Phoenix strained at the bonds that held him prisoner inside the 'Pasta Bowl'. He was held suspended inside a transparent, spherical structure that had the power to contort his body into pretzel-type shapes if he displeased his elongated captors. Though nothing physical held him in place, there was a golden glow of light inside the sphere where Phoenix floated, seeming to be held in place by some form of gravitational manipulation.

The spaghetti-men studied his reactions to various stimuli intently, learning his strengths and weaknesses. They conversed amongst themselves in low tones, often shaking their heads or nodding in agreement. Phoenix wondered what they were discussing, especially when they seemed very well pleased.

His answers to any questions were the stock answers of a Eurasian Union prisoner-of-war: name, rank and serial number. When the shapes they twisted him into were impossible or the stimulus with which they poked and prodded at him proved unbearable, he shouted his stock answer at them as if the mantra of his information could somehow ease his pain, could overcome the mania that threatened to take over his mind.

More often than not, the spaghetti-men were accompanied by one or more dog-like creatures that featured feathers instead of fur, a long, powerful alligator-like tail and forked tongue. They had large, kind eyes, however; eyes that often seemed to regard the prisoner with pity and some concern. Phoenix came to regard them as allies, for they occasionally nudged the long, fragile fingers of the spaghetti-men away from the controls when Phoenix felt he would be ripped in two or driven insane by their studies in human physiology.

Whenever it happened that the bird/dog things would nose a hand away from the controls of Phoenix' sphere, the spaghetti-man would pat the head and return to his work, until the beast became so insistent that it was removed from the room. By the time the annoyed alien could return to his work at the controls, Phoenix had been given enough time to compose himself.

"Declan Miller, Lieutenant . . ." Phoenix was in the midst of one of his mantras when he heard it, or thought he had.

Yes, yes, we know, 'United European Air Force, serial number 6198719'. It won't do you any good, you know, they don't care what you say. It wasn't a voice but rather a thought sent directly into his brain.

The bird/dog creature was standing beside the spaghetti-man in its usual spot, ready to nose at the controls, but it was staring directly at Phoenix, head cocked to one side as if trying to figure him out too. The spaghetti-man noticed the attentive creature and laughed, patting its feathered head before returning his attention to the controls.

How do you know that? Phoenix thought with determination, trying to beam the thought back at the creature. It didn't respond so he voiced the question, panting for breath as he did so.

Oh good, you did hear me. I've been trying to speak with you for days. The spaghetti-men, as you call them, are not interested in communicating with you. If you survive, it will be as a pet or a slave. The creature seemed to smile, revealing a row of razor-sharp teeth housed inside its muzzle.

"How do you do that?" Phoenix asked the creature. "Who, what are you?"

Later; the important thing is that you can hear us. My function to the masters today is to warn them when you are no longer able to bear their stimulus. They know we understand them. My function to my people today is to speak with you. Green will be pleased.

Phoenix' question was squelched by his scream of pain. The feathered creature stopped the spaghetti-man.

Rest for now. We will return as soon as we can, warned the blue bird/dog on his way out of the room.

Exhausted by the pain, with his thought processes nearly crippled by a searing headache from the latest tests, Phoenix obeyed. His fingers were nearly numb and his knees trembled with exhaustion despite the way he hovered in the center of the orb, almost never touching anything solid. He thought they had been performing some sort of MRI or CT scan of his brain and spinal cord, but the radiation they were using had affected his nerve endings like nothing he'd ever encountered on Earth.

Eventually, the spaghetti-men left, turning off the lights on their way out. Phoenix welcomed the dark. A few hours after his captors left, their pets returned in force. Phoenix counted seven of them in all, each a different, iridescent hue. The blue one of before was there, along with light pink, red, green, dark purple, yellow and a red-orange color that seemed to defy description.

The green one addressed him first. We have only a small amount of time. The Old One wishes to pray for you.

Declan nodded a little, relieved to be communicating with someone who would answer him back. The light pink bird/dog thing stepped as close as possible to the orb that held Declan captive. Declan could probably have touched it, if he'd had any control of his own body.

Instead, he floated aimlessly, barely able to focus on his visitors. "I'll take any help I can get; thank you." He managed. Declan's parents had taken him to church at the appropriate holidays, but other than understanding the bare, basic tenets of his religion, it meant nothing else to him. "Just out of curiosity, who do you pray to?"

The Old One sat and studied him quizzically. We pray to the Lord God, of course. There is no other, beyond the Triune. Who do you pray to? The thought was quivery, as if spoken by an elderly woman.

Declan tried to quirk a grin but failed, miserably. "No one, I guess. Haven't even been to church since I joined up; usually work holidays and go home after."

From behind the Old One, the green spoke up. Given the Son's sacrifice on your behalf, human, I find that a true shame. Especially given that the Father even left a Written Word to guide your people. We have never had that.

The Old One looked back and stared until the green one dropped its gaze, seeming subservient. We have never needed one, she finally chose to explain. However, since you don't appear to be familiar with what is written, I have been asked by the Holy One to explain it to you, and to pray for you. If I do not, then your torment will be for nothing.

Declan's shock gave him the impetus to crane his neck in order to see them better. "You mean," he asked incredulously, "that your God is allowing me to be tortured like this, on purpose?"

The Old One shook her head, deliberately mimicking human expression as she denied the question. No, Declan, she chided,  for a purpose. There is a difference. We have prayed for long cycles of time for God to send someone to help us stop the tall ones, and we each feel that you are the answer to our prayers.

Slowly, she explained. Declan tried to process all of the information as he listened to their belief that their God . . . his God? . . . had allowed him to be captured so that he might have the opportunity to rescue the group of aliens that stood before him.

Seeing that he struggled with the concepts they were trying to explain, the Old One's tone turned even more gentle. We must go now, for the masters awaken and will be back soon, but we will return at the next sleep cycle and explain further. Come, Children, let us pray.

The others approached and formed a semi-circle around Declan's bubble. A chorus of different 'voices' filled Declan's thoughts as they prayed together. Lord God, Maker of the Universe, Lover of our souls, please touch and heal this human that You love, too. Protect him from the masters' harm; heal and strengthen him, that he might do Your will in helping to stop the masters' destruction in the universe You created. Touch him, Lord, and help him to know Your love for him. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, amen.

As they prayed, a sense of peace and calm stole over Declan, such as he'd never before experienced. The pain in his tortured body eased and he felt the first real sleep since he'd been taken prisoner. When Declan awoke, they were gone, and the masters were returning.

He realized he could maneuver himself around the bubble if he tried; then realized he was capable of moving for the first time in many 'cycles of time'. True to their word, the bird/dog things came to him repeatedly over the following 'cycles of time', until Declan lost track of how often they came.

During their visits, the pink one explained the entire concept of Christianity to Declan, explained their own faith. Since the evil one had never managed to turn any of them, none of them had ever required the redemption that humans did. Instead, all of them walked closely with God, seeming to converse with Him just as they did with Declan. They were not perfect, of course, but every one of them knew that if one failed,  he or she had but to ask God for forgiveness and purpose not to fail that way again, and the Heavenly fellowship would be restored. 

Declan hungered for that kind of relationship and asked how they did it, but the details were unknown to them. They suggested that he needed to read the Written Word for Humans as soon as possible, in order to find out.

Their relationship with Declan changed during the course of his captors' studies as well. They often explained what the Spaghetti men were doing, what they were testing for, and offered effective suggestions for making the torment bearable. As it turned out, the Old One had endured the bubble as well, so she understood exactly what Declan was experiencing. Declan regretted being unable to speak to his friends during these examinations, but they'd asked him not to, not wanting the Spaghetti Men to know that they could communicate with each other.

Can you fly your machine? The question woke Declan from an uneasy sleep, after a relatively benign session with 'the masters.'

Phoenix tested his limbs. His fingers still trembled but his knees seemed steady enough. "I'll need my helmet," he replied. He was taking a gamble on trusting them but he was certain that too much more of the spaghetti-men's scrutiny would kill him.

Are you willing to take us with you? The yellow feathered one stepped forward to indicate who was asking. We have been slaves on this craft for long enough.

Phoenix wondered how they would all fit, but the desperation in the question made him willing to try. "What if you can't survive Earth's atmosphere?" he worried.

His blue companion of before stepped up, being the one most often in the control room. I have seen the results of the masters' tests. Your world is not too much different from our own.

"It's your call," he told them. "Tell me what to do." The red-orange one nosed a few controls, pawed at a few others with long, lion-like claws, all the while manipulating another control with the twin fingers of its forked tongue. Phoenix fell to the floor in a heap.

The green one nosed him in concern. Can you stand, Declan Miller?

"I don't need my legs to fly, only my helmet," assured Phoenix, not really sure he could. He tried, but his knees wouldn't lock so he could stand.

The red one wormed its way underneath the pilot and lifted him effortlessly. Phoenix realized that the bird/dogs were huge, slightly taller than an Irish wolfhound, far heavier than a Rottweiler, making him silently ponder renaming them as 'bird/ponies.' Their gleaming fangs suggested he keep his original idea.

We will go quietly, you and I. The voice was more feminine, Phoenix realized. Before he could comment, the red female spoke again. The masters are in their rest period, but their rest is not deep. We have only a short time before they rouse again. She started walking with Phoenix draped over her back. The others surrounded her, preventing Phoenix from falling with their long, powerful tails.

The 'voice' of the green one spoke again. Phoenix realized that the green was the largest male and considered their leader. Once we are in your craft, the floor will drop us. You must not start the engines until we are well away from it.

Phoenix nodded, wanting to explain that his plane wouldn't fly without air, but he didn't dare risk using his voice. They would need to free-fall into Earth's atmosphere before he started the engines. The small pack of creatures walked for what seemed an eternity until Phoenix' aircraft loomed in the darkness. The Old One held Phoenix' helmet in its mouth.

Take care of my family, Human One. I was once as dark and beautiful as the one who carries you. Now I am nearly white with age. It will be a small thing for me to release you to safety, with all that remains of my kind aboard this ship.

Phoenix nodded, still trying to be silent. We are well beyond the masters now. You may speak freely, Declan Miller, laughed the blue.

"I will do my best," he assured them, but looking at the old one. He suddenly realized what the old creature had said. "You are all that is left of an entire race?"

We are, confirmed the old one sadly. Once, our people ran freely over the blue plains of our world, as you do your own. The masters came and stole our world, taking only enough of us to serve as their slaves, as specimens collected for their displays. They did not even leave the dust of our world's demise behind, but captured it to burn. This they intend to do to your world as well. A few of you may survive, but most will perish.

"I will do my best to see that no one ends up in a zoo!" Phoenix told her hotly. "Better to be dead than that!"

We agreed at first, the red-orange one told him, and those who died took many masters with them. But the few of us who remain were held as you were until we submitted, until we were slaves. We did not want our race to vanish without any to mourn us.

It grows late in the rest-cycle, warned the green male. Declan Miller, you must put your helmet on and get in your craft.

Wait! protested the Old One. Let us pray for your success, first.

Obediently, the younger members of her clan clustered around until they were all touching both Declan and each other in some way. Lord God, please keep my family safe, prayed the Old One. Put Your hedge of protection around them, help them to get where they need to go safely, and to convince the human leaders of what must be done to stop this evil. God of All, we don't understand why You allowed the destruction of . . .

Declan couldn't even try to pronounce the word that came next, but he assumed it to be the name of their home world.

Or why You allowed the tall ones to flourish until now, but we know that You are in control. Help us, Lord, and bless these children in their new home. In the Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit we pray, amen.

The amen was echoed by the rest of her people, and even Declan murmured his agreement before he moved to do as the green one had asked, fumbling with the chin straps. The green one was rather impatient until he'd managed to force his trembling fingers to press the snaps together. Every one of the feathered creatures around him jumped at the sound. He tried to stand again, but his legs were still rubbery. The red female nosed herself under him again.

You are no heavier than a child, Declan Miller. Hold to my neck and I will carry you again. She waited until he'd wrapped his arms around her neck before she sprang into the cockpit with an agile leap. Phoenix arranged himself in the seat, not bothering to strap himself in. One by one, the young creatures followed the red until they'd packed themselves into Phoenix' cockpit.

Phoenix grinned, thinking he wouldn't need the straps, with as many of the great creatures as were tucked in various poses around him. Despite their awkward positions, the bird/dogs made a solid cocoon around him, as if sheltering him from what was to come. Phoenix mentally ordered the cockpit to close.

"We're ready," he said aloud to the old one outside his plane.

Immediately, the plane dropped down toward earth. Phoenix' stomach flopped, protesting the free-fall state. "We need oxygen for the engines to start," he told the creatures packed around him. "And these things aren't designed to start in free-fall. It will take a miracle for us not to crash."

Well, answered the blue one, not sounding concerned, isn't a miracle exactly what we asked for? God will answer, you will see.

If the craft crashes, Declan Miller, we will hit water? The red-orange one was concerned.

"It depends on where we land, but the earth is eighty percent water. Why do you ask?" he asked, watching the altimeter in his helmet display.

The big green answered. We are not meant for water, only to drink it. He sounded as worried as the red-orange one.

As soon as the altimeter indicated the right amount of oxygen in the atmosphere, Phoenix ordered ignition of the engines. Outside the craft, the shell glowed cherry red from their haphazard re-entry. The engines sputtered then caught.

Phoenix glided the plane toward the British Isles. "I wouldn't worry about it. We're going to land on solid ground in about two hours," he assured the concerned creatures around him. "Hey, you all know my name, what are yours?"

A solid concentration of laughter greeted his question, but they obediently introduced themselves. Green, I am chief of our small pack. Red and I am Green's mate. Blue. Yellow. I do not know what color I am in your world. Neither do I.

"Well, colors are simple," drawled Declan. "You are the color of a sunset, kind of a red-orange, but your true color changes in different light.

Then I will be Sunset.

"Sunset is a lovely name," Declan told her, having finally figured out that Sunset was female. "You," he told the purplish one now that he could see it in the light, "are deep purple."

I will not be purple! it protested in a shrill voice. When I am grown, I will be blue, as my father is. Phoenix realized it was only a child and wondered who Blue's mate was.

"Well, we could call you Young Blue, but it's not a very dignified name. I'm sorry, but are you a boy or a girl?"

Blue laughed. She is my daughter, Declan Miller; the last of my clan.

"Indigo?" Phoenix suggested cautiously.

Indigo will do fine. Blue's deep voice seemed to warn the youngster not to argue.

"Do you read each other's thoughts all the time?" Phoenix asked curiously of his new friends.

No, we do not 'read each other's thoughts', Green told him. We project what we wish to say to whom we wish to say it. Your manner of speech is much clumsier than ours.

"It seems as though you could shun a person very easily that way," observed Phoenix.

We are a solitary people most of the time. Also, such silence is most effective when hunting.

Phoenix thought about it. They were equipped with weapons from their teeth to their tails. "Your hunt is important to you," he remarked.

We hunt from the day we are born, Sunset remarked, telling Phoenix that the conversation was being projected for everyone to join in.

"How many do you bear at once?" Phoenix asked her.

Up to four at a time but never more, and never more than four times; I do not know why. Much wisdom was lost with the Old Ones. Even the old mother we left behind did not know the answers to these questions. Red answered the question, being the only of the three females to know.

During the remainder of their flight, Phoenix learned that the biggest was always the leader, be that male or female. They were hunters but preferred to eat smaller predators because it made the hunt more challenging. Phoenix warned them against eating animals that were kept for pets or livestock.

Blue was a widower, Sunset and Yellow had never married, having been small when the 'masters' had taken them for pets. Indigo had been born into captivity. Her mother had been killed by the 'masters' because she'd vigorously defended her little brood. Indigo remarked that 'masters' were lousy as food.

They thought Phoenix' pet name for them of bird/dog was funny, but decided against it, deciding instead to call themselves 'Aicurs'. It was as close a pronunciation of their home planet as they could get in English. Declan didn't tell them that the sound he'd heard when they'd said it in their native tongue sounded like the squelch of a short-wave radio.

Phoenix warned them to say nothing when they landed. "Humans tend to take the privacy of their minds seriously," he explained. "Until they understand how you communicate, they will not appreciate hearing you inside their heads." All of them thought that was uproariously funny but agreed to speak to Phoenix alone. They also agreed not to smile, because people would see it as a snarl instead.

Phoenix landed at his home base, causing quite a storm. Everyone seemed to consider the Aicurs as some sort of alien dog, pets stolen by Phoenix during his escape from the Pasta bowl. No one suggested that the Aicurs be taken anywhere for study or quarantine. Declan Miller was taken to the base infirmary for examination, where he was promptly admitted, being as weak as he was and suffering from a lung infection. No one suggested that the Aicurs might be to blame, nor thought to remove them from the room. 

As soon as the uproar quieted marginally, Declan requested a Bible from the chaplain, who seemed amazed by the idea. It took the chaplain several days to fulfill such an unusual request. After that, whenever no one was demanding his attention, Declan read the borrowed Bible aloud to the interested Aicurs.

When he wasn't reading, Declan and the Aicurs discussed what had been read. Despite not having a 'Written Word' of their own, the Aicurs seemed to have no trouble understanding even the most difficult of concepts presented. They were happy to explain whatever Declan didn't understand.

Lt. Miller's commanding officer came and explained that even though he'd returned the plane, the lieutenant had disobeyed a direct order and was being court marshaled. He seemed to change his mind in the middle of his explanation and suddenly decided that Declan's experience as a P.O.W. and the information he'd gathered on the enemy was mitigating enough to remove the charges. Because of the nerve damage he'd suffered under torture, Declan Miller was given a medical discharge from the military as soon as he was strong enough to walk out of the hospital.

~~~

Colonel Johnston was a regular visitor at his daughter's bedside, even during the worst of her withdrawal period. He patiently sponged her brow with a damp cloth or held a bedpan while she vomited up the fluids she was allowed to drink. Eventually, Sarah's mind and body overcame the side-effects of the drugs she'd been given and she was allowed to regain the use of her body.

"You may go home," the doctor warned her, "but it will take months for your body to heal properly. No field work until you've healed."

"How long?" asked Sarah abruptly, making her dad hide a grin.

"At least four months and there's no speeding that up. That concussion you sustained will be with you for a long time. You may expect to see changes in your coordination and dexterity for a while."

"Four months will give you just enough time for your next school before fit-reps," Col. Johnston reminded his daughter, referring to a set of required physical and psychological testing.

Shadow rolled her eyes. "How often do I have to tell you? Every one of us is at least slightly unhinged. It's how we do the job."

"Yes," replied her father, unfazed, "but we'd like to know before 'slightly unhinged' becomes 'scraping on the floor, barely able to open'."

The doctor laughed. "See me in three weeks," he ordered before moving on to the next patient.

Sarah's life altered dramatically after that. Her quarters turned out to have been moved to the second bedroom in the colonel's apartment, replacing her former bunk in the barracks. When she wasn't resting or studying with Mo', the colonel contrived to keep his daughter close at hand. Weekend evenings were a whirlwind of social engagements and high-level meetings that top agents at home were required to attend. It was as if the colonel was trying to make amends for the time he'd spent apart from his beloved, adopted daughter and was doing his best to tell the entire world that she belonged to him. 

At the end of four months, Sarah's headaches had eased for the most part and she'd learned the basics of simple hacking. Mo' was unimpressed and since the doctor was concerned about the light headaches she still occasionally suffered, the colonel refused his daughter's fitness report and sent her back to Mo' for more training. Though she chafed at the delay, Sarah had to admit that more studies under Mo's tutelage would be of benefit, as would the extra time to heal.

Mo' was more than glad to continue teaching her favorite pupil the fine art of hacking. Together, they dared the strongest fire walls, cracked the strongest passwords. The 187th turned a blind eye to these training exercises unless the pair was discovered at their surreptitious forays into the cyber-world.

Eventually however, Shadow grew bored with their aimless 'surfing'. "Mo'," she announced one morning, "I need a test." She paused to give Mo' time to raise her salt-and-pepper eyebrows. "I need to choose something specific to do. Most of what we've been doing has been rather random. Don't you think it's time I learn how to hack specific things? After all, on an assignment, we don't have much time to fiddle."

Mo' laughed. "Sugah," she replied, "This ain't 'xactly a stroll in the park. Hacking takes time, every time." But still, she sighed and relented. "You go find the real name of that pilot that got sucked up into a Pasta Bowl for ya', and I'll pass you on. You got two hours."

Shadow grinned, delighted by the personal nature of the assignment. "Deal." She turned her attention to the computer before her. Mo' left to make herself a pitcher of sweet tea. After over an hour of Shadow's fingers flying over the keys of her computer, she paused then hit a function key with a flourish.

Mo' looked up from her knitting. "You find sumpin', Sugah?" The knitting needles clicked on as if of their own accord.

"I'm into the Eurasian Union Air Force network." Shadow frowned and clicked her mouse a few times, then typed some more. More mouse clicks and, "Phoenix, also known as Declan Miller, was declared dead by the EUAF about two months before he landed his plane at Leicestershire AFB. He was given a medical discharge. Last known address: Tweed, Scotland."

Mo chuckled at her satisfied tone of voice. "Tweed's a rather large place, if'n I recall, Sugah. You best come up with a more accurate address if'n you wanna' find him."

Behind them, the printer whined in protest as it prepared to print something. "All you wanted was a name, Mo'," reminded Shadow.

"I didn't fergit that," protested Mo', "but if'n I know you, Sugah, an' I do, you's gonna' be on the first plane you kin catch across the Atlantic."

Shadow grinned as she broke the connection. She jumped out of her seat; kissed Mo's lined cheek, snatched the page out of the printer and left the room. Mo' got out of her seat and moseyed over to the computer. Do you want to print another page? the computer was asking. Mo' clicked 'yes' then went to see what Shadow had printed.