any rate. We don’t have a growth vat of our own on Triton.”
“Not considered important enough, huh?”
“We’re a lesser ISS outpost,” Handler admitted. “Not fully equipped. The body you’re in was supplied by the central hub and delivered weeks ago. It’s been sitting in a stasis solution ever since. We’d have to wait several more weeks before we could get hold of a replacement.”
“Then I’ll just have to muddle along with what I’ve got, won’t I?”
“Afraid so.”
19
L LYR WAS MUCH larger than Tangaroa, a manmade archipelago covering some five square kilometres. This far south the air was noticeably warmer and moister, and large grey clouds boiled on the horizon. They had crossed the 23rd parallel and were officially in the tropics.
The skin-prickling which Dev had felt earlier in the day returned with a vengeance. As Handler guided the Reckless Abandon into a berth beside the Admiral Winterbrook at Llyr’s main marina, Dev rubbed his bare forearms, and eventually started scratching. He stopped when he realised that his fingernails were raising red welts.
“Looks like you’re developing a reaction to heat,” Handler said. “Hives. Another sign that your host form’s malfunctioning – your immune system’s going into overdrive.”
“Any suggestions for remedies, Panhandler?”
“I thought I was Manhandler.”
“I’m trying names out for size.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I prefer Manhandler. And my suggestion is, try a dip in the water.”
Needing no further invitation, Dev leapt off the jetboat. The water was lukewarm but cooler than the air, blissfully so. He luxuriated in its tepid embrace, performing slow somersaults and barrel rolls.
A tiny fish popped up in front of his nose. It was as long and thin as a pencil, with a pair of pea-sized eyes perched at the front, quite out of proportion with the rest of it. The eyes made the fish look goofy and comical, and Dev couldn’t help but smile.
The fish goggled at him inquisitively. Dev held up a finger, and the creature scooted backwards with wafts of fan-shaped gossamer fins. Then timidly, inch by inch, it crept forward again.
Dev waggled his finger, and the fish mirrored the action, flexing its body. He wondered if it thought his finger was a prospective mate that could be seduced with a few neat dance moves.
You’re barking up the wrong tree there, my friend , he wanted to tell it.
Abruptly, a dozen identical fish appeared alongside the first as if answering some invisible summons. They all seemed fascinated by his finger, like professors investigating some new scientific phenomenon. They converged on its tip, eyeing it beadily.
Then there was a whole shoal of them, more than Dev could count. They filled his field of vision, a thousand sinuous silver ingots.
The frontmost of them – it may have been the original one, but with so many lookalikes to choose from Dev had lost track – nudged right up to his finger. Its soft lips opened and closed a few times. It looked like a reluctant Romeo, trying to pluck up the nerve to go in for the kiss.
Then a spike darted out from its mouth, pricking the fingertip. Dev snatched his hand back. Almost instantly, his finger went numb as far as the first knuckle joint.
As if taking their cue, other fish from the shoal flashed forwards and jabbed their pointed tongues into him. He felt pinpricks everywhere – arms, chest, legs – and the pain in each instance was followed immediately by a brief tingling sensation, then numbness.
He swept his arms wildly at the fish, who flickered out of his reach then swarmed back in around him. Now he was being stung from behind too, on his back, his calves, the nape of his neck.
He thrashed and flailed, churning the water. The tiny fish had him completely surrounded, walled in, cocooned. Their tongues, half as long as their bodies, snaked out and nipped. He batted the creatures away more violently than ever, smashing them,
“Not considered important enough, huh?”
“We’re a lesser ISS outpost,” Handler admitted. “Not fully equipped. The body you’re in was supplied by the central hub and delivered weeks ago. It’s been sitting in a stasis solution ever since. We’d have to wait several more weeks before we could get hold of a replacement.”
“Then I’ll just have to muddle along with what I’ve got, won’t I?”
“Afraid so.”
19
L LYR WAS MUCH larger than Tangaroa, a manmade archipelago covering some five square kilometres. This far south the air was noticeably warmer and moister, and large grey clouds boiled on the horizon. They had crossed the 23rd parallel and were officially in the tropics.
The skin-prickling which Dev had felt earlier in the day returned with a vengeance. As Handler guided the Reckless Abandon into a berth beside the Admiral Winterbrook at Llyr’s main marina, Dev rubbed his bare forearms, and eventually started scratching. He stopped when he realised that his fingernails were raising red welts.
“Looks like you’re developing a reaction to heat,” Handler said. “Hives. Another sign that your host form’s malfunctioning – your immune system’s going into overdrive.”
“Any suggestions for remedies, Panhandler?”
“I thought I was Manhandler.”
“I’m trying names out for size.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I prefer Manhandler. And my suggestion is, try a dip in the water.”
Needing no further invitation, Dev leapt off the jetboat. The water was lukewarm but cooler than the air, blissfully so. He luxuriated in its tepid embrace, performing slow somersaults and barrel rolls.
A tiny fish popped up in front of his nose. It was as long and thin as a pencil, with a pair of pea-sized eyes perched at the front, quite out of proportion with the rest of it. The eyes made the fish look goofy and comical, and Dev couldn’t help but smile.
The fish goggled at him inquisitively. Dev held up a finger, and the creature scooted backwards with wafts of fan-shaped gossamer fins. Then timidly, inch by inch, it crept forward again.
Dev waggled his finger, and the fish mirrored the action, flexing its body. He wondered if it thought his finger was a prospective mate that could be seduced with a few neat dance moves.
You’re barking up the wrong tree there, my friend , he wanted to tell it.
Abruptly, a dozen identical fish appeared alongside the first as if answering some invisible summons. They all seemed fascinated by his finger, like professors investigating some new scientific phenomenon. They converged on its tip, eyeing it beadily.
Then there was a whole shoal of them, more than Dev could count. They filled his field of vision, a thousand sinuous silver ingots.
The frontmost of them – it may have been the original one, but with so many lookalikes to choose from Dev had lost track – nudged right up to his finger. Its soft lips opened and closed a few times. It looked like a reluctant Romeo, trying to pluck up the nerve to go in for the kiss.
Then a spike darted out from its mouth, pricking the fingertip. Dev snatched his hand back. Almost instantly, his finger went numb as far as the first knuckle joint.
As if taking their cue, other fish from the shoal flashed forwards and jabbed their pointed tongues into him. He felt pinpricks everywhere – arms, chest, legs – and the pain in each instance was followed immediately by a brief tingling sensation, then numbness.
He swept his arms wildly at the fish, who flickered out of his reach then swarmed back in around him. Now he was being stung from behind too, on his back, his calves, the nape of his neck.
He thrashed and flailed, churning the water. The tiny fish had him completely surrounded, walled in, cocooned. Their tongues, half as long as their bodies, snaked out and nipped. He batted the creatures away more violently than ever, smashing them,
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