Blighted Star by Tom Parkinson

she had inspired in the child; she found it
flattering and secretly something of an ego boost. Any associated guilt was
lessened by the fact that she liked Amy right back. The kid was incredibly
nice, with a kind side to her nature and a good word for almost everyone,
except Sergeant Raoul, who she disliked for some reason which in the end turned
out to be because he reminded her of an illustration of the troll from “Three
Billy Goats Gruff”. Irrational dislikes aside, Amy was a seriously nice child,
Lana reflected. Five was a charming age, and she thought about her own child,
and how she or he would be at that age. She must make a point of talking to Jim
Chan, she thought; whatever it was that he knew about parenting, she wanted to
know herself.
    If
only Grad were here. It was torture to have such a major secret to keep from
him, and she had ached to tell him when she had talked to him through the clumsy
medium of the probe earlier, but it just wasn’t the moment. Nor would she be
able to talk to him about this through one of the wrist communicators which
they were sending out. It was going to have to be done properly, and that meant
on their own and face to face. Preferably in their own quarters with subdued
lighting and their favourite meal set out before them…
    Before
she went back in to work some more on the canoe, she decided to take a wander
through the nearer elements of the crowd. She kept her ears open, curious to
gauge the mood of the people. She was surprised at how up – beat they were.
There was a little tenseness which had not been present before the crisis, but
considering the loss of their prime industry they all seemed positive about the
future. A common topic was the passing, about an hour before, of the column of
marines hauling the new mining machine which everyone knew Athena had made.
Having such a hands – on leader was something of a revelation, but was
definitely a great morale booster. Reassured herself, Lana headed back to the
hanger as the sun began to set.
    Inside
the skyak was taking shape. She had vatted a few pounds of an organic compound
which was basically a form of cellulose resin. Unfortunately she had not got
the mixture exactly right, and it had a tendency to harden too quickly, so she
had to work quickly, scooping it out and using a roller to spread it evenly
over the surface of the mould. As it cured it changed colour from pale yellow
to orangey red, and because some areas were thicker than others, the colour
effect was different in different parts of the craft, making it mottled like
the skin on of fabulous lizard or exotic fish. When she stood back, remembering
just in time not to scratch her itching scalp with her sticky hand, she had to
acknowledge that the effect might have been unintentional, but it was damn fine! She would make another one, with slightly different pigmentation for
Grad’s approaching birthday, and she would transmit the accidental discovery
about the resin to her brother with the next data burst.
     
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    In
the blackness at the bottom of the lake, a patch of mud began to move. As the
cadaver of Gunnar Olafson sat up, the silt streamed away from its face to
reveal the ravages of the organism. The flesh had almost entirely gone and now
even the bone was beginning to crumble away. With no jawbone, and with the neck
vertebrae exposed through the wasted muscles of the throat, the head hung
backward and a little to one side. As the corpse shuffled slowly out of the
shallows, the strong starlight showed up the destruction wrought on the rest of
the body. The entity had devoured almost all of its host, saving only those
muscles and ligaments needed for movement to the next prey. Gunnar’s clothes
too had suffered in the accelerated rotting process, and now hung in tatters
from a frame that was little more than an ambulatory skeleton. The abdomen was
entirely gone, and the ribcage utterly exposed, dripping with lake water. Feet,
like bony claws,