The creature found them in engineering.
It had been waiting, perhaps, or maybe it had followed their scent. Either way, it was there when they entered—crouched on top of the fusion reactor, its head cocked as if studying them.
Webb fired first. His plasma bolts scorched the creature's hide, driving it back a step, but it recovered quickly and launched itself at him. He dodged, barely, and the creature's tail sliced through the air where his head had been.
Chen swung the torch.
The flame caught the creature across its flank, burning through whatever passed for its skin. It made a sound for the first time—a high-pitched shriek that seemed to come from everywhere at once—and recoiled, smoke rising from its wound.
"Again!" Webb shouted.
She swung again, driving the creature back toward the reactor. It was afraid of fire—that was clear. Its natural environment was cold and dark, and the torch's flame was agony to it.
But it was also intelligent, and it learned fast.
The creature feinted left, then right, then came in low, its tail sweeping toward Chen's legs. She jumped, but not fast enough—the blade caught her calf, slicing through flesh and muscle. She went down, screaming, the torch clattering across the floor.
Webb grabbed it and kept fighting.
He was no warrior—just a ship's officer with a welding torch and a lot of anger. But anger was enough, for a while. He drove the creature back, burned it again and again, until its hide was a mass of charred wounds and it was shrieking constantly.
Then the torch died.
The fuel gauge had been wrong, or the creature had damaged it, or maybe it was just out of luck. Either way, the flame sputtered and died, leaving Webb holding a useless piece of metal.
The creature stopped shrieking. It looked at him—really looked, with eyes that had finally opened, black and depthless and full of hate.
Then it moved.