Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  How could this be her fault? Mac thought indignantly.

  “These are unusual times.”

  A forlorn hoot. “As I am proof.” A long pause, in which gold eyes met hazel. “Speak, then, Vessel.”

  She could almost feel the tension ease from Nik’s shoulders. “My Progenitor would have me tell you of the Great Journey,” he began. “How That Which Is Dhryn was perverted by the Ro. And how That Which Is Dhryn must follow the path of the truth.”

  Mac held her breath, waiting for the Dhryn’s reaction, but Her Glory must have been made of sterner stuff than others of her kind. She merely said, “Go on.”

  “These things and more you should hear before my Progenitor joins us.”

  The glow from the bands around her torso pulsed with more intensity. A display? wondered Mac. “She returns to Haven?” asked the Dhryn.

  Guess no one thought to correct that small confusion, Mac winced. But Nik didn’t blink. “She’ll be here soon,” he answered smoothly.

  In Dhryn. “Will She ask for my flesh?” The warmth was gone from Her Glory’s voice. Mac felt the vibration through the floor, saw it shake the fountain spray of tubing. “I am younger, stronger. More fit, more deserving. That Which Is Dhryn must survive.” Louder. “I will ask for Her flesh! My lamisah will be my Vessel. She will demand it!”

  No doubt about it. That imperative finger was aimed her way. Mac sighed inwardly. Salmon researcher. Would no one remember?

  “I can’t be your Vessel—” she began.

  “Why not? He claims to be one.”

  Mac’s eyes narrowed. Her Glory was as new to this as they were. “Do you even know what a vessel is?”

  That was a pout. “I know what a Vessel does—speak for a Progenitor. You must speak for me! She cannot have my flesh!”

  Nik rose to his feet. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, making an accurate guess at what was going on. “My Progenitor means you no harm. She seeks a truce, a way for All That Is Dhryn to survive. She offers the truth.”

  “Why will he not speak Dhryn?” Her Glory asked with disdain.

  She had a few choices here, thought Mac, most of them complicated. She’d learned not to trust complicated, when it came to aliens.

  Mac stepped closer. “Because Her Vessel has good manners. It’s rude to speak any language but Instella in the presence of other species.” This, in Instella, as firmly as she’d ever chastised a student. “These fine beings will not take you seriously unless you behave to your station.”

  She was acutely aware of those fine beings, and how they were, each in his own way, staring at her in disbelief.

  Her Glory, meanwhile, began to hoot. “Ah, my excellent Vessel,” she said in Instella. “Again you guide my path correctly. I apologize to all. But—” her head bent to regard Nik, “—I remain of decided appetite.”

  To his credit, the Ministry’s liaison with aliens bowed gracefully and took this strange comment in stride. “I will convey your words, of course.”

  “Tell me what I should hear,” Her Glory requested, her small mouth smiling. “But first, erumisah? I crave something. Perhaps what you called grapes? And those delightful little leaves.”

  “I’ll arrange it.” Cayhill went to the com and barked orders, presumably to the crew now assigned to liquefying Her Glory’s diet. He’d done a magnificent job so far. Not that they had a reference, Mac told herself. For all they knew, she was supposed to have turned orange by now.

  “Sit, Vessel. Be comfortable, as I am. Is this not a wonderful seat?” Her Glory made a tiny bounce, smiling at Mac. “Is everything not wonderful?”

  The door opened and Fy slipped in, her fingers tightly knotted. Distress or other strong emotion, Mac guessed, looking to Ureif for clues. His fingers hung still. Too still. Distress, then.

  Not wonderful.

  Ureif swept one of his Human-like bows to Her Glory. “Please excuse us. We must confer.”

  Mac looked to Nik; he nodded to the Sinzi. “Come on,” she told Mudge, and led the way to the corner where the two aliens now swayed in earnest consultation, their voices too low to hear.

  “—was anticipated,” Ureif was saying. When the two Humans came close, he made a welcoming gesture. “Great news. The Progenitor’s ship has come through the gate.”

  Timing was everything. Mac resisted the impulse to look over at Her Glory. “What’s the situation?”

  Fy’s fingers moved restlessly, silver and gold jingling down their lengths. “There is discord. Ships are moving without authorization. A small number have aimed themselves at the gate, but wait. More from fear of the Dhryn than from respect for protocol. I fear a collision, should they not resume orderly behavior.”

  “Are any moving to open vectors?” This from Mudge, whose face was pale and set. “The Trisulians have a formidable ship.”

  “At my request,” Ureif said very quietly, “Captain Gillis has repositioned our two ships within thirty minutes of the gate mouth. None are closer. We have asked the arriving Progenitor to station Her ship alongside, toward the gate.”

  “So they’ll have to go through the Joy and the other Dhryn to reach Her.” Mudge sounded quite pleased by this. “Or She can leave through the gate before any weaponsfire could catch up.”

  “Of greater importance,” Ureif corrected gently, “all must come to meet Her Glory here. It forms the most exquisite congruence.” Both Sinzi swayed back and forth at this.

  Mudge was pleased. The Sinzi were patently ecstatic.

  Mac couldn’t believe it. “Did you learn nothing from the Gathering?” she snapped. “You’ve made us into a single target!”

  “We are in communication with the Progenitor,” Fy soothed. “If there are any hostile acts, we will warn Her.”

  Who warns us? Mac kept that to herself. “How? I thought their ships didn’t have IU technology.”

  Fy managed a fair approximation of a Human smile. She’d been practicing, Mac judged. “Ah, but remember this Progenitor’s ship carries a Human craft in its hold. Nikolai’s ship remains inside, crewed by his associates. Now that we are within the same system, this gives us the means to communicate.”

  Maybe she was wrong.

  Mudge was studying her. He harrumphed uneasily. “What is it, Norcoast?”

  Maybe she wasn’t. Mac shivered.

  “There’s some problem with newspackets,” she told him, feeling her skin crawl. “Incoming are delayed. We couldn’t set up a dedicated exchange at all.”

  Fy touched her fingertips together. “There is a great deal of traffic. I am not the most experienced, Mac. I suspect a flaw in my scheduling. I have asked for assistance.”

  Mudge was still looking at Mac, eyebrows lowering in a frown. In the background, she could hear Nik’s steady, calm voice as he kept briefing the Dhryn.

  Did he feel it, too? That time was running out.

  She backed a step away without thinking, needing space, her feet sinking in the sand. “Something’s not right.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but once she did, she believed it.

  Nik was at her side in a heartbeat. She held up her hand to silence him, to silence them all.

  She held her breath and closed her eyes to listen.

  Nothing. The shift of sand under a long toe. The whisper of fabric. The steady thud of Cayhill’s pump.

  Okay, she was an idiot. Relieved, Mac smiled as she opened her eyes and turned toward Nik.

  The ceiling fell.

  Scurry, scurry.

  Spit! POP!

  CONTACT

  GILLIS PATTED HIS TREE. It wasn’t his, technically, having been a gift to the Annapolis Joy on her official launch. Some publicist’s bright notion; a touch of the home planet heading to the stars. The little thing had outlived its day-of-launch purpose to become the ship’s mascot. He was well aware its trimmings wound up in their own pots in crew quarters. They’d have a forest at this rate. He should look into some birds.

  “Status, Darcy.”

  Townee
glanced up from the scan console as the captain approached. “She’s behaving.”

  “Amazing. Show me.” Gillis sank into his chair, staring as the display revealed the massive bulk of not one, but two Dhryn Progenitor ships. He whistled through his teeth. “Ouch.”

  The new arrival was more intact than the first, but heat had melted and scored her prow into lumps of black slag. Proof, if they needed any, that this ship had been the focus of the Ro attack at Haven. Otherwise, her hull reflected white and silver wherever Myriam’s sun reached, its curves and dips familiar to anyone who’d studied the images captured in Sol System. Every ship had been identical; this was another of the same.

  “Sir. There’s something strange going on with the gate.”

  “End display,” Gillis ordered, blinking as normal lighting was restored. “What is it?”

  “We had nominal to heavy packet traffic up to a moment ago, sir. Incoming from all over the IU. Now—the only incoming packets are from Sol,” the tech said. “I can’t explain it, sir. If I didn’t know better—”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s as if the transect itself’s been modified, sir. What could do that?”

  This drew looks from around the bridge. Anxious ones.

  Townee walked to the station to check the readings for herself. After a few seconds, she turned to nod at Gillis. “Confirmed. In fact, now the Sol packets are slowing to a trickle. Damnedest thing.”

  “Sir!” This from the system-tech, her voice raised but calm. “We have a shipwide mass shift. The grav generators are compensating but—”

  The scan-tech broke in: “Something’s just—appeared—on the hull. Out of nowhere. Another aft. Sir, we’ve multiple contacts. I repeat, multiple contacts on the hull.”

  “Battle stations,” Gillis snapped, surging to his feet. “Now!” The alarms began wailing.

  “We’ve breaches,” the system-tech reported, her voice shaking. “Repeat, multiple hull breaches. Fields holding—”

  Spit! POP!

  A hot spray struck Gillis in the face. He scrubbed it from his eyes with a startled curse.

  He realized it was blood when the screaming began.

  Scurry, scurry . . .

  22

  SHOCK AND SACRIFICE

  HER GLORY HEAVED herself off the chaise lounge with a roar, the tubes snapping away. Their liquefied contents flew in every direction, to strike and stick in glistening lines against surfaces, moving surfaces, crawling surfaces.

  So many . . .

  Mac froze as forklike footprints scarred the sand before her. Scurry, scurry . . .

  A weapon fired near her head. The Dhryn retched and spat. Settling the question of whether the acidic spit came from the stomach or somewhere else, Mac helplessly noticed.

  Something died. Someone shouted.

  Spit! POP!

  Her arm. Something had her by the arm. She came to life, screaming and struggling. “Let go of me!!!”

  “Mac! Come on!”

  Scurry . . .

  Nik. It was Nik. Mac shut up and tried to think past the terror. There were Ro walkers here. Now was not the time to even think she’d told them so. They were on the ship.

  They were in the room. So many . . .

  Some were dead, hulking masses of darkness, steaming with acid burns or flame. The Dhryn moved like a great blue-and-white panther, circling the huddled Humans and Sinzi on all six legs . . . Something unseen ripped through her skin, blue pouring out. Nik fired and it fell to the sand, revealed in death. He swung and fired again, shouting as he did. “Charles, take her! We have to get out—” The words were overwhelmed by the shrill of the ship’s alarm.

  Mudge’s face blocked the carnage. Mac focused on it, breathing in shuddering gasps. “Now, Norcoast,” he said with remarkable patience. “I want you to take a step for me. I’ll help you.” His hands took hers and pulled gently, as if nothing mattered but that first step. “That’s the way.”

  In a sense nothing else did. If she didn’t move, she’d die. On some level, Mac understood and fought to move her foot, even as the rest of her did its best to shut down completely. It would be so much easier, so much quieter.

  “Come, Norcoast. We have to get back. The salmon won’t wait. You’ve work to do. I may not always approve but since when did you listen to me? Just take a step. One step.”

  Mudge was babbling.

  Shocked, Mac took two steps before she realized it.

  Then, as if that motion burst some inner dam, her feet were driving through the sand as she ran with Mudge to the door, his arm around her. “Nik!” she twisted to look back.

  A hard shove from behind. “Here. Go! Go!”

  She hit the wall of the corridor and spun around wildly. Nik and the guards stood in the open doorway, firing into the room methodically and quickly. They knew to aim at the torn ceiling.

  Mac shuddered and looked away, numbly aware the corridor was intact. Nothing to attack them here. The two Sinzi stood nearby; they seemed shaken, but unscathed. The Dhryn paced behind the Humans still firing, as if she wished to take part. Mudge was with her. She reached a hand toward him. “Where’s Cayhill?” she whispered.

  Despite the ongoing alarm, the Dhryn must have heard the question. She turned her head to look at Mac, yellow mucus bubbling from her nostrils, then resumed pacing. Dhryn tears.

  Mac didn’t need the short, grim shake of Mudge’s head.

  The weaponsfire ended. While the guards closed and sealed the door, Nik came to Mac, weapon still in his hand, and leaned close to be heard. “Are you all right?” His eyes were like flint as they searched for wounds, his mouth tight.

  “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t—” she flushed as her voice broke. With an effort, “I thought I could handle it.”

  “You warned us, remember?” He laid his free hand along her cheek. “You did just fine, Mac. Now we’d better get—”

  “Sir. Head for your quarters and stay there,” one of the guards ordered. “We have to report to stations.” With that, the two ran off toward the main portion of the ship.

  “We can’t stay,” Mac said, her voice that of a stranger. Her hand shook as she pointed to the Dhryn. “They want Her dead, they want the past dead. They know She’s here. They’ll keep coming.”

  “We participate in the promise,” Ureif said solemnly. “Our dart rests in the consular hangar.”

  Nik looked at Mudge. “If Ro think at all like us, that was an advance group with a specific target. The rest will go after ship’s systems, create chaos. We could have a window. Remove what they’re after. They might back off.”

  “Dart’s transect-capable,” Mudge agreed, then harrumphed firmly. “It’s the best choice. I’m familiar with the specs.”

  “So am I.” Something seemed to pass between the two men, then Nik nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

  Someone had to ask, Mac thought. She turned to Her Glory. “Can you climb a ladder?”

  “The Dhryn are attacking!”

  Mac bumped her head against the ladder rung for the second time. “No. The Ro are attacking, Se Lasserbee. And this Dhryn is on our side. We need to climb the ladder. Now.” And if the Frow didn’t get out of their way within the next few seconds, she was going to let Nik shoot him somewhere.

  That wasn’t her first choice, but the appeal was growing. The shipwide alarm had subsided to a background drone, hopefully implying the captain and his crew were taking charge. That didn’t mean they were safe. “Now,” she repeated, smacking her artificial hand against the ladder.

  “We saw the dead one.” This from a lackey, hanging head down near Mac. “Is that what attacks?”

  Mac shuddered. “Yes. There could be more on the ship. Many more. It’s not safe. You should be in your quarters. And we,” she said firmly, “need to climb the ladder.”

  “We will take you to your quarters!” This with a snatch for her arms she narrowly avoided. “To safety!”

  “No. They’re chasing us. Do you understa
nd? We can’t stay on the ship.”

  “You are in danger?”

  “Yes! We all are. Please. Get out of the way.”

  Two scampered down, past the lower level entrance. Se Lasserbee climbed above her. “Then we shall protect you,” he announced, his hat bobbing with each movement. “It is our duty.”

  So long as they got out of the way, she thought with relief.

  Mac waved to the rest to follow, then climbed to the next level and turned to watch. The muscles between her shoulders seemed permanently knotted. Turtles had the right idea, she assured herself, wishing for some body armor and the ability to pull in her head. They were only guessing the Ro hadn’t infiltrated the entire ship already.

  The only evidence in favor of that hypothesis was that they continued to breathe. She’d take it.

  First up was Her Glory, who climbed the vertical ladder much the same way as Brymn had managed to swim—by using the power of her limbs to overcome mechanical deficiencies. Once she was safely off the ladder—requiring some contortions and a leaping skid much like the landing of an albatross—the rest followed. The Sinzi climbed as dexterously as any Frow, their beringed fingers perfectly adapted to grasp and release in rapid sequence. Mudge was next, then Nik, weapon still out, brought up the rear.

  Not quite. Claws appeared around the doorframe, followed by the pointy tips of hats, followed by feet, followed by . . . Oh, no.

  The Frow were coming with them.

  “You should go to your quarters,” she said desperately. “Please. It’s not—we’re not safe.”

  “Which is why we must attend you, Dr. Connor,” Se Lasserbee informed her, slowly working his body through the opening. Luckily for the Frow, there were hand grabs to either side. The corridor, however, loomed as a slick wasteland, its walls broken only by closed, smooth doors.

  They’d be helpless.

  Nik touched her shoulder. “Mac. We have to go.” He didn’t wait for her answer, half jogging to the bulkhead door at the end of the corridor to input his code, the Dhryn moving easily by his side. Ran like a grizzly.