Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Got just what you ordered, Mac.” Henri and Doug Court looked inordinately proud of themselves as they returned. Henri held up a pressurized vial, about the size of his little finger. “Ethyl mercaptan. Our little low-tech trick to locate surface openings in ruins.”

  Mac considered the Grimnoii, still locked in their slow struggle to stick their fleshy nostrils into the door crack and sniff Sinzi. “It won’t hurt them?”

  “I checked. Cleared for all species presently on board. No one’s going to like it,” Court’s wide grin was wicked, “but it’s safe. Should dissipate almost immediately, but I’ve advised environmental to mop up the air through here.”

  She held out her hand. Henri looked crestfallen and Mac chuckled. “Do you want them to blame you?”

  “Point taken.” He put the vial in her hand. “It’s potent, even dilute. One pump.” He and Court covered their noses and mouths with medmasks. Unensela, who’d been hovering beside Fourteen, squealed something Myg and dashed down the corridor, the offspring squealing an octave higher. Fourteen followed at a more dignified pace.

  “I thought you said it was safe,” Mac protested. “And where’s mine?”

  Henri laughed, the mask muffling the sound.

  Chemists, she muttered to herself.

  This little byplay hadn’t gone unnoticed. By the time she turned to face the clump of aliens on the floor, vial outstretched and ready, the corridor had emptied of all save Mac, the five Grimnoii, and the two men with masks. Who could have brought her one.

  “One pump.”

  “I heard you the first time,” she snapped, and pressed. Once.

  The spray might have been next to invisible, but its result was immediate. Mac gagged as the world became one giant rotten egg. The odor lodged in her sinuses and coated the inside of her mouth. She thrust the vial back at Henri and blinked at the Grimnoii.

  Who were peacefully blinking back at her. All five had sat up, their large noses—a couple scraped and bleeding—busy twitching in her direction.

  “I thought Humans couldn’t cook,” said one mournfully.

  “Someone can,” sighed the next, as all began rising to their feet, loosened pointy objects clanging to the floor around them. Where they didn’t land with a splot. As bodies uncovered the floor, it became clear there were a large number of deposits in which to splot.

  Too much romance. Mac kept breathing through her mouth, hoping the Sinzi stayed in their rooms a while longer.

  “Dr. Connor’s here.” “Dr. Connor.”

  To Mac’s horror, the Grimnoii started walking toward her, arms out, nostrils working.

  Feet splotting.

  To limit the spread of the mess, she stepped to meet them, wishing she had a hose.As she got closer, she could smell the cider on their breath. Among other things.

  There was something unavoidably familiar about all this.

  Students on a binge.

  “It isn’t even Saturday,” she began in disgust.

  “Dr. Connor! You’re here!” Before she could evade him, Rumnor grabbed her in a pungent, sticky hug.

  Argh. Mac pushed free. “Glad to see you, too. Now, I want you back in your quarters.”

  A chorus of doleful voices: “Have supper with us first.” “Come.” “Smell that?” “Yum!”

  “No!” she ordered firmly. “Wait! Stay where you are!”

  Too late. The romantic five, apparently now famished, turned as one and shuffled into the dining area, their feet leaving prints no one would want to sniff.

  Those already in the dining room rushed out, complaining noisily as they encountered deposits.

  Mac sighed and turned to Court. “We’ll need another cleanup in there, please.”

  Court and Henri kept their masks on, although the rotten egg smell had faded to a hint of decay. Henri, mute, pointed at her torso.

  She didn’t need to look. The damp was soaking through in several spots. “I’ll be right back,” Mac said. “Keep an eye on them. Please?”

  A day into the trip, and she already felt sorry for Captain Gillis’ tidy ship.

  When it was time for a strategic retreat at Base, Mac would take out a skim and drift for a while, listening to the restless ocean. At a field station, she’d hike just far enough along the river to be out of earshot, should anyone decide to call her, and wade in the shallows to turn over rocks. Even the consulate had offered her a terrace, with its view of the deep sound and possibility of whale.

  Water made everything simpler.

  On the Annapolis Joy? Grateful to see Unensela back at work, Mac fled to their shared quarters, left the offspring pouting on the beds, and locked herself in the shower.

  Good enough. With the bonus of removing Grimnoii bits.

  There was only one problem with water, Mac discovered after a few moments spent relaxing in the sprays.

  It coaxed unbidden thoughts to the surface.

  Without asking her first.

  Nik’s memories intruded first, laced with pain and guilt and remorse. She wasn’t surprised by the tears running down her cheeks, merely unsure whose they were.

  If he were here, now, she thought with a betraying rush of heat, they could both forget.

  But what might be happening now—what might have already happened—dissolved any warm fantasy. Mac dug her fingers into her scalp harder than necessary. Could you trust a being capable of consuming a world’s life?

  She should have gone.

  Then who would have cared for Emily? Mac put her head under the sprays, holding her breath until her heart pounded.

  Emily was in harm’s way again, as much as any of them.

  She should have stayed.

  Fighting free of the past, Mac found herself facing her current dilemma.

  “We participate in the promise.”

  She shivered despite the steamy water. “Only one Sinzi promise I know of,” Mac whispered through the drops hitting her face. What had Anchen promised? “To protect herself from the Ro. While I’m to come back, with something for her collection.”

  Harmless enough.

  Which it obviously wasn’t, not if it meant other Sinzi—particularly very important Sinzi like Ureif—were “participating.”

  “Bother.”

  As a mutual language, Instella was showing some flaws.

  “Norcoast?”

  So much for her retreat. “Idiot!” she grumbled in a low voice, hoping he’d think she was Unensela and leave. A chipper chorus of “Macmacmacmacmac” demolished that notion.

  She pressed her forehead against the shower door. “Go away, Oversight.”

  “We need to talk.”

  She’d expected him to track her down eventually, if not this fast. Mac sighed to herself and shut off the water by way of surrender.

  She pressed moisture from her hair with her hands, slicking it from her skin out of long habit, although the Joy offered both air dry and large fluffy towels. She went for the towel option, wrapping one around her torso and securing it before opening the door to step out.

  Mudge was sitting on the bed closest to the door, offspring cautiously investigating his back and arms. They had their feet and bottoms planted well back, in case he proved a hazard to young Mygs. At the sight of her, they swung up their long necks, huge eyes glowing. “MacMacMac!” they sang, with the exception of the one who couldn’t yet articulate. He warbled along.

  “Your cheering section,” Mudge observed.

  Mac sat beside him, absently collecting offspring in her lap. They’d finally grasped that she didn’t enjoy having them climb on her head. Most of the time.

  “I didn’t know the Sinzi were coming, Oversight.”

  “But they are here because of you.” An offspring charitably fell against Mudge’s leg and stayed there, looking up hopefully. He offered it his fingers to gum. Another noticed and hopped over to the now-interesting Human.

  “Keep them off your ears,” Mac advised. She sighed, glancing at his somber face. “I think s
o,” she agreed. “Anchen made me a promise. I had no idea—”

  “What did you say?” he interrupted, twisting to stare at her. The new arrival, enjoying the game, fastened claws in his shirt and burbled. His face turned ashen. “A ‘promise?’ ”

  Not the most reassuring reaction she could imagine. “It seemed like nothing at the time,” Mac defended. “We were saying good-bye. I asked her to be more careful of the Ro. She asked me to be careful, too. I promised; she promised. I thought that was it.”

  He blew out his cheeks, then shook his head, cradling the offspring in one arm. “Norcoast, if I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you did this sort of thing to age me.”

  “What did I do?” Mac objected. This time at least. “Besides,” she continued testily, “I assumed Anchen wouldn’t let me do anything—complicated. She knows me pretty well.” She subsided, rubbing small heads.

  Mudge shook his head again, but sat back. The shock on his face gradually eased into something more fretful than alarmed. “True. The Sinzi-ra—our Sinzi-ra—is a courteous being. She understands us better than most. Not surprising she’d follow your lead—attempt to reassure you with a Human expression. Yes. I’m sure you’re right.” Fretful disappeared beneath a hint of chagrin. “My apologies, Norcoast.”

  “Don’t be too sure, Oversight,” warned Mac reluctantly. “There wasn’t much Human about it. Her selves promised. Each in turn. By name.”

  “Oh, no.” The shock was back in full force again.

  When he didn’t say anything else, only sat staring at her while hugging baby Mygs, Mac snorted. “Please don’t leave it at that. If you know something, tell me so I can worry too.”

  “I know that Sinzi promises—the real thing—are infamous, Norcoast,” he said, each word measured and careful as if to ensure she appreciated how much trouble she was now in. “They bind the individuals within a body, but it doesn’t end there. To start with, any Sinzi who wishes to participate in an existing promise can arrange to do so.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she said. “Ureif and Fy.” Did that mean extra souvenirs? Mac wondered inanely. “Wait. You said . . . ‘to start with’?”

  Mudge nodded, his eyes wide as an owl’s. Mac was sure hers matched. Not to be outdone, the offspring responded to the seriousness of their tones by sitting perfectly still, huge limpid eyes on whomever spoke. “Other Sinzi who share a—” he seemed to search for a word, finally saying “—who share a desire to accomplish a certain thing will also participate in a promise made by the originator of that desire.”

  “Anchen said they didn’t make promises lightly,” Mac recalled. “Now I see why.”

  Mudge harrumphed. “Excuse me, Norcoast, but you don’t. Not yet. The Sinzi don’t talk about promises either, but the Imrya keep excellent records. A Sinzi engineer once promised an anxious Imrya merchant his ships would always pass safely through the new transect system, a promise, I must add, made just before maintaining that system became the focus of the entire Sinzi species.” He frowned. “I should mention Imrya ships were also given remarkable safety features, now standard throughout the IU.”

  “There are any number of perfectly reasonable explanations for the evolution of useful technology, let alone the Sinzi’s focus on the transects,” Mac insisted. “One promise? You can’t seriously believe that, Oversight. The Imrya embellish grocery lists, let alone their own history.”

  Mudge harrumphed, his eyes sober and considering on hers. “What I believe, Norcoast, is that this promise of yours means a great deal more to the Sinzi than you appreciate.”

  “Maybe,” Mac conceded morosely. “Aliens,” she complained, “should come with manuals. Stop that!” An offspring had discovered the water drops on her back and was licking them vigorously.

  Mudge took the Myg and put it on his lap with the other two. “And you should be more careful.”

  “That’s easy to say now—” Mac stiffened.

  “Norcoast?” After their years of scrapping, she wasn’t surprised he could read her face as easily as she read his. “What is it?”

  “Why would she do it in the first place?”

  “Anchen.”

  “Yes. Why make me a promise, knowing it would draw in other Sinzi?”

  An offspring was making its way, very slowly, up Mudge’s chest, eyes fixed on his left ear. He pulled it down. “Tell me the wording. Exactly.”

  Belatedly, Mac thought of possible listeners and pointed to her own ear.

  Mudge shook his head, the motion followed intently by the offspring. “Nothing we can do about it. What was the promise?”

  “We each made one.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said in that maddening I’m always right tone. “You exchanged them. Halves of a whole. The Imrya merchant promised to send ships through the transect, the Sinzi to keep those ships safe if he did. The words, Norcoast.”

  Mac shrugged. “I said to Anchen, ‘If you promise to protect yourself from the Ro, I promise to bring you something for your collection.’ She collects these tacky souvenirs,” she explained, feeling foolish. “Anchen said, ‘I so promise. We are bound.’ She held her fingers like this.” Mac mimicked the gesture, making rings in front of her eyes.

  Always willing to participate in a new game, two offspring jumped for her hands. Mac hurriedly grabbed her towel.

  Mudge didn’t appear to notice. Putting aside his share of Mygs, he stood and began to pace, managing two and a half steps each way in the small room. Mac and the offspring sat on the bed, watching.

  Finally, he stopped and gave a frustrated harrumph. “I’ve no idea what that could mean to other Sinzi, Norcoast. Are you sure you have it right? It’s not like them to take such personal interest.”

  “Word for word,” Mac confirmed. “Maybe we’re reading too much into this.”

  “When the Sinzi-ra of the IU Gathering commits to viewing the Ro as a potential personal threat, despite there being no consensus from member species? And then the new Speaker to the IU Inner Council shows up and declares himself a participant?”

  Put that way . . . Mac sighed and shifted. “I need to get dressed and talk to them. Straighten this out.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Mudge did his impersonation of an immovable object. “You heard me, Norcoast,” he said fiercely. “The last thing this situation needs is you trying to ‘straighten it out.’ You or any of us.” He stressed the last word.

  Not us? Mac tilted her head. “Then who—”

  “Oh, there you are!” Unensela squeezed through the door before it fully opened. “Idiots! Starting without me!” She promptly dropped her lab coat, revealing far too much anatomy.

  Literally, Mac observed, her eyebrows rising.

  The Myg, or someone, had painstakingly drawn Humanish body details on her torso. In hot pink. “I’ve wondered about external genitalia,” she coaxed, stepping closer. “Show me yours, Charlie!”

  The offspring, obviously familiar with the warning signs, dove under the bed.

  Mudge, already crimson, gasped something unintelligible and fled out the door. As if part of the trap, the discarded lab coat caught him on the way and he almost stumbled, recovering to stagger out into the corridor and disappear.

  “Get dressed and apologize to him,” Mac said quietly, in the voice she reserved for certain students. The ones who either straightened up or were gone.

  “Oh, come on, Mac,” Unensela pouted. “Did you see Charlie turn color?” She collected her coat and pulled it over her “Human” paint job, leaving the buttons undone. “Besides, what else were you two doing, hmmm? It’s a long trip and Fourteen’s being tedious. You Humans must manage some fun despite your physical shortcomings. We are sharing quarters.” This with that sly look.

  Mac’s lips pulled back from her teeth.

  “Not anymore.”

  In the end, it was Mac who wound up with her bags in the hall. She didn’t mind in the least, having di
scovered while hunting a shoe that the offspring had been going under the beds for more than shelter.

  Never room with a procreating alien, Mac decided, making it her next new rule.

  “Mac! There you are,” Lyle exclaimed, jogging toward her. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Next time check the shower like everyone else,” she said. “What is it?”

  He pulled out a sheet of mem-paper. “I’ve been working on some projected needs, based on the data that came with the Sinzi. There’ve been some developments on Myriam we should take advantage of before—”

  Mac held up her hand to slow him down. “What data, Lyle? Did the Sinzi come from Myriam?”

  “This?” He flexed the sheet. “No. The data was received at the consulate—the relay from the regular Myriam courier. Always takes a while for them to remember we exist and could use the latest reports.” The bitter words were habit; Kanaci seemed as pleased as she’d ever seen him. “Good luck for us the Sinzi were coming. The courier wouldn’t have caught the Joy before the gate and Gillis refuses to lift that ridiculous transmission blackout.”

  The Sinzi had traveled to Earth first. She wasn’t sure what it signified, but tucked away the fact. “Did they bring anything else?”

  He snorted. “Your student’s boots. Seems he’d left them—Mac?” as she wheeled around to rush down the corridor.

  He’d left his boots at Base.

  “Where are you going? Don’t you want to see the list?”

  “Lists go to Mudge,” Mac reminded him over her shoulder.

  “Okay. Just don’t forget to check your messages.”

  She stopped in her tracks and looked around. Lyle held up his imp and waved it back and forth, grinning.

  Mac reached into her pocket for hers. “We’re connected to the ship?”

  “Fourteen doesn’t waste time. Whatever’s come in on the com squeal from the Sinzi dart’s been routed per recipient. Although he’s probably peeked. You know what he’s like.”

  Mac nodded absently. A message from Emily. “I’ll go take a look,” she told him, walking backward with each word, then abruptly stopped, at a loss where to go. Privacy was nonexistent now that everyone was awake and working.