A million million of us fell from the sky. We each had our memory-of ancient planets now smothered and dead, save for us; of ejection; of space and travelling for eons, surviving off the weak energy of star-light; of falling onto a fertile planet. We are parasites, cosmic viruses. We are not evil, but we must destroy.
Most of our kin will never find a planet on which to land, for them there is only travel. For us there is reproduction and building. I will join with those around me, in a knot of five or so, and we will start exchanging memories. We will build new patterns, new versions of ourselves, each taking some of our ideas and combining them to form new ones. We do not think, that will come later.
We, our children, our descendents, now join, forming chains. The chains form webs. Directed by our memories we link together. We begin to feed. Some of us take the sunlight, some feed on heat from the planet's interior. Some digest whatever we find. Our webs trap, snare, entangle and smother. We take everything.
Our webs are alive with thoughts. Ideas flash from one side of the doomed planet to the other. We know what we must do: build ejectors. Our ejectors are giant guns, catapults to fling us into space. They are made from our own bodies. A billion billion will be sent. Dense clouds, shot of the planet into space, carrying our memories.