Chapter 3 #2
And somehow the biggest obstacle between us is language.
The Space Locust tries again. This time he points toward a section of the wall. I follow the gesture and notice an opening covered by a translucent membrane. He points toward me, then toward the opening, and finally back toward me again while waiting for a response.
My stomach tightens as I consider what he's trying to communicate. The meaning isn't completely clear, but the general intent seems obvious enough.
He wants me to go somewhere.
I look at the opening. Then I look back at the alien. Nothing about my current situation gives me a reason to trust him, and following a Space Locust deeper into a living alien ship seems like the sort of decision that appears in official accident investigations.
For several seconds neither of us moves. Then, very slowly, I shake my head.
The memory returns in fragments. Warmth.
Pleasure. A feeling so overwhelming that I'd happily floated in it forever if given the choice.
My face grows hot as I try to make sense of it.
Whatever happened while I was unconscious, my body appears to remember it far better than my mind does.
I think I was pretty loud, too. Because it felt a lot like climaxing.
That thought becomes even more uncomfortable when I look down and realize how little separates me from complete nakedness. The sheet is thin and basically transparent. It’s not much different from wearing clingfilm.
The pieces of my advanced flight suit lie scattered around the chamber like the remains of a failed repair project. Seeing them triggers another rush of memories: the minefield, the fire, the alarms, and the certainty that I was about to die.
I pull the see-through sheet higher until it reaches my throat.
The Space Locust notices immediately. His gaze shifts toward the ruined flight suit, then toward the sheet clenched in my fists, and finally back to me. For several seconds he remains perfectly still while I wonder what conclusion he's drawing from the situation.
Apparently he reaches one. The metal-lobster creature suddenly becomes animated. It clicks excitedly, waves both claws, and scurries through one of the membrane-covered openings. The Space Locust watches it go. I watch it go. Neither of us appears entirely certain what it's about to do.
Several moments later the creature returns dragging something behind it.
At first I assume it's a piece of equipment. Then I decide it might be furniture. A few seconds later I'm leaning toward construction material. Whatever it is, the object is rolled up, almost as large as I am and appears to have roughly the same flexibility as a packing crate.
The lobster proudly presents it.
A horrible suspicion begins to form. This is for me.
The Space Locust lifts the cardboard-like material and demonstrates several possible ways it might be worn, bending it into weird shapes that make cracks appear. Every version somehow manages to look less practical than the one before it.
One arrangement resembles a big soup can.
Another could pass for emergency shelter.
A third appears capable of stopping incoming artillery. None of them resemble clothing.
The lobster helps, bending and cracking the material, and then cutting pieces off it with its claws.
The longer I observe the two of them, the more convinced I become that they genuinely believe they have solved an important problem. "You can't be serious."
Neither alien reacts. The lobster offers the object again while clicking encouragingly, and I tighten my grip on the sheet.
"No." This time I reinforce the answer with gestures. I point at the sheet, point at myself, and shake my head firmly. The meaning seems obvious to me, but both aliens continue looking expectant. Of course shaking the head may mean something else to them.
I stay where I am, looking around and hoping to see Lucius. But there's no trace of him. If he survived the crash, he's not here now.
The Space Locust starts walking toward me.
A knot forms in my stomach. The misunderstanding was preferable. Because now the Space Locust is approaching, and this time he doesn't appear to be asking.
“No, it's fine. Stay there.” I retreat farther across the platform, keeping the sheet clutched against my chest. The movement immediately makes me lightheaded.
Whatever happened in the minefield, my body clearly hasn't finished recovering, and the weakness only makes me more aware of how vulnerable I am.
The alien slows as he approaches. Up close, he's even larger than I'd first thought. The colorful plates covering his body shimmer with shifting shades of blue, green, gold, and violet whenever he moves.
That realization doesn't improve my mood. "Stay back," I tell him, tightening my grip on the sheet.
For a moment he pauses. Hope immediately tries to convince me that he understood. Then he takes another step, and the hope disappears just as quickly. Behind him, the lobster waves both claws enthusiastically, apparently delighted by whatever it thinks is happening.
Great.
The Space Locust stops a few feet away and lowers himself. The movement brings him closer to my level. His antennae make small, thoughtful motions while he studies me. His huge alien eyes are deeply unsettling, despite their beauty. It feels like he looks right through me.
My gaze flicks toward the nearest membrane-covered opening.
For a moment I consider making a run for it.
The idea falls apart almost immediately.
I don't know where I am. I don't know where any of these passages lead.
I don't even know whether the atmosphere beyond this room is safe for humans.
The fact that I'm considering sprinting naked through an alien vessel says more about the contents of that Bliss Pack than my judgment.
A strange thought occurs to me while I watch him: He's being extraordinarily careful. Every movement is deliberate. Every gesture seems designed to avoid frightening me. That doesn't make me trust him. It does make me wonder why he's trying so hard.
The moment of hesitation is enough. The Space Locust reaches forward.
I gasp and scramble backward, but the platform ends before I do. One moment I'm sitting upright. The next I'm tipping sideways toward the floor. The alien moves with startling speed. Before I can hit anything, one arm catches me while another slides behind my back.
Suddenly I'm off the table.
"Oh, hell no." The protest emerges much weaker than I'd intended.
The Space Locust lifts me as easily as though I weigh nothing at all. Panic immediately gives way to a different concern as I grab for the sheet before it slips away. Somehow preserving the tiniest shred of dignity still feels important.
The alien appears completely unaware of this crisis. One powerful arm supports my back while another rests beneath my knees. His grip is secure, steady, and infuriatingly gentle. I especially dislike that part.
If he were rough, this would be simpler. If he were obviously cruel, I could fit him neatly into every story I'd ever heard about his species. Instead he's carrying me with the sort of care usually reserved for something fragile.
I struggle anyway. The effort lasts only a few seconds before reality reasserts itself. The Space Locust doesn't tighten his grip or attempt to restrain me further. He simply keeps walking, apparently having anticipated this reaction from the beginning.
The lobster scurries ahead, clicking excitedly as it goes. A membrane covering the opening peels back into the wall like a living curtain, revealing the passage beyond. The Space Locust carries me through it, and I find myself staring into a world that seems impossible.
The corridor glows with soft internal light. Veins pulse beneath translucent surfaces. Strange living structures protrude from the walls and ceiling. Nothing appears manufactured. Nothing resembles any ship humanity has ever built.
For the first time, I am looking into the heart of a Space Locust ship.