Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Mac chewed her lower lip, then nodded. “I think there’s something closer.”

  “No.”

  “That was pretty quick. You could at least think it over.”

  Darcy Townee snorted. “What I think, Dr. Connor, is that you should have had enough shuttle rides for one lifetime. And realized our current situation means no travel, no exceptions.”

  Fy rested a fingertip on Mac’s shoulder. They’d contacted the consular hangar deck, to find they’d need the captain’s authorization to release the Sinzi’s tiny ship. The next step had been a trip to the bridge, only to find Gillis tied up in a meeting. Probably looking at them through the wall right now, Mac thought with irritation.

  “Surely I may be permitted to take out my dart? I should inspect the transect station.”

  Among other things. The Sinzi-ra had been galvanized by Mac’s suggestion she investigate the construction of the Progenitor’s ship, so conveniently nearby.

  Not that they had to specify all their stops.

  Or all their reasons.

  “That’s not up to me, Sinzi-ra. I’m very sorry.”

  “Then get him.” Mac pointed to the wall.

  Townee gave her a very strange look. “I beg your pardon, Dr. Connor?”

  “You heard me.” She took a step and wrapped her hand around the tree trunk, not for support but as warning she was prepared to hold on and stay. “You’re interfering with the business of the Sinzi-ra of Myriam. We’re not leaving until you release the Sinzi-ra’s dart, or get Captain Gillis in here to do so.”

  Standing beside her, Fy let her fingers swoop around in a gesture that, while impressive, Mac was reasonably sure meant nothing in particular. Quick study.

  Townee, confronted by insubordinate behavior on her own bridge, by individuals she couldn’t do more than sputter at, turned a dusky red. Mudge could do it better, Mac thought rather cheerfully.

  They should have stopped by his quarters to collect him. Nothing like officious moral support.

  “Dr. Connor. We are at alert. I will have you removed.”

  Mac tightened her grip, the artificial fingers indenting the bark. “You can try,” she offered politely.

  “My money’s on the biologist.”

  She reacted to that voice before she named it, her heart thudding helplessly in her chest. Handy tree, she thought, holding on for dear life.

  Nikolai Trojanowski stood at the top of the stairs leading to the meeting room, within the opening left by its sliding door. Captain Gillis and Ureif were with him, as well as Cayhill.

  They’d invited Cayhill and not her?

  Mac’s resentment vanished in a flash of understanding. Cayhill was supporting Nik, his arm around the other man’s waist, his shoulder under Nik’s arm. He’d been hurt.

  She could still feel it.

  That was how they came down the three wide stairs. Slowly. So slowly she had time to loosen each finger in turn, then walk forward to meet them.

  “We wish to leave this ship,” Fy insisted, having come along also.

  Mac was close enough to see the amused look Nik gave her. “You do?”

  Close enough to see the crusts of burns on his skin, the way his clothes hung loose, how Cayhill was keeping him upright.

  She stifled a cry behind her hand, eyes filling with tears. Nik said something she couldn’t hear, pushing free of Cayhill to reach for her. She hurried to take his weight, inhaling sweat, sickness, and pain as she pressed her cheek against his. His hand cupped her head, then slipped. Warned, she held tighter. “Cayhill!”

  “I’ve got him. Here.” They eased Nik to the floor, Mac going down first to support his head and shoulders. “I warned you,” Cayhill snapped furiously at no one in particular. “Get a stretcher up here, stat.”

  “Is he dead?” This from Fy.

  Mac ignored everything but Cayhill, kneeling beside Nik. “How bad is he?”

  He gave her a quick look, then resumed going over his new patient. “Until I do a scan and blood work, I won’t know. Doubt he’s slept in days. Signs of dehydration. Those burns—healed, maybe, but look like radiation. Stayed on his feet by will, nothing more.”

  “Here.” Mac held her hand over Nik’s lower left rib, drew it up and over to his right side. “He was hurt here. In a fight. About a week ago. I don’t know the weapon.”

  Cayhill opened Nik’s shirt, giving a short grunt at what he saw. “I do. Handheld disrupter. Doesn’t look too bad. More direct or prolonged, though . . .” He looked at her. “How did you know?”

  Because she remembered the pain as if it had been hers . . . “We’ve been in touch.”

  The stretcher arrived. Mac hovered nearby, finding it strange to watch the smooth practiced motions of Cayhill and his orderlies from her feet, not her back. As Nik had watched when she’d come on board.

  No one spoke to her. There’d been a look or two. A whisper to the captain. The Sinzi stood by, Fy silenced by confusion if nothing else. Mac didn’t have room for her now.

  He looked . . . spent.

  When the stretcher left the bridge, Mac followed.

  As he’d followed.

  No one tried to stop her.

  By the time Nikolai Trojanowski opened his hazel eyes, Mac had spent a lazy eternity reminding herself of the strong lines of his jaw, the shadows below cheekbone and eyebrow, pooled in the hollow at the base of his throat. She’d already met the wound on his body, now washed and sealed with the rest of his scars.

  Yummy.

  By the time his eyes focused and puzzled at the ceiling, she’d adjusted the fine chain around his neck, with its paired rings. Each time, she’d practiced what she’d say when he awoke, and changed her mind as often. She’d flushed and paled and finally settled to content.

  So by the time his head finally turned on the pillow and those hazel eyes found her, she just smiled. “Took you long enough. Trust Cayhill.” The physician hadn’t asked anyone’s permission before pumping Nik full of sedative as well as nutrients. Crisis or no.

  But when Nik didn’t smile, or speak, or do anything but look at her—his eyes like someone drowning—Mac understood. “I’m really here,” she whispered. “I can prove it.”

  She took off her clothes. Careful of the tubes and healing wound, she slipped in beside him, and pressed her body along his. “There. I won’t let go.” She held him while he shook.

  And held him after he stopped shaking.

  Mac opened her eyes and found Nik looking down at her. “Took you long enough,” he said, his hand resting flat and warm on her hip. His cracked lips twitched into a half smile. “I can’t believe you got Cayhill to put me in your quarters.”

  “We’ve reached an understanding.” His hand strayed and she frowned. “An understanding, Mr. Trojanowski, which included you resting.”

  That dimple.

  “Define ‘resting,’ Dr. Connor.”

  She wanted nothing more than to stay like this, the door locked with them hidden inside, his arm, sleep-heavy, across her stomach. Mac admitted it, then drew her fingertips down the side of his face, smooth one way, catching in stubble the other. “No more rest,” she said when Nik opened his eyes.

  Their hazel darkened as he gazed at her. His arm lifted, but when she started to move away, it came down to hold her in place. “We need to talk,” his breath warm on her cheek.

  As meeting venues went, Mac thought, snuggling closer, this had merit. “Who starts?”

  His hand captured hers; his fingers toyed with the rings she wore. “I see they made it.” A question in his eyes.

  She nodded. “And worked. Those three,” she amended, touching the one exiled for safety to her artificial hand. “This—I’m guessing the Progenitor wanted a close look.”

  His expression could only be described as dumbfounded. “She imprinted a message?”

  Mac winced. “Let’s just say I appreciate Her situation.”

  A pause. “So you got most of what I wanted you to know.”

/>   And more. She tensed involuntarily.

  “What’s wrong?” A flash of concern. “Did the lamnas hurt you? Mac, I would never have tried them if I thought there was a risk.”

  Okay, a potential disadvantage to bed meetings. She made herself relax. “Have you ever received a lamnas?”

  He shook his head slightly, his lips brushing her ear. Distraction. Mac wasn’t entirely clear if that was a disadvantage or not. “Anchen and I practiced, but I couldn’t make sense of what she tried to send me. I had to rely on her belief that another Human—you—would be able to detect words, if I concentrated on them.”

  If they hadn’t been like this—the dim light, huddled together under a sheet—Mac might not have said it. Not without a few beers. But Nik deserved to know. “To be honest,” she said, “your messages weren’t just words.”

  His turn to tense, which under other circumstances she would have found intriguing. “What do you mean?”

  “I—felt—what you were feeling.”

  “Oh.” His lips curved beside her eye. “I suppose that explains the lack of small talk, even from you.” His hand rose to cup her breast in its warmth. “I can’t say I mind.”

  “Not just those feelings,” she clarified. “And not just feelings. I received memories. Your memories. As if I’d been there. Been you.”

  He might have turned to stone. Mac pulled away reluctantly, sitting up and crossing one leg beneath so she could look at him. Nik’s stricken expression as he stared back was more than she could bear. “It’s okay,” she said, feeling clumsy. “No one else knows.”

  “Anchen—she didn’t say anything about memories.”

  Mac didn’t flinch from the growing outrage on his face. She’d feel the same. “How could she know what would happen between Humans? And how do we know she’d make that distinction at all?” Words, feelings, memories—what had to pass between the individuals inhabiting one body?

  Nik sat up, ripping free the tubing that had somehow stayed in place. Not for want of trying, Mac thought, tempted to smile despite everything else. “What memories?” he demanded harshly, eyes dark.

  Anyone else, she’d doubt. Anyone else would recoil from her, from such exposure.

  “Your worst,” Mac admitted without fear. “At a guess.”

  “Oh.” His face paled and she watched him swallow. “And you still . . .” A hand waved vaguely at the bed.

  She frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Gods, Mac.” Nik took her in his arms, pressing his lips to her forehead before burying his face in the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.

  The man was in a weakened state. She put up with it for another thirty seconds, then tapped him on the back. “Saving the known universe?”

  Nik lifted his head, his anguished expression wiping whatever else she might have said from her mind. “We have to talk about this,” he stated. “All of it. I have to explain—”

  From somewhere, Mac found the strength to deny him. “Later,” she promised, very gently. “If we live that long. If it still matters.” Before he could argue, she tightened her arms around him once, then stood. “Right now, there’s someone the Progenitor needs to meet.”

  “She isn’t here.”

  Mac blinked. “I saw the ship—”

  “A negotiated sacrifice.” Nik eased his legs over the side of the bed, wincing only slightly. His hand rested on his stomach, where Cayhill had applied mem-skin over the almost-healed but tender wound. Habit, Mac decided, well able to imagine trying to get medical help from the Dhryn.

  There must have been others. “Who else survived?” she asked, feeling guilty not to have given the rest of his companions a thought. Then what he’d said sank in. “ ‘Negotiated sacrifice?’ ”

  The corner of his mouth deepened. “We came out better than expected. The Impeci ’s crew of five made it, as well as the research staff other than Genny P’tool. A bit worn, but nothing worse. The Progenitor broke from hiding to come to us; we docked and so escaped most of the radiation. As for the sacrifice?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it, Mac. Another Progenitor had taken shelter in the same system. Both were starving. They discussed the situation through their Vessels and the other—well, I don’t know what argument was used, but all the Dhryn, including the Progenitor, from the other ship agreed to be consumed in order for our Progenitor to survive.”

  Mac tilted her head. “ ‘Our’ Progenitor?”

  Nik looked up at her, his eyes like transparent green glass. “I learned a few truths myself.” He rose to his feet with almost his usual grace. “I’ve come in the empty ship, with a skeleton Dhryn crew, to act as Her Vessel.” He paused. “Skeleton crew. There’s truth for you. How long can they fast? I never saw one eat. They were skin on bone, Mac. Haven Dhryn. None spoke Instella—whenever one looked my way I’d say lamisah and hope for the best.”

  Mac fastened on what caught her attention. “You’re Her Vessel? What happened to the Dhryn Vessel?”

  “He disappeared the second day we were on board,” his face grim and set. “Along with all the Dhryn not directly engaged in operating Her ship. There was no explanation.”

  “No need.” Mac wasn’t sure if what she felt was sympathy for the being who had been Parymn Ne Sa Las, or admiration for Dhryn communal will to survive. Likely both. “She told me.” She held up her hand and touched the fourth lamnas. “The Progenitor’s running out of time.”

  Nik looked stunned, but didn’t ask. Just as well, Mac thought. “That’s why I’m here. She sent me to prepare the way. She’s following, to meet with the IU and negotiate a truce through the Sinzi. While we rested, Ureif’s been setting up the protocols.”

  “We need a shower,” Mac announced bluntly. “Now.” She took his arm in a firm grip and pulled him into the stall with her, turning on the sprays. Once sure they were surrounded by the noise of water, she burst out: “Are you trying to destroy the IU? To ruin any credibility the Sinzi have? Because you couldn’t have found a better way to—” The rest was smothered by his mouth.

  When the wet, passionate kiss ended—too soon and not soon enough, under the circumstances—Nik held her close. She felt his sigh. “There’s risk on all sides, Mac. But you said it. She doesn’t have much time left. None of the Dhryn do. And we need them to defeat the Ro.”

  Brain damage? Mac considered it, as well as the option of having Nik sedated. “The Dhryn are the Ro’s weapon,” she pointed out.

  “A weapon that almost destroyed them.”

  She shut off the water. They stood toe-to-toe, dripping in unison, Nik waiting for her to speak. Which might take a while, Mac thought wildly.

  As if sensing this, he reached out and plucked a towel from the rack. “Our Progenitor sent Brymn Las looking for an answer.” He began drying her off, starting with her hair. “What is the minimum genetic diversity required in a population to respond to evolutionary stress? Could this number be predicted for a species? He discovered your work on evolutionary units in salmon. Which, Dr. Connor,” the towel progressed downward, “I found riveting reading, given our situation.”

  Just her luck, Mac grumbled to herself, to be toweled by a handsome man in a shower and have him want to talk salmon. “Brymn Las was worried about his people,” she said, taking the towel and her turn drying him.

  Thoroughly.

  He put his hands against the tile behind her head as she worked, eyes warm. “That wasn’t why his Progenitor asked the question, Mac. She wanted to know if they’d killed enough Ro in the Chasm to doom that species—to finally be safe from them.”

  Mac dropped the towel. “The Chasm?” she breathed, staring up at him.

  “The Chasm. It’s been the puzzle all along, Mac. The key to solving it isn’t how, but why those worlds were laid waste.” His smile was faint, but triumphant. “And that it happened twice.”

  “Twice.” Now she let him hear her skepticism. “Why didn’t the Origins Team—or any other—find a result like that?”
>
  “There was nothing to find. The Ro used the Dhryn to wipe the life from those worlds, Mac. What happened next? The Progenitor had stories, legends, bits of information passed down from the three Progenitors who made it to Haven. Who were taken to Haven,” he corrected, nothing warm or calm in his eyes now. “From these, and what She learned from Brymn Las and others—including what we told Her Vessel—She pieced together the rest. They were changed by the Ro, used by them to destroy other life in the Chasm, including their own homeworld. But there’s more.”

  “Go on.”

  “Ro attention was fixed on those empty worlds—why, no Dhryn knew. The Dhryn were preoccupied themselves, desperate to find food for their now-starving Progenitors. Some broke the Ro conditioning. Whether they then realized what they’d been made to do and rebelled, or whether they were simply trying to survive—it doesn’t matter now. The Dhryn attacked every world in the Chasm again, this time obliterating the Ro. Or so they thought.”

  “They were wrong.”

  “Yes. My guess is that some Ro were in their ships. All they had to do was wait for the Dhryn to turn on one another. Rather than lose such a useful tool,” his voice had an edge, “they collected the last three Progenitors and took them to Haven, locking them into one system. The Dhryn could do nothing but breed and wait. The Progenitors kept their dreadful secrets from the new generations, hoping they’d done so much damage to the Ro that they’d never return for them, always afraid they would. They did their best to forget. And almost succeeded.”

  The defense of ordinary Dhryn: “We do not think of it.” Mac shivered. “The Ro did return. The IU even helped, giving the Dhryn access to the Naralax.”

  “Just what the Ro wanted. Only this time, when the Dhryn rebel, they’ll have allies. The IU.”

  She frowned with concern. “Who else knows all this?” The question of his sanity she kept to herself.

  “The Sinzi-ra, the captain, the Inner Council, the Ministry. The decision makers.” Nik’s fingers traced her jaw, lingered on her lips. She gave a startled protest as he turned on the shower. “No one needs us quite yet,” he assured her, his voice low and husky. “You remember how dry a Dhryn ship can be, don’t you?” He leaned his head back until water ran over his closed eyes and burned skin. It streamed from his chin and down his chest, glistening on his shoulders.