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CHAPTER 7

The only good is knowledge and the only evil ignorance.

- Socrates

Siverelle closed the Time magazine and laid it down on the table beside the comfortable armchair in which she sat. She sighed and then reached up and turned off the sun lamp that was beginning to bake her a bit too warm for her liking. As usual, she had read the magazine from cover to cover, skipping only the advertisements. She felt badly for the fifty-two Americans who were still being held captive in Iran for many weeks now. These humans, as they called themselves, behaved very strangely. It seemed they would never learn that hurting each other for some minor gain would always bring about a greater failure in the end. A failure that would always outweigh any short-term benefit that might be achieved early on.

Generally, Siverelle's kind did not hurt each other. Not nearly as much as humans hurt each other, at least. Still, Siverelle felt she shouldn't judge them too harshly. This America, in which she found herself an unwilling guest, was a wild and wonderful place. It reminded her of the ancient legends of Garath, the pre-fall nation on her world which was thought to have been a grand democracy, ruled by equals, without a care as to the gender, caste or color of any individual. It was the tendency of her people to look nostalgically back on former times, when things were thought to be somehow better than they were in the present. Siverelle smiled to herself. She had noticed that humans did the same thing.

Of course, all that she knew about America and humanity as a whole came from magazines like this one, as well as books. The primitive video device the humans called a television also provided a lot of useful information, if you had the time to sort through the inane entertainment shows and advertisements that consumed the vast bulk of the broadcasting day. If there was one thing Siverelle had, it was time. But even when she managed to find something of interest to watch, she found viewing it in only two dimensions to be very frustrating.

Siverelle sighed and looked around at the walls that had been her life for thirty-three years. He nostrils flared at the prevalent stink of humans that saturated the air. She had long stopped trying to purge her quarters of the stench. Even if she spend a week scrubbing every surface, on visit by Campbell or one of the others brought the odor back anew. Their thin hides secreted oily juices whenever they got too hot, or too agitated, and the odor they emitted when that occurred was redoubled. Their ghastly hair held the stink close to them. A musty aura that was never absent, no matter how often they bathed. She couldn't understand how they could stand to be around themselves.

In a large tank over by the wall was Cladata, as she had named it, sitting on her branch as usual. Campbell had called it an iguana and it as the closest thing this planet had to the pet chiteras she was used to from home. But these weren't nearly as intelligent. They didn't like to be cuddled. You couldn't even house train them, hence the tank. They just sat there. Staring. Sometimes eating. Most times not. It was not lost on Siverelle that her own life here was not much different than Cladata's.

She couldn't believe she was still sane. Thirty-three years without seeing the sun. Thirty-three years without feeling a springtime breeze. Thirty-three years without anything she valued. Perhaps she was insane and was just too far-gone to realize it. Cladata just stated in blank agreement. The dewlap at her pet's throat pulsed in and out. In and out.

Doctor Campbell did his best to make Siverelle comfortable. He had enlarged her quarters several times over the years and given her much more privacy than he had earlier on. Large potted plants were placed everywhere in an attempt give some faint illusion of "outdoor-ness," but all it really did was accentuate the fact she could never see the real world.

The invasive physical exams were now much less frequent. They probably figured they had learned all they would learn about her physiology until she was at last dead and they could cut her open. She gave thanks to T'Chen that this group of humans was not savage enough to expedite her demise so they could have their autopsy sooner. From what she had learned of these humans, there were plenty of them who would.

She had her own kitchen now, full of ingredients that were the closest this strange world could provide to appease her palate. She had discovered, through trial and error, a number of delicious recipes that never existed where she came from. One of her favorites was a treat she made from something the humans called tapioca pudding, wrapped in round sheets of pink meat they called bologna. Delicious, she thought! Campbell didn't seem to agree. When she once offered him some, he turned almost as green as she was.

She could also have any book or magazine she wanted just by requesting it, which she did habitually. Once she had deciphered the human's written language, she became a voracious reader. Campbell joked that he had probably borrowed every book in the local library over the years for her. She had the television also, of course, with every option that was available. They even gave her some strange thing called HBO, but she almost never watched it. Campbell had also hooked up to the television a primitive video-recording device that he had called a betamax. He said it was the wave of the future, which almost made her laugh in his face. These humans had so far to go, technologically. Siverelle sighed. She had almost every comfort that could be imported into the gilded cage. But she would trade it all and end her life right here and now, for just one day in the sun.

After all, that was what this place was... a cage. She treated Campbell and his couple of helpers with respect, but she had never learned to like them much, even when they did their best to make her comfortable. What they provided her was trivial compared to what they kept from her. The only thing that kept her going was the stubborn hope that her people might yet rescue her. If she was not rescued by Sarwin, then perhaps by someone else. If she had made it here, perhaps they had also.

Siverelle fingered the wedding locket, which hung on her neck. Campbell had finally returned it to her, after he was unable to decipher how it worked. He never discovered the holographic pictures of her family inside and she convinced the red-haired human that it was only an inanimate charm. She said it had great sentimental value to her and convinced him to let her wear it again.

Once she had it back, Siverelle made a great sacrifice. She deleted all the pictures within, so that the locket could hold something even more important in its limited memory. In this strange world, Sarwin, as well as her daughters and her sons, existing only in her memories now. They would be safe there. No one would ever find them. No one.

Siverelle had learned the horrible truth of this world long ago, which the humans called Earth, when Campbell first allowed her to look at maps and to read what little these people had learned of their planet's ancient past. Campbell never understood why, many years ago, she had retched all over the floor when he first carried in a globe of the Earth and placed it before her. He had no idea how familiar she already was with its appearance. Even now, the thought of it turned her stomach and she tried not to think of it, as she nervously fingered the locket. Hell unleashed upon the World. The Vartyiar armies destroying saurian-kind. The Scrolls had forewarned.

Of course, she never told the humans anything about what she had discovered. She played dumb, pretending to be a poor, lost escaped alien slave from some distant world, with little knowledge of anything useful. She knew they had her chronoship and that they had tried to dissect the innards and learn from it. Siverelle was relieved that, even to this day, they had little success in their efforts to understand the workings of the craft. In addition to being centuries more advanced than the human's current state of technology, the time-ship had been specifically designed to be difficult to reverse-engineer, just in case it fell into the wrong hands. Just as it had here.

Siverelle sighed again. She was trying to decide whether to read something else or to spend some time walking on her treadmill when she noticed a strange sound. A jingling sound that was familiar, yet she couldn't place it.

She listened and realized that the handle on the main door was wiggling. This was the only door that lead to the outside world, the one door through which she was never allowed. Somebody was trying to enter her room. No one came in anymore unannounced. Not for years now. Campbell had promised her that much. The door handle continued to wiggle. Somebody was fumbling at it from the other side, but for some reason was not opening the door.

Years ago, she had tried to escape through that door when Campbell had accidentally left it unlocked, but she discovered a second locked door not far beyond. When Campbell caught her, he took her escape attempt in good humor, saying he would have been disappointed if she had never tried. He also told her the two doors were electronically linked and that only one could be unlocked and opened at a time, ensuring she could not escape.

Siverelle wondered who was coming through the door now. In recent years, at her request, Campbell had taken to only visiting her on a set schedule to afford her more privacy. If he needed to visit her off the schedule for some reason, he always gave her some advance notice by calling on the intercom system. She had long since caught on that she was being secretly watched from various points in her dwelling, but at least they tried to put on an air of privacy for her. It was the best she could hope for.

The door finally opened and Siverelle was disappointed to see not Campbell, but instead the younger human named Branard, who had been assisting Campbell for over ten years now. Of the few humans that had ever come to visit her, Siverelle liked this one least of all. Branard almost never called on her without Campbell and his lone visit now worried her. Whenever Branard got her alone, he tried to push her to tell him more about her ship, when Campbell had long since ceased trying. Siverelle had long learned to read human facial expressions and as usual, Branard's was one of brooding contempt. But there was something different about the face now. It wore a strange, slack expression, as if the beast was very tired or drugged.

In one hand, Branard carried a squared off glass bottle, half full of a brown liquid. In the other, it held a lit cigarette. Branard heaved the bottle high and guzzled a great measure of the russet contents. When he did so, Siverelle could read the human words written on the bottle's black label. Apparently, Branard had borrowed this drink from some other human named Jack Daniels.

Branard lowered the bottle and gasped with a grimace that made her think he had swallowed acid. Branard closed the main door behind him, but failed to lock it. He glanced sourly at her and then walked awkwardly over to the door of the exam room. He puffed on the awful cigarette while fumbling gracelessly for the key in his pocket. The noxious fumes from the tobacco reached out to her, burning her eyes and nostrils. After muttering what she thought to be obscenities, he found the right key and opened the door. He pointed with his bottle toward the metal exam table inside. A little bit of the rusty juice spilled out onto the floor as he did so. He didn't seem to notice.

"In there," he shouted at her, "NOW!"

The normally awkward human language was made even more unintelligible by the way he slurred the words. Siverelle stood and started toward the exam room, feeling very uneasy about this situation. She did not like Branard. Not at all.

"Where is Doctor Campbell?" she chocked out, passing through his smoke cloud, as she skittered by him.

"Away for a few days," he slurred, "Get in there and take that damn robe off!"

She entered the room and began to slowly untie the belt of her robe. "What is this about?" she asked.

"Exam," he said, "Come on, I don't have all day." Branard grabbed the robe and yanked it forcefully off her. She began to shake from the combination of cold, humiliation and terror.

"Get on that table... lie down... Now!" he ordered.

Siverelle sat on the cold table, which made her shiver even more. "I have had my physical exam this month already," she protested meekly.

"Not like this, you haven't," he retorted, struggling to pull thin rubber gloves over his abhorrent, five-fingered hands. The gloves would not cooperate with him nor, did it seem, would his own hands. He finally gave up, throwing the gloves down onto the floor.

"Fuck it," he said, "I just washed my hands last week." He turned to look at her sitting rigidly on the table. "I told you to lie down!" he shouted, grabbing one of her legs and wrenching it forcefully up onto the table. "Do it!"

Quivering, Siverelle did as he demanded. He opened a nearby drawer and began to pull out metal surgical implements, the sight of which made Siverelle cringe. The inebriated human turned to his terrified patient and stood over her, holding up a large gleaming scalpel. She began to wheeze when she saw it, both from the acrid smoke that filled her lungs and the dread that filled her heart.

"When I first started my medical training," he explained, his face twisting into a sickly smile, "I took great delight in carving up cadavers. It was fun to see what was inside animals... and people... all sorts of squishy, colorful things."

Siverelle said nothing. She just stared. The skin at her throat heaved in and out. In and out.

"And you know what?" he continued, "for years now... I've been wondering what's inside that ugly green hide of yours."

"Please..." she begged, "Do not do this. Doctor Campbell would never allow..."

"Fuck that old coot!" Branard shouted, "He's treated you like a god damn queen for thirty years and you ain't told us shit!"

"Please..." was all she could say.

"You want to avoid this?" he said, holding up the knife.

"Yes, oh yes... please."

"Then you've got one other choice, lizard bitch. It's either this..." he waived the gleaming scalpel menacingly near her face, "or this."

Branard pulled out a piece of paper from his coat pocket and showed it to her. It was a photograph of the main instrument panel from her chronoship.

"I don't buy your sweet, little, 'I'm just an innocent escaped alien slave' story," he continued, his pungent breath assaulting her nostrils, "You may have suckered Campbell, but not me. So you are going to start telling me, right here, right now, how this damn saucer works. You can start by translating these here markings on this control panel."

Siverelle stared at the picture. She wasn't sure what to do. She certainly couldn't tell this monster the truth, but the thought of the consequences of not telling him made her squirm. She took a deep breath to buttress her resolve. She had no choice; she would have to endure whatever he had in store for her. These humans could not be trusted with this technology.

"I cannot help you," she said, "...as I have told you, I am not very familiar with the ship's design."

"Liar!" he shouted, "You're lying!" He slammed his hand hard against the nearby counter. So hard in made metal setting there rattle. "Tell me now, bitch!" he bellowed.

"I swear, I know noth..."

"Bullshit!" the human demon shouted. He pushed the sharp blade against her shoulder and it sliced into her skin. She could feel the cold sting as her skin parted like a zipper before the cold blade. Siverelle screamed in pain and terror, while Branard sneered cruelly.

Without thought, she lashed out at the smirking fiend, her three claws raking deep through the soft flesh of his ear and cheek. A great arc of blood sprayed onto the white walls as Branard recoiled, screaming. He dropped the scalpel so he could use his hand to hold his shredded flesh onto his face. The blood soaked human staggered backwards, screaming and swearing.

"Fuck you!" he shouted, "God damn it! What have you done to me?" The pain was sobering him up fast.

He backed out of the exam room and to the main door of the apartment. With his crimson soaked, shaking free hand, he opened the door and blundered out, slamming it behind him, leaving a trail of blood to mark his passage.

Siverelle could hear his muffled shouts for help through the normally soundproof walls. She curled into a ball on the table, covering her own bleeding wound with her hand. She sobbed and shivering uncontrollably, wishing for the first time in her life to see the hairy face of Campbell.

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