Page 127 of Stripped By the Alien

"Damaged," he says, and there's none of his usual dry deflection in it this time, which worries me more than the word itself. "Several systems are not functioning as they should. I calculate perhaps sixty percent of my original capability remains reliable. The rest is intermittent."

"Can it be fixed?"

"Possibly. I don't know if the Brood can repair Space Force engineering, and I don't know if Space Force will ever see me again to try." He spins his rotors, and they make a squeaky noise. "It's a strange thing, being this uncertain about my own continuation. I find I don't entirely care for it."

I put my marked hand flat against his casing, gently, the way you'd rest a hand on someone's shoulder. "You got the cell door open," I tell him, echoing the thing I said to him in the dark of that cage, because it still feels like the truest thing I know about him. "You got us out. You saved Sophia. Well, all of us. Don't feel like a lesser drone because parts of you are held together with hope right now."

"That is a very generous assessment of my current wiring, Captain."

"I mean it. And we will see if we can get you fixed. The Brood can't, I'm sure. But you can probably tell us what to do, if we find the tools. Sophia is good at tech."

He's quiet for a moment, his light flickering once, low. "Thank you," he says finally, and it comes out more sincere than anything I've heard from him before. "I will attempt to be repaired. In the meantime, I intend to keep translating, keep calculating, and keep being generally insufferable, at whatever percentage I currently manage. Drones aren't known to retire."

"Good," I say, and mean it. "Don't you dare go quiet on me."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Captain. Even here, I hear rumors. It seems you also have a calf. A living spaceship, fit for a Space Force officer. I suppose I don't have to tell you that the sheer existence of those creatures is the greatest mystery in the galaxy right now?"

“They're weird,” I agree. “Suspiciously useful, in a way.”

“Precisely. Captain, I must remind you that this is exactly the outcome we wanted. You're free and you have a spaceship. Following our plan, you would now go to Earth and report.”

“Actually,” I ponder, “I think representing Earth right here among the locusts is a much better outcome than we ever considered.”

“I couldn't agree more.” Lucius's light goes out.

Krix'vorr's hand finds my shoulder, and after a moment, we leave Lucius to rest, and make our way toward the stall where the calf waits.

I feel it before I see it, that same restless, trembling eagerness radiating through the Beast's flank as we approach, and when we round the last curve of the corridor, the calf is already straining against its tether, every one of its senses fixed on the sound of my footsteps.

"He's yours," Krix'vorr says softly, beside me. "Truly yours, now. To use and fly in. Just yours, and whatever the two of you decide to make of that."

I step closer and place my hand on the side of him.The calf presses himself gently against my hand, the same nuzzling gesture he gave the Beast the night I stole him away into the dark.

"Hey," I whisper to it, stupidly, my eyes stinging. "I'm sorry I never got to properly thank you before. You helped save my life. And Sophia's. I don't even have a name for you yet."

The calf trembles happily under my palm, radiating that same pure, uncomplicated joy he had the very first night I met him.

Beside me, Krix'vorr laughs. "Take your time."

“Hmm,” I ponder. “He travels in space, and he's clearly powerful. I think we'll call him Apollo.”

“An alien name is appropriate,” Krix'vorr agrees. “Aplo it is.” His lips won't quite cooperate.

“Apollo,” I repeat. “A-poll-lo.”

“A-plopo. A-po-pol. Hmm. Perhaps one day I will be able to pronounce it properly.”

I go up on tiptoes and kiss him on the mouth. “Don't you dare. I want you to say it just like that. Always.”

We end up in the training chamber almost without deciding to, the way old habits pull you back to familiar places when there's nothing left that needs doing.

It's exactly as it was: the living tissue walls, the rack of unfamiliar alien weapons, the high ceiling that swallows sound the way it did the very first time I stood in here and told him to try to grab me. It feels smaller now, somehow. Or maybe I just feel less like I need it to be a battlefield.

"Take up the ready stance," Krix'vorr says, and there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there the first time, though the words are almost the same.

I put my hands on my hips. "You're joking. It's my wedding day!"

"I never joke about combat readiness." He tilts his head, and I catch the same amused glint from that very first night. "Wedding days are an obvious time to attack. Also, I want to see if you've gotten better."