To her astonished relief, the xeno fused solid around her fingers and a thin, flat blade shot from her hand and pierced the alien’s carapace. The creature thrashed from side to side, its tentacles knotting and squirming in a helpless frenzy.

Then, of their own accord, a pincushion of black spines sprouted from the end of the blade and impaled every part of the Jelly.

Her momentum carried the alien back against the far wall. There they stuck, the nanoneedles from the suit pinning the Jelly to the hull.

The alien shuddered and ceased thrashing, although the tentacles continued to turn and twist in a lazy rhythm, pennants rippling in the breeze. And the nearscent of death filled the hold.

CHAPTER VII

ICONS & INDICATIONS

1.

Kira waited a moment more before allowing the blade and spines to retract. The Jelly deflated like a balloon, ichor oozing from the countless wounds across its body.

The cloud of smoke was already dispersing, streaming into space. Kira kicked herself away from the Jelly, and the raging wind pushed the corpse into the breach. The alien lodged there on top of the loose wall panel, blocking most of the hole. The scream of wind lessened to a high whistle.

Kira turned to see the refugees staring at her with shock and fear. With some regret, she realized there was no hiding the Soft Blade now. The secret was out, for good or for ill.

Ignoring the refugees, she pulled herself over to where Trig, Falconi, and Hwa-jung were gathered around Sparrow’s limp form.

The machine boss had her forehead pressed against Sparrow’s faceplate, and she was speaking in a low tone, the words an indistinct murmur. Smoke drifted from the back of Sparrow’s armor, and an exposed wire was sparking. A ring of white medifoam had welled out around the strut that impaled her. The foam would have stopped the bleeding, but Kira wasn’t sure if that would be enough to save her.

“Doc, get down here. On the double!” said Falconi.

Kira swallowed, her mouth dry. “What can I do?” Up close, Hwa-jung’s murmurs were no more distinct than before. Globules of tears clung to the machine boss’s red-rimmed eyes, and her cheeks were pale, save for a bright, feverish spot on each side.

“Hold her feet,” said Falconi. “Keep her from moving.” He looked over at the refugees—who were starting to emerge from cover—and shouted, “Get out of here before we run out of air! Get into the other hold. Scram!”

They complied, giving a wide berth to not only Sparrow but Kira.

“Gregorovich, how long until air pressure drops below fifty percent?” Kira asked.

The ship mind answered with sharp efficiency, “At current rates, twelve minutes. If the Jelly is dislodged, no more than forty seconds.”

The sides of Sparrow’s boots were cool against her hands as Kira gripped them. For a moment she wondered how it was possible to feel that when even the cold of space hadn’t fazed her.