Plurapod Pathogen

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Calvin Seuma waded in hip-deep water, trailing his fingertips along the greenish surface. With the tide going out, the waves in sheltered Calys Bay were low and regular. Perfect for boat maintenance. An incoming tide meant constantly struggling for footing on the slick, pebbled seabed.

He knew the ring of tree-covered hills around him was full of other humans as well as Ajarans, but he couldn’t hear or see anyone. That was exactly why Calvin always volunteered for the mid-day maintenance cycle.

Peace and quiet, with everyone else inside and asleep after heavy meals.

Even humans born on other planets tended to run on Earth’s twenty-four hour day cycle, so Ajar 12’s thirty-two hour cycle created benefits and challenges. Calvin was content to chew spicy and sweet oranjar rinds until time for his later evening meal, creating his own schedule for much-needed solitude.

The water was cool this time of year with the warm, rainy season coming on, but not nearly so frigid as only a few weeks before. Calvin had shed the thick, rubberized waders that covered him from his armpits to his feet. No matter how icy the air and water got, he always felt overheated in those.

Today he wore his long brown hair caught back in a neat braid, and only the human version of the Ajaran’s native garb. The close-fitting tan jacket and pants were woven out of local seagrass, tough and light as air even when it was soaking wet.

Ajarans were all too happy to adjust the suits from six limbs down to four, remove the space for their short tails, and make the torso narrow enough for humans. Now they could weave the suits year-round instead of only in preparation for their own summer molting season after the spring rains.

He walked in a slow arc around the harvest fleet, taking his time, noticing as many details as he could before he got to work. The boats never seemed to vary much no matter where he went here on Ajar 12 or in any other local system.

The current group of nine were only about ten of his paces long, empty with the curved bottoms sitting high out of the water. Trees from the hills behind him bent easily and cured into hulls without a whole lot of effort. Most Ajarans and humans alike left the natural deep green-tinted lafar wood untreated. Anything made from it only seemed to get tougher the longer it stayed in Ajar’s salty seas.

Satisfied with his first look, Calvin waded in closer to the first vessel. The only identifying mark was an intricate carved and painted shape high on the front hull. He recognized the red and purple symbols for the Pyones family, one of the first human families to settle in the Ajar system. Dal Pyones never hesitated to bring her boat into the closest anchor point her family status offered.

Calvin took in a deep breath, letting the briney air clear his nose for the work ahead. The massive seas and waterways covering the northern half of the planet were starting to wake up from one of the coldest seasons he or anyone else could remember. That meant new growth on everything from boat hulls to docks to fishing equipment.

Something that smelled wrong was often the first hint of trouble.

A warm breeze kicked up as he ran his hands along the curved bottom of the boat. Too warm for the water he was standing in. Light rain later, and good fishing tomorrow. His fingers brushed a leafy lump caught between strips of lafar wood.

Calvin plucked it out. Paler green than the wood, soft, smelling like the sea with a touch of mint. Common seagrass, nothing to worry about.

The rest of the Pyones boat checked out as usual, well-built and well-maintained. He pulled out his work comm unit, a waterproof cylinder a bit longer than his hand. He tapped out the sequence for that specific boat and the condition, sending it back to Ajar Marine Central.

Most of the native Ajarans and many of the human immigrants didn’t trust or even like technology. Calvin respected that as long as it didn’t keep him from doing his job. He wasn’t about to take twice as long just to adhere to some centuries old traditions, no matter who muttered about it.

He moved on to the next craft, this one painted a jarring bright yellow. He didn’t need to see the marking on the front to recognize one of his own uncle’s fleet. Number five out of at least fifteen, and all of them that same blinding hue. The vibrant green protective tarp—woven so tightly that no rain would get through even during the seasonal storms—was neatly rolled up and secured inside the curved rim.

Uncle Tana claimed the fish got curious and had to investigate anything so bright. Calvin figured with that large a fleet, the man had to be doing something right.

The hull checked out just fine, but his fingers sank into a slimy mass around the underwater propellers at the back. Calvin frowned, hoping the props hadn’t tangled with one of the meters-long jellies—or worse, a plurapod tentacle. Neither of those would be an easy or pleasant cleanup.

Even worse would be figuring out whether his uncle or a grouchy plurapod had been responsible for the collision.

Calvin groaned when he brought a handful of the mass out of the water. Not jelly or plurapod, this resembled nothing more than a pink stained lump of shredded paper. Too soft to be actual old Earth wood-based paper, as if anything so ancient or rare would mysteriously be out in the oceans on a distant planet.

He steeled himself and leaned in for a sniff. He jerked back, nearly dropping the mess back into the water. Thick, overly sweet, but laced with a rotten undertone. And ammonia, like the leavings of the wild felines that hung around the docks waiting for fish guts.

Wherever his uncle had been fishing that morning was not a healthy waterway.

Calvin had never seen or smelled anything quite like this on Ajar 12 or anywhere else. He rubbed the lump between his fingers, frowning at the slick and slimy texture. There were bits of grit inside, too big to be sand.

He reached into the boat for something to hold the smelly gunk in, not wanting to drop it into the bay. A blood red bucket held the whole thing, and the buoyant design let Calvin float it nearby. He leaned over to see how much was left.

Both propellers were jammed full, to the point that he wondered how they’d turned at all coming in to dock. Uncle Tana may have brought it in under sail instead.

Calvin pulled as much as he could loose, but the prop blades still felt lumpy and covered with slime.

Whatever it was didn’t want to let go.

Calvin brushed his fingers clean and dry the best he could against his dive suit, then pulled his comm back out. He had no idea what this stuff was, but he knew who to ask for help. Making this call wouldn’t be nearly as unpleasant as calling to report a lost plurapod limb would have been.

He tapped in the code for a restricted vessel and the fleet ID first, wanting to make sure this boat didn’t go back out for the evening fish with another crew. Calvin wanted this one out of the water as soon as possible for a closer inspection.

He could only roll his eyes when he realized the boat had been piloted not by his uncle, but by Resym, his trusted crewmaster. Somehow Calvin knew that would be worse.

And still, angry as his uncle would be, the last thing he’d want would be to spread whatever this was throughout the seagrass fields between the bay and the deeper sea fishery.

Calvin filed the report, then pulled up his contacts. No one would be better than a plurapod at working this out, and his long-time friend Bel was the best of all the plurapods at species identification. No matter how strange the species.

At least three hours before Bel could make it in from hir own work, around the time this fleet would want to be heading back out. Plenty of time for Calvin to get the affected boat out of the water, finish his inspections, and deal with his uncle.

He sent the message and got back to work.