Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Or it was a spy thing. The ability to hunt out closets. Doubtless useful.

  “Ureif’s waiting for us,” she commented.

  “I know that, too.” Nik stood in front of the now-closed closet door, close enough to touch. He’d tried to cross his arms, but had winced and left them at his sides. She guessed his wounded abdomen didn’t appreciate the pressure. Now he leaned his shoulders against the door. “You’ve been busy, Dr. Connor. Care to save me finding out in bits and pieces?”

  Not accusing, she judged. Truly curious. And there were things he should be told. “How do you want it? The abridged ‘things I want you to know’ or the really long ‘it’s too late to argue with me even if you could’ version?”

  “How about the ‘I trust you’ version.” Almost that dimple.

  Ah. Mac fastened her eyes on his and began at the beginning, with Emily.

  Nik was more than a patient listener, he had that rare talent of drawing confidences from others. Handy in a spy. She’d noticed that about him before. He became absorbed, as if he processed every word. She could see it now, in how the hazel of his eyes responded, growing darker or lighter, and in the expressive lines of his mouth.

  Those lines had settled into conviction by the time Mac finished.

  “Emily keeps repeating ‘eleven,’ ” Nik echoed in a low voice, eyes hooded. “Could it be that simple?”

  She stared at him. “It means something to you?”

  “Maybe.” Nik frowned in thought. “We’ve wondered all along—why so few attacks? Why no more? It’s not the Dhryn’s choice. The Progenitors starve waiting for the Ro to ‘call’ them to feed. Why the delay?”

  “Not because we’ve scared them,” she said bluntly. “Not because we can stop them.”

  “The Ro do seem to hold all the cards.” Nik lifted his head. The closet light caught fire in his eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he looked triumphant. “Why would they let the Dhryn die now, after all they’ve done to start them in motion?”

  “You expect me to explain the Ro?” Mac snorted, but Nik only raised a challenging eyebrow. He was going someplace with this, she realized. Play along. “The Dhryn are tools,” she said slowly. “You discard a tool once you finish a job. Or if you find a better one. Or if it’s defective,” she added, remembering a certain unloved power screwdriver and a cold, wet night trying to repair an autosampler. The screwdriver had skipped perfectly over the waves.

  “Or you put it down, so you can pick up something else. After all, you only have two of these.” Nik lifted his hands and wiggled the fingers at her.

  “Your point being?”

  “Assume the Ro aren’t finished. What if they’ve put the Dhryn aside, not because they want to, or it’s convenient, but because there simply aren’t enough Ro to be everywhere or do everything that’s necessary to control them. Not enough hands, Mac.”

  He liked the idea. Mac chewed her lip, wanting to like it, too. But she’d learned caution the hard way. “Go on,” she prompted.

  “After I heard what the Progenitor had to say, about the Dhryn turning on the Ro in the Chasm, how close they’d come to defeating them—it dawned on me we could be dealing with the survivors of that battle. Emily said the Ro abandoned a planetary existence millennia ago.” Nik reached out and took her by the arms, his eyes aglow. “Mac. Those survivors could be the last of them. I think that’s what Emily discovered. What if she’s been trying to tell us how many Ro are left?”

  “Eleven?” Mac’s hands tightened on his wrists. “Gods. That simple? Poor Em.” It made a terrible sense. Through the confused and distorted memories, the well-meant efforts to cure her obsession, she’d clung to that one bit of vital information. She’d tried to tell them.

  Without context, without Nik’s new information about the Dhryn, it would have been for nothing.

  He’d kept talking, the words staccato quick and sure. “The Ro paid no attention to us until the Progenitor began searching out the truth. When She rediscovered enough to be concerned the Ro could return, when She contacted a Human—you, Mac—that’s when they took notice.” Nik’s voice turned grim. “They tried to identify and silence Her. One ship. Remember? Maybe . . . maybe one Ro. While the rest moved on to bigger things, directing the Dhryn against entire planets. One at a time. Why? Did one of them need to be there?” He looked distinctly annoyed, that familiar crease beside his eyes. “Too many damned questions.”

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss his nose. “So I’ll add mine. Why did the Ro strip the oceans from the hundreds of worlds in the Chasm?”

  Nik got that look. The one she’d learned meant something she wasn’t going to like.

  “What is it?”

  “Are you sure they did?”

  Mac frowned. “It happened.”

  “Yes, but was it intentional? Think about it, Mac. The Dhryn kill the Ro on those worlds. Without the Ro, their no-space technology fails—technology they could have located deep underwater. And then?”

  “I don’t like where this is going, Nik.”

  “If the Ro lived or hid in oceans before, they could be doing it again.” Nik’s eyes burned into hers; she had the feeling he didn’t see her at all, caught by nightmare. She shared it. Then his expression smoothed into what Mac thought of as his public face, his noncommittal, do-what-it-takes, face. She wanted to shake him. “What cost do you think the IU would be willing to bear,” he asked in a light, pleasant, how-are-you voice, “if it meant the Dhryn destroyed the last of the Ro before dying themselves? To end both threats? Would they vote to accept the cost of a world?”

  Not their world. “Not Earth,” Mac heard herself say. She let go of him, backing into the shelf. Half a step—small closet.

  “A backwater planet,” Nikolai Trojanowski reminded her, implacable, cool. “A transportable, adaptable intelligent species. A small price, isn’t it? If the IU can trap so much as one Ro there? Better yet, get them all? Save the transect system. Save themselves?”

  Mac glared. “You aren’t serious. Nik. You can’t possibly—”

  “ ‘Where on that scale,’ Dr. Connor. Remember?” His mouth twisted abruptly, his voice losing its calm. “Oh, the IU would owe humanity. Those who survived would be compensated, resettled. Our species would gain a seat on the Inner Council. A brand new world.”

  Salmon, surging into the air, water falling from their silvered sides. The great trees leaning overhead, green and gold and mossed with life. A slug, crawling towards the taste of sex and food.

  The shivered cry of eagles.

  “There is no other world,” Mac said, knowing it was the truth.

  Not for them.

  Not for her.

  “There’s no other world,” Nik agreed. He opened his arms. When she stepped into them, he put his lips to her ear. “We’ll need another way.”

  Nik took them to the nearest communications station. Once there, he dropped his ident in front of the crew. Whatever it said, the three didn’t hesitate, immediately standing and moving well back from their console, letting Nik take their place.

  She could use one of those. Mac considered it, then changed her mind. She’d seen the cost of that kind of power. She waited, silent, while her spy composed several missives. If anyone could send secrets, it would be this man.

  Those secrets sat inside her like a meal her body already regretted. Hollans would get more than he bargained for, Mac thought. Fact and speculation. The former might be scattered; the latter fit too well. Neither were comforting.

  “I can’t set up a give and go with Earth,” Nik said abruptly. “Have you been having equipment problems?”

  “Not at our end, sir,” answered one of the crew. “But there’ve been sporadic delays with incoming packets for the past few hours. Sinzi-ra Myriam is monitoring the gate.”

  Nik swiveled the chair to look at the crew. “Outgoing?”

  Two of them glanced at the third, a woman with specialist bars on her arm. “From our side, outgoing read
s nominal, sir,” she replied.

  Even Mac could hear the unspoken doubt in her voice. Nik rose to his feet, every line of his body tense. “Traffic is moving through the gate?” he demanded.

  “Of course, sir.” All three looked astonished by the very idea. They were lucky, thought Mac, who wasn’t. “But until the incoming rate returns to normal,” the specialist pointed out, “we won’t know if outgoing messages are being delayed as well.”

  “We’ll notify you once the problem’s rectified, sir. Shouldn’t be long.”

  Nik nodded. “Thank you.” He turned to Mac. “Shall we go meet your guest?” Warm smile, easy tone. If she didn’t know better, she’d think it was an ordinary day and he was proposing to visit a mutual friend. A Human chameleon, she decided enviously. Anyone looking at Nik would think nothing was wrong with the world.

  Anyone looking at her? Mac snorted. She didn’t need a mirror. The crew they’d encountered in the corridor had given her second glances. Worried ones. These three had been no different.

  “Let’s go,” she agreed.

  The length of corridor leading back to the hangar and beyond turned out to be consular space, bustling with activity. None of it Grimnoii, Mac noted. They found the Wasted’s luxurious new quarters without difficulty—just a little early. Crew were still installing slanted false walls. Humans only. Mac hoped it was convenience. It didn’t bode well if only the Sinzi and Humans could bear to be near a Dhryn.

  The Progenitor, they were told, was still holding court in her room in the Origins corridor.

  “They’d better hope she doesn’t grow too big for the door first,” Mac muttered to Nik as they retraced their steps. “Gillis won’t be happy if they cut into a permanent wall.”

  Nik chuckled and took her hand. “Mikey’s not so bad.”

  “ ‘Mikey?’ ” She gave him a sidelong look. Captain Gillis? “Do I want to know?”

  “We went to school together.” Nik grinned at whatever he saw in her face. “What? Did you think I never went? I did, you know. Learned to read. Math. How to torment the new teacher. All that.”

  “I never thought of your life before all this—” Mac waved at the corridor. Tactful as always, she chided herself and tried to cover it. “Were you one of those daring kids whose parents came to know the principal?”

  “Orphan.”

  Could she be worse at this? “I’m sor—”

  He silenced her fumbling apology with a quick kiss, making her blush and gathering far too much interest from passing crew. “Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t old enough to know them. Mining accident took most of the adults that year. As for the principal?” Nik paused. “I managed to stay off his scanner.”

  They reached the door to the Origins upper level and he keyed in the code. “You do know I have brothers,” she commented as they went through the door. “No staying off theirs.”

  An inscrutable look. “Should I be worried?”

  “Not about Owen,” Mac grinned. “Blake? Now he’ll be—”

  “Norcoast!”

  Easier to face than a furious Mudge?

  “Oversight,” she greeted warily, taking in his decidedly rumpled appearance. “Been here long?” “Here” being outside the closed and locked door to her empty quarters.

  “No. I’ve spent most of the last hour getting past those infernal Frow!”

  Oh, dear. Mac winced. “I’ll speak to them. This is—”

  But Mudge had already transferred his glare to Nik, his entire body shaking with rage. “As for you, Mr. Trojanowski, I would expect a man of your responsibilities to not only appear in timely fashion at scheduled meetings but to have a care for others. Your treatment of Dr. Connor has been nothing short of appalling. Appalling!”

  “You’re absolutely right, Charles,” Nik said solemnly.

  Mac coughed. “Could we discuss this on the way, please?” Or never?

  “On the—” Mudge sputtered.

  “We’re late, right?” she said, her eyes pleading, not now.

  Mudge harrumphed fiercely, but subsided. “You were late,” this with emphasis, “an hour ago.”

  “Then we’d best be going.” Nik waited for Mudge to lead. Mudge gave a meaningful glare at the ladderway and stayed where he was.

  Mac shook her head and walked past them both.

  Probably the best approach with the Frow, anyway.

  The Frow had wisely chosen discretion, perhaps remembering Mac’s reaction to their previous Mudge-tossing escapade. Their presence was a mere shuffling in the distance, a glow of alert eyes. She waved as she stepped off the ladder at the lower level, as much to remind them she was watching while the others climbed down, as to say thanks.

  The guards at the door were still crew. While steps away, Mac felt the touch of Nik’s fingers on her wrist and stopped. “I’m not sure we should mention the other Dhryn,” he told them both. “Not until we understand the dynamics better.”

  Mudge harrumphed. “Which would make perfect sense, except it’s too late. While you were recuperating, Ureif made sure Her Glory was fully apprised of the situation. And myself.” This last with a somewhat smug look. Mac could well imagine Mudge wearing down all authority in reach to find out what was happening.

  “ ‘Her Glory?’ ” She raised an eyebrow.

  “We’ve been informed that’s the appropriate address by a non-Dhryn.”

  “Haven Dhryn don’t acknowledge the existence of non-Dhryn,” she pointed out. “How could there be such a thing?”

  “Makes sense,” Nik countered. “The necessities of interacting with the IU. Sinzi-ra Ureif dealt with colonial Dhryn, true, but he would have needed to communicate with the Progenitors if only through their erumisah.” He looked ahead to the guarded door. “I might as well pull what rank I have as the Vessel for—for the other Progenitor.” He rubbed one hand over his chin thoughtfully. “Her Glory was a ship’s captain, right? Brymn Las was a traveled scholar. Makes you wonder about the early experiences of the other Progenitors, doesn’t it?”

  “They’re likely diverse individuals,” Mudge agreed. “It could be difficult to predict their behavior, should they begin to act outside the influence of the Ro.”

  “Late, remember?” Mac rolled her eyes and started for the door. Her companions hastened to follow.

  There’d been some effort to improve the Dhryn’s temporary quarters. Another of the work area walls—the one to her precious communication equipment—had come down. The communication gear itself was no longer in sight. The floor was half sand, with a pair of jelly-chairs, the remainder a soft red carpeting. On the carpet was an immense padded chaise lounge affair, also red. From its proportions, it hadn’t come from the Joy. The thing was propped to support its occupant.

  An occupant who hooted with delight at the sight of Mac. “Lamisah!” shouted Her Glory. The floor underfoot thrummed with whatever else she said.

  “Please don’t move,” Cayhill said, hovering over the recumbent alien. The Dhryn bristled with curved tubes, as if a clear spray was shooting from her body in all directions. The other way around, Mac realized, tracing the tubes back to where they connected to an apparatus. Perfusion pump, she grinned to herself. Knew it.

  Ureif had risen from his chair, fingers flowing in a graceful welcome. His blood-red rings matched the carpet perfectly. Nice touch, Mac thought, although she was reasonably sure that “red” wasn’t the color to the Sinzi it was to her eyes.

  Nik acknowledged the Sinzi-ra, but his attention was fixed on the Dhryn. From his expression, he was every bit as amazed as she’d expected. He nodded to the physician. “Dr. Cayhill.”

  Cayhill ran his eyes over Nik and grunted. “I see you’ve recovered. When you get around to my messages, Mr. Trojanowski, do pay attention to the one listing your nutritional requirements.” He turned back to his task.

  “You look wonderful,” Mac told the Dhryn, ignoring Cayhill. And she did seem the image of health, her blue skin almost fluorescent, the glow from her bands sof
t and steady. There seemed no further increase in size; perhaps growth occurred in spurts. Must not help Gillis sleep better.

  “I feel wonderful! These are wonderful beings! All is wonderful!” Each “wonderful” was accompanied by a heave on the lounge, producing a fluttering of the tubes that sent Cayhill into frenzied action.

  “You know you must keep still, Lamisah,” Mac said in Dhryn.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” One golden eye winked at her. Her Glory, no longer bouncing, switched back to Instella without effort. “He is a marvel, my erumisah Gordon Matthew Cayhill.”

  The voice, the phrasing, was warm and friendly. Confident. Even charming. All things the Wasted hadn’t been. Somehow Mac doubted this personality had belonged to the former captain of the Uosanah. Here was a new individual, suited to lead her kind.

  Or, at the moment, four Humans and a Sinzi. Mac turned to introduce Nik. He shook his head slightly and she closed her mouth, glancing at Mudge who looked equally puzzled.

  Without a word, Nik walked up to the massive Dhryn and knelt near her head.

  For her part, Her Glory looked as confused as Mac felt. She leaned forward as if studying Nik, her mouth slightly open, lips working as if she spoke without sound. Then she suddenly reared up, her handed arm coming up before her face, her other limbs tensed. Cayhill scrambled to corral the tubes. “I taste Her! I taste Her!” shouted the agitated Dhryn. “Where is She!?”

  It seemed clear Nik was in imminent danger of attack—the Dhryn could smash his skull with that arm, Mac realized—but he remained motionless and in reach. When Mudge moved forward, she stopped him. “Nik knows what he’s doing,” she whispered. Hopefully.

  “My Progenitor has sent me, Her Vessel,” Nik said in Instella, calm and collected. “I am to speak with you on Her behalf.”

  “You are not-Dhryn.” But she eased back down and lowered her hand. Cayhill growled something under his breath and shot Mac a dirty look as he hurried to reinstall now-dripping tubes.