It took the last traces of Homo sapiens 10,000 desperate years to reach the semi-oxygenated rock orbiting Proxima Centauri. Widely known as a cosy bothy among the stars, it was a place where stellar ramblers in all their multitudes could pause and rest as they meandered the lightyears. They came in so many forms it took the humans a couple of decades to realize they weren’t alone.
Take Gustari centralis. Best known in their mechanical state, a cluster resting at Proxima-b decided to adopt a mycelial form for a change. The humans breathed them in and breathed them out. Almost. Spores latched onto lungs nearly causing the human colony to collapse. Humanity fought back the only way they knew how. Doctor Indira Sharma led the effort, bombarding the unsuspecting Gustari with antibiotics until the Dishan intervened.
“Your weapons are forbidden here,” the Dishan envoy explained, deigning to use movable tongues for the first time in this instance’s living memory.
Indira dropped the tray of pills she was carrying. Nurse Dino Seeton crouched to sweep them up. Better that than stare at the eldritch thing that had suddenly materialized in the sickbay, its ‘head’ more beaks and squawks than anything else.
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The Dishan envoy made some guttural pronouncements and the first of the bedridden patients stirred with hints of regained consciousness. “The Gustari will no longer trouble you. Please forgive them. They’re a younger species. They probably misunderstood.”
“The Gustari?” Indira asked.
“One of the many rambling kind who frequent this stop,” the Dishan explained. “We believe they mistook your bodies for part of the surrounding landscape and went about exploring. An unfortunate error now rectified. I’ve told them to ask permission next time.”
“Much appreciated,” Indira said.
“The fungus was sentient?” Dino asked.
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