“Thank you. And here’s some advice about being around Humans. Fewer, slower movements. We get dizzy.”
Fy’s fingers twitched at their tips. “This is unnecessary with the Grimnoii.”
“The Grimnoii,” observed Mac, “shove their noses under your door. You could probably dance on their heads and they’d like it. Which reminds me,” she continued, having a suspicion of what might constitute “necessary.” “You do know about their eyedrops? They expect you to provide them.”
Fy sat down again. Considerably more slowly, this time. “What are eyedrops, Mac?”
Interspecies communication fails again. Mac decided life was too short to keep score.
“We’ll put Oversight on it,” she said. “But first, let’s take a walk. I’ve some colleagues you’ll want to meet.”
Prioritize.
Mac left the huddle of Sinzi, Human, and Sthlynii to its work. They’d plunged into the more esoteric realms of molecular archaeology, opening overlapping workscreens replete with jargon. She’d become unnecessary; Fy confident. Leave it to a mutual passion to get past the little things.
“Prioritize,” she repeated under her breath, wondering what to do next. The hall and rooms were still buzzing with activity, but with an anxious underlay. Arrival in Myriam had revealed some complications.
Rumor, the fastest briefing, held that a Trisulian warship was on approach to the Annapolis Joy, demanding some kind of clearance from the Humans. Mind you, rumor also held that Dhryn Progenitor ships had been sighted in any of thirty systems, tonight’s menu would include fresh N’not’k clams in mint, and Wilson Kudla had sold a new book which would detail his successful mystic battle with the Myrokynay.
Of that list, she’d go for the clams.
“Couriers can carry clams,” Mac muttered, pausing to give a Grimnoii right of way. Yellow liberally stained his cheeks, chin, and clothing, and he looked as close to content as one of his kind could. Mudge was a force.
He’d been waiting for her outside the door to Fy’s quarters. One look at his face, and Mac had known. There hadn’t been a package for her.
Since, she’d gone through the motions. Easy to be calm, when you don’t dare think. Mudge had wanted to talk; she’d sent him after eyedrops.
She felt enclosed in a bubble, detached from the conversations walking by with their preoccupied owners, their urgency. She needed work.
“Prioritize,” she said again, forcing herself to examine the ’screen floating beside her face, using the effort of reading to stay focused.
Cayhill’s entreaty for her to come to the medlab she deleted. The current set of complaints about Fourteen she grouped into one, forwarded to the Myg. He’d enjoy that. Mac frowned. Norris had sent her several messages, all marked, of course, urgent.
Spotting him coming down the busy hall, she deleted those, too.
“Dr. Connor!” He halted to let Da’a go past, then had to dodge around three intent Humans and their cart. The man had a gift for finding traffic. “Dr. Connor, a moment please.”
Mac closed her ’screen. “Got your messages,” she informed him. Technically true.
He came close and lowered his voice. “Can you be ready?”
Might have been a bit hasty on the delete, she realized. “Ready for what? When?”
“I’ve obtained clearance.” He didn’t appear to notice her admission of ignorance, perhaps used to her. Or too intent on himself, she judged. “The Joy is closing on the first derelict. We should be in range within the hour.”
“They’ve settled the jurisdictional issues?” Mac felt a shiver of caution. Nothing was this smooth with aliens.
“We’ve permission for an external survey. A start. I want you to come. Please. I’ll send someone from the crew to bring you to the hangar bay when it’s time.”
She was nodding before realizing she’d made a decision. Fine, then. “I’ll be in my quarters.”
Mac sat on her bed, knees and feet neatly together, hands in her lap. Her hands, palms up, cradled the carving she’d given Nik, and he’d sent back to her through Hollans.
“You’ve been around,” she told it.
The wood took warmth from her skin, as the living version would from the water around it and the rays of sunlight penetrating the surface. She rubbed her thumb gently over the black lines representing the connections between life and world, aware she should find other things to do, unable to do them.
She closed her eyes briefly. They were dry and hot. Tears would have helped, but she wasn’t ready to cry—not yet. Not without proof.
A knock on her door, too soon to be Norris’ summons. Mac raised her voice. “Not now, Oversight.”
“It is Ureif, Dr. Connor.”
The one being on the ship she didn’t dare refuse. Had to be an alien conspiracy, Mac told herself as she rose to unlock the door. She couldn’t always have this kind of luck.
Unexpectedly, Ureif was alone in the hall. “Greetings, Dr. Connor.” She glanced toward the ladderway. He gave a very Human smile and gestured in the opposite direction, to what had been a sealed bulkhead and was now an open door to another corridor. “The captain has granted me access throughout his ship.”
Including a back door to her part. Mac somehow returned the smile, and stood aside to let the Sinzi-ra enter. “To what do I owe this honor, Sinzi-ra?” she asked, somewhat hysterically trying to gauge if her only chair or the bed would better suit the lower anatomy of the Speaker to the Inner Council of the Interspecies Union.
The chair. She pulled it out and offered it.
“Thank you, but I cannot stay, Dr. Connor. I’ve come to deliver this.”
His finger uncurled, its coating of red rings ending in not one, but two of purest silver.
In slow motion, Mac reached out her hand. The Sinzi let the rings slip into her palm. She stared down at them, then up into his great complex eyes. “Forgive the delay,” he asked, bowing his long head. “These came to me first, an unintentional error in procedure, and I was unable to leave the bridge until now.”
He’d left the bridge—and whatever situation brewed among the species at Myriam—to bring her these himself. She closed her fingers around the rings. A Sinzi could do nothing less, she realized with some wonder. Not even one as important as this. “Thank you.”
He produced a folded sheet of mem-paper from a pocket she hadn’t noticed in his gown. Nice trick. “There have been more incidents, Dr. Connor, not as widely reported as we could wish. You should have this information.”
Mac took the sheet with some trepidation. “What do you want me to do with it, Sinzi-ra?”
“Use it as you see fit. Although I would advise care discussing its contents with the Frow. They are a volatile species.”
Great. Mac opened her mouth to ask for details, but Ureif gestured to the door. “Excuse my haste,” he said. “But the good captain was not calm about my departure. I should return.”
Tucking the sheet in her own pocket, the rings tight in her other fist, Mac went to open the door. As she stood close to the Sinzi, he lifted a curl from her forehead with one fingertip. “It was with this you committed grathnu?”
Hair or hand. Mac still blushed. “I didn’t have much choice,” she explained.
“The Dhryn.” Ureif released the curl. His head tilted to focus his lowermost pair of eyes on Mac, his fingers meeting in a complex shape that reminded her of Anchen. By far, more sophisticated than Fy. “I found them pleasant. Industrious, courteous, with a playful humor able to cross many species’ lines. Blind to the larger universe, yet the individuals I knew best sought nothing more than to be happy and contribute to the well-being of their kind.”
Mac nodded. “You watched them leave for home, didn’t you?” she dared ask. “The colony ships. You knew they were at Haven, all this time.”
“They were devastated by news of the Ro attack,” he answered without hesitation. “As the word spread, everyone put down what they were doing and went to the space-
ports; nothing mattered but to return to their Progenitors as quickly as possible. They believed they were needed.”
The Progenitors had already left—what had that been like, to arrive home to nothing? “What could they do but wait?” she observed sadly. “Until they died.”
Ureif’s fingertips twitched. “I am disturbed by their fate, Dr. Connor. By that of all Dhryn. I see no potential circularity. Do you understand this?”
“I think so,” Mac said, leaning her shoulders against the wall. “You see no future for the Dhryn as they are now.” She sighed. “I’d like to disagree. I valued them, too. But I don’t see any hope either.”
“ ‘As they are now.’ ” Ureif straightened his head so all of his eyes looked at her. “What does this mean, Dr. Connor?”
“Mean?” Mac hesitated. “I suppose, being a biologist, I see the Dhryn as the culmination of two processes. We have ample evidence they evolved and were successful on their own world—and mounting evidence that those Dhryn, the original form, were acted upon in some way by the Ro to produce the Dhryn you and I know. A biological weapon.”
“I see why Anchen spoke of your peculiar insights, Dr. Connor.” While Mac puzzled at that, he went on, “Are you aware Sinzi regard no process as inherently linear? That there will always be circularity discovered, if the viewer is sufficiently discerning?”
“Not until now.” But it explained a few things. “I don’t feel at all discerning in the present situation.”
“Nor do I, Dr. Connor.”
“Mac.”
Definitely a bow. Ureif should teach that to Fy. “Mac. Until our next meeting.”
She locked the door behind him and leaned her ear against it. Once sure there wasn’t another alien ready to knock, Mac opened her fist and gazed down at the rings. “An ‘open me first’ tag would have been useful,” she told them. Her heart thudded in her chest. Now that she had news from Nik, she felt oddly reluctant.
Alive. That was the easy part. The good to the soul part.
What else he had to tell her remained to be seen. Literally.
Sitting in her chair, she stood the rings on the surface of the desk, holding them in place with the thumb and forefinger of each hand. She gave them a spin.
The left ring revolved twice, then fell with a faint clatter. Mac reached for it, then changed her mind, watching the still-spinning ring. “That eager, huh?” She took that ring to her bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay down.
She brought the metal to her lips.
Then looked through it.
CONTACT
/EFFORT/
“Mac . . . we made it . . .”/resolve/ . . . so tired . . . /doubt/
Concentrate, getting easier. “All of us . . . left . . . safe. Can’t go back . . .” /fear/ “Ship . . . damaged . . . contaminated.” The darkness almost claimed us. I could taste . . . death. /determination/ “Made it this far . . . matters.”
Concentrate. “. . . Vessel introduced us . . . You were right . . . Progenitor . . . amazing sight . . .” You did this alone, Mac . . . I have to be as strong as you were . . . /awe/pride/
Concentrate. “She listened . . . we must wait . . . Mac, she’s weak . . . starving . . .” /pity/fear/horror/ She’s consuming her own to stay alive . . . are we next?
Concentrate. “. . . She saw me alone . . . asked . . . you. How we . . . Where . . .” Where are you . . . /longing/ “. . . have a place . . . must convince Her . . .” /resolve/
* layered over *
—She smells mint—
“Nikolai, I cannot endure—” Genny P’tool’s beak closed, moist bubbles forming along the junction of top to bottom.
How do you talk to someone already dead . . . /anguish/ . . . I would have spared you this, old one.
“Rest, Gorgeous. The Progenitor ship found us in time.”
Time for everyone else. /rage/frustration/
“Take—take my work. Others can keep . . .”
/despair/resignation/ Be the last breath . . . I can’t stay . . . do us that grace . . . /pain/ Die while I’m here.
“You’ll do it yourself. Just stop making Mac jealous, okay?”
The damned Dhryn have no doctors, no medicines . . . save us and let her die.
“Hah. Saw you first. My pretty Nik.”
“You say that to all the . . .”
/grief/relief/guilt/
Good-bye, Genny.
* layered over *
—She tastes salt—
“Is She not magnificent, Lamisah?”
/disbelief/fear/ I’m standing on a hand . . . a hand . . .
“Magnificent is an understatement.”
“I have told Her of your service to that which is Dhryn.” A soft hoot. “And of your daring to argue with Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol.”
/wry amusement/ Even the Dhryn know . . . unfair . . . those eyes of yours could melt stone . . . only flesh, Mac . . . landed me in the drink . . . too busy daydreaming . . . /despair/resolve/ . . . like now.
“Will the Progenitor listen to me?”
“She will listen, but we must not tire Her. The Great Journey takes its toll on all that is Dhryn.”
/hope/resolve/ “You’ll have to help me. She must learn the truth.”
Another hoot. “But of course, Lamisah. Is that not why we are here? Although,” a sigh, “it is not a truth anyone would want.”
/pity/determination/
“One step at a time, my friend.”
* layered over *
—She feels silk—
Concentrate . . . “Let Anchen know . . . Genny P’tool . . . dead.” With Murs . . . Larrieri . . . Cinder . . . who next . . . doesn’t matter. “We couldn’t save her.” /anger/futility/
Vessel and I . . . only ones left who know . . . /determination/ . . . must survive . . .
“Quarters fine . . . She remembered you . . . water in the shower.” You made an impression, Mac . . . not surprised . . . /warmth/ “Wanted to know . . . everything. Searched . . . feeders touched me . . .” /horror/
Concentrate . . . “. . . tried to send more . . . didn’t seem . . . work . . .” We’re underway as planned . . . easy part . . . tell Hollans . . .”
/resolve/
14
TOUCH AND TEMPTATION
HER PILLOW WAS SOAKED. Tears. Her clothes were as well. Sweat. Mac slipped the new lamnas on her middle finger and ignored how both hands trembled. She looked up at the next ring, sitting like harmless jewelry beside the salmon carving, and fought for the courage to touch it.
Nik’s messages, Nik’s memories, were startlingly vivid now. Practice makes perfect. “His or mine or both.” The information might be easier to sort through and understand—at least, she thought so.
But the emotional load was growing worse. Between his passions and her reactions to them, she felt as exhausted as if she’d somehow run a complete marathon in the last few minutes.
Her eyes swam with tears again; she let them run down her face and over her ears. Poor Genny. She’d been the most frail. Likely a factor.
Honest grief, honest joy. Nik was alive. The Vessel was alive.
And they were with the Progenitor.
The “easy part.” Mac reached for the second lamnas. She had the impression Nik doubted it had worked. Using a broken one couldn’t be good. “I’m not feeling braver,” she warned it, “but you know what they say about curiosity and biologists.”
She brought the ring to her lips, then looked.
CONTACT
—SHE HEARD THE OCEAN—
Waves crashed against cliff; seabirds screamed overhead; thunder rolled along the shore . . . under it all drummed a word.
“Lamisah!”
* layered over *
—She tasted bile—
Her teeth drove into her brother’s flesh; her mouth flooded with heat; she swallowed life . . . within it all pulsed a word.
“Survival.”
* layered over *
—She fe
lt the cells of her body—
Stomach, ridged and acid; muscle tight with power; skin, the boundary line of who and what she was . . . through it all hammered a word.
“Truth.”
15
REACTION AND RESOLVE
MAC FLUNG HERSELF to the side of her bed in time for the first uncontrolled spew to hit floor, not fabric. time for the first uncontrolled spew to hit floor, not
By the fourth, she no longer cared where it went. She hung from one hand on the desk, her other having found purchase somewhere on the floor. The ship spun in huge looping circles and she was about to fall off. Her head pounded with a blinding white pain. Her gut persisted in its belief she had more to vomit.
Dying would be nice.
Between spasms, Mac counted each successful breath. When she reached five, she concluded she wasn’t going to die after all. More’s the pity. When she reached ten, she opened her eyes.
Big mistake.
A few arduous moments later, she managed five again. Ten. But this time she waited for twenty peaceful breaths before peering between almost closed eyelids.
No vomit.
That worked.
If she didn’t count the stabbing sensation behind her eyes. Sensitive to light.
Working toward simple goals such as continuing to breathe, avoiding direct light, and hoping the ship would stop moving soon, Mac managed to sit up. Swaying in that position, she congratulated herself.
Then realized what had happened.
“She knew . . .” A whisper that hurt her poor head. The Progenitor must have talked to Nik about the lamnas, what they were.
Then used one.
The proof clawed its way through Mac’s every pore. Dhryn thought and memory fought for space within her mind, as if she’d been turned inside out.
And the proof of that . . . ? She cracked open her eyes a smidge more to see the disaster she’d made of her new quarters. “Bother.”
Regeneration (Czerneda) Page 34