Five seconds isn't long. But that five seconds was long enough for me to notice the brightening of the encroaching horizon. Long enough to note that I was gambling my life on a few more or less unfounded assumptions about the Xeelee flower.
It had to be a hundred percent efficient; if it couldn't absorb all that was about to be thrown at it, then it would evaporate like dew. It had to grow exponentially, with the rate of growth area increasing with the area grown already. Otherwise it couldn't grow fast enough to save me as planned.
I also had plenty of time to wonder if the buttlebot had got bored—
There was a flash. I peered around the flitter's flank.
It had worked. The flower had blossomed in the fusion light into an umbrella-sized dish, maybe just big enough for the hard rain that was going to fall.
The flower tumbled slowly away from the now-derelict flitter, as did the buttlebot, sadly waving the melted stump of one pseudopod. I kicked it out of the way, and pushed into space. The heat at my back was knife-sharp.
I reached the flower and curled into a ball behind it. The light flooded closer, beading the edge of my improvised shield. I imagined the nova's lethal energy thudding into the material, condensing into harmless sheets of Xeelee construction material. My suit ought to protect me from the nasty heavy particles which would follow. It was well made, based on Xeelee material, naturally... I began to think I might live through this.
I waited for dawn. The buttlebot tumbled by, head over heels. It squirmed helplessly, highlights dazzling in the nova rise.
At the last moment I reached out and pulled it in with me. It was the stupidest thing I have ever done.
The nova blazed.
The flitter burst into a shower of metal rain. The skin of the planet below wrinkled, like a tomato in steam.
And that buttlebot and I rode our Xeelee flower, like surfers on a wave.
-Vacuum Diagrams, "The Xeelee Flower"