The Gabble

the vessel in place. Simoz picked up his kitbag and quickly moved to one of them, but before he reached it, Harbing and another crew member moved in on him.

‘Why are you here?’ Harbing asked.

Simoz studied him. ‘I told you: I have some biotech samples I hope to sell here. There some problem?’

‘There’s problem,’ said the other crew member.

‘I don’t see it,’ said Simoz, moving to go past the two men. As he did so he kept a wary eye on the other crewman. This man was shorter than Harbing, but heavily muscled. A computer link below his right ear was leaking pus and a suppurating hollow above his hip indicated where a scanner link had once been seated.

Late stages of infection.

I know.

The man reached out and caught hold of Simoz by the biceps, his expression alternately puzzled and blank.

‘Problem,’ he said leadenly.

Simoz caught hold of the man’s wrist, pulled him in and thumped him hard under the sternum. The man went down coughing and wheezing.

Harbing stood back gazing at the scene in bewilderment. ‘I don’t … I don’t understand.’

‘You will,’ said Simoz, and quickly headed for the ramp. Two other crewmen were watching him from the bows of the ship. They too were without expression.

We’ll have to move fast. There’s a defensive reaction here. I guess I don’t smell right.

It was predicted.

Once on the queasy surface of the docks Simoz quickly headed for an entry portal, meanwhile passing a female choudapt walking a pet on a lead. This pet was a sea louse a metre long, its ribbed black shell painted with flowers and rococo patterns, its mandibles and saw-toothed mouth grinding and dripping foamy saliva.

Choud.

I see through your eyes.

Simoz felt there to be something quite perverse about these people keeping as pets the creatures whose genome they had spliced into their own bodies. He increased his pace as the choud turned to watch him with its glowing eyepits. He was through the entrance portal and moving quickly into the alleys and precincts when the creature started to fight its leash and show an inclination to come after him.

This could get ever so slightly lethal. Can’t you do anything?

I can try to copy the pheromonal signature.

Do so.

You will not know right away if it is working.

Simoz found himself in a dank alley free of choudapts or chouds. The floor and walls of the alley were dead biofacture and for a moment he felt safe enough to open his kitbag and quickly remove the tools of his trade. At his belt he holstered a thin-gun. Over his shoulder he slung the strap of a laser carbine. In his pockets he placed various smaller implements of destructive potential. Then he stood and kicked his bag to one side.

Chouds. Jesus. Some idiot must have brought in a wild one. What other explanation is there? Probably full of fungal spores. I’d bet it was found in a freed bladder.

People quickly forget. And there are other explanations.

Yes, I know. I’d imagine you find the life-cycle interesting, there being certain similarities with yourself.

I do find it interesting though I would dispute that it is similar to myself. The parasitic fungus here is without sentience; the subminds it develops are of the level of an ant or a bee. It is also worth noting that it is wholly natural and was here long before humans arrived and turned seaweed into living accommodation and spliced themselves with native life-forms.

Do I detect disapproval?

Only of incompetence. The original bioengineers should have detected the choud parasite and its method of transmission. Subsequent generations should have been given immunity to it by taking on a different adapted form.

Should haves and should haves. We’ve a job to do. Will you try not to kill it this time? We need that location.

I will try.

Simoz moved to the mouth of the alley and studied the crowds. On the other side of the flattened pipe of a street he saw the choudapt woman walking her choud. It showed no reaction to him, so his body must now be emitting the pheromone. As he stood there watching the people of the Wrack, and trying to decide who to go for and how, a young choudapt woman walked past him and turned into the mouth of the alley. He nodded to her, but she did not acknowledge his presence. He silently turned and followed her. Halfway into the alley she realized he was behind her and abruptly turned, opening her mouth, perhaps to say something, perhaps to scream. He slammed his hand over it, tripped her and forced her back against the ground. Mike went in.

Parasitic fungus primitive form again. I try to…

Come on Mike — just do it gently.

Fungal form, dead.