Space Hostages by Sophia McDougall

carelessly batted it away. The Goldfish went flying just as a lobster person reached down a long, three-jointed arm, scooped me up, and tucked me into its armpit—if a lobster person can be said to have armpits. Soon everyone else had been gathered up and we were being carried away like bundles of dirty laundry.
    â€œHey!” protested the Goldfish, loyally hurrying after us. “Cut it out! Put them down! Mister! . . . . Ma’am! You guys are just big bullies!”
    The lobster people, obviously, ignored it.
    â€œI apologize—I cannot apologize enough formy—for these—for them,” I could hear Mr. Trommler saying. “This is a . . . a misunderstanding, everyone is a little . . . stressed . . . .”
    â€œWho are you, and what do you mean by kidnapping us?” asked Dr. Muldoon with as much icy dignity as possible from someone hanging upside down over a lobster person’s shoulder.
    â€œQrrt squllk tchil-krrp . . . ,” began Spikes. The box translated:
    â€œYou have not been kidnapped . You have infringed and violated the sovereign territory and possessions of the Emperor and Empress of the Krakkiluk Expanse, may their Love be ever passionate and fruitful. You are thieves and pirates. And you are all under arrest.”

7
    â€œW e didn’t,” moaned Noel. “We didn’t do anything like that. We’re on our holidays.”
    â€œI’m sure all this can be settled amicably,” spluttered Mr. Trommler. “Whatever it is you fine people are unhappy about, I assure you, we’re only too eager to address it.”
    We were all heaped beside the Helen ’s open ramp, on the curved black glossy floor of a huge hangar; I was dimly aware of soaring red vaulted arches rising above us, and more clearly aware that the vast doors that had admitted us were now firmly shut. My arms and legs tingled as whatever the Krakkiluks had done to us wore off, but as we had a variety of menacing weapons trained on us, moving seemed like a bad idea.
    The air outside the suits was humid. There was a mist of condensation on the transparent ceramic of my helmet. Th saaa was with us now. They hadn’t been paralyzed the way we humans had been; they were clutching a Paralashath and silently trying to soothe themself with the flow of changing colors, echoed in the ripples on their skin.
    The Krakkiluks didn’t pay any attention to Noel, but they did pull Mr. Trommler out of the general heap and create two slightly smaller heaps—me, Carl, Noel, Josephine, and Th saaa on one side, and Trommler, Dr. Muldoon, and Lena on another. They spent a bit of time muttering and clicking over Christa, who, understandably, responded to being singled out mainly by shaking and gibbering, but eventually the Krakkiluks threw her in with the rest of us kids.
    Meanwhile, their soldiers were still searching the Helen . They seemed surprised that there weren’t more of us.
    â€œStand up!” said the one with spikes. The grown-ups managed to do this, though they looked sick and wobbly. Spikes pointed to Dr. Muldoon and Mr. Trommler. “You two are married?”
    â€œGood god, no,” said Dr. Muldoon.
    â€œWhere is your husband?” inquired Spikes.
    â€œI beg your pardon?” said Dr. Muldoon.
    â€œYou would not venture so far without your spouse,” said Spikes.
    Dr. Muldoon’s mouth opened, but she was too outraged to speak.
    â€œAnswer my beloved Krnk-ni-Plik when she speaks to you!” said Diamonds, brandishing one of their enormous guns at Dr. Muldoon.
    â€œYou would be wise to listen to my adorable Tlag-li-Glig!” agreed Spikes.
    â€œI’m not married,” said Dr. Muldoon through gritted teeth.
    â€œThen where is your wife?” Krnk-ni-Plik inquired of Mr. Trommler. “This one is surely too young for you,” she added, pointing a spiky arm at Lena. Mr. Trommler stuttered and wrung his hands, while Dr. Muldoon’s