Page 11 of Stripped By the Alien

The sheet slips lower around my waist, but I barely notice. My attention is fixed on the creature standing a few paces away while my mind struggles to make sense of what my eyes are telling me.

The stories come back in fragments. Refugees arriving in overcrowded transports. News interviews that ended with aliens distraught. Entire settlements abandoned with almost no warning. Planets ruined. Nobody ever seemed eager to explain exactly what they had seen. They talked about leaving, running, and escaping before it was too late.

One name always surfaced eventually: Space Locusts.

I stare at the alien while old memories rearrange themselves into something far more personal. For years the words belonged to reports, rumors, and distant tragedies. Politicians argued about them. Analysts produced threat assessments. Refugees whispered about them in temporary settlements far from home.

Now one is standing in front of me.

Okay, so it’s not the afterlife. This is endlessly worse.

The creature clicks something with its jaw and takes a cautious step backward. The movement catches my attention because it isn't what I expected. Every story I'd heard painted Space Locusts as unstoppable horrors that stripped worlds bare. Nobody ever mentioned one acting as though it was worried about frightening somebody.

That realization alarms me more, because it makes me wonder what it wants.

My gaze drifts around the room while I force myself to breathe more slowly. The walls pulse faintly, almost as though they are alive. Membranes stretch across distant openings and glow softly from within. Nothing resembles any ship, station, or habitat I've ever visited.

The implications come one piece at a time. I'm alive. I'm aboard a Space Locust ship. And somehow they rescued me from the minefield. Those facts refuse to fit together, no matter how many times I examine them.

I grab the flimsy piece of fabric and pull it up to my chest. Damn, they stripped me bare.

I’m fully aware that if I hadn’t triggered the Bliss Pack, I would be panicking hard right now. But that cocktail of drugs is keeping me calm.

The alien continues watching me. There is no obvious threat in his posture, yet I can't shake the feeling that he's studying me as carefully as I'm studying him. The idea should be terrifying. Instead, a small part of me is simply confused.

Movement catches my eye. Something small scuttles onto the edge of the platform beside the Space Locust. At first I assume it's some kind of robot. Then it rises on its legs and points a claw directly at me.

The tiny creature makes an excited clicking noise with its claws, looking like a metallic lobster, silvery and rounded, except with more legs and a longer body.

Yep, the Bliss Pack is absolutely keeping me calm.

I stare at the alien while trying to decide whether this development improves the situation or makes it significantly worse. The creature stares right back, apparently wrestling with the same question.

Neither of us appears to know what to do next. The silence stretches long enough to become uncomfortable.

The Space Locust finally moves first. He places a hand against his chest and says something with a deep bass voice. Then he repeats the gesture while watching me closely.

At first I assume he's issuing some kind of warning or making a threat that I'm simply too ignorant to recognize. Then he touches his chest again and repeats the same words. The motion is deliberate enough that another possibility slowly occurs to me: A name.

The realization feels almost absurd. Here I am trapped aboard an alien vessel with one of humanity's most feared species, and he's introducing himself.

The alien repeats the gesture once more and waits.

I hesitate while weighing my options. Every survival instinct argues against cooperating with a creature that might one day lead an invasion of Earth. On the other hand, refusing to communicate with someone who seems interested in keeping me alive doesn't strike me as a brilliant strategy.

Carefully, I place a hand against my own chest. "Nora."

The alien immediately straightens. Something changes in his posture.

The lobster taps its way to the edge of the platform and stands there, looking at me with three eyes on stalks.

"Nora," I repeat.

One clawed finger points toward me. Then he points toward himself and produces another sound. It's longer this time, with subtle variations that I know I have no hope of reproducing correctly.

The small lobster-like creature has become visibly excited. It waves both claws in the air, points at the Space Locust, points at me, and then repeats the sequence several times as though witnessing some historic diplomatic achievement.

"Congratulations," I mutter. "We've successfully established that we're both people."