Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Charles Jean Mudge III. Erumisah.”

  The Dhryn passed her golden gaze over Mac for an instant at this claim, but dutifully smacked the floor to acknowledge Mudge.

  Mac then gestured to the Sinzi, feeling ridiculously formal. Should have ordered pizza and beer, she thought. But this was what she had. “Sinzi-ra Ureif.” She watched the Dhryn closely. If there was an alien face she read as well as her own, it was Dhryn. Now, she thought she saw a flicker of recognition.

  “Sinzi-ra Ureif.”

  Ureif tilted his head to bring his lower eyes more in line with the Dhryn, but didn’t speak. How much did he know? Mac wondered. About this Dhryn, a former ship captain from Cryssin Colony. And about the Wasting.

  “If you’d have a seat?”

  The Dhryn moved to one end of the table, going down on her four larger legs. Seated, she was taller than any Human in the room. Intimidating by size, awe-inspiring by her very existence, but there was something gentle, something warm about her—don’t Humanize, Mac warned herself. It was hard. The Dhryn even smelled good.

  Mudge waited for the captain and Ureif to choose seats, but not for Cayhill. Mac tried to catch his eyes, but he seemed to deliberately avoid hers. Cayhill took the last seat without hesitation.

  Mac felt better pacing anyway. “I assume you’ve all seen what happened?” she asked, nodded at the vid.

  Now Mudge looked at her. “You took an unconscionable risk, Norcoast.”

  Before she could reply, the Dhryn leaned forward. “I would never harm my lamisah, Charles Jean Mudge III.”

  “You ate your crew.”

  Mac gritted her teeth, but the Dhryn nodded gravely. “They sustained me.” There was no remorse or regret in the voice. That which is Dhryn must survive.

  Even one who “did not exist.”

  “What about us?”

  “Mr. Mudge, please.” Mudge subsided, with a scowl at Mac. The captain put his forearms on the table and leaned forward on them. “Dr. Connor. This is your party.”

  Really could use the beer. Mac nodded. “Thank you. I asked you here to meet the Progenitor.”

  “Is that what I am?” asked the Dhryn, sounding thoughtful.

  “I believe so.”

  “But I do not exist.”

  “That was before—”

  “Dr. Connor.” Mac turned from the golden eyes to meet Ureif’s topaz ones. “Use great care.”

  A warning from the former Sinzi-ra of Haven, or the Speaker of the IU Inner Council?

  Or both.

  Regardless, it was excellent advice. The being was like a new student, intensely curious, soaking up information without discrimination. Mac had done her utmost to avoid saying anything beyond simple commands, “move here,” and reassurances, “there’s more food coming.” She could do more harm than good. “Yes, Sinzi-ra. I concur. That’s why I need all of you—” she paused, like the rest watching as the Dhryn, unself-conscious, reached across the table to the centerpiece, fastened her fingers on the closest leaf, and pulled the ragged mass to herself.

  But once she had the plant, the Dhryn seemed puzzled. She stared at it, her fingers toying with the leaves. A piece came free. She put it into her mouth, her lips working. After a moment, her mouth opened. The piece was clearly intact. She pulled it out and held it toward Mudge, a thrum of distress rolling through the floor underfoot. “Erumisah, this will sustain me. Why can I not eat it? I must have it. I hunger.”

  Mudge harrumphed, but there was no denying the confused hurt in the Dhryn’s voice. He looked at Mac, who tipped her head toward Cayhill. “Dr. Cayhill,” Mudge coughed. “If you’d be so good as to examine your—patient?”

  Cayhill went pale. Probably dawned on him unconscious dying aliens were the easy part, Mac decided. She walked over to the Dhryn and rested her hand on the being’s shoulder. “He must look inside your mouth,” she explained.

  Seeing Mac there, uneaten, Cayhill stood and approached, taking a scope from his pocket. When nothing more alarming happened than the Dhryn opening her mouth, he shone the light inside.

  And frowned.

  Without warning, he pushed the scope between her lips. The Dhryn shied back like a draft horse stung by a fly. Cayhill reacted by throwing himself in the opposite direction. He collided with his own chair and spun around to dive behind Mudge who, like the captain, had jumped to his feet.

  The Dhryn sat. She picked up another leaf. “I must have this,” she insisted, as if nothing had happened.

  “The esophagus is gone,” Cayhill blurted. He rose to his feet, apparently reassured, but stayed behind Mudge.

  “What do you mean?” the captain asked.

  “It’s sealed off. There’s only the airway left.”

  Explaining why the Dhryn had stopped before finishing the last bag.

  “What is an esophagus, Lamisah?”

  “Something you need.” Mac chewed her lower lip, considering the Dhryn. The glowing white bands merged along the back, the entire area now appearing to pulse with every breath. Like the puffer form, she realized suddenly. Display or support for a growing body mass?

  Later.

  She laid her palm on the nearest band, feeling the membrane shudder delicately in response. The Dhryn did not object, merely turned her great head as far as possible to watch. Mac smiled at her, then kept examining the band. At the verge of band and blue skin, she spotted a small ridge on the blue and leaned in to see. A dimple, such as all Dhryn possessed, but this felt different. Without taking her eyes from it, Mac said, “Cayhill, I need your scope.”

  She didn’t pay attention to the ensuing protest, but wasn’t surprised to have Mudge pass her the device and stay close.

  Magnified, the dimple became a tiny, lipless mouth; its opening, when she pressed gently, no greater than her fingertip. She aimed the scope along the blue skin. Sure enough, all of the dimples had been modified in the same way.

  Mac stood up, her hand lingering on the Dhryn. “You can no longer feed yourself,” she said, unable to keep the regret from her voice. The end of individuality. Did the Dhryn feel it?

  “Then you are correct and this is a Progenitor,” concluded Ureif, rising slowly to his feet. “Reliant on her people.”

  “I am hungry.” There was overwhelming trust in the look the Dhryn gave Mac. “My lamisah will provide for me.”

  And she’d worried about adopting a Myg offspring.

  Mac was nodding before she knew she’d made the decision. “Dr. Cayhill’s broth. Some eyedroppers. We’ll figure something out.” For now.

  “Dr. Connor. I think we need to discuss a few things first.” Gillis’ jaw was clenched.

  She’d wondered how long it would take him to begin to see the problem of hosting a rapidly growing Dhryn Progenitor on his ship. Let alone what the neighbors were going to say.

  “Wait, Captain. If you would.” The Sinzi stood away from the table. He swept his fingers stiffly from his shoulders, then brought them together in that complex knot. Finally, he bowed deeply to the Dhryn. “I welcome you home at last, She Who Is Dhryn, on behalf of the Interspecies Union. The Consulate of the Annapolis Joy is at your service.” The fingers trembled, setting up a chime from their rings. “May I say, I am humbled to bear witness to this epic congruence, your return through space and body to the birthplace of your kind. It is the pinnacle of my life.” The Sinzi collected himself, saying more calmly, “Captain, I rely upon you to expedite suitable accommodations.”

  She really didn’t like the sound of this. From his pallor, neither did Gillis. Mac licked her lips. “Sinzi-ra, forgive me, but surely this is the best place right now for our—guest. While she requires medical care.” And eyedroppers.

  “I must make an immediate announcement that She Who Is Dhryn will receive representatives from other species. She cannot do that in here.” The topaz eyes seemed to glitter. “This ship will accommodate her needs, or we will move to another.”

  “I am hungry,” the object of these lofty plans
reminded them.

  Mac looked at Mudge, whose dumbfounded expression likely mirrored her own.

  Even Sinzi could be trapped by their own nature, she realized, feeling a sick foreboding. Those representatives weren’t going to be happy.

  Still, she thought more cheerfully, looked like she’d have help with the eyedroppers.

  The new Progenitor’s appetite proved unexpectedly useful. Not only did it keep the being herself preoccupied to the point of total compliance to everything around her, Mac thought some time later, but Cayhill had roused to oversee the entire project.

  Probably because he finally had a patient who didn’t talk back.

  “Are you listening to me, Norcoast?”

  Mac stifled a yawn and nodded. She could sum up Mudge’s response to recent events—he thought she’d lost her mind—but it would be impolite to stop him now. Not to mention impossible without help. “The Sinzi-ra is confident,” she pointed out. Again.

  “And the captain is not. Nor is Earthgov, or the Ministry, or any level of government represented in this solar system. Or on their way!”

  There had been a steady flow of traffic through the gate. Not surprising. What had been a surprise was how quickly and thoroughly the Sinzi-ra managed to disseminate word of the presence and condition of their new guest. Even her family should know by now.

  There was a basic consideration that transcended the Sinzi rapture at the physical journey of this individual. There could be other Wasteds lurking in the holds of the derelict ships, individuals innocent of the crimes committed by the rest of their species, individuals who needed immediate rescue.

  Though immediate was unlikely. Any rescue attempt was now being debated by the Inner Council, Ureif—or rather Filt—participating from here. They also debated the future of the Dhryn on the Annapolis Joy.

  Good luck with that, she wished them.

  “Norcoast!” His fist thumped down on the table.

  She rested her fingers on top of it. “Peace, Oversight. It’s done. Whatever happens now is out of our hands.”

  He harrumphed at this, then sighed. “You could have left the room.”

  “You,” she pointed out, “could have stayed at the Trust.”

  Mudge wasn’t ready to smile. “And I suppose you would have managed without me?”

  “It would have been difficult.” Being dead. She didn’t say it; she didn’t have to. She could see the memory passing over his face. Mac patted his fist, then rubbed her eyes. They were waiting on Captain Gillis, who’d left orders they weren’t to go anywhere until he’d clarified a few things.

  In her experience, that implied yelling.

  Or, harder to ignore, “how did you get me into this,” looks.

  Since Gillis had left to produce accommodations for his now-illustrious guest that wouldn’t offend the Sinzi but would satisfy his security staff, she shouldn’t have to face either for a while. “What time is it?” she asked Mudge, yawning again.

  “Too early for breakfast, too late for a night’s sleep.”

  Mac got up and went to the transparent wall that separated Gillis’ meeting room from the bridge. The tree kept its vigil to the side. The rest of the space was as incomprehensibly busy as before. “Can they see us?” She waved at one of the crew looking this way.

  “Of course not.” Mudge joined her. “Too distracting.”

  “There’s Fy.” Mac pressed her finger on the wall to indicate the Sinzi. “Is that the com?” Hard to tell, given the cluster of Humans, Grimnoii, and hovering ’screens.

  “Yes. If it hadn’t been for the new traffic, she’d be running checks on the gate station by now, but there hasn’t been a break.” At her impressed look, he preened ever so slightly. “Darcy keeps me up to speed.”

  As the station in question was little more than an orbiting box of monitoring equipment, connected remotely to the myriad other orbiting boxes that together coaxed the gate out of no-space, Mac thought the Sinzi should be quite happy to be able to work from the comfort of the ship. “ ‘Darcy,’ is it?” she teased, looking for the woman in question.

  Mudge harrumphed. “There’s no need for that tone, Norcoast,” he began, when the lighting on the bridge went red.

  Several other things happened at once. A klaxon went off, varying in volume but impossible to ignore. The organized confusion on the bridge became frantic, with some personnel diving for seats and others moving out of their way. The captain appeared through his door, one hand brushing the tree trunk as if by habit. Guards came through every other door, weapons at the ready.

  Including this room. Mac and Mudge whirled together at the sound of the door opening and heavy feet.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded, but the armored man shook his head.

  “There’ll be an announcement,” he told them, taking up his station by the now-closed door.

  To keep them in or . . .

  Mac whirled to Mudge, her hand tight on his arm. “The Ro. The walker. It didn’t come with the derelict—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She was shaking. “It came with us,” she shouted, desperate to be understood. “They’re on the Joy—”

  “No, they aren’t.” Mudge took hold of her shoulders, eyes intent on hers. He spoke deliberately, as if making sure she heard every word over the alarm. “You weren’t the only one who thought of that possibility, Norcoast. Security’s run constant checks, accounted for all sounds and mass within the ship. They mist the corridors and hangars at night, looking for signs. The Joy’s clean. We’re safe.”

  “Could have—told me—” she hiccuped fiercely.

  “And have you supervise that, too?” He gave her a small shake, looking more worried than he sounded. “I’m sorry, Norcoast. I didn’t want you to think about them anymore. I should have told you.”

  Mac hiccuped once more, and shut her mouth. She took a deep, slow breath through her nose, Mudge nodding encouragement, then let it out. “At least we weren’t asleep in bed,” she said faintly. She found herself wondering how much, if anything, of the captain of the Uosanah remained to help the Dhryn understand the alarm.

  Mudge’s hands squeezed her shoulders, then dropped away. “Shouldn’t be long.”

  Sure enough, the wailing alarm stopped, leaving an expectant silence. The red lighting switched back to normal. Mac could see Gillis preparing to speak—he looked her way, perhaps remembering they were there. She began to relax.

  Then she heard his voice, level and devastatingly calm.

  “We have Dhryn incoming. A Progenitor ship has arrived through the transect gate. Repeat, we have Dhryn incoming.

  “Battle stations.”

  20

  RISK AND REUNION

  WHICH PROGENITOR?

  Mac turned to Mudge.

  He took one look at her face, then grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him to the door control leading to the bridge. He had it open before the startled guard could do more than shout, the two of them stumbling down the stairs to the bridge floor.

  Captain Gillis appeared to be one of those rare beings unaffected by sudden entrances or emergencies. Or was at his best under pressure. He greeted them with a gracious nod, waving away the guard. “Dr. Connor. Mr. Mudge. Good timing. If you’ll join me?” He led the way to the com area, where Fy had taken over the controls of three consoles, her fingers flying through their displays with that inhuman speed. Mac averted her eyes, queasy enough.

  Townee was there. She looked at them with a frown. “We’re having difficulty establishing a link, sir. Their equipment isn’t IU standard.”

  “Keep on it. Sinzi-ra. Any more coming through?”

  Were they outnumbered?

  “Not yet. There has been—maneuvering—on the part of ships in a direct line. I have asserted the need to avoid provocation at this point.”

  Who’d fire first?

  Mac rubbed her thumb over the rings on her fingers.

  Gillis might have been asking abo
ut the weather. “Show me.”

  The air above them darkened until she might have looked outside the ship, into space itself. The ships were too small, she thought, but that was to include present company.

  They were otherwise accurately rendered. She found the Trisulian, now at the far side of the group from the Uosanah. Many ships were in motion relative to one another, moving away, she realized. The Joy was still, sitting above the dotted oval representing the event of the gate, between all the others and the oncoming Progenitor Ship.

  “Enlarge.”

  The image of the Progenitor Ship grew larger. As it did, there were gasps. The silver hull had been eaten away; vast portions were little more than dribbles of what had been solid, but had somehow melted and then congealed. The rest was deformed and pitted. A wonder the thing flew at all . . .

  Mac’s pocket chirped.

  To be accurate, the salmon in her pocket chirped.

  She pulled it out with numb fingers, then looked up to see she had the full attention of those around her.

  The chirping, now louder, became an arrhythmic clicking. One of Fy’s fingers reached toward Mac, the tip beckoning. She offered the carving—whatever it was—and the finger wrapped around it, while the Sinzi’s other fingers darted and danced furiously within the com system display.

  A loud crackle, then a voice. “Do not fire. This is Nikolai Trojanowski, Ministry of Extra-Solar Human Affairs, attached to the IU Gathering. Do not fire. Our intentions are not hostile. Please send a shuttle with adjustable docking clamps to these coordinates. Repeating. This is Nikolai—”

  Mac listened to the words, hearing the triumph as well as exhaustion, and smiled.

  The man knew how to make an entrance.

  Mac thudded her fist into her pillow. She considered the situation and thumped it again.

  She’d been the image of a calm, cool professional.

  “Of course, there have to be negotiations,” she told the cowering bit of foam. “Yes, I quite understand that means delays.” Thump! “Why should anything involving aliens ever—” Thump!”—be—“Thump!”—easy?!” Thump!