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"Greetings, passenger," the cylinder said. "I am a type seven emergency air rescue module. I detected your unscheduled separation from the transport aircraft and launched. Do you require assistance?"

A massive surge of adrenaline banished Finn's lethargy. "FUCKING YES!"

"Please extend your arms so I can engage my support harness."

"Can't," Finn groaned through gritted teeth. "Arms. Legs. Immobile." He had no idea how the module's very basic-sounding Construct Intelligence manager would respond if he said he'd been deliberately restrained.

"I understand," the CI manager replied. "May I engage the harness around your torso? Warning, there may be discomfort when the parachute deploys if the harness is not in the stable one position."

"Yes! Engage harness."

"In addition, ground impact may result in physical damage if you are not upright upon contact."

The mountains were huge now, their ice-sword pinnacles lethally sharp. Closing at terrifying speed. "Do it!"

The rescue module glided in smoothly and bumped against Finn's back. It kept pressing against him, pushing them sideways through the air as it sought to maintain contact. Finn saw rather than felt the four black straps of the harness curve around him. They locked together just as he fell level with the top of a mountain.

"Harness engagement confirmed."

"Chute," Finn yelled desperately. "Deploy chute!"

The mountain's bulk was rearing up to swat him, the snow of the crest giving way to a pine forest that covered the lower slope, spreading out to fill the steep valley. "NOW!" The dark mass of the forest resolved into individual trees, their peaks lengthening into lances, eager to impale him.

Finn screamed again. The chute streamed out of the module with a loud, leathery rustling sound, as if a flock of bats were racing for freedom. For an instant he was poised between the nebula and the trees, then the chute billowed outward and his body was wrenched up. He felt and heard ribs crack below the awkwardly placed harness straps.

He yelped in pain as he hit a small upper branch, which knocked the wind out of him. "No!" He ricocheted into another branch, which kicked him off. A tiny fall onto a bigger branch below. Ice-hardened pine needles jabbed savagely into what must have been every square centimeter of skin he possessed. The chute lines tugged hard, and he was abruptly inverted. A wide branch was directly underneath, about to strike his head. Then the chute lines jerked again, sending him bobbing about as they slam-braked his chaotic descent. Snow burst out of the branches it had settled on, cascading around him. Then nothing was moving apart from the gentle swaying motion of his own body.

* * *

THE ALUMATA FIRED its maneuvering thrusters in small bursts, nudging them closer to the other starship. In his mind, Makaio-Yalbo reviewed the library of riders he'd assembled over his long life—those passive constellations of thoughts and behavioral traits that would adapt him to meet whatever challenge he was facing, becoming exactly who he needed to be.

The one he sought wasn't used often. Thankfully. Even sensing it stir at his examination caused him to shiver; there were unwelcome associations inherent with its application. Like a slumbering creature greeting the dawn, it rose up to dominate his primary consciousness, bringing a host of concomitant memories—the previous times he'd talked to archons of other dominions, the deals and maneuvers he'd made on behalf of the Crown Dominion, and more importantly his own queen, to advance the Great Game in their favor. This rider—this foreign aspect of him—had conducted several of those negotiations with the icy assurance of a person who could—and would—unleash destruction at a planetary level if a single concept were to be misspoken. A personality from which emotion was banished, replaced with logic and determination alone. It was the only way he could carry the fearsome responsibility.

Just a few years ago his very flesh would have responded appropriately to the emergence of the disdainful persona, subcutaneous protocells shifting his features to project the superiority of his elevated mentality. But now, almost his entire face was hidden beneath bloodstone. And as for posture, the encrustations caging his limbs made every move stiff and measured.  Not for the first time, his plaintive wish was that the wretched fad would finally be discarded.

The Alumata's network showed him the two starships were now close enough to extend their docking tunnels toward each other. He rose from the couch, a single finger beckoning Faraji. The boy got to his feet, his humor darkening as they made their way to the lift that took them up to the starship's central section.