Page 54 of Stripped By the Alien

“She has horns?” I ask, incredulous.

“Three of them, Captain. Ah, you haven't seen her properly from the outside. But I have. They're curved and very pointy.”

“I think that explains some of this,” I say weakly, astonished by the primal nature of this space battle.

Krix'vorr releases several primary tendons and rises from the command position. The Beast responds immediately, settling into a calmer rhythm beneath our feet.

"The enemy is crippled," he says. "Its vital organs have been ruptured."

I still don't really understand what happened. Judging by the way Lucius keeps rotating and reviewing his recordings, neither does he. What I do understand is simpler.

Krix'vorr entered this chamber, took control of a living monster the size of a mountain, and ended a battle that had apparently been going on for hours or days. Watching him do it was almost as overwhelming as watching the creatures themselves fight. My mouth is dry and I swear I can smell my own arousal in the alien air.

Without waiting for reports, Krix'vorr begins issuing orders. Crewers bow their heads and hurry away. Membranes open throughout the chamber as crew members disappear into adjoining passages. Everything happens with practiced efficiency.

"Come," he says, glancing back at me. "I want you to see this and tell me what you think." Something in his deep, bassy voice makes warmth spread through me again. The battle is over, but the energy still hums through my body. Watching him command the Beast was almost as overwhelming as the battle itself.

Lucius rises beside me as I follow Krix'vorr into the corridor. "Your heart rate remains elevated."

I glance at the drone. "I was just in a battle."

"Hmm. I sense other biomarkers as well, but I won’t mention them.”

“Don’t.” The truth is more complicated than either explanation. Part of me is still processing the violence. Another part keeps remembering Krix'vorr seated in the center of that chamber, guiding a living warship through combat with absolute confidence.

The corridors become busier as we move deeper into the Beast. Crews hurry past carrying equipment and biological tools whose purpose I can't guess. Nobody gets in Krix'vorr's way. They simply clear a path ahead of him. The effect is impossible to miss. Every creature aboard this ship knows exactly who commands it.

Eventually we reach a chamber that resembles an airlock, if an airlock had been grown rather than built. The membrane ahead of us opens and reveals a fleshy tunnel connecting the two immense creatures. Beyond it, the defeated vessel drifts in space.

The damage is obvious even from here. Torn tissue hangs open in several places. Fluids leak slowly into the darkness. Parts of the creature barely move at all. Several warriors join us before we proceed. Krix'vorr takes the lead.

He walks forward carrying nothing except his ceremonial sword and the certainty that everyone around him will obey.

Inside the enemy vessel, the atmosphere feels wrong. The corridors pulse weakly. Some membranes no longer respond. Others remain frozen open. The entire creature seems to be dying around us. Locust bodies appear in chamber after chamber. All wear different markings than Krix'vorr's crew. Others still clutch organic weapons. Several lie in pairs, as though they chose their own deaths rather than wait for someone else to decide their fate.

"They killed themselves?" I ask.

Krix'vorr studies one of the dead before answering. "Their ship is dead. A captured Harrower has no future. All who can choose their own ending."

His tone remains matter-of-fact. To him this appears to be an ordinary consequence of defeat.

The search eventually leads us to a survivor. The locust is badly injured. One arm is gone and cracks run across large sections of his carapace. He looks up at Krix'vorr and immediately understands who has found him.

The questioning is brief, but the answers are not. Between ragged breaths, the survivor confirms that another wreck was discovered in this region. His brood never reached it first. Slavers found it before either side arrived.

"And survivors?" Krix'vorr asks. The wounded locust manages a bitter laugh.

"If there were any," he says, "the Gzet took them. May the curse of my mighty Queen Crak-difz be always on you, enemy Krix’vorr!"

The words linger in the chamber and I feel my pulse quicken again.

Krix'vorr turns his head toward me. “We shall examine the wreckage. I’m sure you’ve served your Queen well.”

For a split second I think he’s talking to me. Then he draws his sword and in one fast movement whirls around and plunges it into the wounded locust’s chest.

The victim convulses once, then goes limp in death.

“Our Chief is merciful,” one of our own locusts mutters as Krix’vorr pulls his blade out of the enemy’s body and wipes the blood on his skin.