Waiting.

This whole house was a testament to it. A shrine.

The clock over the muted television console clicked monotonously into the dusty air, constant in its self-importance. Rachel Northway paused along the runner of the sun-choked foyer, examining with vague interest the framed photos on the walls. Faces of people she never knew, never met, stared back at her, mouths pulled into forced smiles for the camera, eyes looking through her and beyond into secret lives.

What am I doing here? I should have never let DK talk me into this.

But it was too late. He knew she was here. Best to get it over with and to let this small drama play out.

In the quiet, the air conditioner kicked on in baneful protest to the Florida heat outside. She jumped slightly at the sound. Her nerves were frayed. In a few hours she had to return to the Cape and another battery of tests and preparations for the launch. Since the decision to add her as the co-pilot to the Farscape 2 project, her world had assumed a hectic pace that made her residency at Cook County look like a cakewalk.

Another photo caught her eye. Newer, the color less faded.

John Crichton, arms folded in playful arrogance against his chest, wrapped in the IASA flight suit grinned into the camera. The white-haired man at his side was no doubt his father.

"Doctor Northway."

She turned to see Jack Crichton strolling down the hallway to her, hand extended in eager friendship.

"Please, call me Rachel." She said, taking his hand in her own.

Jack smiled at her. In the afternoon light, he seemed worn; a vitality was lacking from the image of the man in the picture. "I'm glad DK talked you into stopping by."

"Oh. My pleasure. DK said to say he's sorry he couldn't be here. There was a last minute meeting change."

"He'll get around to see me, I'm sure."

A small awkward silence followed, filled by the drone of the air conditioner. "So? Any rattlers?" Jack asked with a wistful grin.

Her smile faltered. "I'm sorry?" she asked.

He slapped her shoulder in a brief show of camaraderie. "Oh… just something John and I talked about. The feeling I'd get in my stomach…. Just before a launch. 'Course he claims to never get 'em."Rachel's grinned broadened. "Rattlers… would be putting it mildly, Colonel.""Come on into the kitchen. I've got some iced tea."

She complied, following him into the neat kitchen that could only belong to a widower. Sitting at the battered farmhouse table she listened to the well worn and no doubt heavily embroidered stories of this ancient of the space program. And for a time it was easy to forget about the impending launch, about her own "rattlers".

When the sun was a burned orange memory to the West, she rose to leave, surprised to feel a small tug of regret. She stood in the lengthening shadows of the porch and turned to say her good-byes to Jack Crichton.

"Good luck, Rachel," he said, grasping her hand in both of his own. A haggard edge found his voice, a deeper sorrow at its core. "Find my boy. It's time for him to come home."

For a moment she was speechless at the blatant hollow hope that framed those words. Realization moved over her. Here was a man that spent every day in a silent wait that she firmly believed would never end. But the front door was always unlocked on that picture-covered foyer, just in case. His car keys were always at the ready, neatly placed near the alarm clock on the night-stand.

Feeling like a traitor, she forced a slim smile. "I will do my best, Jack." 

# 

 4:23pm Sunday, October 25th 

 "… IASA made public today the launch date for the Farscape Two mission, the follow up to the ill-fated Farscape One five years ago. The Farscape One was the mastermind of Commander John Crichton, who was lost in the initial experiment.  Crichton is survived by his research associate, Doctor Douglas Knox, who, despite arguments to the contrary, has remained stalwart about a second mission modeled after the Farscape One. Due to shrinking budgetary allowances and recent deregulation, the Farscape Two project was threatened with cancellation until a private source of funding, Northway Tech, was found. The recent appointment of Doctor Rachel Northway, daughter of deceased Northway Tech CEO, Michael Northway, to the Farscape two vessel as co-commander has been speculation that -" 

 Rachel angrily snapped the radio off and tried to dismiss the annoying, self-righteous wake of NPR in her mind. She had expected this, but it still managed to surprise her how precise and surgical the media could be with their criticism. 

They had also failed to mention the four long, exasperating years she had spent jumping back and forth between IASA and NASA mission lists. Four years of being consistently overlooked for a shuttle assignment despite her perfect health or exemplary training record. At one point she had even considered a proposal from China's fledgling space program. 

The truth of the matter was, Rachel Northway's desire to get into space was the equivalent of an infection, a fever that consumed all and often blinded her to everything else. When Douglas "DK" Knox had approached her about the Farscape 2, it was like waving a full course dinner in front of a starving man. 

Rachel flopped onto the battered rust-colored monstrosity of a sofa in the staff lounge and shut her eyes on the empty room. She was exhausted. The past six hours had been spent in meetings with Columbia's mission specialists. To add more stress, there was talk from meterology of a solar radiation disturbance. 

 "Hey. Wanna grab some chow with us, Rach?" 

 She looked up at the grin of DK. He had to be as tired as she. His dark brown hair was nonchalantly mussed. His blue eyes seemed shadowed from the baleful fluorescents overhead. Yet he still possessed a buoyant aura of energy, as if he were privy to a fantastic secret that he could not wait to share. 

 "Earth to Rach," he said, waving his fingers before her eyes. "It's a little to soon to start wigging out on me." 

 She realized she had not answered him. "Oh. I'm sorry, Douglas. I didn't-" 

 "DK." He corrected, folding his arms. 

 Rachel smiled. It felt forced, lifeless. "I'm not--" 

 He leaned closer, conspiratorially. "I promise not to tell a soul I caught the Boston marathon runner eating ground up cow." 

 She laughed. "Well, since you've made it sound so appetizing, how can I resist?" 

 "That's the spirit," he applauded, taking her hand and tugging her to her feet. 

 They walked out to the parking lot, acknowledging the others that still haunted the halls of the installation. Soon they were headed out under the dying sunset of the Florida sky, laughing like madmen as they pretended not to worry about the days to come. 

# 

12:47am - Monday, October 26th 

 "You're late. I was starting to worry, Rach." 

Rachel dropped the keys on the foyer's table where they settled with an accusatory clatter. She looked up into the hallway mirror to see the living room reflected at her back. Warren Cisco stood was there, drink in hand, leaning against the back of an overstuffed chair. 

 She waved her dead cell phone over her shoulder as she talked to his reflection in the mirror. "Sorry. I didn't call. I forgot to charge the cell-" 

 "S'ok." Warren answered. The pensive set of his jaw suggested otherwise. He was using his purposefully casual voice. "You hungry? I ordered take-out... Cantonese." 

 "I've eaten already," she answered, heading for the kitchen. "I went to dinner with DK. Murphy and Thomas ended up dropping by. I didn't notice the time." 

 She could hear Warren moving about in the den. The clink of ice cubes against glass. The TV snapped off. 

 "Kaiser…that poor bastard," Warren chucked his tongue. "His reputation has been damaged for good."  Rachel stopped in the middle of the dim kitchen, her shoulders bundling into tight cords. The familiar knot from this tired argument found its usual hiding spot in her stomach. She sensed him approach. His shadow stretched across white marble floor.   

"I am not going to have this discussion with you right now," she said, moving to the refrigerator. She opened its door and squinted into the clean white light. Her hands hovered over the plastic shapes of containers, glass bottles, searching without real purpose. It was something to do, to keep from looking at him. 

 "Oh. That's great, Rach. Ignore it. This will go away." 

 "It's late, Warren," she sighed, surrendering her false search. She let the door shut and leaned her back against it. At last she looked at him where he leaned in the hallway. "I just want to get some sleep." 

 "Just tell me one thing, Rach." Warren said. His handsome dark features formed a frown. "Is it worth it? Getting the Company involved? Risking everything your father created?" 

 She could always hear the proper title he gave Northway Tech, as if it were a living breathing entity, a religion. 

 Rachel worried the ring on the finger of her left hand, an unconscious gesture she had developed of late. "I don't need this right now…"  Warren was just getting started. Watching him talk, his precise gestures, she could understand why he made review every year at Georgetown, why he was a successful trial lawyer before he became the legal arm of her father's company. "We can lose our defense department contracts, Rach. This is having a serious impact. They're starting talks back up with JPL-" 

 "What are you talking about?" But she knew. There were finally having the argument, and Warren Cisco was armed with evidence. 

 "I want you to look me in the eye… no… better yet… look Doctor Knox in the eye and say that you believe him. You tell him that you're gonna go up there and find what he's looking for." He stepped into the room with carefully measured strides and faced her, placing a hand on either side of her head against the cool metal of the refrigerator. "Kaiser is on a personal crusade and a self-destructive one at that. The truth is John Crichton is dead. It was pilot error. Hell. The entire nation had the findings jammed down its throat for weeks-"  "Warren, enough already." She ducked under his arm and turned to stairwell. "You're not being fair-" 

 "What's not fair? You're using him Rach. You don't believe his theories… this science fiction bullshit for a second." Warren followed her to the first landing on the stairs. "You're using him to get into space. Because you just can't let it go that for once you didn't get what you set out for! Rachel Northway, M.D., Ph.D., queen of the known fucking universe failed at something!"  "Okay… that's what you think?" Rachel whirled on him. Her anger was a sharp-edged blossom in her tired brain. She took the stairs back down to his level two at a time. "And I suppose Knox isn't using me? Or the Company?! Come on, Warren! He knows what he's doing! Farscape 2 was circling the drain! Our funding saved his ass in more ways than one."  "Pull out now, Rach." His voice softened slightly. "I've known you since you were a kid. This is the most reckless, irresponsible thing you've ever done." 

 "Don't think that this was an easy decision for me, Warren. Don't think that for a second." 

 "I can't believe this. You're really going to go through with this." He no longer used the attorney voice. This was the man who had been her partner in every endeavor since she graduated college, her fiancé, and lover and until now her pillar of strength.   

"You're not going to talk me out of this, Warren."   

She felt a painful twinge watching his face fill with an incredulous disappointment. For a long moment neither of them spoke, encapsulated in their own bitter shells. 

 Warren turned back to the den. "I'm going back to South Carolina, Rachel." 

 "What? Now? Before the launch?" She said, following him, but already knowing that this was lost. The remaining words they had for each other could only be for appearances. 

 "Yes." 

 "Will you be here when I get back?" 

 "I think you know the answer to that." 

 # 

6:42am Wednesday October 28th  

"You don't look so hot," DK observed, leaning across the module's wing to Rachel Northway. 

 "What?" Rachel looked up from the thick stack of schematics. Her features smoothed into slim smile, but she did not meet his eyes. "Oh… I'm fine."  "You're also a rotten liar," he smirked, sipping the tepid water that passed for coffee. "Your notes are upside down." 

 She looked back up, brown eyes skewering him. The expression softened with a self-depreciating smile. She turned the stack of pages around. "So… they are."  He watched her expectantly for a moment. Rachel possessed a distilled intensity, a quality that he could not quite place. It made it difficult to know her, to judge her moods. She would often withdraw into some internal mental obstacle course, giving the impression of aloofness. But he knew enough that the label came from those that felt threatened by her accomplishments and her determination. If there was one thing that DK had learned to trust it was his instincts. And he found he genuinely liked Rachel Northway, despite her best efforts to keep the world at arm's length. 

 "Well?" he prodded. 

 Her delicate eyebrows knit together. "It's nothing I should go into right now. Some other-" 

 "Try me." 

 She looked away, slightly exasperated. Others had filtered into the small annex bay. She smiled at them politely and turned back to him. An edge slipped into her voice. "Douglas, I appreciate the concern, but this is not the time or the place." 

 "Suit yourself," he said, turning back to his task in the module's cockpit. 

 "I talked to Jack." He said, not willing to admit defeat so easily. 

 At the mention of Jack Crichton a fond smile moved over her generous mouth. "How is he?" 

 "He took a shine to you." DK continued, glancing up for a moment to take in her reaction. "Told him you were engaged, of course. What can I say? He was crushed." 

 "Douglas Knox!" she laughed, amused and incredulous at once. A mild flush came to her face. Her voice echoed in the bay. A few people turned around. For a moment he could imagine her as younger woman, a bright pretty co-ed before life had taught her to grow a cast-iron shell. 

 "It's true." He offered in defense, shrugging. He ended all pretense of continuing with the systems test. 

"Well… not anymore." She answered. The hard earned smiled collapsed back in upon itself and she looked back down to the notes.  "Oh? Sorry. I didn't mean-" 

 "Warren's going back to South Carolina." And she was Rachel Northway again, fiercely independent and wearing her heavy armor. This was the woman that he had seen take on an entire IASA budgetary committee. 

 "Really. I'm sorry, Rach." 

 It was her turn to shrug, making her voice even, nonchalant. There was a genuine hurt somewhere beneath its glossy surface. "You've got no reason to be sorry." 

 "No…" DK leaned forward, his expression grave. "I meant, if I'd have known… I'd have given Jack your phone number. The guy hasn't had a date in years."  "Douglas! You're terrible!" She blurted, but began to laugh, obviously surprising herself. He dodged her playful swat at his head before ducking back into the safety of the cockpit. 

 # 

Mission Time: 00:55:42 
14:07 MCC Time - Houston 
Saturday, October 31 

Rachel grabbed the hand-holds and propelled herself along the tiny entrance of the Columbia's mid-deck. She had stolen a moment to peer through the thick glass of the port. She looked out upon a slim corner of Africa, menaced by a large tropical storm. 

 "Happy, Rach?" she asked herself under her breath. She shut her eyes for a second and tried once more to clear her mind. 

 Damnit. Not fair. It was supposed to be better than this. Magic. Perfect. This was it! The moment she had dreamed about. Instead it was shot through by her frayed nerves and the sluggish guilt that permeated every action.  Her first instinct was to blame Warren. Even in his absence he had managed to steal this victory. That was not right, either. But his voice was still present, lingering on the edge of each thought. 

 no… better yet… look Douglas Knox in the eye and say that you believe him. You tell him that you're gonna go up there and find what he's looking for…  "Makes you feel… tiny… doesn't it?"  DK's voice startled her, radiating from her head-seat and just behind her in unison. He placed a hand on her shoulder and maneuvered closer to the port. But he didn't seem to notice her reaction. Here everything was like a living humming wire, the people inside, the very air. Human nervousness was part of the background noise. 

 "You could say that again," she muttered. Rachel turned to him. DK continued to stare out of the port, captivated. 

 "DK…" she began, watching him. "There's something I should tell you…"  "Hmm." Reluctantly he drew his attention back display of the Farscape 2's primary systems. The same damn secretive grin was plastered to his face. The knot of dread laden guilt squirmed beneath her heart in the face of it. What are you doing Rachel? Trying to make yourself feel better by confessing? Too late for that, girl. 

 He ducked his head suddenly. His hand went to earpiece of his headset. In her own set she heard, the payload specialist's flat Boston accent: "Show time, folks." 

 Rachel felt a stab of anxiety. It meant the payload maneuver was complete. Time to suit up and cross the freezing cold access way to the Farscape 2's waiting cockpit. Time. 

 "Gotcha. Thanks, Ben." DK returned before looking back at her. "You were saying?" 

 "Nothing." She smiled, feeling more like an impostor than ever. "Just… good luck."  # 

 Mission Time: 01:35:42 

Saturday, October 31 

 From her position in the cramped cockpit of the module, she could no longer see the continents. There was a blue edge of Earth briefly glimpsed through the thick seal of the overhead port. It gave the impression of a massive weight about to collapse upon them. She felt an alien moment of panic grip her, threatening to squeeze her heart into her throat. Rachel swallowed several times and slowly released a long breath, her eyes closed. 

 "Rach?" DK asked over his shoulder as he guided the module powered by its maneuvering thrusters. 

 She opened her eyes and took in the read out without hesitation. "At the three kilometer mark." 

 "Gotcha," he returned. He continued his dialogue with the support team on the shuttle. "Columbia, Farscape 2 is go for engine start." 

 A tinny voice offered confirmation from the Columbia: "Telemetry is a go." 

 Rachel checked the display to her left, ignoring the nervous flutter in her stomach. "Life support. Go." 

 "Columbia, boards are green. Farscape 2 is ready." 

 "Roger, Farscape 2. On your mark," came the response. 

 DK turned awkwardly in the small space, encumbered by the pressure suit. Through the face plate of his helmet, he smiled thinly at her. He stretched up his gloved hand, and she gripped it with both her own. Without a word he withdrew, turning back to the controls. 

 There was a quiet whisper she was certain he had not meant for the headset's mike to detect. "John… I'm sorry I’m five years too late."  She was struck, unbidden, by the image of Jack Crichton in his silent kitchen, waiting for the impossible. In the that moment, she hated her own cowardice in the face of Jack's hope or DK's tragic faith. 

 "Begin ignition sequence in 10… 9…. 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Mark."  The powerful boosters to the module fired in unison with an energy more felt than heard. Rachel was instantly thrown against the thick padding of her seat. She allowed her head to fall back, her neck powerless against the sudden acceleration. The module skimmed along the thin upper atmosphere of the Earth, setting of glowing rakes of friction. Faster. 

 Faster…  She quickly took in the telemetry console, granting a small satisfied nod. The graphics shifted dutifully to display their projected and acceptable acceleratory range. "DK, we're tracking…."  Her headset rattled: "…scape … report… must …receiving massive-"  And faster. 

 Brow furrowed, she experimentally prodded the communications controls. "Columbia?…. Houston?"  "Reading…advise… -ort."  Too fast. 

 "DK," Rachel said, riveted to the malfunctioning communications. She winced as a tell-tale sounded shrilly near her ear. Granting it a cursory glance she snapped it off, her attention intent on their only link to the world outside the cockpit. 

 "We've lost Columbia," she said distractedly. But, there was no answer from her companion.  "DK?" 

 She realized that the orange glow had become a constant blue light. The module turned at a sudden sharp angle, as though caught in swift rapids. Her safety harness dug painfully into her shoulder. Rachel looked up through the view port over DK's shoulder and quickly regretted it. 

 Suspended before the module, stretching across kilometers of space was a yawing vortex of blue light. It spun away into an infinite blackness at its center, consuming itself. The center grew steadily closer. They were headed directly for it.  "What the hell… DK!" She rapped the side of his helmet sharply with her knuckles. This did get his attention.  "Rachel… make sure we're recording… I don't want to lose any of the data on this," he said, slowly. "Should keep our distance …"  There was a drugged quality to his voice she did not like. She watched as his hands hovered over the primary booster controls, hesitating to end the booster's burn. Her attention bounced between the steadily growing mouth of the anomaly and him.  "Telemetry records are nominal… DK." She licked her lips. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. "But we've lost Columbia… Can't raise Houston either."  The panel before her crackled sharply with an energy discharge. Hungry white fingers of sparks arched between metal surfaces. She managed to stay ahead of the overloading circuits, cutting off the unnecessary systems. 

 "DK… talk to me… I know what you're thinking. Don't you dare!"  "I just want a closer look!" he shot back. 

 New tell-tales began to sing in raucous discord, she looked to bank of sensors she had ignored earlier. "Shit. There's some sort of… EM wave… were rolling right into it."  This was met only with silence. His hand fell away from the booster controls entirely, settling back on the yoke. 

 "DK!" She tugged at the buckle at the center of her chest, releasing the straps. "Listen to me… don't do this. Don't risk this. You're right! There's a chance he made it somewhere else, but DK… for Chrissakes! Will you listen to me, damnit!"  Encumbered by the suit, she reached across his shoulder, to shut down the boosters. Before she could, there was a swift, angry pitch to the module. Rachel was pinned to the wall at her back, her neck crooked against the angle of the ceiling. A ripple of blue engulfed the module, drawing them directly into the wormhole's dark center. 

 # 

Blackness. 

She had opened her eyes and there was still complete blackness. Bitter oily panic welled in her. Uttering a sharp gasp, she sat up, her hands going to her head. Her helmet and pressure suit were gone. Rachel drew in another, deeper experimental breath. 

 "DK?" Her throat was on fire. Her tongue was two sizes too large for her mouth. 

 Silence. 

 She strained to hear, to make out even the slightest noise. Her voice echoed in the darkness. Like a cavern. A liquid ripple of water. The air was warm and cloyingly thick. 

 Cautiously she reached out, her hands met a smooth floor of harsh stone. This was not the inside of the module or a room at the Cape. 

 "DK?" 

 "Yeah, Rach. I'm here. " He sounded tired, in pain. But he was somewhere nearby. 

 Relief briefly flooded her. Cautiously she felt around the floor until she met his lower leg. She slowly crept along until she found a wall. He was propped against it apparently, sitting up. 

 "I can't see," she whispered, crouching near his side. 

 "No. Me neither. They did it on purpose, I reckon," he returned. "Keep us off our bearings in the dark." 

 "They?" she asked, swallowing against the parched pain of her throat. A new fear, more evolved than the primitive one of the dark, wrapped her spine like a live wire. 

 "I heard voices… earlier. Guess you where still out of it," he explained. She heard him shift uncomfortably and emit a brief hiss of pain. "I tried searching for a doorway, but… I hurt… big time."  "Where do you hurt?" she asked. Her hands cautiously journeyed out in the dark, meeting his shoulders. Until this moment she had never realized how much vision was taken for granted. The panic rushed up again and she forced its rising level down. 

 "Knock it off," he chuckled weakly, steering her hands away, stilling them with both of his own. His skin was clammy and cool despite the heat. "I don't want to wrestle right now." 

 Hypoperfusion… could be internal bleeding… blood loss.  "DK… no macho bullshit!" She commanded. "Let me help you."  "Rach… give it a rest," he said quietly. "There's nothing to be done right now. Okay?" Damnit. One catastrophe at a time. Not fair! She felt an impotent rage gather. Her face grew hot with blood. "Damnit, DK! What the hell is this? How the hell did we get here? Tell me that!" 

 "I dunno, Rach. I can't…can't remember a goddamn thing."  Awkwardly, in the dark, she rose, fury driving her actions. The rage was without focus: DK, the heat, the darkness, the helplessness. She felt her way up the wall. "Fuck this."  "Rach… what are you doing?"  "HEY! ASSHOLES! How 'bout some lights! Huh?" 

 DK tugged at the leg of her jumpsuit. "Rach… no wait… there's more-"  "Assholes! I don't know who the hell you think you're are! Right now there are probably a coupla hundred NSA… CIA… Secret FUCKING Service agents … not to mention the FB-fucking-I…. Looking for us right now! They don't take kindly too having their astronauts held prisoner!"  "Rachel!" 

 "What!" she snapped. 

 Then a pensive pause. "Rach, the voices before. They were like nothing I've ever heard."  A cool wave moved through her despite the heat. It had more to do with the quality to his voice. 

 "What do you mean, DK… like nothing you've ever heard?"  How could we survive reentry? Where's my P-suit? My helmet? I don't remember. Damnit, why can't I remember! 

 "It's nothing," he paused. "Maybe another trick to keep us freaked out. Like keeping the lights off." 

 "No," she returned, unconvinced. "What do you mean?" 

 Another long silence, filled by the oppressive heat and teasing distant sound of dripping water. 

 "They didn't sound… right."  Suddenly a sliver of light parted the gloom. They both turned, squinting at its painful brilliance. There was a doorway, bathed in the light. A misshapen figure was framed within it. She could make out its large, oblong head supported by a thick sinewy body. It had two arms, two legs. But the eyes. Its eyes were the worst. They glowed with a rheumy incandescence that made her want to curl up and die. 

 Please let this be a dream. 

 This was real. Too real. The hellish heat. The beads of sweat running into her eyes, stinging. Fear overran her earlier fury, extinguishing it for good. The power left her legs. Mouth agape, she slid down the wall, landing near DK. 

 "Happy fucking Halloween," she heard him mutter. 

 She watched the creature slowly saunter into the room. This was the thing that lived under the stairs of the house where she grew up. The monster that ate small children who did not mind their parents. Illuminated by the light from the doorway, it stood over them. She could hear its wet imperfect breathing. It smelled of decaying leaves and damp earth. 

 It leveled an accusatory finger at them. Rachel felt DK's hand tighten over hers. 

 The part of her mind that was a scientist, that sought to label the universe in neatly segmented pieces of sanity did not fall silent. It took in the creature's appearance with clinical efficiency: four fingers and an opposable thumb. Bi-occular vision. No visible ears. Oral cavity- 

 The sounds that came from that mouth were a meaty snarl, a rotted gurgling. 

 Like nothing I've heard before…  Then the creature stopped speaking, seeming to wait for a response from them. 

 With a voice that sounded a million miles away and horribly petulant, it was Rachel answered. "What the hell are you? What do you want?" 

 Harsher, more commanding, the creature spoke again in its strange disturbing voice of wet gravel. There was an adamant gesturing of its bony fingers. 

 Rachel shook her head, making her motions obvious. "We… we can't understand you."  The thing lurched at her with hideous speed, taking her wrist with its claw. Its grip was painful and commanding, pulling her, stumbling from DK's side. She felt him grab at her legs, but his strength was no match for this creature. Rachel fell to her knees before it. Its smell was stronger, making her gag. 

 "Oh, Christ!" She bellowed in a mix of fear, pain and revulsion. 

 The creature concealed some tiny device in its other powerful hand. There was a swift sting into her forearm. A tingling sensation paraded up her arm, into her shoulder, her neck, to nestle at the base of her skull. 

 Oh.. Jesus… please! Not like this!  "What the hell was that! What did you just give me?" she demanded, seeking to free her hand. 

 "Mchhhhhhhsin… Nesssing… Selem-tor… microbes." The creature released her arm and her momentum sent her back, sprawling onto the floor. She turned wide, incredulous eyes up at it, oblivious to the pain of her graceless landing. It could speak English.  "You can… can… s-s-speak our language?"  "No, primitive," it replied, with deadly impatience. The red eyes fixed on her. "No need for a Scarran to speak a primitive's language. Now… you will provide… answers."  "Answers? You're joking me, right?" She cautiously rose, backing away to the corner where DK rested.