I: Shooting Star

To the casual observer with enough hope left to glance skywards, it looked like a shooting star. The difference was it was bigger and it wasn't sizzling up in the atmosphere. Sizzling yes, but it was going to add its mark to the battle-scarred face of the planet. Anyone who knew anything about celestial bodies could tell from its shape and the trail it was leaving that it was going to be one decent sized mark.

A strong ripple in the atmosphere, Lilandra shrieked in pain as shielding was brutally ripped off her belly and left wing. Within her, a lithe body curled up into a ball as it was tossed from one end of the bridge to the other like a cork in a storm. Nightshade landed on her feet but additional tipping resulting from botched correction threw her to the floor.

"This planet is FUCKED!" she yelled at no one in particular. Gathering her paws beneath her, she leaped with all the grace and agility one would expect from a cat back to her position at the interface. Right on cue, another blast hit. She staggered, catching herself on the console, and quickly glanced over her shoulder. Windsong was looking even smaller curled up in one of the passenger capsules, her wings wrapped tightly around her. Her face and her solid silver eyes were impassive as per usual, but her entire posture was screaming terror. "We'll be all right." Nightshade wasn't sure if she was convinced herself.

Clinging to the console saved her from another turbulent journey across the ship. It felt almost as bad as when they'd left Tenaga. Except then they'd had to dodge ship-maiming projectiles. Now they were just fighting the damned planet. "Lan, how you holding up?" she asked, pulling herself back into an upright position.

The ship responded in a series of very deep, very resonant whistles and clicks that echoed faintly throughout the entire bridge.

"I'll bet." Sympathetic pain flicked briefly across Nightshade's feline features. "What's the atmosphere like?"

A sad, lonely trill.

"That great huh." Nightshade grunted, but this time kept her footing as the ship shuddered again. She turned and with an easy bound cleared the short distance between the passenger capsule and the console, landing in a crouch before the child. "Windsong," she said gently, "I'm gonna haveta go out and fix the damage otherwise we're not going to be able to land. I should be fine but if anything happens, Lilandra will take care of you. If I'm not around and you find some friendly life forms, you know what to do. Just don't forget the Vital."

Windsong nodded.

Nightshade smiled encouragingly, and straightened up. She was paused by a small hand clutching her wrist.

"Shade?"

Nightshade looked down at the child. "You will come back right?"

"Of course."

Windsong released her, settling back into the capsule. Nightshade didn't lose any more time. Grabbing the repair kit, she bounded down the ship's spine until she reached the rear service hatch. The blistering heat alone was nearly enough to knock Nightshade senseless. What the hell happened here. It was an idle thought as she clawed her way precariously along Lilandra's back towards the damaged tail section. Holy shit. The damage was a lot worse than Lilandra and let on. This heat, the hard bumps, would not be helping.

She risked a low-level leap onto the base of Lilandra's tail. The screaming winds came very close to ripping her off. One of the rear mounted cannons popped up beside her. "Thanks Lan!" Nightshade's voice was whipped away by the searing blasts. She would be lucky if she kept most of her fur through all this. Clinging with her rear paws, her tail wrapped secturely around the cannon mount, she opened the repair kit and pinned it and its contents to the ship's back. Working with one paw and a good set of teeth, fighting against the angry winds all the way, she set a temporary patch of skin, leaving the corner hearest to her open. An additional limb to hold down the patch so it wouldn't rip off moulded itself out of her side as required. A growth manifested itself from her stomach, the tentacle coiling around the jar of spare nanites and emptying them into the small gap left between patch and ship. The three arms that were pinning the patch pressed it down. A brief rippling along the borders as the existing nanites bustling about the ship's skin checked out the new patch. The borders of the patch melded with the ship's existing skin.

The extra limbs melded smoothly back into Nightshade's body, looking like they'd never been. Repair kit under one arm, she scuttled back towards the hatch.

It had to happen eventually. Nightshade felt it coming but wasn't prepared for the pure violence of it. A particularly strong upward blast struck Lilandra under the right wing. Lilandra was knocked sideways, fighting to stay reasonably straight. Nightshade was pitched into the air, still clinging to clawfuls of Lilandra's skin. The distance between her and Lilandra increased remarkably quickly.

Dammit. More annoyed than anything else, Nightshade did the first thing that came to mind and sprouted a pair of wings.

Big mistake.

She didn't have much time to even draw breath as the hostile air snatched at the newly formed wings, effortlessly flinging her even further away from Lilandra. Nightshade wrenched her body around, trying to regain at least some control. She couldn't even move her wings, it was like the wind was a living entity and was gripping them tightly with invisible hands.

The wind juggled her for a few seconds or a few minutes as Lilandra continued her planet-bound journey, slowly decreasing in size as she drew further away. Before Nightshade had much time to register what was going on, she was being flung headfirst towards the blood red sand of the desert.

*******

In the right place at the right time, the desert was a peaceful, even beautiful place. Any other time, it was certain death. No ifs, buts or maybes, just a matter of when. Mars was rapidly becoming barren. The way things were going, even the desert ecosystem wouldn't survive. Then there'd be nothing left. Leaning on the handlebars of his trusted bike, Stoker surveyed the scene from the very large rock outcrop they were camped on. He could see the unnatural mound the crashed ship made against the gently undulating backdrop of swirling sand. He could also see the furrow it had left, stretching back about two hundred or so metres. The ever-shifting sand had already softened the mark and was beginning to fill it in. There was the deep dint caused by the initial contact, the skidding as momentum forced the craft forward.

Stoker frowned. He had seen crash sites before. What he couldn't see in this one was the unavoidable debris that always littered the wake. Even if it had been covered with sand they should still be able to see unnatural shapes here and there. The ship looked like it was almost completely intact. After a trip like that through Mars' dying atmosphere, into the heat of the desert, and judging by the speed it hit, it was remotely possible, but too highly unlikely. It really should have been perhaps a husk at most, with pieces everywhere. Well lucky for the survivors if there were any.

"Any sign of life?" he inquired.

"None so far, though we haven't been in close yet," one of the scouts replied. "Squids."

Stoker nodded. That was all the explanation anyone needed. The sandsquids were notorious for being in a continual state of hunger and PMS. They tended not to like machinery but if you were unfortunate to annoy one it would attempt to take you down (and most likely succeed) regardless if you were riding a bike or a heavy tank. "Squids should be in bed soon." He nodded towards the red glow on the horizon. At night it was bitterly cold. During the day the heat could suck the moisture from your body. And if you managed to survive all that, the squids got you. It used to be just the Satchka. Now it was almost everywhere.

"Let's go people." Stoker revved his bike. The engine roared loudly, echoing off the rocks to the twin moons, still visible in the purple sky.

*******

Lilandra trilled weakly. Windsong opened her eyes. The ship was dying. A degree in any related field wasn't necessary to work that one out. The child slid out of the passenger capsule. She spent almost all her time in there. Lilandra had warned her via the translator on the interface that the environment outside was less than hospitable. She only had enough energy to keep the bridge at a comfortable climate.

Windsong's head only just cleared the interface.

Life forms was the word on the screen.

"They aren't those big ugly things are they?" Windsong asked worriedly. Some ugly multi-legged things had been hitting them for days, battering at Lilandra with their many legs, fanged beaks cleaving chunks out of her hide. They were wearing her down faster than she could repair herself, and there was precious little she could absorb around here.

The word on screen changed to No.

"I hope they're more friendly."

A loud roaring unlike anything Windsong had ever heard before rent the air. She jumped, glancing around for the source of the sound. It came from outside Lilandra, she could tell that much. It grew and multiplied, increasing in volume. Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

*******

Stoker had seen a lot of ships in his time. He had never seen any ship that looked like this. The ship had settled at a slight angle, leaving one wing buried in the sand and one just visible above the sandline. Said wings were completely the wrong shape to catch the air. It would have been fine in space, if something took it up there out of a planet's gravity field. The tail was reptilian in form, and curled slightly as though partially melted. It didn't look like it could contribute anything to the balance of the craft.

"Least we know why it crashed," he muttered to no one in particular. "Damn thing wouldn't have been able to stay upright inside a gravitational field." His radar was showing no signs of squids. The little darlings were probably all buried somewhere deep in the sand beneath their feet, snoozing off their latest meals. Hopefully they were sleeping quite deeply. Louder, he voiced, "Can anyone see a way into this thing?"

Mild negatives returned.

"Stoke." Shard dropped beside him from the top of the ship. He was the Freedom Fighter's pet geek. The kid knew everything there was to know about machinery. "Have you seen this thing's shell? I've never seen this material before or heard of anything even remotely like it. It's tough as anything we could come up with to coat a ship but it's soft at the same time. I found a few pieces..." he held out three pieces of varying size. One chunk was about the size of Shard's head, but not as thick. The other two were smaller. All three pieces were curved, but not in the way metal curved when it was heated or sheared. Rather they seemed to be drooping in response to gravity. "Haven't figured out what this stuff is yet." Shard rubbed his fingers together, drawing attention to the orange-black oily substance coating them. "Fuel maybe, or some kind of engine oil. Doesn't smell like anything familiar."

"Run some tests."

Shard raced back in the direction of his bike only too happily. Stoker's practised eyes skimmed over the craft. It's shell was odd. From a distance he'd assumed it just had an interesting paint job. At this range the 'paint job' turned out to be natural properties of whatever material the craft was constructed of. "Weird," he mused.

That was when he saw the thin stalk protruding from the surface of the craft. Stoker cocked his head to one side, studying the protrusion. He took a decent sized step to his left. The stalk swivelled to remain pointing at him. He took a half step back to the right. It followed. He took two decent steps to the left, putting a mound of sand between him and the potential weapon.

There was another of those little protrusions looking at him when he again glanced up at the ship.

"Hey," he called, raising a hand in greeting. It was difficult to tell if the protrusion was a weapon or an observation device. "We're friendly." As he said that he glanced quickly at all the scouts in sight. Fortunately none of them had weapons drawn. Missions sent to recruit potential allies had often failed because of one stupid trigger happy kid who set the rest of them off.

A sound that could only be described as a low, organic groan - completely unlike any a craft in such a state might make - seeming to originate from the depths of the craft - sounded close beside Stoker. Reflexively, the long time leader of the Freedom Fighters took a step back. What shocked him most of all was the lack of resistance as a walkway -- leading into the ship -- dropped onto the sand.