Page 12 of Stripped By the Alien

The lobster pauses and tilts its head. The Space Locust does exactly the same thing. Neither appears to understand a single word.

The absurdity of the situation settles over me all at once. I'm sitting naked on a living alien ship after surviving a minefield and a crash that should have killed me. Across from me stands one of the monsters from the alien refugees's worst stories. Beside him is an enthusiastic alien lobster.

And somehow the biggest obstacle between us is language.

The Space Locust tries again. This time he points toward a section of the wall. I follow the gesture and notice an opening covered by a translucent membrane. He points toward me, then toward the opening, and finally back toward me again while waiting for a response.

My stomach tightens as I consider what he's trying to communicate. The meaning isn't completely clear, but the general intent seems obvious enough.

He wants me to go somewhere.

I look at the opening. Then I look back at the alien. Nothing about my current situation gives me a reason to trust him, and following a Space Locust deeper into a living alien ship seems like the sort of decision that appears in official accident investigations.

For several seconds neither of us moves. Then, very slowly, I shake my head.

The memory returns in fragments. Warmth. Pleasure. A feeling so overwhelming that I'd happily floated in it forever if given the choice. My face grows hot as I try to make sense of it. Whatever happened while I was unconscious, my body appears to remember it far better than my mind does. I think I was pretty loud, too. Because it felt a lot like climaxing.

That thought becomes even more uncomfortable when I look down and realize how little separates me from complete nakedness. The sheet is thin and basically transparent. It’s not much different from wearing clingfilm.

The pieces of my advanced flight suit lie scattered around the chamber like the remains of a failed repair project. Seeing them triggers another rush of memories: the minefield, the fire, the alarms, and the certainty that I was about to die.

I pull the see-through sheet higher until it reaches my throat.

The Space Locust notices immediately. His gaze shifts toward the ruined flight suit, then toward the sheet clenched in my fists, and finally back to me. For several seconds he remains perfectly still while I wonder what conclusion he's drawing from the situation.

Apparently he reaches one. The metal-lobster creature suddenly becomes animated. It clicks excitedly, waves both claws, and scurries through one of the membrane-covered openings. The Space Locust watches it go. I watch it go. Neither of us appears entirely certain what it's about to do.

Several moments later the creature returns dragging something behind it.

At first I assume it's a piece of equipment. Then I decide it might be furniture. A few seconds later I'm leaning toward construction material. Whatever it is, the object is rolled up, almost as large as I am and appears to have roughly the same flexibility as a packing crate.

The lobster proudly presents it.

A horrible suspicion begins to form. This is for me.

The Space Locust lifts the cardboard-like material and demonstrates several possible ways it might be worn, bending it into weird shapes that make cracks appear. Every version somehow manages to look less practical than the one before it.

One arrangement resembles a big soup can.

Another could pass for emergency shelter.

A third appears capable of stopping incoming artillery. None of them resemble clothing.

The lobster helps, bending and cracking the material, and then cutting pieces off it with its claws.

The longer I observe the two of them, the more convinced I become that they genuinely believe they have solved an important problem. "You can't be serious."

Neither alien reacts. The lobster offers the object again while clicking encouragingly, and I tighten my grip on the sheet.

"No." This time I reinforce the answer with gestures. I point at the sheet, point at myself, and shake my head firmly. The meaning seems obvious to me, but both aliens continue looking expectant. Of course shaking the head may mean something else to them.

I stay where I am, looking around and hoping to see Lucius. But there's no trace of him. If he survived the crash, he's not here now.

The Space Locust starts walking toward me.

A knot forms in my stomach. The misunderstanding was preferable. Because now the Space Locust is approaching, and this time he doesn't appear to be asking.

“No, it's fine. Stay there.” I retreat farther across the platform, keeping the sheet clutched against my chest. The movement immediately makes me lightheaded. Whatever happened in the minefield, my body clearly hasn't finished recovering, and the weakness only makes me more aware of how vulnerable I am.