Page 72 of Chieftain

The pearl-horned alien standing in the doorway was much bigger than the others of his kind, with a thick heavy scar carving the side of his face from temple to chin. His dark green eyes swept over me, giving a grunt that said in no uncertain terms I did not impress him.

“Come human.” His gruff voice ordered.

I clamored to my feet at once, amazed at the pain-free ease of movement. Maybe being run through that machine wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

He led me out of the room down a tunnel strung with pale green lights. The damp, musty smell increased as we moved, scents of decay adding to the miasma. I could tell we traveled downward, deeper into the planet, in a manner that reminded me of a winding staircase. The alien veered right just before hitting a solid stone wall, pulling back a ratty leather sheath and motioning to the darkness beyond.

I didn’t mind enclosed spaces, but I hated the dark. Especially this kind of dark, so black I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. When the lights flashed it, the brightness momentarily blinded it.

“You work here, human.”

Once, when we were newly married, Gavin and I went on a mission trip to a small village in northern Thailand. They had assigned me to work in the village kitchen—a small bamboo hutwith a moldy water bucket and a rusty wok propped on a tower of misshapen stones. That kitchen looked far more serviceable than what lay before me.

In the middle of the room sat a huge, iron hearth. On it rested a black pot with its lid propped up on one side, something gray and nasty peeking out from inside. Two metal tables stood against the far side of the room. Dirty cookware and unwashed plates sporting moldy bits occupied one table. I didn't recognize the contents of the many food containers—plastic bags, metallic cans, leaky boxes, bright foil packets, and glass jars piled haphazardly on one another. The corner formed by the two outer walls held an oblong table empty except for the pools of congealed blood and the wickedly sharp cleaver discarded atop it.

“You cook for miners.” The alien grunted, pointing to the table holding the containers of food. He turned, motioning behind me to a pile of nasty clothes standing as tall as I was. “You wash for miners.”

“I take care of the miners,” I repeated, schooling my feature to keep from grimacing. I wanted him to think I would not be trouble. I wanted him to learn to ignore me. Escape would be easier that way.

The alien grunted and turned to leave.

“H—how many miners?” I said to his broad shoulders, watching them tense as though he found my voice grating. I was a minister’s wife; I knew how to feed a crowd.

The alien glanced at me over his shoulder, frowning. “Come.”

The alien’s pearl horns gleamed in the darkness, a beacon I followed as we traversed the tunnels. Dampness clung to my skin, rivulets of water seeping down the rock walls around me. Until now, the only sound I’d heard was the distant rumble of an engine. Now I began hearing the rumbling scratch of rocks moving and a deep pinging noise of something sharp hitting something hard. Up ahead, the lights grew brighter, and the shush and draw of dozens of breaths chimed together.

We stepped under a low archway, coming out on a small landing that overlooked a sea of movement. The alien beside me bellowed out a word that only translated if he actually said,flibbertigibbet.

All movement stopped. Even the raspy breath sounds ceased as my eyes fell on the scene below. The aliens peering back at me through the darkness were all different shapes and sizes. Some looked like bugs, some cats, one had a head like a dolphin, and there was one that I thought looked distinctly like a grizzly bear cub. All these creatures had only one thing in common: one thing that made my mouth dry and my blood cold as I looked over the bruised and exhausted bodies.

They were all children.