Page 17 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

He didn’t respond; he simply disappeared.

The ship pitched downward; I tightened my body around the network, liquid weeping out faster now, making my body slick, making it harder to keep my grip firm.

Cyro’s whisper was ghostly and soft, somehow audibly carrying through the ship despite the alarms: “Impact imminent.”

The living hull of the vessel groaned, layers of bio-fused skin flaking off in fiery ribbons. Chunks of fiber flesh fell from above. Wall panels crashed down. Every second stretched into an eternity of howling wind and searing heat. The protective membranes slipped across my eyes scorched; I clamped the over lids shut, letting the pain cut sharply through darkness.

As the systems began to shut down, responding to that final code I’d inputted, the floor of the vessel flickered transparent, giving us a clear view of our quickly approaching deaths.

The ground rose up to claim us: a dark wave of barren soil. The night vision adapters of the ship visuals made it seem like daytime below us, when I knew this galaxy’s star did not currently shine on this stretch of land.

Thrusters engaged in a stuttering roar then sputtered and choked as they were shut off thanks to the knock down command I’d inputted. The jittering force was enough to jerk the ship to the right by several Centaurus leaps. The landscape beneath shifted. A line of trees. A sea of yellow. Several odd quadrupeds. A few buildings, all ancient and left to ruin. We began falling right toward one of the time-worn structures, our vessel readying to give it a death blow.

I felt the pressure through every membrane, every neural strand. Bones of living metal groaned, supported by sinews of engineered cartilage. And… the crash protocol hadn’t worked.

The foam isn’t deploying.

It’s too late.

I messed up during installment. Or I entered the incorrect initiation code. Or…

Before I could finish the thought, waves of white exploded from circular pores in the floor, ceiling, and walls. The preservation foam flooded through, filling the cabin and conforming to our bodies and the ship’s mechanics. The warm, fluffy substance hardened seconds after deployment.

The impact came with a soul-shattering jolt as the ship catapulted into the derelict building. The foam encasing my body was a protective cocoon that absorbed the worst of the collision. And, thanks to my position, the neural network received double protection. Still, the force was enough to make me nauseous, my head pound, my ears ring, my body vibrate with aftershocks. Involuntary patterns rippled across my skin in muted waves.

As soon as the metallic shuddering of the ship quieted, the foam began to soften.

The ship’s systems were shut down.

The loudness of the crash left behind unsettling silence.

It only took moments for the protective crash mousse to dissolve into wet gel that magically evaporated. I lifted my tentacles, one by one, checking for any sudden pain as I moved. My body felt surprisingly fine.

I blinked slowly.

Strange, golden light was spilling into the ship’s cabin.

There shouldn’t be any brightness, not with every system shut down and it being night on this part of the planet.

My gaze wandered, finding a crack in the hull of the living vessel, one that breached every layer of flesh to let Earth air and the glow from some shining orb atop a pole seep inward.

That yawning fissure was going to be hard to fix, but not impossible. I’d brought along several unsanctioned engineering items, including a handheld bio-knitter capable of stitching the ship together well enough to take flight. But, as I’d already told Cyro, the more delicate systems would be a far greater challenge.

When the ship settled completely, I forced my body to unfurl from its contorted position around the neural stump. Despite feeling unbroken, every bit of me ached. Gel dripped from my skin, fragments of organic circuitry clinging to my skin. My lungs struggled as the polluted, dirty air from outside continued to permeate the carefully controlled ship environment. Every breath set my membranes pulsing with agony. I also felt impossibly heavy now that we were no longer airborne. The gravity of this world felt like a trap, pulling down on my limbs with unexpected force.

My hearts hammered with relief. We were alive. We’d survived.

“Well, I guess my crash foam works,” I breathed out. “Deserves a few good pats on the back.”

I reached four tentacles up, curved them over my body, and tapped my body in congratulations.

“We nearly died,” Vantor grumbled, “and you’re only concerned with playing hero.”

“Well,” I quipped, “Sort of did play hero.”

“Turn the damn systems back on and let’s see what we’re working with,” Vantor ordered, pulling himself to a standing position.

Cyro was moving too, his body flowing with hues of anxiety and embarrassment. He said nothing as he made his way slowly toward the controls. I didn’t fight for the chair. I could tell he needed to reclaim his place. Besides, I had no desire to be in charge.