The second ship arrives while we're busy scouting the farmlands. That isn't a problem, because Somner Zek waits at the shuttle while the rest of us patrol in two teams.

Minn, my robotic avatar, is on Don Gelly's team, with Drev and one other soldier, Lumi. Mos Bruen leads the other three soldiers on a different section of the sweep pattern. Designating Bruen as my dronefeather's surveillance target should allow me to monitor their progress as well.

Jim is fast asleep, snoring in his cabin.

I'll have to show him the more interesting parts when he wakes up. I already know that he'll want as many images of the native flora as possible, so I have Minn use every wavelength at its disposal to observe and record.

If Bruen's team comes across any survivors, they're supposed to wait for the other team to get to them. Gelly will make a better spokesperson for the operation than an unfamiliar alien race or an intimidating robotic imitation of one of their own kind.

Drev is the first to locate a farmer, however. The rest of us follow the screamed threats to where a married trio stand aggressively around Gelly's aide. The trio hold rusting projectile weapons, each with three wide barrels, and their aim rests steadily upon Drev.

Behind the farmers huddle their offspring. The youngest cries that it hates squivers, 'with all their yucky eyes.'

"Calm ye down, now," offers Gelly, approaching with his empty hands raised above his head. One of the guns, held by an oversized male, swivels in his direction. "The overgrown snack there's Drev, and he works for me."

The harried looking survivors calm somewhat at hearing his speech.

"You're not with those monsters, then," the smaller male said with relief. "The dragged Billi and her lot away while we was fetching the bells." The farmer lowered his brass-barreled rifle, a slightly embarrassed look upon his dirty face.

"Were no yer fault," Gelly reassures him, then turns to look at the rest of the farmer's family. "But it is no safe here. We've a small craft, down the road. It'll be a tad tight with all 'o ye, but ye'll fit. Drev, take these back and give 'em a lift, eh?"

Daringly, Drev asks, "To the city?"

At Gelly's absent nod of affirmation, Drev begins his assigned task. The farmers cast questioning glances at Gelly and myself, but the children seem eager to play with the 'jump-rope-buddy' that they were so afraid of earlier.

The remaining soldier and I follow Gelly as we search the next farmhouse. Empty, as most are, we leave it behind and continue our search. Four houses later the signal from the dronefeather increases in priority. Bruen has found another group of survivors.

Using the Resurgent's powerful scanning equipment, I locate the source of the signal and inform Gelly what they've found. He slaps Minn on the back, smiling broadly. I also take the time to send a signal from the Resurgent to its shuttle, letting Drev know to wait for a second group.

"Good stuff. I were afraid we'd be too late to save anyone."

We change course and head toward Bruen's location. He waits with his squad outside of a large farmhouse that, unlike the neighbors, has lights on inside. Movement can be glimpsed through the small square windows set low to the ground.

"Lumi, stay with the others. Me and Denn'll talk to these folk," orders Gelly. "Until then, ye lot need to stay hidden."

When he's sure that the soldier understands his commands, Gelly walks toward the house. He keeps his hands visible, though he uses one of them to signal me to follow. I let him get a few steps ahead before I have Minn follow. If the plan is to avoid frightening the locals, it's best that they see Gelly before Minn.

The house, like the others around us, is set into the ground. A ramp leads down to the entrance. Windows that seem low from the outside are mounted high in the interior walls. Gelly walks with seeming unconcern down the entrance ramp and knocks upon the wooden door.

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I have Minn wait at ground level outside. The sunset is starting, and I would very much like to see it for myself. The orb of white light dips until it filters all at once through the crystalline groundcover. White light flares, filling that entire half of the sky. Around it dance rainbows that flicker in an out of visibility.

Right at the peak of the natural display, Gelly shouts and fires his twenty-seven. The boom echoes through the interior of the house, but it doesn't hide the shrieks from within. I wrench Minn toward the front door in time to see Gelly disappear inside.

Another shot rings out and one of the windows shatters. Minn's hands close around the bulky pistol as it charges forward at my command. Minn enters the dwelling and reveals carnage.

The farmers, a young trio, lay dead and half consumed to one side. A group of tribals, or what remains of them, stagger over the gnawed upon remains, blood dripping from their faces and claws.

Minn's pistol isn't as powerful as Gelly's rifle, but at this close range it is no less lethal. My skill with the weapon is lacking, but the thirty-three holds enough ammunition to last the length of the encounter.

I hesitate to call it a fight. Unarmed and blood crazed savages against trained warriors. The outcome is never in doubt, only the specifics. We search each room, and slaughter all the tribals that we find.

We find the last of the tribals, a Thrughn female, in the cellar. An injured farmer, possibly one of the neighbors, keeps it at bay from underneath a fallen shelving unit. The farmer swings a farming tool at the thick body of the tribal, scoring shallow scratches. The curving blade on the end shines with the tribal's blood.

The Thrughn's short arms cannot reach the farmer and her bulk is too great to go in after him. The Thrughn never more than looks at the sacks of supplies pinning the shelf in place. Its attempts to reach the frightened local are nearly mindless, though the Thrughn were once great inventors and explorers.

Gelly wastes no time. "Get down," he shouts before firing. The shot rips the tribal's wrinkly ochre flesh to strings of wet red and white. Gore plasters the wall and splashes the farmer. The creature's stubby legs collapse, dropping what's left of it to the floor. It's blood flows along gaps in the bricks that make up the floor of the cellar.

With mechanical strength, Minn dislodges the fallen shelving. The blood splattered farmer recoils when it sees Minn and swings his tool wildly. I do not allow the automaton to react beyond bracing its legs for impact. The farming tool collides with Minn's left arm. It scratches the finish, but in no way impairs the function of the arm.

"Easy, now," says Gelly in a low and soothing voice as he walks up. "The robot's no goin' to hurt ye. Ye need to come with us, and get to someplace safe."

The farmer hesitates at first. A single glance at the dead Thrughn is enough to make Gelly's point. "Y-you're right. It isn't safe here."

"Denn, I need ye to escort him back to the landing site," orders Gelly. "You'll know if we need to change the plan," he adds, jerking his head at the dronefeather circling above.

The farmer and I head out, leaving Gelly to join with Bruen's group in the search for more people that didn't evacuate in time. The frightened survivor follows me hesitantly, constantly changing the direction in which it watches. He tries to check each possible angle for danger at once and fails miserably. If he were blessed with the nine eyes that Bruen and the soldiers were hatched with, rather than his unimpressive pair, he would have no need to turn his head.

Still, his vigilance is commendable. While we walk, I ask him questions about his profession. I hope to keep his mind occupied with thoughts of happier times.

"Feeder grass is just what the city types call it," responds Lentor, the blood-soaked farmer, to a polite query. "The stuff you're talkin' 'bout's likely blue falfa."

He shrugs, as if that were a forgone conclusion. Without needing to be prompted, he points to the field on our left.

"See that? That's my own strain. Grows bigger, more nutriments," brags Lentor, scratching dried blood from his face. "The grubs don't care if the color's a bit off, blind as they are."

Upon closer inspection I see that the field indeed contains feeder grass. The size and color, more brown than green, makes it look like a different but related crop. He notices the way Minn's lenses focus upon the crop and chuckles.

"The lower gravity helps the plants, but the grubs can't stand it," he admits ruefully. "So the plan was to seed down here, then sell the falfa up to the furballs." At mention of his former future plans, his face falls slack, as does his posture.

"There are a few new buyers in the system," I say quickly, hoping to recover Lentor's jovial spirit. "An exchange rate can be worked out, but I'm sure they'd adore gor grubs." He looks at me, thoughts churning, so I continue hurriedly. "A fresh import like that could be a very profitable commodity. With the right support, you could get exclusive rights to sell your improved falfa."

He nods, already regaining his cheer. "And a new market wouldn't know the difference. Get right used to the brown falfa. Yeah. Even after the contract expires, they'd probably prefer mine, anyway."

"No doubt."

Lentor looks at me, squinting one eye suspiciously. "And who would I need to talk to 'bout this support?"

Before I can answer we're bathed in a wave of hot, ozone-rich air. The shuttle lands tens of ubits away. Dangerously close, perhaps. I turn quickly to check, but Lentor is fine. I turn back to the shuttle in time to see the door open.

First Somner Zek and then Drev emerge from the small vessel. With them are Don Wikna and three more soldiers. A dark green-plumed aviaforme remains inside when the door shuts.

"Wonderful. Let me introduce you."