Serca. He couldn’t recall if he’d gotten all of her blood off of him. Maybe he washed his face at the elementary school?

This is good. You can remember the episodes of the night. What else would you likely need to know?

Also luckily, they gave him plenty of time to try to remember.

---

Five hours passed between the time he was stored in this room to the time the first knock on the door. He’d spun his phone on the floor where he’d sat. He’d tried, without any success, to get someone to charge it up for him. Maybe they didn’t want to give the enemy a way to communicate outside of the room. Maybe they didn’t have a charging cord, fucking Capitalism.

He welcomed the knocking, finally someone was acknowledging him. The mind-numbing solitude was pleasant, in comparison to the horrors he’d witnessed in the last twenty four hours, but the cold silence let his intrusive thoughts have free reign. The torture he’d envisioned for himself was surely worse than what would really happen. Still, he’d had plenty of time to spiral. Any break in that was something to celebrate.

An average sized Shil’vati was still gigantic in Human terms. The woman at the door seemed to block any light that could have made its way into the room; as if she’d replaced the door with another door. Michael craned his neck to see her. It was not someone he knew. She grumbled something that he didn’t quite recognize. Something about Human food made sense, she obviously wanted him to get up and out of the room he had been in thus far.

She led him to what looked like a break room. It was not as large as the common room they walked through to get to it. The buildings all seemed to have a similar design by Michael’s eyeballing; a center common room, several rooms branching out from it and an exit door. He had been moved from a holding room, down three doors to what was the “break room”.

Inside the room stood a table with a slotted top, surrounded by four chairs, two on each side. On one wall was a mirror, two way glass if any cop show on TV could be believed. A tray and a guest were waiting for him. The tray had what looked like a standard burger and fries. The guest was his Doubting Thomas, Josepha. She sat at the table, dressed in what appeared to be standard garb of the military on base, fatigues under light armor. Her hair was drawn up in a bun. An overall much more businesslike arrangement than the first time they’d met.

She spat in Shil’vati in a curt, to the point, fashion.

As much as he wanted to, he could not understand her. Didn’t phase him much at the moment. “Graw graw grawgraw” was all he heard under the tantalizing draw of sort of still-hot food. The burger called his name.

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Michael looked Josepha in the eyes, smiled slightly, turning his head from her face down to the burger. He pointed at the tray questioningly.

Josepha waved him to go ahead and crossed her arms.

Michael dug in with little to no tact.

Somewhere in the “graw graws” he heard her signature disgust, “Graw graw Human food, graw graaw.”

Michael gave her the ol’ “Oh yeah, I’m totally listening” smile and nod as he inhaled his food.

She went on throughout his meal, quick as it was. He’d no sooner removed the last fry from the tray when Josepha called for some subordinate to remove it from the table. She leaned in with an all too confident sounding, “Grawgraw graw graw graw, graw?”

He chomped his last fry in half, waved it around like a wand, looked Josepha directly in her eyes and said, “Huh?”

Josepha leaned in and gave him an evil eye. Michael shrunk back a moment before laughing hysterically. She leaned back and smacked the table with both hands. Disbelief washed her face.

She was obviously expecting this to go differently.

She took out her omnipad and swiped through the apps angrily. When she got to the one she wanted, she pressed a button and spoke into it. “Graw grawgraw, graw grawgrawgraw?”

The omnipad translated semi-robotically, “Are you finished playing now, Ashland?”

Michael looked at her emotionlessly. He then waved the omnipad more toward the center of the table. He pressed the button that seemed to mean “translate” and leaned in close and said flatly, “No”.

She scowled at him before the program could do its job.

He held up his hand with an apologetic smile. Tried it again. Pressing the button first, “I am not playing right now. I don’t understand a lick of what you’ve just said to me.”

The program translated what he’d said to Shil.

Josepha blinked in astonishment at first, then anger. She grawgrawed onto the omnipad holding one and then two fingers up.

The omnipad reported, “First, you’ve got to be ducking kidding me right now. Second, you will never get your filthy Human mouth close enough to lick me.”

Michael smiled knowingly. Pressing the button again, “You have any Shil to English interpreters around here? This is translating...poorly.”

Josepha listened before replying back into the omnipad, “None that can get here within the next three hours. How the hell could you speak Shil’vati last night?”

Michael snapped his fingers. Last night! He spoke into the omnipad again, “I need booze.”

With shock on her face, Josepha didn’t have to use the machine to convey “What?”.

He tapped again, “Just do it, surely someone’s got something to drink around here!”

Doubtful, she considered the time difference between getting a more fluent interpreter and getting some alcohol on base. After a moment, she got up from the table and walked out the door.

She returned with two bottled beverages with runic symbols on the label. Some Shil’vati brew, c’mon, Michael hoped his face conveyed the message. Josepha opened both of them, winked at Michael and turned around. She took a swig of one, put it back on the table and walked back out.

Michael took a sniff. Never was one for beer, he thought, I’m more of a hard liquor or a cider kinda guy. Maybe she’d be back with something better. Still, he gave it a shot. It wasn’t terrible, but he wouldn’t order it on purpose. He’d had worse at Globe of Beer. He took another drink and thought of Bill. That son of a bitch. How dare he get me into this kind of trouble?

Oh, who am I kidding? Not even Bill could have predicted the fucktangle of events to which I’ve been witness to in less than twenty four hours. Nor could he have guessed where I am right now.

Michael took a long draw. He looked at the label. The runes were red. There was an image of a chalice festooned with fine detail work and jewels. There was a Shil drink Bill mentioned...what was it called? There was a blue one, why wouldn’t there be a red one? Or is that too narrow thinking?

The things you come to think about when you’ve only got time to kill.

Josepha returned with a bottle of amber liquid with a red wax seal.

“Now we’re talking!” Michael glowed at her.

She fumbled awkwardly at it for a bit before she consented for Michael to give it a try. He found the pull tab and cracked the seal around the mouth.

“Glasses” he said and signed. Then he gestured as though he were pouring the bottle into a cup and taking a drink.

Josepha brightened in recognition. She left the room for a moment again and returned with a paper cup.

Beggars can’t be choosers. Michael gladly poured himself two fingers.

Josepha picked the bottle up and held his cup down. She poured the cup full.

Oh brother, he thought as he picked up the cup and took a drink.

As soon as the sip was taken and on the table, she grabbed the red labeled bottle and pointed it at Michael’s mouth.

“Whoa now, you don’t mix beer and liquor. You don’t start with liquor first. Or beer first. Or whatever makes you sicker. However it goes, you don’t alternate the two.”

All Josepha heard was “Wahwah wahwahwah”. She made a mocking face, opening and closing her hand in a yapping puppet fashion.

“Purple Bitches!” Michael spat back before taking another drink from the bottle.

He spent the next couple of minutes double fisting the Shil’vati drink and the paper cup of Maker’s Mark.

Before too long, someone who looked like Josepha’s superior barged into the room. They grumbled back and forth for a bit. Michael couldn’t quite make it out.

Another pull from the bottle, another sip from the paper cup.

He looked down at the bottle. The label showed a chalice full of some odd, probably Shil fruit. The runes were red. Red...Red Grail! Michael’s brain shifted into motion.

The grumbling between Josepha and the officer blurred into and out of discernable language.

“Why in Empress’ name would you get a prisoner boozed up, Joph’rena?” The unknown officer asked.

“I was with him at that singing bar last night. He spoke the Empress’ Shil, with an accent and a slur, but he spoke it! We understood him then and he understood us. Now...nothing!” She looked over at Michael and waved at him underhandedly as if to say “keep going”.

Joph’rena continued, “The only difference between him now and him then is his state of inebriation.”

Michael raised his hand, “I hate to interrupt, but we call it…” his Shil tongue was thin and didn’t just know words, so he said in English, “state dependent learning,”

The officer looked at him then back at Joph’rena, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, seems I can understand you when I’m drunk” Michael licked his lower palate clear of some bits of hamburger.

The officer straightened up, “Carry on, Joph’rena.” She scuttled off out of the room.

Joph’rena put her arms on the table and leaned into her seat. “Alright...let’s see what you know now, Human.”

“What I know...” Michael began as he grabbed his beverages. “...is a little about this!” he finished saying before he lifted both the paper cup and the bottle high above his head. He made the vessels’ mouths face each other above him so that they almost touched each other. He then tipped them both to form a combined stream that poured straight into his mouth.

Michael winked then gave her finger pistols.