Back on that world, the rain continued to fall, driven by new winds, controlled and remarked by no life at all.
24
EDUCATION AND ENDINGS
“‘YES?’ THAT’S all you have to say?” Mac kept her hand on Brymn.
Emily leaned forward. “No. That’s not all.” Her eyes flashed with fury. “We had a chance to end it for good. You gave us that chance, Mac. You and my Tracer, with some modifications. The Dhryn had learned to shield themselves from the Myrokynay’s scanners, to keep out their scouts. We couldn’t sample the population anymore. All we could do was wait for the signs—”
Mac cut in, her own voice hoarse with passion. “Signs? Of what? Did traveling with them scramble what’s between your ears, Emily? Or have you somehow failed to notice it’s your damn Ro killing people—not the Dhryn!”
“Some casualties—”
“You helped them sink Pod Six. It was midday, Emily. You know how many students were in it. You know who they were.” They both rose to their feet, but Mac didn’t let Emily speak. She flung her hand toward Brymn. “I lived with them, Em. Thanks to you and your ‘friends,’ I know the Dhryn better than most of my own relatives. They’re alien, I’ll grant you, but they’re a lot closer to us than your murderers.”
“Don’t you think I wanted them to be wrong?” Just as hot; just as sure. “Don’t you think I went over the data—searched for another answer—did everything I could not to believe them? Gods, Mac, you should trust me by now!”
Dry-eyed and utterly still, Mac let the words drop between them, listening to the sigh of air over the ruins and the slither of dust that followed.
Emily spat out a string of Quechua epithets and went to the bags, digging through them with a violence that promised to leave little intact. She pulled out a too-familiar waist pouch. “Here.” The pouch landed at Mac’s feet, stirring a knee-high cloud. “My personal logs are in there, too. The real ones.”
Mac bent down and picked up the pouch. She opened it and looked inside. Both links and the envelope. “So you aren’t a thief,” she said coldly. “Yet.” The words were to give her time to think. The imp from Nik—had it sent its record? Could it tell them where to find her? Could a Human ship reach this system at all?
“I know what’s in there, Mac. I know you respected my privacy enough to keep what you thought were my logs in your own imp, away from our Nikolai and his cronies.”
The logs? “. . . sensory overload on top of the sub-teach.” Had she dreamed hearing that? Mac worked her mouth around the words without speaking them, finding the movement of her lips and tongue suddenly unfamiliar. “What language—?” she fumbled.
Emily’s expression was grim. “Some of the Myrokynay defense systems are cued to the sound of Dhryn. You were muttering it. For all our sakes, I retaught you English and Instella. I don’t know what Dhryn you’ll recall, but I advise you not to use it.”
“No ‘is this okay with you, Mac?’ Or ‘do you mind if I meddle with your brain again, Mac?’ ” Mac growled. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Hey, I left your imps alone—with the exception of adding my logs to both.”
“Both?” Mac tried to look puzzled.
Emily’s laugh was forced. “Don’t bother. We knew all along, between the tech we have and knowing the Ministry’s standard operating procedure. Which included that beacon they stuck in you. Boosted the gain for our needs nicely. Don’t worry,” she said, misinterpreting Mac’s look of dismay. “I’ve sent your location. We want you found.”
“So you can kill Nik when he comes for us?” Mac accused. “That is your next move, isn’t it? To kill anyone and everyone who knows about the Ro and their tech?”
“Mackenzie Connor!”
“What?” Mac countered icily. “Can you be shocked at any level? Is that still possible, Dr. Mamani?”
Emily ducked her head then looked up, the ghost of the old smile on her lips. “Well, the hair was a surprise. What did you use? A filleting knife? And those clothes . . .”
They were enemies. How could they still feel like friends?
“Damn you, Em,” Mac said, feeling the rage draining from her, leaving something harder to name behind.
“That’s what my dear mama always said.”
“Wise woman.”
“Stubborn, too.”
“And you aren’t?”
“I’ve known worse. A certain salmon researcher comes to mind.”
“Salmon.” Mac squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “I don’t begin to understand how we got here,” she waved one hand at the desolation, “from Field Station Six. I don’t want to know, to be honest. But wanting—it’s not something you and I can put first, is it?”
Emily shook her head, once, her dark eyes suspiciously bright.
“Where do we go from here, Em?” Mac asked wearily.
“You? You go over that hill.” Emily’s long fingers traced the low rise before the next cluster of ruins. “You’ll find some people there, including Humans. They’ll take care of you until the cavalry charges into orbit. Archaeologists, treasure seekers, ghoul hunters. I doubt they know what this place is. He will.” She nodded at Brymn, still unconscious on the dusty rock. “You do,” with a challenging look.
“The Chasm—and the Dhryn Homeworld.”
“The start of it all, Mac. You’ll find some of the answers here. Don’t take too long. Time isn’t on your side.”
“And you?”
Emily drew herself up, her face assuming an expression Mac hadn’t seen before. Regal, determined, and unutterably grim. “The Interspecies Union picked the wrong enemy, Mac, and won. Now you’ll face the real one and lose—unless I can convince the Myrokynay not to abandon our sector of space.”
“You’re going with them.”
“It’s the only way.”
Mac took a step closer, held out her hands. “It isn’t. If there’s something dangerous about the Dhryn, you can warn us. If there’s something about the Ro—the Myrokynay—we need to know, you can help us communicate with them. You don’t have to leave.”
Emily took Mac’s hands in hers. “It’s not that easy, Mac,” she said, turning their clasped hands so the tear in her left sleeve was uppermost.
Mac gasped. The cast that should have been there was gone. It had only been a disguise.
The skin that should have been there was gone, too—replaced by what looked like a slice of space, dark as pitch and dusted with stars. Mac gripped the fingers within hers as tightly as she could, as if Emily might drift away at any moment. “What is that?” she breathed.
“It’s what it appears to be,” Emily said gently. “The Myrokynay use space and no-space the way we use electronics or sound. This—diversion—of my body is part of what allows me to communicate with them, helps me endure travel on the trans-ships. It—I think the closest description is that it enfolds me as required.”
“Can it be removed?” Mac released Emily’s right hand, so hers could ease open the tear. The slice of space continued up the other woman’s arm, but didn’t encompass it. Tanned, olive-toned skin edged the depths. Life guarded the emptiness.
“Some changes are for the better,” Emily said evasively, using her free hand to ruffle Mac’s new curls.
“Em—” Before Mac could finish, Emily let go and took a step back.
“As I said, time’s not a friend. My ride’s waiting and they’ve been unusually patient while you recovered.”
Mac sent a despairing look at Brymn. “Brymn has saved my life. He’s as dear to me as—as you are. At least tell me why I’m supposed to fear his kind.”
“I—” Emily shook her head. “Mac, I don’t know all the details. I’ve put everything I could beg or steal from the Myrokynay in the imps. I hope you can work it out. I do know one thing. It involves the metamorphosis. That’s why the Myrokynay wanted to check the Dhryn offspring before they became adults. They were watching for a particular change in the species. Something that�
��s happened before.”
“Before—before when?”
“Before this.” It was Emily’s turn to wave at their surroundings. “Before the Myrokynay understood that not every species should be given the ability to leave their systems. Before the Dhryn—” She winced, drawing her left arm to her side. “They’re calling me. Mac, I have to go—now.”
“Be sure you’re back before the next field season, okay?” Mac warned, her voice unsteady. “And don’t be late. We’ve work—work to do.”
“I will. I’ll try.” With each word, Emily backed a step, as if it was important to put space between them. “Look after the old rock for me.”
Mac lifted a hand in acknowledgment, no longer trusting her voice. Dust began to whirl between them. A Ro version of a skim, she assumed. Yet she could see Emily through it, see the tears scoring the dust on her face.
“Mac!” The urgent words sounded oddly distant. “The Ro never took adult Dhryn because of the risk. Injury can trigger the next metamorphosis. Be careful!”
This from the woman leaving in an invisible ship? Mac found herself smiling through her own tears. “You, too!”
The dust grew to a column taller than Mac and she moved away, covering her mouth and nose with one hand.
The dust blew past her in a single, violent gust, then the air grew still again.
Emily was gone.
Mac smeared away dust and tears with the back of her hand. “A camp over the hill—possibly with real food,” she reminded herself in a thick voice. “Human ships on their way—possibly containing someone I—well, someone. Life could be worse.” She glanced at the very still, very large Dhryn decorating the rock. “Okay, so maybe there’s still a problem.”
But it was a Mac-sized problem, as opposed to an end-of-life-as-we-know-it-sized problem. She busied herself at the bags, presuming Emily had left them for her use.
The first contained more strips of the shroud fabric. Toxic-to-Ro waste being dumped on her? Discards from Ro experiments? Trophies? It didn’t matter. The stuff was soft and strong, so Mac stretched out each strip, organizing them by size. None were quite as large as Brymn, but together she had enough for either a shelter or a sled.
The second bag proved more interesting. That was the one where Emily had stashed Mac’s waist pouch. Sure enough, Mac pulled out several long boxes. Two contained stiff brushes of varying sizes, an assortment of drills, sieves, and hand scanners—all well-used. The tools of an archaeologist. Emily’s own, perhaps.
Well, Mac thought, putting them aside, they were probably of more use on this planet than those of a biologist.
The next box contained a tent, sleeping bag, and other outdoor equipment, definitely not new. Mac hoped not to be out here long enough to need them, especially after she opened the last box.
No food or water. No signaling device. The box was full of bright scarves and baskets, dresses and shoes. A folded jewelry case. Emily’s notion of traveling equipped, back when she traveled with Humans.
Mac closed the lid carefully, her hands shaking.
“No clouds. It’s going to be cold at night.” The dryness of the air didn’t promise much in the way of condensation, but Mac knew, in principle, how to make a dew-catcher. Dhryn physiology gave her another source of water, but she’d have to be very thirsty before she’d go that route again.
However, her priority was Brymn himself, so she went to sit beside the big alien. “We’ve three—make that four—choices,” she told him, stroking the handless arm. “I find a way to wake you up and we walk to the camp. I drag you to the camp. I go to the camp and bring back help. Or we both wait here for the ships Emily said will be coming.” Mac sighed. “I agree. There’s only one choice,” she said, as if the unconscious Brymn had expressed an opinion. “Who knows how far the permanent transect is from this planet? They could take days getting here from there. I don’t want to leave you—and I doubt I could roll you onto a sled, let alone pull it. We’ll try the waking up.”
She’d been thinking about this. The composition of the ruins, here at least, appeared mostly ceramic, with some natural rock beneath. Perhaps the original building had been tucked against a cliff. Brymn was lying on what might have been a floor. Or a collapsed roof.
It took Mac a few moments to find the implement she wanted, a rounded, solid piece of stone. She pushed Brymn’s head so one ear was against the floor, then took a few steps away. Lifting the rock over her head, Mac let it fall.
Definitely a vibration beneath her feet, as well as the sound of the rock smacking into the ground. The Dhryn didn’t so much as twitch.
She retrieved the rock, lifted, and dropped it again.
And again.
And again. Had an eyelid moved?
Her arms began shaking as she lifted the stone yet again. “C’mon, Brymn,” Mac urged, keeping her voice as low-pitched as possible. Down went the rock.
His eyes shot open. Mac rubbed her sore arms as she hurried to his side, falling to her knees. “Brymn. Brymn!” She hesitated, belatedly remembering the violence of his last awakening, and prepared to scramble away if it was repeated. “Brymn?”
Fortunately, this time all the Dhryn did was open his eyes and turn his big head in the direction of her voice. “Mac,” he said weakly, his mouth working as though struggling to find words. “What—? Where—?”
“What was Emily. She’d arranged for us to be scooped up from Haven during the Ro attack. Where?” Mac found a smile. “Where you’ve wanted to go since you first believed it existed, Lamisah. Home.”
“I really think we should find that camp before nightfall,” Mac observed, not for the first time. She had to grant Brymn was enthusiastic about his subject. Once he’d fully comprehended where they were, he had to explore everything, consumed by the wonder of Dhryn artifacts older than any he’d seen before. Mac had made the mistake of mentioning Emily’s toolboxes, so now he was waist-deep, in Human reckoning, in a hole whose location Mac suspected was pretty much a matter of chance, humming to himself. She had to admit, multiple arms made for quick digging.
However, the sun was closing in on the far horizon, stretching long fingerlike shadows in the direction they should be heading. Now.
“Brymn. We can come back tomorrow. For all you know, there’s a better site over the hill.”
“I’m almost through to the next level. The floors collapsed on one another, Mac. It’s quite fascinating.”
Mac stood up and brushed futilely at the dust coating her arms and legs. “What’s going to be fascinating is seeing if you can keep up with me.”
Two giant yellow-irised eyes appeared at the top of the hole. “You wouldn’t leave me, Mac?” He’d turned from blue to gray with dust. “I don’t feel safe without you.”
The Dhryn outmassed her two to one, not to mention his extra appendages. He was also a touch superstitious. Mac sighed and assured him again: “There are no such things as Chasm Ghouls, Brymn.”
“How do we know for sure?”
She shook her head. Archaeologists. “Nothing could live here.” Mac had used one of the hand scanners to test the dust and air. No organics. Almost no water.
“Something did,” Brymn pronounced, as if this was proof.
“Yes, something did.” Mac looked into the distance. The shadows teased images of the original buildings from the ruins, their odd angles joining into a growing darkness.
The Dhryn used his upper arms to pull himself from the hole, like a sea lion climbing on shore. “You don’t believe what Emily said, do you?” he asked in a low rumble after standing. “About the Dhryn and the Ro—the Myrokynay? You don’t believe we could harm other species, that we caused this ourselves?” He didn’t bother to indicate the ruins.
“I—I know that we don’t know,” Mac said with frustration. “All we have is finger-pointing, like two kids standing beside a broken skim, each blaming the other. Who to believe? Your Progenitors? The one who spoke to us admitted to hiding your past. The Ro? I’m har
dly sympathetic to a culture that either hides or kills, but that could be Human prejudice. I’m a salmon researcher, Brymn, not a diplomat.” Mac controlled herself. “What matters is that people are dying and this place . . . this place could hold some answers. That’s what Emily said.”
“So I should keep digging,” Brymn offered hopefully.
“So we should walk over that hill and learn what’s already been found.”
“Are all Humans this stubborn?” he asked.
Mac began piling the boxes under the shroud fabric, using stones to hold the material in place. “There’s worse things to be,” she said.
There wasn’t a roadway or tracks to guide them, but Mac had memorized the most distinctively shaped ruins as landmarks. She was hoping those at their destination would have lights up and running. Despite finally budging Brymn from his hole, they’d be lucky not to be walking in full darkness before reaching Emily’s promised camp.
The one thing Mac didn’t doubt was that the camp existed. Emily would have left her rations and water if there had been any doubt she could find those on her own. While Mac was unhappily sure Emily could commit murder if she had to, it wouldn’t be like this, by marooning her friend on a desert planet.
She and Brymn carried only what they wore. As for weapons—or proof of identity? Mac was counting on the envelope in the pouch, now safely under her clothes and around her waist.
The terrain rose in low upward swells, but the footing was better than Mac had expected. The dust had been blown into firm curls and dunes, often exposing the tiles of what might have been courtyards and walkways. Her boots created echoes. They rarely had to walk around the remains of walls, although there were tall piles of debris. Mac was uncomfortably aware that this meant the buildings had been destroyed, not left to time and the elements. She was even more uneasy about the lack of life. It was one thing to read about the Chasm and its stripped worlds—quite another to be the only living things on one.
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