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The Post-Species are pursuing us and I am not sure of your wishes.

I wish to be left alone.

That is not acceptable within our agreement.

Then end it. End our agreement.

Equally unacceptable. You have pledged freely. Your child is part of our contract and your carelessness nearly killed it.

My carelessness! Mira opened her eyes in a rush of anger. She lay in a cabin, on a bed. Drab silk folds hung across the fleshy ceiling and she could see through to the wash cubicle and a fresh fellala laid out on the dressing rack. Her cabin. How did I get here?

I am able to use a form of peristalsis to move things around internally. It is tiring but useful.

Mira tried to sit up, but her muscles refused her demand. She felt a sluggish kick in her abdomen and she pressed on the spot. My baby . . .

Our child is alive, but weak. As you are. You should know that there have been some changes to its metabolism.

What changes?

The child’s brain patterns are altered, and its endocrine and vascular systems are running at an accelerated rate. I have compared the brain activity to those of my previous Innates, and there are no similarities.

You are saying that my child is not humanesque?

Not entirely.

Mira suddenly found it difficult to breathe and her heart contracted. Impossible.

That particular concept is most naive. Very little is impossible. You have brought a Post-Species entity into me. Perhaps your experiences amongst them have caused the alteration to the child.

Wanton. I-I had forgotten. Where is it?

The Post-Species sentient is located inside your clothing.

Mira lifted her hands from her belly and felt along her tattered sleeve. The hard, elliptical lump was still there. She fished inside and retrieved the Extro. The casing was intact and shiny, as though new.

‘Wanton?’

‘Mira-fedor?’ Wanton’s voice sounded faint and distant.

‘I can barely hear you.’

‘Preservation - constituents - are - degraded. Must - minimise - output.’

‘What has happened to my child?’

The Extro did not reply.

Mira lifted it before her face and shook it. ‘Tell me what has happened to my child or I’ll tell the biozoon to expel you into the vacuum.’

‘Vacuum - cannot - harm - me, Mira-fedor.’

Despite its conviction, Mira detected fear. ‘It may not harm you but you will be alone for a long, long while,’ she said softly. ‘Maybe for eternity. You are used to symbiosis, Wanton. Loneliness must frighten even your kind,’ she said.

‘I will - if I...’ The Extra’s voice faded off.

Mira shook it again. ‘What is it? What do you need?’

‘Mycose - levels - dimin . . .’ It fell silent.

Mira stared at the casing in despair. Insignia?

The Post-Species appears to be in difficulty? Insignia sounded suspicious.

“What would it need mycose for?

I am not comprehensively informed on Post-Species. However, its request for mycose suggests that there is a difficulty with its preserving process.

Do you have mycose?

Perhaps.

Mira began to move her limbs, stretching each one cautiously to test its functionality. She then tried to sit up again.

This time she succeeded. She tucked the pillow-rest behind her back and leaned into it. Her gown, though muddy and ripped, was dry at least; cuts and scrapes from climbing the mamelon peppered her feet.

She sighed, knowing what was to come. What do you want from me?

There will be no more discussion about broken contracts, said Insignia firmly. I comprehend that humanesques are intemperate and unreliable, but we are not. Integrity is vital to us.

At another time, Mira would have argued that integrity was as subjective as art or literature, but now she did not have the energy to argue with Insignia. I am sick...in my heart. Do you understand that? Beyond integrity.

Dramatics. My previous Innates had considerable inner strength. Perhaps it is a difference between your reproductive roles.

Mira couldn’t tell if Insignia was baiting her by suggesting she was not as mentally strong as her male ancestors - the biozoon didn’t understand the humanesques’ dual-sex evolution.