Page 50 of Stripped By the Alien

"There's a battle." I walk closer and offer her the image. "Another wreck has been discovered. Possibly another ship from your world."

For a moment she simply stares. Then everything about her changes. Hope appears first. Then disbelief. Then the cautious excitement of someone who has learned not to trust good news too quickly. I watch the transformation happen. It’s remarkable, and somehow I find myself pleased by it.

A deep vibration rolls through the chamber. The Beast is preparing for battle.

Nora feels it too. Her head lifts and she looks toward the walls. "What's happening?"

"The Beast is going on the hunt." I turn toward the opening membrane.

Somewhere ahead, another vessel from Nora's world may have been found. Somewhere ahead, there may be another creature like her.

And somewhere ahead, an enemy Harrower is about to discover that this battle - and likely his life - is over.

15

- Nora -

Krix’vorr stands by the window and looks out. Even now he has this regal, commanding presence, as if he’s expecting the stars themselves to obey him.

Other locusts arrive with food, crawling in and setting it on a table they brought. Their submissive manner is almost ridiculous, if I didn’t feel some of the same urge myself. Krix’vorr’s presence is overwhelming, both in its terror and in its weird safety. When he’s near, nothing can happen to you. Except whatever he does.

I quickly eat the alien stew, which is just as tasty as before. I open a clear cylinder of fluid and sniff it. “Is this water?”

Krix’vorr glances over. “Anything not water will have some color to it.”

“I could think of many deadly liquids that won’t,” I tell him as I take a sip. “And what may be harmless to you may kill me.” If it’s some kind of poison, it tastes of nothing special.

He observes me. “That may be the case. But I have yet to see water kill anyone unless they were drowning in it.”

Another crewmember crawls in, holding a tray above his head. On the tray is a thick cylinder that at first looks like a cake.

“Dessert?” I ask, but notice that the translation flower doesn’t seem to know the word. “Something sweet for after the main meal,” I explain.

Krix’vorr sends me a puzzled glance and takes the ‘cake’ off the tray. “Sweet?” There’s a screech as he pulls five feet of tape off what is now clearly not a cake, but a huge roll of the stuff. “This isn’t for eating. This is for sealing injuries on the Beast, for protecting that which is vulnerable. It will work perfectly for you, covering the softer parts. Well done, lackey.”

“Oh thank you, Chief Harrower,” the crewmember squeaks and scurries out.

Krix’vorr tosses the roll of tape over to me. It’s maybe three inches wide and reminds me of a stiff electrical tape, except a shimmering green. The pattern is organic and the sides uneven, so I’m sure it’s been grown somewhere. The inner side is sticky.

“You want me to put this on me?” I ask.

Krix’vorr puts his hands on his belt. “I actually prefer you without anything on. But you’re sufficiently distracting for the crew as it is, and I suppose even your species needs to keep some parts shielded.”

“Lucius, can you help?” I pull a foot of tape off the roll and consider how to do this. I guess I could turn it into a tube dress of some kind, and if I use some of the half-burned rags from the wall banner here and there, maybe it will cover me somewhat. At least this material is somewhat softer than the silly cardboard they gave me before.

Lucius takes hold of the roll and flies around me while I hold one arm out from my body and keep the burlap fabric in place with the other. “Have you thought about how you’ll get it off again?”

“It’ll be like a whole body wax,” I reply with a shudder as the tape sticks to me from mid-thigh to my waist, climbing steadily as Lucius rolls it onto me in a climbing spiral. “Don’t make it too tight, please.”

By the time Lucius reaches my ribs, I'm encased in a flexible green tube that looks halfway between a dress and emergency hull repairs.

I place some pieces of burlap over my chest as the drone winds the tape onto me. He stops and hovers. “You want some shoulder straps?”

“No,” I decide, trying to move but feeling like a mummy. “This thing will absolutely stay up on its own.”

“Oh, definitely. It’s literally glued to every inch of your skin. I meant for the look.”

“For the look?!” I splutter. “No! I'm not going to a gala. Just cut it!”