Kinder des Schicksals 4 (Xeelee 9): Resplendent

Admiral Kard’s own impatient
presence here - he hadn’t wanted to spare any of his line officers to
check out what he called ’earthworm grunting’ - told her all she
needed to know about the Navy’s attitude to her mission.
    Belatedly she remembered to deploy her data desk; she needed to
record the triple worlds’ orbital dynamics. Here in this crowded
cluster, stellar close approaches were frequent, and worlds were
commonly ripped free of the stars that had borne them. Most planets
floated alone, but this world, Home, was unusual in having its two
gravitationally locked companion worlds. The nature of their mutual
orbit was apparently puzzling to the Academicians, and they had asked
her to check it out. Orbital dynamics were hardly her priority, but
nobody else was going to get a chance to study this unique jewel-box
of worlds. She held up her desk, letting it record.
    But already the flitter had begun its brisk closing descent, and
the opportunity was over.
    She flew through a spectacular orbital picket of Snowflakes, the
giant tetrahedral artefacts the Navy employed as surveillance and
communications stations. Then Home opened out into a landscape that
fled beneath her, a land of lakes and forests and farms and scattered
townships, of green growing things illuminated by floodlights mounted
on unlikely stalks.
    It was all so complex, so fascinating, but she had so little time.
This was the reality of Assimilation: the processing of alien worlds
and species on an industrial scale. Out here, you just did what you
could before the starbreaker teams moved in. It was rescue work,
really. The only consolation was that you would never know what you
had missed -
    She was plunged into blackness. Impact foam encased her.
    Xera had no idea what had happened. But she felt a guilty stab of
satisfaction that Kard and his magnificent Navy had screwed up after
all.
     
    To Tomm the flitter had been an all but invisible bubble, sweeping
down through the air, with its three passengers suspended inside. But
then it stopped dead, as if it had run into a wall, and its hull
appeared out of nowhere. Opaqued, the flitter was an ugly, lumpy
thing. It hung for a heartbeat. Then the flitter tipped up until it
pointed at the ground, and fell without ceremony.
    On impact the hull broke up into compartments that dropped into
the dirt. Hatches popped open, and a gooey white liquid ran into the
rust-red ground.
    Two people tumbled out. They were wearing bright orange skin-tight
suits, to which the sticky liquid clung. They staggered a few paces
from the wreck and collapsed to their knees. They were a woman and a
man, Tomm saw.
    The man had silvery fake eyes. He didn’t see Tomm, or if he did he
didn’t care. He immediately got up and stalked back into the wreckage
of the flitter, ripping debris out of the way.
    The woman was younger. Her head was shaved. She got to her feet
more slowly. She looked around, as if she had never seen stars, dirt,
growth lights before. She looked right at Tomm.
    Then, coming to herself, she ran to the flitter’s wrecked forward
section. Tomm made out splashes of blood in there. The woman stepped
back, a look of horror on her face. She glanced around, but there was
nobody in sight, nobody but Tomm.
    She walked back and spoke to him. He waited as she tapped at a
panel on her chest, and a box floated up into the air by her
shoulder. ’Can you understand me?’ the box asked.
    ’Yes,’ he said.
    ’I need help.’
    Together they prised open the ripped hull. There wasn’t much to
see. Opaqued, the hull looked like scuffed metal, and all the pod’s
control surfaces were blank, dead. But there was a man - Tomm guessed
he was the pilot - crumpled up into the nose of the pod, the way
you’d wad a tissue into your pocket.
    The woman bent over the pilot, feeling at his neck. ’He’s still
alive. Fluttery pulse… Lethe, I’m not trained for this. What’s your
name?’
    ’Tomm.’
    ’All right, Tomm. I’m Xera. I need you to pass me a med cloak. In
the compartment behind you.’
    The door was stiff, but Tomm was strong. The cloak was brilliant
orange, so bright it seemed to dazzle. Xera just threw the cloak at
the pilot. It immediately began to work its way around the body, then
it filled up with more white goo.
    When the cloak had set hard Xera took the pilot’s shoulders, Tomm
his legs. The pilot felt lighter than he looked. They got him out
through the ripped hull, and set him on the ground. He lay