Carter Brand considered it his vocation, an almost holy calling, to combat antisocial mnemes; although his role in the battle was relatively minor, he knew it to be vital. Scientists might identify malign mnemes, others develop counter-mnemes, and still more, pinpoint where and when they would be best used, but it was Carter’s skill in following their instructions that ensured success. He knew a little of the organisation’s history, its first attempts, and the disastrous results of releasing counter-mnemes indiscriminately — heads had rolled over Woodstock.

As a cog he was not always privy to the purpose of his missions, and the mneme he transported was sealed within a hypno-capsule that could only be opened at the instant of deployment, to prevent contamination by chaotic thought he could encounter. Of course, there was a suggestion that the chaos might originate in Carter’s brain, which rankled for someone who prided himself on the rightness of his thinking. Such was Carter’s opinion of this cerebral purity — after all, he gave himself a mnemema each morning — it often occurred to him, that it had an effect on the contact that surpassed that of the capsule’s payload. Putting aside a little of his pride, he did his best to look inconspicuous, now that the target was in sight.

Generally, the counter-mneme’s target presented few clues to his mission’s nature — strangers just as anonymous as Carter — but occasionally its objective was startlingly clear, and even less frequently, had his wholehearted approval. Scanning the crowded shopping precinct, Carter experienced the familiar mental click that identified his target, when his eye fell on what appeared, superficially, to be a particularly tall woman. It — Carter would not use a feminine pronoun — was in its thirties, smartly dressed and well groomed, but there was a tell-tale exaggeration of gait, that betrayed what lay beneath. In his opinion, a thin female veneer - however well applied - did not make someone a woman, no matter what the statute books said.

The organisation was not vindictive, had the travesty simply kept hidden, no action would have been taken, but ‘transgendered’ mnemes could not be allowed to proliferate in public spaces. This individual was bold, and no doubt had many contacts within what it would call its community; Carter’s counter-mneme would pass quickly to other cross-dressers, destroying the delusions they harboured, and cutting the risk to others of future infection. Days like these were when he heard his calling loudest, though it possibly meant destroying the subject’s life; Carter knew that he was protecting many thousands of normal people, from a sad, twisted existence.

Surreptitiously, he began to plot an interception course, which would bring him close enough to deploy the message hypnotically sealed in his mind. Carter did not control its triggering, which was done automatically when the necessary proximity was attained, but he had to ensure that his approach did nothing to alarm the target. Falling in, and out of step with those around him, Carter threaded a mazy route through the crowd, doing nothing to arouse suspicion, yet never taking his eye from the objective. The nearer he came to the travesty, the more its attempts to be female appalled him; surely it would be better to live in painful denial, than to flaunt ones depravity so overtly, and potentially transmit it to innocents.

“Excuse me mate,” a few short steps from the target, Carter was body checked by a man cutting obliquely across his path. Irritated by the obstruction, he quickly revised his course to bring him around again into position, and ignored the interloper’s stream of mumbled words. Carter’s work was far more important than any apology, but the stranger’s voice inexplicably arrested his attention. He turned too late to catch the speaker, who had drifted into the press of shoppers, and stopped dead in his tracks; as so often happens when one has a particular purpose, Carter’s mind had completely tuned out.

What had he been doing? Not that it mattered much anyhow; Carter had spotted a pretty sundress in a shop window, and the darlingest pair of strappy sandals. What sort of name was Carter anyway; Carmen, now that was a proper name...