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I reached up to scratch my shoulder... "Oh, God!" I moaned as pain shot through me."Tony are you okay?" The voice of an angel. Tami's voice."Not sure. What year is it?" What year?" Are you my wife?" Tony, we're fourteen." There are states where that is legal." He's okay," said another voice. I decided that it was my maternal unit, code-named Mom.I decided to try opening my eyes again.I opened them just a little, and they still burned. I closed them and blinked hard, trying to liquefy them. No, not liquify; moisten. Why was it so hard to think?I opened my eyes again. They still stinged. Stanged. Stang. Stung. They stung, but not as much. I kept them open. Same puke green ceiling. I looked around. I was in a hospital room. I should have known. Only hospitals and prisons use colors like that. Mom was standing on one side of my bed and Tami on the other."What happened?" Do you remember the fire?" Mom asked.The fire. The fire! "It was hot." Those are some good drugs," Tami murmured,. She tried not to think how strange the captain's neon bright blue eyes looked after the months alone with Tristan and his human eyes.The silence stretched out. Icy tendrils of fear crept across her chest, tightening, squeezing, making it difficult to breathe."Do you know what you have done?" His voice came even, cold."Yes, sir!" She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry, arid. Her fingers fluttered over her still flat belly. Of course she knew what she had done. Why hadn't she told Tristan of this impossible thing? But she had to be sure. As soon as they had arrived on board the ship's main computer confirmed her suspicions."After your behaviour, there is no choice, no other option. You will be dishonourably discharged." Sir, what will happen to Tristan?"The captain's face flashed with anger at her insubordinate interruption. "I assume you mean that creature you have been with? It will be studied, questioned, and terminated for dissection."Bile rose in her throat. Her stomach.
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I guess I'd better start asking a few questions.They got me all settled down in the softest easy chair their living room had to offer, and all three of them hit the kitchen. Soon Maria came back, carrying a little tray with a glass and a bottle of Carta Blanca, dripping cold from the fridge.How did they know I loved Mexican beer?"Orlie's got some Budweiser, if you prefer it," Gloria called from the kitchen, "but I told Orlie you looked like you could go for a Mexican!" She giggled at her little double entendre, and I answered, just as lustily, "I've always had a thing for Mexicans!"Orlie and Gloria came in, carrying their own beers, and Maria had what I assumed was a Coke on ice. "Maria and I aren't Mexicans," Orlie said."Oh, you're Americans?" I asked, assuming she meant they were native to the U.S."Well, I'm a naturalized citizen, yes," Orlie said, "and Maria was born here. But I am from Costa Rica. I was six years old when my parents brought me to the U.S. -- to Bluefield! We've.

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