Page 5 of Stripped By the Alien

Nothing happens.

"Damn." I yank again. Nothing.

"At this point it is my sad duty to recommend you activate the Bliss Pack," Lucius says, his voice suddenly calm. "Your service with Space Force was impeccable. I have been authorized to extend the gratitude of the Commanding General and the Chiefs of Staff for your service, and their assurance that your sacrifice was not in vain. Rest easy, pilot."

"Fuck, no. I'm not done." I wrench the controls again. Red X's flash across what's left of my panels. An impersonal voice repeats eject, eject. Nothing responds.

The seat's hot enough to feel through my flight suit. Smoke curls from under the console, filling the cockpit fast. And the helmet visor is showing small splatters of blood on the inside, increasing with every breath I take.

The sound of my breathing mixes with a nasty gurgling that's rising in my chest. Everything hurts, and it gets worse fast. I realize I can't feel my legs, and my field of vision slowly shrinks, pulling the stars away from me.

"Shit." It might actually be time.

My tongue finds the two small buttons inside my helmet. I always wondered who actually used the Bliss Pack to ease their end. Turns out it's me.

A tiny pinprick stings my neck as the cocktail hits my bloodstream, and I relax immediately.

Oh yeah. This is fine, actually.

Through the shattered canopy, I think I see something gliding toward me on translucent wings.

No. Far too large to be a bird. No birds in space. Hallucination.

"Good," Lucius says in a soothing tone I've never heard from him before. "That will make it all easier. It was an honor serving with you, Captain Ellis."

I try to think of something cool to say before I go out.

There's no time before a pleasant, silky darkness settles over me, and the universe disappears.

2

- Krix’vorr -

My boots touch down softly on the alien ship.

I fold my wings in. They’re mostly useless in the airless space, but the instinct is to fold them out when I fly regardless. And I suppose they give me some balance.

Right below me is the transparent part of the alien cockpit. Inside it’s all black with swirling smoke. Yellow flames lick out from the rear of the ship, meaning oxygen.

I should stay away.

But there’s someone in there, and I’m curious about the pilot who flew this rickety ship so far through that minefield.

I ball up one fist and smash it down through the canopy, shattering it. Hot smoke shoots out, and renders the cockpit clear.

“Sris,” I order using hand signs. “Cut that harness.”

“Yes, Chief Harrower,” the servant crab replies with one claw. She climbs down my arm from my shoulder, lands inside the alien ship and quickly snips the harness in four places.

I grab the alien by its shoulders and yank it up. It’s encased in heavy fabric and metals, which strikes me as remarkably exotic and alien. Does it really need all this?

“I recommend against opening that head casing,” Sris signals with two claws. “Some species can’t survive in open space.”

“Certainly this species doesn’t own worlds worth harvesting,” I signal as I stare into the clear portion of the alien’s head casing. “The ship is laughably fragile. But it got far.” The material is dark, but I spot eyes that appear to be closed.

“Yes, Chief Harrower,” Sris says as she climbs back up my arm. “Shall we go back?”

My instinct is to tear the ship apart, piece by piece, looking for anything else I may harvest. But this is not a cargo ship, and it’s too primitive to have any value. Still I rip off a few pieces and stick them inside my belt. “Yes.”