Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

She turned herself over, staying on the floor, and studied the situation. No sparks at least. Se appeared calm enough, though se’s membranes were in a confused jumble concealing most of se’s silver-sprung uniform. She decided se’d twisted while grabbing for handholds. The pointy hat was now under se’s chin, exposing a plain, rounded head.

  Se unfolded se’s left neck ridge to turn that head to look at her, more or less directly. “Ah. Dr. Connor.” A strained whisper. “Are they gone? Is it safe?”

  Now a spark, luckily landing on the bin and not the carpeted floor. Mac hurriedly climbed to her feet, hissing as her rump expressed its opinion as to her means of arrival in the kitchen. “The Grimnoii?” she guessed, leaning over to see where the Frow’s other limbs were. “They’re sleeping it off.”

  “They were boisterous!” Se’s pale green eyes looked almost humanly anguished.

  “I’m sure they were.”

  “I sought refuge!”

  Smart creature. “Well, you’re safe now,” Mac promised. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

  “Ahhh.”

  No more than the exhalation, but Mac thought she understood. “You’re stuck?”

  “I am not stuck!” This with considerable passion. Then se added more calmly, “The furnishings of this room are unstable and cannot be trusted.”

  Mac touched the nearest bin, which rocked slightly. The Frow’s hand scrabbled for a better hold on it, further rocking the bin, and sparks began to fly in all directions. “Calm down,” she soothed, doing her best to hold the bin steady against se’s frantic movements. “Don’t move!”

  That, the Frow understood.

  Once she was sure se wouldn’t move—likely ever—and the sparks had subsided to a few forlorn glints, Mac slowly let go of the bin. She walked to the other end of the row and noticed all the bins were sitting on a wheeled trolley, presently locked.

  She put her hand on the locking mechanism and stretched to look over the bins at the paralyzed Frow. “Se Lasserbee. I want you to trust me.”

  “What are you planning to do?”

  “You told me you like protocols and procedures.” Mac flipped open the cover on the lock.

  “Ah. Yes.” Se’s voice lost some of its panicked edge. “I am expert in many formats.”

  She eased the lock a half-turn and braced her foot against the trolley. “So you know how important it is to be thorough. To follow steps in sequence.”

  “Yes, Dr. Connor. But what has this to do with the dreadful instability of this furniture?”

  “I want you to count to three with me,” Mac said. “One . . .”

  “Dr. Connor!”

  “Two . . .”

  “What are you—” The bins shuddered wildly.

  “Three.” Mac unlocked the wheels and gave the trolley a shove with her foot.

  “Aiee!!!!!”

  The bins and trolley parted company with a loud clatter. She jumped out of the way as the nearest bin lost its lid, spilling what looked like precooked spaghetti on the floor. The noodles writhed together for a few seconds before setting off across the floor, apparently drawn by the dark shadow under the half wall.

  Not noodles.

  Other bins deposited more sedentary masses, including puffs of white powder which drifted down to coat the now-collapsed Frow. Mac watched as se’s clawed hands grabbed weakly at the smooth floor. “Se Lasserbee?” she called softly.

  “Ah. Dr. Connor. Please. A moment.”

  Moving much more slowly than the freed spaghetti, se began to sort se-self out.

  “No rush,” she assured se, eyeing the cupboards thoughtfully.

  Just then, a Human head, above a tan uniform, peered into the kitchen. “Is everything—what’s going on here?”

  Mac brushed powder from her hair and smiled cheerfully. “We’re making breakfast.”

  “Where are the boisterous ones, Dr. Connor?” Se’s neck tilted as if a Grimnoii might be hiding in the room that constituted the Frow allotment of the Annapolis Joy. “Are we safe?”

  For a soldier, the being was remarkably timid. Which made sense, Mac reminded herself. If she could be knocked over as easily as Se Lasserbee, she’d be timid around giant drunk teddy bears, too.

  Se’d explained se’d come to the dining area to wait for her, having been told every Human would appear in that room eventually. When the Grimnoii had arrived instead, se had prudently retreated to the kitchen to wait. Prudently yet quickly. That would be the kitchen with highly unstable furnishings, resulting in se being trapped.

  Mac had had to help se file a formal complaint with the captain before se’d calm down enough to converse on any other topic. In a Human, she decided, the being’s outward reaction would mean humiliated pride. Just as well se hadn’t mentioned her rather crude assistance.

  Of course, acknowledging help meant admitting the need for it.

  She’d stayed in the kitchen, eating breakfast amid the mess, to let the Frow make se’s way here in privacy. A very long, slow breakfast. And she’d stayed to help the crew clean up. Still almost beat se back here.

  “We’re safe. The Grimnoii are in their quarters.” Without, Mac had checked, the remainder of their cider.

  “Ah. Excellent. And are you comfortable, Dr. Connor?”

  The Frow had managed to bring their own, more trustworthy furnishings with them. More impressively, as far as Mac was concerned, they’d managed to turn their combined rooms into an artificial forest.

  Not that there were trees. Instead, everything Human had been removed, replaced by tall supports that filled the available floor space, leaving barely room for a Human to walk between, let alone a Grimnoii. The supports were identical in construction, each made of five burnished metal poles that approached but didn’t quite touch the ceiling. The poles were held together by struts, again of metal. These mostly horizontal pieces were wrapped in padding at inexplicable, to Mac at least, intervals. Each support arose from a base that fit snugly against all others like a puzzle piece.

  Someone had jammed rolled blankets along the edges next to the room walls, presumably to make up for a difference from expected dimensions. Thoughtful.

  The supports were fixed, but their bronze poles had octagonal faces, catching and reflecting the ambient light depending on the angle of viewing. It gave the illusion of constant movement. The strung pads varied in color from yellow to deep red. To Human eyes, Mac reminded herself. The overall effect was of entering a landscape dominated by verticals and inhabited by perching lumps.

  All three Frow were present, but the other two clutched poles as close to the ceiling as possible, their eyes closed. Asleep or offering privacy?

  Se Lasserbee, hat in its proper place, had wrapped se’s claws around a support at the room’s center. Unlike se’s lackeys, se’d climbed only as far as necessary to keep se’s feet off the treacherously flat ground. Courtesy to se’s guest, Mac judged it.

  Arms resting on soft padding, she leaned her chin on a handy puff of bright red. She’d already discovered a convenient rail for one foot. Not bad. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” she told the Frow.

  “This?” Se Lasserbee tilted se’s neck farther to the other side, as if there was something new to see in their surroundings. “These are portable clocs, convenient and secure, yes, but hardly admirable. I hope you have the opportunity to see one of our true homes, Dr. Connor.”

  “As do I, Se Lasserbee.” Her lips twisted in a grin. “And my compliments. I’m impressed you managed to catch a ride on this ship.”

  “Ah.” The metal to every side made it hard to see which glints were from se’s eyes. “Unlike you, Dr. Connor, the other Human was gullible.”

  Poor Kanaci. Mac laughed. The lackeys overhead shifted positions with a click of claw to bar. One, she noticed, wound up upside down. Didn’t seem to matter. “Why did you want to see me?” she asked.

  “I have received most disturbing information, Dr. Connor. I didn’t know how to handle it until you arrived.
”

  Mac lost any inclination to laugh. “What do I have to do with it?” She lifted her chin from the pad and studied the Frow, whose offset eyes were apparently fixed on her left shoulder. “Couldn’t you contact your superiors?”

  Se drew se’s left membrane half over se’s face, allowing se to peek at her from its shelter. “I am a mere passenger. Those in charge of this ship permit me incoming messages only.” Se revealed more of se’s face. “Even if I could,” this very quietly, as if trying not to be overheard by the sleepers, “I would not. This is my first field assignment, Dr. Connor. I am expected to act appropriately. And I have. I have found you. I will give you this information.”

  She was going to regret this. “What is it?”

  “A report from our contingent at the Gathering. They were given an assignment by the Sol System Sinzi-ra, Anchen, to—are you aware of the condition of the Dhryn world, Haven, when the Sinzi first contacted them?”

  “I—” Mac hesitated, thinking hard. Was she? “Beyond urbanized, with in-system space travel? Nothing specific. My team’s been more concerned with the conditions on their planet of origin.”

  “Haven was stripped bare,” the Frow revealed, se’s left membrane flapping against the side of se’s face in emphasis. Or a nervous twitch. “The probe found the Dhryn struggling to feed an exploding population, their resources almost gone. The building of the transect gate gave them trade as well as access to systems with worlds to colonize. We believe this saved their species.”

  “Good timing,” Mac commented. “Hardly seems a coincidence, now, does it.”

  “No.” Se clicked se’s claws along a rail. Approval? “The Sinzi had received information concerning the existence of Haven and the Dhryn, information which led to their probe. Because of their dire situation and apparently peaceful society, the decision to offer the Dhryn a transect gate was hurried through the IU council. With hindsight, as you say, the significance of these events becomes painfully evident. Our researchers were asked to trace the original source of that information. It turned out to be a daunting task.” He stopped.

  Apparently their species shared a fondness for melodramatic pauses, Mac thought testily. “Did they find it?”

  “They believe so.” Se brought out an imp, wider but clearly kin to Mac’s, and triggered a display.

  Not words, was her first grateful thought. The display was a schematic of the worlds connected along the Naralax. Many were pulsing an angry red. As Mac puzzled over the now-familiar map, she began to see the pattern.

  Oh, no, was her second thought.

  “Se Lasserbee,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Are those planets that have been attacked by the Dhryn?”

  “Several, yes, including ravaged Ascendis. N’not’k. Regellus. Riden IV. Thitus Prime. Others have not suffered any recorded assaults.”

  “Yet.” She clutched the bars on her cloc. “Multiple sources for the same message? Wasn’t that unusual?”

  “Ah. We thought so, too. The Sinzi of that time considered it congruent and thus somehow more credible. Between us, Dr. Connor, I don’t think they are as smart as everyone thinks.”

  Mac didn’t think Se Lasserbee was as smart as se seemed to believe, but refrained from comment. “Let me get this straight,” she said, her heart starting to thud within her chest. “The location of Haven was sent to the Sinzi by all those different species. At the same time.”

  Se’s claws tickled the metal struts, producing something remarkably like tinny fanfare. “Even from those worlds lacking the required technology. There can be only one conclusion, Dr. Connor.” Another pause, but shorter, as if the being was too eager to wait for her prompting. “The Myrokynay!”

  Mac heard the word and felt nothing. It was as if she’d already known. But a gut reaction wasn’t enough. “Do you have any proof?”

  “They have their agents, do they not? It’s a pattern of behavior, to act behind others.”

  “So no proof. Se Lasserbee—” Mac shook her head.

  “Who else could it be? Doubtless they were trying to warn the species of the Interstellar Union to avoid the Dhryn System, in hopes the Dhryn would die out on their own. The Sinzi misinterpreted. Interspecies communication,” se announced firmly, “frequently involves such confusions.”

  “That it does,” Mac agreed wholeheartedly, clenching her hands around the pipes until her knuckles ached. “What did Anchen say? Has she raised—” the alarm, she wanted to say, then remembered who she was talking to. Idiot faction. A waste of breath to argue; worse, he might stop talking to her. “Has she taken action to confirm all this?”

  The Frow opened se’s neck ridges to bend se’s neck left, as if seeking another angle to view her. “Why would I tell Sol’s Sinzi-ra before you, Dr. Connor? You are the ranking individual of our group. It has been confusing, I’ll admit, but your promotion is now evident.”

  When interspecies communication fails, shut up. Having made this new rule, Mac followed it. She hung onto the Frow’s idea of a chair and tried feverishly to piece together any sense from this.

  If she believed Se Lasserbee’s conclusion, the Ro had arranged for the Dhryn to join the Interspecies Union. Which meant . . . a shiver trailed down her spine . . . the Ro had been on those red-marked worlds before Haven had been connected to the Naralax.

  Humanity hadn’t joined the IU that much sooner than the Dhryn. The Ro had already been there, existing outside of normal time.

  How old were they?

  Mac deliberately pushed all such thoughts far to the side, for now. Not helpful to reduce oneself to gibbering terror.

  “Ah. Dr. Connor? Have I said something incorrect?”

  If se only knew. Aloud, “The Frow contingent from the Gathering reports solely to you,” she ventured cautiously.

  “I am the assigned nexus for all Frow reports on this subject. I handle the forms. There must be order.” This last as though blindingly obvious.

  It might be to someone in a pointy hat, Mac thought grimly. She plowed forward. “And you’re part of my group, not Anchen’s. Now.”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “Reporting to me.”

  “Have I been confusing, Dr. Connor?”

  Not the time for an honest answer. “Of course not, Se Lasserbee,” Mac asserted, leaning forward as if relaxing. That every muscle in her body felt more rigid than the poles supporting her was beside the point. “I’m only—surprised—you didn’t report this to Dr. Kanaci in my absence.”

  Or anyone else! The time se’d wasted, she thought with a mix of horror and disgust.

  “Dr. Kanaci is subordinate,” the Frow proclaimed. “All those immediate are subordinate. I am observant. You make decisions. You talk louder.” A flutter of membrane. “And he was gullible.” Se’s dazzling list of evidence complete, se settled se-self more comfortably on the support and gazed at her.

  Mac was beginning to suspect a certain inflexibility of thought in the Frow, or rather a channel se’s thoughts preferred to travel. Find the individual of greatest authority. Give that individual the form. Congratulate oneself. The form’s contents weren’t as important as making sure it was handed up. Probably saved time, she mused, but only if a reasonable chain of command was maintained .

  Abandoned on Earth, ordered to find the Ro by any means, and receiving information se had to know was crucial? Poor Se Lasserbee had made a truly stunning leap of faith to transfer se’s upward obligation to the most likely alien.

  Though se should have picked Mudge.

  Someone more experienced in dealing with other cultures—or brighter—might have grasped the rudiments of Human hierarchies and told the ship’s captain. Se wasn’t likely to get a second field assignment, Mac judged.

  She pulled out her imp and set its ’screen to intersect with se’s. “Please transfer the relevant forms.”

  Se’s claw tips scratched through the displays as if se couldn’t wait to obey. Once finished, and their respective imps put away, se climbed partwa
y up se’s support and swung to hang upside down. “You will attempt to contact the Myrokynay at these locations?” se asked from that vantage point. “You will let me come, too?”

  Mac stepped down to the floor, one hand on the nearest pole as she looked up. Did one admit to having superiors or hold onto perceived power? She compromised. “I must consult. You’ll be informed. Thank you.”

  The Frow must have taken this as confirmation of all se’s aspirations, because the next thing Mac knew, Se Lasserbee was scampering effortlessly from support to support, the close spacing of the furnishings now making perfect sense as se’s hands and feet loosened and grasped one after the other. Se rushed up to the sleeping lackeys and yanked hard on each in turn. One almost fell, grabbing to save se, ne, or sene’s-self.

  Once awake, they immediately joined Se Lasserbee, all three flinging themselves up and down and around the room. Mac twisted her head to follow. It was like watching birds’ flight, or fish darting through a clear stream. No wonder they hate walking, she thought, inclined to envy. Their claws made tings of varied pitch against the metal; their feet thumped against the pads; their membranes fluttered. The dance overlapped into melody.

  To her ears anyway, Mac cautioned, smiling to herself.

  She leaned on a pole, not daring to move until they stopped. A Frow at full speed took up a daunting amount of space.

  Did explain the chin strap on the hats.

  “Dr. Connor.”

  “Captain Gillis.”

  “Dr. Connor.” With more weight, as if her name constituted some problem.

  “I know who I am,” Mac offered helpfully. “May I send the message?”

  Captain Michael Gillis gazed back at her from his seat behind his tidy desk. He was a tidy man, his uniform impeccable, his silver hair trim and in place. He obviously ran a tidy ship; all she’d seen of the Annapolis Joy and her crew could be described as gleaming.

  Mac, in their brief encounters together, had come away convinced he most likely folded his socks.

  “To the Interspecies Consulate on Earth,” he repeated her request, his tone making it clear this was as much a problem as her name. “Not the Ministry. A personal message to a Sinzi. From you, Dr. Connor.”