“Fine,” I mutter. I set down my helmet so the light illuminates the area and pull my knife from its sheath. The slick black Primus blade was a personal gift from Altair when he promoted me to sergeant—a weapon confiscated from the enemy, which he knew few of the Primus-wary Interplanetists would dare to use. I’ve never encountered anything like this before, but the knife can cut through just about anything.

The cords are tough. Even with the deadly sharp Primus blade, I have to saw through rather than slice. When it finally snaps, thick black liquid sprays out, splattering my hands and face with warm goo. I stumble back, panic flaring in my chest, frantically wiping at the spot where it touched my bare cheek. But after a few moments, I don’t feel any effect other than a visceral disgust. Taking deep breaths to steady my heartbeat, I shake my head and wipe my gloves on my pants. Whatever the stuff is, it seems harmless. I turn to the next cord, hesitate for a moment, and begin to cut again.

By the time I’m halfway done, the pulse of the power source is weaker and less frequent, and I’m sweating from the effort and the heat it exudes. Black ooze decorates the front of my uniform, and I’m sure it’s smeared across my face as well. It should be pooling on the floor, too, but instead the soft material seems to be absorbing it.

As I hack through the last of the cords, the orb comes free in my hands. Its pulsing ceases, though the pale glow remains. Severed cords dangle limply from the walls and ceiling, dripping black liquid.

A low sound reverberates from the walls around me. It starts like a quiet groan of anguish, but grows and grows—louder and louder until it’s overwhelming, coming from every direction at once. My thoughts drown in the noise; my teeth vibrate in my head. I drop the orb and clap my hands over my ears, nearly falling to my knees. But just when I think I can’t take the sound anymore, it dies away, and everything goes still. The ceiling, the walls, the floor—the steady, coordinated movement of the ship—all still.

Breathing hard, I lower my hands. The ship is quiet, with no signs that removing the power source will have any further effect. Steadying myself, I bend to pick up the orb again. It’s lighter than I expected it to be, soft and sticky to the touch, still warm after being severed. I shrug off my goo-splattered jacket and wrap it around the alien object. I’m not sure how delicate it is, so I’ll have to be careful.