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replied.
    “Oh,
what?” he asked.
    “Nothing,”
she said, still bemused. “Skip it.”  
     
    * * *
     
    The next
day, the patient did open his eyes again, and Donna irrigated them. This time,
they moved from side to side, giving the odd impression of sneakiness. Finally,
they came to rest on her as she cleaned him, and she smiled down at him. The
dim blue eyes stared back up, and her smile soon evaporated. Her doubts about
him were growing. She kept thinking about Rachel’s strange comment about
wanting him dead, but not yet. Perhaps it was just the desire to find out about
him, to unravel the mysteries he held. What was he doing here anyway? Where did
he come from? What was the bible book doing in his hand? Rachel was right:
there were questions that needed answers.
    The
patient's mouth opened and stretched out slowly like a fish yawning; Donna
heard him take a deep breath.
    “I . . .”
he said, "I've . . . been . . . in Hell.”
    Those
words flushed her doubts away, and she leaned over him and nodded that she
understood.
    “You’re
out now,” she said clearly and loudly. “You’re back among the living. We’re
going to take care of you.”
    His eyes
fluttered closed. Later, she saw one claw-like hand open and shut, then freeze
there, as if it had never moved.
    That day,
Donna steeled herself, put her hands on his strange, pale skin and started to
slowly work his limbs, starting with his feet and ankles. The joints were so
stiff they felt almost fused, but she applied pressure a little at a time until
they moved just slightly, then a little more, then a little more still. By the
next day, she had his ankles and knees loosened to the point that some of the
motion was restored. By the end of the week, she could move most of his
joints—wrists, shoulders, neck, elbows, knees and hips through nearly full
articulation.
    He did
not speak for the entire week, but when his eyes were open, he watched her with
that strange empty stare.
    She never
got used to the way his body felt. His skin was more like a loose rubbery
covering over bone and gristle than skin. That dreadful impression made her
want to wash her hands repeatedly, which she did, after each session. And how
one arm got longer than the other was a mystery to her; she’d never seen
anything like it.
     
    * * *
     
    Rachel
was spending more and more time in the structure’s interior, especially in the
laboratory with its alien technology. Occasionally, she would bring something
back, something bizarre or especially peculiar to show and tell. Most of the
devices were so far removed from anything they’d ever seen that their intended use
was an utter mystery. None of them looked friendly. They had in common elements
of shape and color that suggested a profound malevolence, but they were not
entirely lacking in their own grotesque beauty. Some seemed marvels of
engineering with parts that moved in complex ways— puzzling anatomic structures
from some fantastic organism.
    They
fascinated Donna less than Rachel. They frightened Donna on some deep,
unfathomable level. They fascinated John as well, and he scowled with mock
repulsion at them the entire time. He turned and twisted them, trying to make
them work.
    “This one
looks like it’s for separating tissue,” Rachel was saying. “Look at this.”
    She held
the spider-like device up and actuated it by slipping her fingers down into
holes in its center. The fine-tipped legs moved slowly in and out, up and down.
    “See,
look at that,” Rachel said. “Great precision, huh?”
    “Ugh!”
Donna said. “Get that damned thing away from me.”
    Playfully,
Rachel chased Donna with it into the shuttle. Donna screeched the whole way
like a schoolgirl, laughing, finally darting around to the far side of the
patient. Rachel feinted one way then the other with it trying to get at her.
    “Stop it,
Rachel!” Donna laughed.
    “Give me
your boobs! Give me your boobs!” she teased, wiggling it at her.
    “Get
outta