He pressed the small timer, hunched close to the hull of the ship, and then, with every muscle in his body, uncurled and flung the little cylinder into nothing. It flew out, catching the light from the cargo bay interior and then vanishing. Prax had the nauseating certainty that he’d forgotten a step, and that the lead foil wouldn’t come off the way it was supposed to.
“It’s moving,” Holden said. “It smelled it. It’s going out.”
And there it was, long black fingers folding up from the ship, the dark body pulling itself up to the ship’s exterior like it had been born to the abyss. Its eyes glowed blue. Prax heard nothing but his own panicked breathing. Like an animal in the ancient grasslands of Earth, he had the primal urge to be still and silent, though through the vacuum, the creature wouldn’t have heard him if he’d shrieked.
The creature shifted; the eerie eyes closed, opened again, closed; and then it leapt. The un-twinkling stars were eclipsed by its passage.
“Clear,” Prax said, shocked by the firmness of his voice. “It’s clear of the ship. Close the cargo doors now.”
“Check,” Naomi said. “Closing doors.”
“I’m coming in, Cap’n,” Amos said.
“I’m passing out, Amos,” Holden said, but there was enough laughter in the words that Prax was pretty sure he was joking.
In the darkness, a star blinked out and then came back. Then another. Prax mentally traced the path. Another star eclipsed.
“I’m heating her back up,” Alex said. “Let me know when you’re all secure, right?”
Prax watched, waited. The star stayed solid. Shouldn’t it have gone dark like the others? Had he misjudged? Or was the creature looping around? If it could maneuver in raw vacuum, could it have noticed Alex bringing the reactor back online?
Prax turned back toward the main airlock.
The Rocinante had seemed like nothing—a toothpick floating on an ocean of stars. Now the distance back to the airlock was immense. Prax moved one foot, then the other, trying to run without ever having both feet off the deck. The mag boots wouldn’t let him release them both at the same time, the trailing foot trapped until the lead one signaled it was solid. His back itched, and he fought the urge to look behind. Nothing was there, and if something was, looking wouldn’t help. The cable of his radio link turned from a line into a loop that trailed behind him as he moved. He pulled on it to take up the slack.
The tiny green-and-yellow glow of the open airlock called to him like something from a dream. He heard himself whimpering a little, but the sound was lost in a string of profanity from Holden.
“What’s going on down there?” Naomi snapped.
“Captain’s feeling a little under the weather,” Amos said. “Think he maybe wrenched something.”
“My knee feels like someone gave birth in it,” Holden said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are we clear for burn?” Alex asked.
“We are not,” Naomi said. “Cargo doors are as closed as they’re going to get until we hit the docks, but the forward airlock isn’t sealed.”
“I’m almost in,” Prax said, thinking, Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me in the pit with that thing.
“Right, then,” Alex said. “Let me know when I can get us the hell out of here.”
In the depth of the ship, Amos made a small sound. Prax reached the airlock, pulling himself in with a violence that made the joints of his suit creak. He yanked on his umbilical to pull it the rest of the way in after him. He flung himself against the far wall, slapping at the controls until the cycle started and the outer door slid closed. In the dim light of the airlock proper, Prax spun slowly on all three axes. The outer door remained closed. Nothing ripped it open; no glowing blue eyes appeared to crawl in after him. He bumped gently against the wall as the distant sound of an air pump announced the presence of atmosphere.
“I’m in,” he said. “I’m in the airlock.”
“Is the captain stable?” Naomi asked.
“Was he ever?” Amos replied.
“I’m fine. My knee hurts. Get us out of here.”
“Amos?” Naomi said. “I’m seeing you’re still in the cargo bay. Is there a problem?”
“Might be,” Amos said. “Our guy left something behind.”
“Don’t touch it!” Holden’s voice was harsh as a bark. “We’ll get a torch and burn it down to its component atoms.”
“Don’t think that’d be a good idea,” Amos said. “I’ve seen these before, and they don’t take well to cutting torches.”
Prax levered himself up to standing, adjusting the slides on his boots to keep him lightly attached to the airlock floor. The inner airlock door chimed that it was safe to remove his suit and reenter the ship. He ignored it and activated one of the wall panels. He switched to a view of the cargo bay. Holden was floating near the cargo airlock. Amos was hanging on to a wall-mounted ladder and examining something small and shiny stuck to the bulkhead.
“What is it, Amos?” Naomi asked.