"We're in the cryo-hold," Private First Class Byrne subvocalized in the darkness. He could already feel cold creeping through his armor. Ahead, PFC Roayn's micro-floodlight swooped and flashed as it swept the elliptical hold's walkways.
"Copy. Keep the channel open," said Lance Corporal Griffith from the deck above.
"Wilco. Yes sir." Byrne hurried to meet Roayn, but found his partner returning.
"Nothing," Roayn said, "no cover on the walkways. Help me check the cargo."
Byrne clicked on the floodlight mounted to his own rifle. They advanced down the central walkway, scanning the frozen containers below.
"I heard there was a high-value target hiding on this ship," Roayn said on a private channel, "Another locust faction sold them out."
"Think the intel was bad?" Byrne asked.
"With the ship guarded by an entire elite locust squad?" Roayn said, "Someone's here."
"And the Lance Criminal sent us down to meet them," Byrne said, wondering what kind of "them" could live down in this cold.
"SHIT!" said Roayn, out loud and on every channel.
Byrne whirled around. A large eye stared up at them.
"Byrne, Roayn; status?" asked the Lance Corporal anxiously.
"We found a... thing, sir." Roayn waved his light away and back experimentally. The dilated pupil did not respond. "I think it's dead." "Over," he said.
"A THING? You THINK it's dead? Over."
Byrne trained his own light on the creature. "Uh, toothed jaw. It's pretty big," he said, "Something fucked it up bad, sir."
Roayn moved his light down its length. "Blunt trauma. Jaw's dislocated, broken. Plasma burns too, head, torso. Looks like concentrated fire. Opened up the chest cavity."
"Don't want to meet whatever did that," Byrne said, turning around slowly.
"Didn't happen here," Roayn said, "No mess. It was put here with the cargo. Uh, laid out in state almost. We don't know what it is, sir. Over."
"It's the fucking momma locust," Byrne said privately.
"Uh, could be," Roayn said cautiously.
"Stay put," said the Lance Corporal, "I'm receiving new orders."