Page 92 of Stripped By the Alien

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- Krix’vorr -

Leaving the Nest is often a busy time. The Beast needs reassurance, and so does the crew. They all know I was summoned to the Queen twice, and they're all curious about what that means. When Nora starts looking tired, I send her back to our chamber and make sure food and drink are delivered. There are things I need to do alone.

I make my way to one of the outside observation points, on the Beast's outer hide. I can remain exposed to vacuum for a long while without ill effect, and the absolute silence beyond a living ship has always calmed me. There are no voices here, no ambitious rivals, and no queens.

The Nest shrinks behind us. Ahead stretches the bright river of stars marking the Galactic Center.

I may be traveling toward my death. Everything depends on Nora's machine finding the Gzet homeworld, a place generations of Broods have searched for without success. If Lucius fails, then eventually the Inquisitor will stop pretending patience and begin doing the work he was sent to do.

At any rate, Nora must survive. That thought is what brought me here.

I grip the Beast's thick fur and climb down her side. The hairs are coarse enough to support my mass, and beneath them I can feel the immense warmth of her body. Far below lies a fold of flesh hidden from casual inspection. Years ago I allowed the Beast to grow something there.

A calf.

Her kind reproduces by budding copies of themselves from specialized organs along their bodies. Most owners forbid it because calves consume resources and require care. I never saw the point of such restrictions. The Beast has served me faithfully for many longcycles. Letting her produce one offspring seemed a fair reward. And recently I instructed her to accelerate its growth.

The opening accepts me immediately. The Beast knows where I'm going and parts the tissue ahead of me. Warm air flows through the cavity, carrying familiar scents of fur, blood, and nutrient fluid. The passage widens as I descend until I emerge into a chamber hidden completely within the Beast's outer body.

The calf hangs suspended in a cradle of living tissue.

For a moment I simply stare at it. The resemblance is unmistakable. It has the same broad skull, the same layered fur, the same horns for weapons. Yet everything is reduced in scale. Where the Beast herself is a city of flesh and muscle, the calf is merely the size of Nora's damaged scout craft.

Its eyes are closed, its pulsations slow. It hasn't awakened yet. But it’s close.

I walk around it, inspecting the details. The nutrient organs are functioning. The propulsion chambers and pods are mature enough for interstellar travel. Inside is a compartment that could hold cargo.

Or a human woman.

The thought makes my chest tighten. Nora would likely hate this plan if she knew about it. She'd call it cowardice. She'd insist on facing danger beside me. She'd probably argue until she was red in her little face. She’s a fighter at heart, braver than the most ambitious Harrower. That became clear during our pretend fights in the training chamber.

Then she'd forgive me, I think. Because if things go badly, sending her away is the only way to keep her alive. And she’d see the sense of that.

I place one hand against the calf's side. Beneath the skin I feel the faint pulse of its many systems and the heat of its small furnace.

"You're almost ready," I tell it.

The calf twitches beneath my hand. Perhaps it hears me. Perhaps the Beast hears me through it.

Either way, I remain there for several moments, imagining the route to Earth. The calf is small enough to evade notice. It could carry Nora across the stars while the Inquisitor watches me. If I ever become convinced that our search has failed, I can put her aboard and send her home before anyone understands what I'm doing.

That possibility is worth more to me than all the promises of queens.

Eventually I climb back toward the surface. The Beast closes the passage behind me and hides all evidence of the calf's existence. By the time I emerge onto her outer hide once more, the secret is buried beneath layers of flesh and fur.

The stars greet me again.

So does the Inquisitor.

Brax'tok stands on the Beast's back as though vacuum is a pleasant afternoon stroll. One hand rests on a tuft of fur while he studies the Galactic Center. He doesn't turn when I approach, which tells me he knew I was coming long before I saw him.

"A beautiful view," he signals with his hand. "The Center always makes me feel ambitious."

I stop beside him and look out across the stars. "Yes, it has some allure." The old hand signs come easily to me. It’s important for my kind to communicate in empty space. "But most males become even more ambitious when they hear the Queen is stepping down."

Brax'tok smiles without looking at me. "There it is. I was wondering how long it would take. Shall we go inside, Chief Harrower? I’m not used to being in open space.”