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tiny ship disappears in a field of stars.

Chapter Twelve
    Several meters from the alien bunker rests Lilith with her engines ablaze. The ship’s interior is similar to Sephora ’s, but it’s newer and better taken care of. Unlike Sephora , Lilith is organized and clean.
    Earl walks slowly in stocking feet through the spotless bridge, running his fingers along its seats. He stops at a handprint of dried Alien Grey blood on one chair and rubs it with furious determination.
    Frey surprises him by saying, “Are you not eating?”
    “No.”
    “You’ll feel normal again.”
    “I’m fine. Tell the others to split my portion.”
    “You sure?”
    “I’m sure,” Earl says, walking away. He has become so accustomed to hunger that the sensation doesn’t bother him anymore. It was homesickness for the sights, tastes, and smells of Earth that left him with a sick, empty feeling. Every piece of alien fruit and that horrible protein substance they tried to pass off as meat only made him more desperate to get back. He opens the hatch to Lilith ’s midsection.
    “They may be having second thoughts, I think,” Frey says with some hesitation and begins working to get the bloodstain out. He has seen Earl, a clean freak, become enraged over such things and wants to prevent another flip out.
    “And you?” Earl asks. “You’re having second thoughts now?”
    “No. No, I think we’re doing the right thing by these people, of course.”
    “Then we don’t need the others.”
    Frey watches with concern as his captain steps into the ship’s middle and pauses to examine several glowing metallic cylinders.

Chapter Thirteen
    Clara Meeks passes a watercolor creation to her husband John Meeks. Both are beautiful and impeccably dressed, as if they’d just returned from an evening at the symphony. John examines the painting.
    “Oh, that’s wonderful, Chloe,” he tells his six-year-old daughter.
    “W e have an artist in the family.” Clara smiles.
    Chloe sits on the floor, legs folded under a coffee table in the middle of a large and beautifully furnished room. A   sizable collection of paints and brushes are spread out before her. A glass of water is darkened to brown from many brush cleanings. She’s beaming from the praise as her father kneels.
    “Is that a barn?”
    “It’s Grandma’s house,” she replies matter-of-factly.
    John hands the watercolor to Clara. “Well, yes, it is. I see it now—how perfect. Come on, Bopper, time for bed.”
    “Okay.” She gleefully runs out of the room with Mom and Dad not far behind.
    Chloe jumps into bed, throws up the covers, and begins to bury herself in them.
    “Where’s Chloe?” Dad begins to poke around, purposely missing the cave his little girl has made for herself. “Is that Chloe—no?”
    She giggles from under the blankets. Clara smiles and tidies up an already perfect room, fit for a princess. “Is this Chloe?” John continues. “No.”
    Under the blankets, Chloe continues to dodge her father’s hands, laughing hysterically. Then suddenly, there’s nothing. Even the small amount of light filtering through her covers begins to dim. Chloe’s smile goes away with the long silence. “Daddy, find me.”
    The light disappears completely. Chloe’s breathing becomes labored, and her little heart pounds. “Daddy?” Someone is walking around her bed, maybe more than one person, but it doesn’t sound like Mom or Dad. She jumps at the clang of metal on metal. The covers are stripped away. Chloe is on a black surgical table surrounded by three Alien Greys. They reach for her, and she screams.
    With a gasp, Chloe wakes.
    “You okay, love?” Gordon asks, concerned.
    She takes a second to check her surroundings. “Sure,” she says with a deep breath. Tivis is glaring at her. “What?”
    He shrugs and returns to flying the ship.
    Directly across is Nix, fast asleep. She doesn’t know anyone who can sleep as easily and peacefully as he can. The nightmares and