It was a crablike thing, all legs and shell and no visible eyes. It made Kelat think of cleaning drones. Its body glistened with some gelatin-like substance, giving it a steely sheen. It skittered over the edge of the tank and the Beholden crowded away from it. Kelat took a step forward. It smelled like fresh soil and blood. It scuttled between the equipment racks and the holding tank without pausing. Kelat counted ten double-jointed legs protruding from the ocher shell as it passed him.
“Any change in the artifact’s condition?” Kelat turned one eye to the Bio-tech Holrosh. The crab had reached the communications terminal. It extended its front four legs and touched the casing below the boards.
“No, Contractor,” murmured the Bio-tech. His eyes had gone wide watching the crab cross the chamber.
Kelat felt a burst of hope and fear simultaneously. Has Jahidh won? Has he found the key to this place?
The crab drew its legs away, leaving tiny blobs of gel on the terminal. Kelat mentally shook himself. Until he knew for sure that this was Jahidh’s doing, he had to observe the proprieties. As the crab steadied itself upon its four back legs, Kelat touched his torque. “I require a Witness in Station thirty-seven, immediately,” he said, not taking his eyes off the crab.
“Contractor?” said one of the Engineers.
Kelat glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Another crab emerged from 4B.
“Seal that,” he ordered, not caring who obeyed. Observe the proprieties, go through the motions, he told himself. This has got to be Jahidh. Why didn’t that fool boy get a message to me first?
Maybe because it’s not Jahidh, whispered a treacherous thought in the back of his mind.
The new crab jumped to the floor and scampered for the chamber’s entranceway, which was sealed by an airtight membrane.
“Blood of my ancestors!” cried someone.
The first crab was scraping the casing off the comm terminal. It scrabbled six of its legs against the metallic panels. A shower of silver dust fell to the floor and, in a few seconds, it created a five-centimeter-wide hole that bared the first layer of fiber optics.
“No Witnesses are available,” said a voice through Kelat’s disk. “The settlement is experiencing a security emergency.” So are we, thought Kelat ridiculously. “Orders will be rel …” A Beholden thrust his hands into a pair of sterile gloves and reached for the crab at the comm terminal.
“No!” shouted Kelat, but the Beholden had already lifted the thing up. Its legs flailed helplessly in the air as he carried it toward 4B. The Engineers had a layer of polymer film almost stretched across it.
“Blood!” Bio-tech Holrosh pointed toward the entrance, and Kelat looked almost involuntarily. The second crab had pressed itself against the threshold and hooked its legs into the membrane.
“Suits!” Kelat snatched his helmet off the rack by the wall. A crab scuttled by his feet, heading straight for the comm terminal. Jahidh, you are overreaching yourself …
Someone screamed. Kelat slammed his helmet over his head and closed the seal, just soon enough to see the Beholden who’d picked up the crab engulfed by a blur of blue-grey gel.
“Val!” cried another Beholden, reaching toward him. The gel writhed for a moment and then, slowly, relentlessly, began sinking back into the floor.
Kelat grabbed the Beholden’s hands and forced them down.
“Suits!” he bawled straight at the Beholden’s face. Kelat grabbed a helmet off the rack and shoved it against the Beholden’s chest, backing him away from his lost colleague. He kept picking up helmets and tossing them to whoever was closest, regardless of rank. The membrane over the entrance was supposed to be self-repairing, but the crab had made a hole in it that was already big enough for Kelat to hear the hiss of escaping air.
A lifetime of training was getting the Beholden into their helmets and gloves. A third crab climbed straight through the polymer seal over the 4B tank. The ragged edges of the film fluttered into the tank. The polymer disappeared into the gel like the Beholden had disappeared into the floor.
The first crab was back at the comm terminal, scraping away at the casing again. No dust piled up on the floor.
Kelat locked the seals on his suit and pressed the emergency call button on his wrist terminal. Even if this was Jahidh’s doing, it was still Kelat’s job to get his team out of harm’s way. It was not part of the Imperialists’ plans to take more Vitae lives than necessary. “This is Station thirty-seven, we have an …”
“Station thirty-seven, report your personnel complement and make your way to Shuttle Pad eighteen,” came the response. “Do not, under any circumstances, touch the bio-artifacts.”