Page 19 of Stripped By the Alien

Red means danger. Real danger.

“Well, what else is new,” I sigh. “I think this is a Space Locust,” I continue for Lucius’s benefit.

My rescuer slash captor looks up and growls something.

I turn my attention toward the stars beyond the transparent wall and force my breathing to remain steady while I process what the signal means.

For several moments I simply sit there. Part of me wants to run across the room and grab him. Another part wants answers immediately. Instead I remain exactly where I am, because Lucius isn't stupid. If he's pretending to be wreckage, then he's doing it for a reason.

A soft click draws my attention back toward the space Locust. He has picked up another fragment of my suit. His huge hands turn it over with surprising care while he studies its construction. He doesn't look angry, and he doesn't look impatient. If anything, he looks fascinated, and he rumbles something. The lobster answers.

"Well," I mutter under my breath while keeping my eyes on the stars, "that's encouraging."

The locust glances up from the debris. I immediately produce the sort of smile people use when they're trying very hard not to panic. "Nothing important," I tell him.

For a moment he studies me, and then his attention returns to my equipment. To him, it probably looks as though I'm sitting quietly and behaving myself.

I decide there's no reason to correct that impression.

The alien lobster returns through one of the living membranes carrying something twice as large as itself.

At first I assume it's another piece of alien clothing. Then the object rotates, and I realize I'm looking into a pair of empty eye sockets. A skull.

The thing is covered in thick ridges that curve backward like horns. One side has been split open by a blow powerful enough to shatter bone that thick. Whatever creature it belonged to must have been lethal.

The lobster scurries across the room toward the locust and presents the skull with obvious pride.

His antennae lift and his posture straightens. Some expression passes across his face that I can't fully read, but the meaning is obvious enough: He's happy to see it.

The giant Space Locust rises from his seat, accepts the skull, and says something to the lobster before glancing in my direction. Both of them look at me expectantly.

A sense of dread begins forming. "Oh no," I whisper.

He carries the skull across the room and stops a few feet away. Then he holds it up for inspection.

I stare at the skull. Then I stare at him. "You're showing me your trophies?"

He says something and points toward a massive fracture running through the side of the skull. Then he taps his own chest carapace. When I fail to respond, he repeats the gesture more slowly.

"You killed it?" I ask.

His posture changes immediately. He spreads his arms slightly and raises his head.

I don't know enough about Space Locust body language to be certain, but I know enough to recognize pride. For a moment I simply sit there processing the situation. He's proud of this thing.

The same way somebody might proudly display a championship trophy or photographs from a successful expedition. The problem is that his trophy appears capable of cutting through steel.

"That's great," I tell him. "Really impressive. Horrifying, but impressive."

The lobster begins making excited gestures with both claws while the locust carefully places the skull onto a nearby stand. They exchange several comments, and then he turns toward the wall.

My stomach sinks. There are a lot of trophies on that wall. He selects a weapon next.

The thing is as tall as I am and appears designed for creatures considerably larger than humans. He carries it over and begins another explanation, occasionally pointing toward the weapon and then toward himself.

I begin developing a rough understanding of the presentation.

This one he killed, this one he trapped. This one tried to kill him first. This one was particularly impressive.