Many of the lighter sleds that had been on the ground at Landing needed new canopies. Sweeping out the detritus of putrid Thread shells was undertaken with masks and heavy work gloves.

There was a new and respectful title for the winged friends: fire-dragons. Even those who had previously scorned the creatures carried tidbits for them in their pockets. Landing was dotted with fat-bellied dragonets sleeping in the sun.

By lunchtime, a meal was served from the old communal kitchens, and rumor was rife. By midafternoon, Ted Tubberman and a fellow malcontent, their faces streaked and drawn by grief, led bereaved relatives to the door of the containment unit.

Paul and Emily came out with Phas Radamanth and Mar Dook.

“Well? Have you discovered what that thing is?” Ted demanded.

“It is a complex but understandable network of filaments, analogous to a Terran mycorrhiza,” Mar Dook began, resenting Tubberman’s manner but respecting his grief.

“That explains very little, Mar,” Ted replied, belligerently sticking out his chin. “In all my years as a botanist, I never saw a plant symbiont dangerous to humans. What do we get next? A death moss?”

Emily reached out to touch Tubberman’s arm in sympathy, but he jerked away.

“We have little to go on,” Phas said in a sharp tone. He was tired, and working all night near the monstrosity had been a terrible strain. “Nothing like this has ever been recorded on any of the planets humans have explored. The nearest that has been even imagined were some of the fictional inventions during the Age of Religions. We’re still refining our understanding of it.”

“It’s still alive? You’re keeping it alive!” Ted was livid with irrational outrage. Beside him, his companions nodded agreement as fresh tears streamed down their faces. Murmuring angrily among themselves, the delegation crowded closer to the entrance, every one of them seeking an outlet for frustration and impotent grief.

“Of course, we have to study it, man,” Mar Dook said, keeping his voice steady. “And find out exactly what it is. To do that, it must be fed to … continue. We’ve got to ascertain if this is only the beginning of its life cycle.”

“Only the beginning!” Tubberman cried. Paul and Phas leapt forward to restrain the grief-mad botanist. Lucy had been his apprentice as well as his daughter, and the two had shared a deep and affectionate bond. “By all that’s holy, I’ll end it now!”

“Ted, be rational. You’re a scientist!”