Free Planets Falling by James G. Scotson

people from space with a few care packages?
    Reports from the various satellites and recon flights were discouraging.  Entire cities had been engulfed in flames and were now dark cinders.  The surface of the planet, once brightly lit at night, was pitch – dark as velvet.  Surprisingly few people were visible on the surface.  He did not know whether they had killed each other or had moved underground.  He doubted that survival would be high.  So few people knew how to raise food or fish.  Few animals remained to hunt.  Even clean, fresh water depended on technology, as it was now, or rather was, collected by massive atmospheric condensers.  The strong and selfish probably hoarded any remaining reserves and left their subordinates to starve.  One horrific report from low orbit suggested that cannibalism was occurring in some regions.  The blue gem suspended in the heavens was stained in crimson blood.
    "Adam, what are you planning to do?"  Maggie walked in and sat on the edge of his desk.  She stared at the sky as well.
    He sat silently for a long time.  "We move on.  We continue our research.  We do not allow worlds to become overpopulated and overused.  We fill space with thousands of habitable worlds."

 
    Chapter 13 – Probes Have Feelings Too
     
    Adam’s eyes had long closed and returned to the cosmic dust.  Centuries passed.  And the reach of life stretched through the galactic haze.  Philosophers and scientists realized that the promising planets were seldom exciting.  They didn't shine like jewels in their orbits, begging for a second look.  Not one boasted high gravity or tempestuous storms or magma fountains spouting grandly into the sky.  Gas giants were too boisterous.  The tiny chunks of rock spinning wildly around their white-hot stars were too risky.  Rather, the planets that won the attention and acclaim from those living and pondering (and still searching for profit) in the galaxy were monochromatic lumps of dirt and water, taking no risks as they revolved around their yawning, yellow stars.  The mundane, overlooked things held the most potential in the universe.
    In an unobtrusive patch of space a narrow beam of radiation carried an urgent message across a vast distance.  The creator of this little arc of information was a tiny probe not much larger than a hummingbird - nothing exciting to look at - a drab ping pong ball in space.  But it had a bold announcement to make.  In tiny letters on its side were the words Data Logging Orbital Satellite 7C, circa 7150, Terra Institute .  This mechanical culmination of centuries of science and technology from four intelligent species, was ticking through its standard systems checks as it completed its umpteenth orbit around Planet C9.  It was created to think a little, enough to decide when to adjust its right acension and declination in orbit and to make minor repairs to its primary systems when hit by a stray cosmic ray or a chunk of debris.  With this wisp of intelligence, it faintly recognized the import of its discovery.
    The northern regions of the craggy, foggy ball of dirt and rock rotating beneath its belly were starting to stir.
    The activity in the northern hemisphere would have measured as no more than a minor electrical glitch in the atmosphere of most planets, but for Planet C9, it was extraordinary.  Sparks and flashes jumped playfully where they certainly shouldn't be.  As the faint light show reflected on the probe's ceramic sensors, the satellite's circuits jumped to life and started streaming data homeward, if such a place really existed. 
    Transmissions telling the probe what to do originated from that hallowed place in deep space, so something must be out there, guiding it, caring about it.  If a machine could be described as excited about sending a message - a mechanical prayer perhaps - to its apparent maker, so it was.

 
    Chapter 14 – The Platform
     
    Goodness was Verat Wilcoxin tired. He was on the