Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Her brothers nodded, accepting what was, in truth, her promise.

  Her father looked thoughtful. “Your trip to Myriam. You think the answer’s there.”

  “It’s the only place I have to look,” Mac amended. “A start.”

  Blake’s eyes narrowed. “You’re more afraid of these Ro than the Dhryn. Why?”

  “I’m afraid of them both.” Mac paused, wondering how far to go. “This isn’t about us,” she said finally. “It’s not about life on Earth or any one world. It’s about the transects and all the living things they weave together. The IU. That’s what the Ro threaten, because that’s the only power we have to resist whatever they want. They’ll attack the Sinzi if they must. They’ll try to isolate us.”

  “Destroy the biospace,” Blake said. At Mac’s questioning look, he shook his head. “Something I read. Compared the species within the IU to a planetary biosphere, but on that unimaginable scale. The sum depends on the interaction of the parts. I thought it pretty simplistic at the time. Now?” He blew out his cheeks and glanced at Sing-li before gazing at her. “Geeze, Mac. What happened to studying salmon?”

  “Don’t get me started,” she said unsteadily. The pilot was waving from the lev. They were out of time. “I’ll stay in touch. There’ll be com packets to and from Myriam. But . . . you should know the risk. The Ro don’t need the transects; the Dhryn do. If the Dhryn attack again, there are species who’ll lobby the IU to close their gates. If the Ro see our connection as too much of a threat, they could do it for us. In either case, I—” It didn’t help that her brothers were looking horrified. “If I can’t get home, I don’t want you to worry,” she fumbled. “I’m pretty good at getting along with aliens, these days. You’d be surprised. I’ll be okay.”

  At that, she faltered and stopped, trying to memorize every detail of their dear faces. Her vision seemed to blur and she rubbed her eyes angrily.

  “Solve this, Mackenzie,” her father said. “Solve this and come home.”

  “You should have checked with me.”

  “Why?” Mac asked, looking up at Sing-li from her seat in the skim. “Don’t you like boats?”

  Emily laughed. Mudge squirmed. Tie grumbled something about tides and time under his breath, holding onto the stern rope as the little vessel bobbed up and down with the swells.

  “I like boats. It’s where you plan to go in this one that bothers me.”

  “You don’t know where we’re going,” Mac pointed out.

  Sing-li planted an oversized left boot on the gunnels of the skim. “Exactly.”

  Although tempted to see how long the agent could keep his balance and stay out of the water, given both skim and walkway were in motion, Mac relented and gave the seat next to hers a pat. “Bit of sightseeing. Hop in. This won’t take long.”

  Tie expressed his opinion of their final passenger by letting go the rope and engaging the engine the instant most, but not all, of Sing-li was in the skim. The man was tossed into the seat, almost falling over it into Mudge’s lap. His teeth showed in a wide grin as he righted. “I like boats,” he assured Mac. “Better than Tie’s driving.”

  The skim lifted to its cruising height, spending a few moments bouncing up and down as it echoed the choppy surface below. Emily let out a gleeful hoot. Tie sent the machine slewing about to follow the swells instead of crossing them and the ride smoothed immediately. Emily tried to persuade him to change back to the more exhilarating course, without success.

  Mac envied Emily’s ability to relish the moment. Her own eyes still burned and her chest felt tight and sore. Given the option, she’d have curled up in a fetal position with a large cushion and whimpered herself to sleep.

  She’d completed her farewells without blubbering, thankfully. In part due to Blake, she smiled to herself. He’d whispered a most unbrotherly comment about her missing beau that would have made Emily proud. Anything to break the tension.

  Mac missed them all. At least she’d said good-bye this time, thanks to Anchen.

  She’d found time to change into shorts and shirt—her cottage leftovers, kindly included in her bag by consulate staff. Now, she watched the shore as it flew past. This part of the inlet was an estuarine lowland where the Tannu negotiated for entry into the inlet through a series of braided, changing outlets. The main channel, opposite Base, was a deep turmoil of fresh and salt water, the proportion of each varying with tide and season. The others were quiet, less determined flows, brown and slick between mudflats dotted with sandpipers and other birds already heading south for the winter. Farther in, the channels twisted out of sight behind expanses of reed grass and low trees. Debris from upstream testified that not all days were peaceful sunny ones. Immense logs, bleached soft gray by salt and sun, lay everywhere, as if strewn about by a giant’s hand.

  The first cliff rose up as if the river was of no consequence. The midday light was deceiving, smoothing out crags and jagged edges until the stone appeared dressed like some castle wall, revealing how the inlet had been named. The next cliff met it at angles, soaring higher, topped by trees and eagles.

  Ahead?

  “Aie.”

  The soft, unhappy sound drew Mac forward to her friend, sitting up by Tie. She put her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Bit of a mess,” she acknowledged awkwardly.

  The outstretched arm that defined the inlet from the Pacific curved westward in front of them, the sun striking harsh glints from exposed rock. The summer hadn’t been kind: deep furrows eroded any patches where soil had escaped the tumbling rush into the ocean; any vegetation that had landed roots down and green was now either completely dead or sported bare branches.

  Branches with eagles, fair enough. Those bare limbs lined by gulls who were nothing of the kind caught Mac’s attention, especially when the tiggers, as one, turned their heads to inspect the approaching skim and its occupants. “You make sure we were cleared to approach,” she shouted at Tie.

  He grunted something annoyed. Reassured, Mac leaned against the gunnels near Emily. “There’s the new station,” she said, happy to take her eyes from the ruined slope.

  Pod Two didn’t quite sparkle in the sunlight. For one thing, it was colored, like the other pods now at the Tannu, to resemble the natural stone of the landscape. For another, Mac grinned, someone had been very busy indeed. The lead researcher, Martin Svehla, must have been overjoyed by his capital budget, given he loved nothing more than nailing things together.

  Now, the roughly oval shape of Pod Two bristled in every direction with floating platforms, some enclosing large amounts of water. A myriad collection of levs, skims, and in-the-water barges were tied up on the lee side. There were cranes hanging from the terrace that spiraled up the outside of the pod. And, Mac squinted in disbelief, a slide dropped in a crazed swoop from the rooftop, ending a formidable height above the ocean surface.

  That could hurt.

  “I take it you let Marty play,” Emily commented, making an obvious effort to keep her eyes from slipping west.

  “He seemed the right choice.” Mac, recipient of an impressive flow of data from Svehla and company courtesy of the Ministry, wasn’t worried there’d been more fun—namely construction—than work, but now she shook her head in mock outrage. “I hope he’s planned how to stow all this before winter.”

  While they talked, Tie brought the skim sweeping into Pod Two’s new dock, an elaborate affair with steps as well as ramps. And, Mac noticed with mute admiration, a roof as well as a countertop for sorting gear. She sighed happily. About to climb out first, she paused and turned to Sing-li. “After you.” Only fair to let him do his job.

  The agent was busy whispering into his wrist com, eyes darting back and forth over the docking structure. Mac felt a chill. When Emily stood up beside her, ready to climb out, she lifted her hand to hold the other woman in place. “Something we should know?” she asked Sing-li, mouth dry.

  “Do you see anyone here?” Sing-li demanded, getting to his feet. Like Nik, he
moved differently when alarmed. Like a barracuda, effortlessly keeping its jaws and muscular body aligned with the next doomed fish.

  “Why would there be?” An unconcerned Tie shut off the engine and tied off the skim. “Party tonight. Most’re back at Base getting a head start. ’Spect we’ll find Marty and his crew there.” He pointed to the walkway linking the pod to land.

  The one place Mac hadn’t wanted Emily to go. She should have called ahead, warned Kammie, done something to prevent this.

  But it was too late. Sing-li, with a nod, accepted Tie’s explanation and climbed out. Tie followed suit, Emily going by Mac without a word.

  She heard a gentle harrumph. “I could stop them,” Mudge offered in a low voice, coming to stand beside her. His face was pale and beaded with more than ocean spray. “Make up something about new Trust regulations.”

  “Wouldn’t work.” Mac wasn’t sure if she was touched or shocked he’d lie for Emily’s sake. Both, she decided. She met his worried look and shrugged helplessly. “Maybe it’s better to get it over with now, while I’m here. If Emily can’t handle this . . .” She didn’t need to finish. He knew as well as she did that if Emily Mamani broke, she’d be hospitalized again. This time, without Mac. Worse, she could easily end up in a Human facility, where she’d be safe from pestering by the Frow and their ilk, but more vulnerable to the Ro. “Besides,” sighed Mac, waving at Mudge to go first, “it’s why she invited you.”

  He frowned and didn’t budge. “She told you?” Almost outrage.

  Mac hesitated. Tie had led Emily and Sing-li to the junction of walkway and deck, gesturing to something about its construction. Likely complaining—he approved of change about as much as a Sthlynii. “Not in so many words,” she said carefully. “But it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  She’d never seen him smile like this before, a small, quiet smile that reached his eyes and made them twinkle. “I would have thought so, Norcoast, but you can be remarkably obtuse at times.”

  Obtuse? Interspecies communication suddenly seemed easier. “Oversight—” Mac swallowed, “—why do you think you’re here?”

  “Dr. Mamani’s worried about you. It’s going to be difficult—emotionally difficult—saying good-bye. To her. To your other friends. Base. She thought—” he actually blushed, “—she said you’d need a friendly shoulder on the trip to orbit and I’d be the best choice.” He harrumphed and collected himself. “Not that I expect you’ll do anything of the sort, Norcoast,” this gruffly. “But I could tell my agreeing to come and offer my support eased her mind.”

  Mac tried to imagine weeping on Mudge’s round shoulder and failed. What she could imagine, all too well, was Emily choosing to lie to him.

  To postpone the inevitable.

  “Emily’s mind is a slippery thing,” she said grimly. “Particularly when it comes to moving others in directions that suit her. I appreciate your kindness—really I do—but Emily?” A nod to the ruined slope. “She’s brought you here as punishment, Oversight.”

  Mudge flinched. “Why?” he gasped. “What have I done to her? I—”

  “Not yours,” Mac interrupted gently. “Hers.”

  The blood drained from his face, but he gave a short nod before she could say anything more. “I see. We’d best not delay, Norcoast.” He started moving.

  “Wait.” Mac stopped him with a touch on his lapel. Only Mudge would wear an antique tweed jacket to visit Base in August. “Damn Emily,” she heard herself say. “You don’t need to do this, Oversight. You don’t need to go through it again. Stay here and wait for us.”

  “If I do,” he countered with remarkable calm, “you know what will happen. Every time she looks at me, she’ll blame herself again for what the Ro did here. There’s enough guilt going around, Norcoast. None of us should carry more than our share. Especially Emily Mamani.”

  Each time she thought she knew the caliber of the man, he surprised her. “Probably not a good time for a hug,” she decided out loud, her voice unsteady. At his look of horror, likely feigned, she patted him firmly on the lapel.

  “Let’s go.”

  The original walkway to land was gone, of course, along with the holdfast pillars and gate that had allowed access, if you had the right codes, to the system of suspended paths. It had been built with care so scientists could observe and record without leaving a record themselves. The new walkway was higher, to pass over the debris-crusted shore. If you could call trees larger than a transport lev debris in any sense.

  The illusion of walking on air was disarming. Mac gave a tentative bounce, then another, stronger one. The membrane flexed like a giant trampoline.

  “Norcoast!” Mudge protested. He looked inexpressibly silly with his fists clenched out from his sides, although Mac’s own fingers were wrapped around the transparent rope rail. “What do you think you’re doing? Stop that!”

  “It’s a fable,” she explained but obeyed.

  A Dhryn fable. Brymn’s.

  Finally, a memory that didn’t sting.

  Emily and the other two men were at the new gate, Tie keying in the code. Tiggers on top of each pillar watched him, as if eager for a mistake.

  Gulls, Mac thought, made vindictive watchdogs.

  Over land, the membrane lost its slight give, darkening as their feet approached steps to show the way in the bright sunlight.

  At first, Mac noticed what was missing. Shade, for starters. The sun was hot as well as bright. Hot, bright, and unforgiving. The air smelled of dryness and dust. They were lucky, she judged, running her glance upslope to where the ridge overlooked the Pacific. When the westerlies were underway, it must be like a miniature dust storm here.

  Life . . . as she looked closer, she realized it wasn’t missing at all, simply changed. Every sheltered nook contained its blush of rich green moss, its feathers of fern. Fungi bracketed the lee sides of fallen wood and thrust its way through curls of dead bark. Exposed soil was peppered with sprigs of new grass and the coin-shaped seedpods of fireweed, except for a too-even scar where otters had made a slide to expedite their trip to shore. She smiled.

  A squirrel scolded them from its perch on a half-buried tree, one tiny paw braced against an upturned twig, its tail swishing with outrage. Mac saluted before hurrying to catch up with the others.

  “Told you,” Tie announced. “There’s Marty and his crew. Don’t ask me what they’re doing now.”

  As it was clear Svehla and his trio of students were ferrying mem-wood over the crest of the ridge, Mac could make a good guess. The observation deck on the opposite side had been one of his pet projects; she’d expect him to rebuild it as soon as possible. However, given the original construction had resulted in Mudge canceling a third of the proposals for that season—there being no way to remove the deck without more perturbations and him not being the sort to simply throw things at Mac and be satisfied—she also knew why Tie wasn’t about to admit it to present company.

  Not that Mudge would care today.

  He was contained and too quiet, every step deliberate. Emily, on the other hand, flitted up the path ahead of them all like some frenetic butterfly, her long legs flashing through the panels of her improbable dress, waving to Svehla, who had put down his load and shaded his eyes to see who was paying them a visit.

  Sing-li waited for Mac. “What are we doing here?” he demanded in a low voice.

  She could see the strain on his face; a compliment to their relationship, that he didn’t hide it. The Ministry had lost three of its own during the earthquake, men Sing-li knew, perhaps as friends, though she’d never dared ask. “Emily’s penance,” she replied, equally quietly.

  As if the earthquake mattered—as if three lives mattered—against entire worlds lost and threatened.

  Where on that scale are we?

  Mac shook her head to clear it of Nik’s implacable voice. Her companion misunderstood. “You don’t approve.” Sing-li stared at Emily, now hugging Svehla and talking so quickly her voice was like a
bird’s. “Then why did you agree?”

  “Think I was asked?” Mac snorted. “Doesn’t matter. I wanted to take a look myself. It’s one thing to know succession will take place—another to see it happen. It’s reassuring.”

  And it was, Mac realized, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She’d held the image of wrack and destruction tight in her mind for too long, believed somehow it was her responsibility to be here and help fix it.

  The reality of regrowth without her lifted a load she hadn’t noticed she was carrying until now. Complete with otters.

  While part of her wanted to stay and see more, Mac could feel time flying by. “This shouldn’t take long,” she promised, as much for Mudge’s sake as anyone else’s.

  They lengthened their strides to reach the others. Mudge, Mac noticed, had stayed apart. The distancing hadn’t reassured Svehla, who was standing somewhat futilely in front of his pile of unapproved mem-wood. “There you are, Mac,” Emily sang out. “I told Marty he has to stop all this and get to our party.”

  The students, dust-coated and sweaty, looked hopeful.

  “Hi, Mac.” Svehla screwed up his grizzled face, apparently trying not to smile at the radiant woman in front of him. “Em, you know I’d like to, but there’s only so many hours of daylight this time of year and we’ve a spore census to complete—”

  Much as it pained her, Mac made herself say: “There’s always tomorrow, Marty.” His look of astonishment was almost worth it. The students’ wide grins, however, made her worry about setting a trend.

  His problem. Hers was fiddling with a rope of black pearls.

  “Meet you back there, Marty. Em? Lead the way.”

  She’d guessed correctly. Emily turned with a flourish to take the walkway that now replaced the one she and Mudge had walked that fateful morning in May.

  Mudge followed Emily, Mac followed Mudge, finding Sing-li’s presence behind their little group no comfort at all, not when she could see the tension hunching Mudge’s shoulders, not when she knew as well as he what should be here, and wasn’t.