"Is he dead?" 

J.P.'s question hung in the air, as we stared down into the blackness. Pion was laying on his back motionless about ten feet below us, his legs dangling over the edge of a narrow ledge that had saved him from falling farther. 

     "No, he's breathing," observed Brian. I looked closely and saw that Brian was right. Pion's chest was moving ever so slightly up and down.

    Mr. Fisher moved as close to the edge as he could and said, "Jack, can you reach him?"

    "I think so." We watched as Jack's arm started to change shape. Unfortunately as it did so, the light went out and we lost sight of Pion.

    "Wait!" called out Mr. Fisher. "If you bump him, you could knock him off that ledge. We need a better way."

    "And even if I did grab him, I can't keep my balance on the path," Jack added.

    I looked at Jack's arm, which was once again extended and illuminated the area around Pion, and had an idea.

    "Jack, can you stick the end of your arm into the wall above Pion like a clothesline?"

    "Probably. Why?"

    "That way you'd be braced and I could slide down and make sure the kid doesn't get knocked off the ledge."

    "How are you gonna get back?" asked Brian.

    "You guys can pull us back. Tie your shirts together and make a rope."

    "Are you sure about this?" Brian asked skeptically.

    "Absolutely not, so let's do it quickly before I come to my senses," I said, stripping my shirt off and tossing it to Brian before he could point out how stupid this was.

    "This could work," offered Mr. Fisher. So much for adult supervision, I thought.

    "You sure?" said Jack.

     I nodded. "Do it."

    He retracted his arm about three feet away from the wall above Pion and then extended it quickly smashing the glowing end into the stone. The light went out.

    "Ow!" Jack yelled.

    "Are you okay?" I asked. It hadn't occurred to me what it might feel like to punch through stone.

    "Yea. My hand's fine. I pushed myself too hard backwards against the wall behind me. That's all. We're good to go."

    I reached up and grabbed the metal rod that used to be Jack's arm. Before stepping off the edge, I tested my weight, not wanting to find out later that the maximum load on alien arms was five pounds less than my weight.

    "I got you. Go for it," Jack said. He sounded confident, but his voice was strained. I suspected this was harder for him to do than he was letting on.

    I went hand-over-hand trying to imagine I was on the playground monkey bars rather than dangling over a bottomless pit. The distance from the edge of the path to where Pion lay was about twelve feet, but it seemed like a mile. The muscles in my arms were starting to burn as I touched down gently next to him. I kept one hand on Jack's arm, just in case the ledge collapsed. Bending down, I gently shook Pion to try and wake him up, but he didn't respond at all. 

     "He's out cold," I called out. 

     "Can you lift him?" Mr. Fisher asked. 

     "I think so, but not at the same time I'm holding onto Jack's arm." 

     "You're going to have to hold him while we pull you over." 

     "Are you sure you can't just retract your arm and bring us back?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer. 

     "Sure, buddy. As long as you don't mind me losing my balance and us all falling to our deaths," Jack said. That's what I suspected. 

     "Fine. Hold on." 

     Against my better judgment I let go of Jack's arm and reached down to pull Pion up onto to my back. I wrapped his arms around my neck and held them there with my left hand. With my right hand, I undid my belt and pulled it through the loops of my pants. Careful not to lose my balance, I swung the belt over Jack's arm and grabbed it with the same hand. Once I was sure it would stay in place, I called for the rope of shirts. It took three tries, but I finally caught it and shoved my free hand up through the neck hole. I grabbed the belt, which dangled in front of me and wrapped it around my hand. Picking my feet up slightly, I tested whether it would hold us. It did, but I began to question whether I could hang onto the belt with only one hand and Pion on my back. 

     "Ready?" called Mr. Fisher. 

     "Uh, not--" 

     "Pull!" yelled J.P. I grabbed the belt with all my might as my feet were yanked over the edge. 

     "Hold tight," said Brian, demonstrating an amazing ability to state the obvious. 

     "Hurry, he's heavier than he looks," I said. We were barely half-way across and my arm was already burning from the effort and my shoulder was starting to feel like it would fall off. 

     "Almost there," said Mr. Fisher. "Don't let go." Does stress always result in people saying idiotic things like that, I wondered? I swung my leg forward catching the edge of the path with my foot. Mr. Fisher reached out and grabbed Pion's arm to pull him to safety.  I took a deep breath, as his weight was removed, but any relief was short-lived. Another explosion rocked the tunnel dropping stones from ceiling down on us. One hit me on the back of the hand that still gripped the belt keeping me from falling. I yelled out in pain and let go. A strong hand reached out and grabbed my wrist like a vise. Soldat pulled me onto the path. 

     “Where did you come from?" I asked. I had no idea where he had come from. 

     "Not now," Soldat said. "We are not safe here. Come quickly." He led us back the way we had come, then down a series of tunnels, taking rights and lefts so quickly that I was completely lost by the time we stopped five minutes later. Being lost was not our biggest problem, though. Being surrounded by the men who wanted to kill us was.
    We'd stumbled into the room so quickly that by the time any of us realized what had happened, it was too late. The room was about the size of the one we'd slept in, dimly lit and eerily quiet, giving me the sense that we were very deep underground. The constant booming was very faint. Of immediate concern, though, was the fact that men blocked all the exits and we were outnumbered two to one.  Oh, and every one of Soldat's soldiers were pointing weapons at us and shouting threats like, "put it down or else" and "we'll kill you before you get a shot off" and my favorite, "die, aliens!" This level of anger could only mean one thing.

    "Jack!" We all shouted.

    "What?"

    "Put your arm away!" I yelled.

    "Are you sure?"

    One of the soldiers shoved his weapon to within about an inch of my nose.

    "Yes, I'm sure."

    "Please, all of you, stop this. We have bigger problems," said Soldat. 

     The man who had been threatening me turned to Soldat, looking even more angrythan before. "We do not have enough food and now they have brought the Chatrang here, again," he spat. 

     Soldat put his hand on the man's chest, pushing him back slightly. "What you say is true, Nantis, but they also just saved my son and killing them now is not likely to stop the Chatrang. The time for arguing is over lest we all die standing here in disagreement." 

     It struck me that us ending up dead seemed to be an awfully popular outcome and I was anxious to hear a plan that included, "and they all lived happily ever after safely tucked in their beds with some milk, a cookie, maybe a handheld video game player"—you get the idea. 

     "Soldat has an HTS," said Mr. Fisher. Like a fart in homeroom, the unexpected accusation hung silently in the air waiting for someone to acknowledge it. We all turned to look at Soldat and I wondered if he was about to tell Nantis that upon reflection he was fine with plan A--kill the annoying aliens. 

     Mr. Fisher wasn't through. "Did Tom and your son fall to their deaths the first time you caught up with us?" Okay, that one threw me for a loop. Was he suggesting I had died, but then undied because Soldat used an HTS to get there in time? I didn't feel resurrected or different at all. I glanced at Pion and he looked just as confused as I felt. Soldat didn't look confused, just really pissed off. 

     "You are treading on very dangerous ground with this accusation. If the Chatrang or the Ashtapada were led to believe that there are still HTS on Latrunculorum, they would destroy what's left of this planet looking for them. I may as well have let your companion fall and jumped in after him." He said the last part with a tone of resignation that made it seem an almost foregone conclusion that his planet and people were doomed. The HTS that sat in my pocket felt like it weighed about 100 pounds just then. 

     "We're not going to tell anyone," I assured him. 

     "The noise stopped," observed Brian. 

     "Let's hope the Chatrang have run out of bombs," said Soldat. It was a full minute before any of us realized he was joking. After all we'd been through, laughter seemed incredibly inappropriate and insane. So, of course, we laughed as if he had just told the funniest joke we'd ever heard. Soldat finally put his hand up to put a stop to our irrational behavior. 

     "Come, let us take advantage of this respite to find something to eat and see if our guests might have some idea why the Chatrang seem unsatisfied by simply shooting them out of the sky." He stared at me as he spoke and the HTS took on a few more pounds.