Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Nik’s hand tightened on her thigh. My turn. “Fy. The only safety lies in stopping the Ro for good. The Progenitor is the key to the promise. We have to save her, too.”

  “I require the other Progenitor,” Her Glory said, adding her vote.

  Votes wouldn’t matter, Mac realized. The Sinzi worked by achieving consensus, not majority. Fy had to want this for her own reasons.

  “Listen to me, Fy,” she said. “I shared grathnu with this Progenitor, the first and only alien to do so.” As far as she knew, anyway. “I am the Vessel for Her Glory, who I believe is the original form of Dhryn. You will move away from profound congruence unless you bring us together. The drawing in the sand, Fy. Sinzi join the lines. Please.”

  Another squeeze. Approval or caution?

  Either applied.

  Every second added distance, which added risk, but the three of them waited in silence to let Fy think it through.

  “I, Faras, am unsure,” the Sinzi said at last. “I, Yt, am not.”

  It had to be a talent, Mac thought bitterly. She’d paralyzed the Sinzi’s selves with one well-intentioned argument.

  She decided not to say anything else for a while.

  Nik took over. “Consider the sundered connections, Sinzi-ra. I know of your work with the Hift artifacts, yet you have never been able to view working Myrokynay technology. What if, as we believe, the Progenitor’s ship was built by the Ro? I am apart from the crew of my expedition and would return to them. Mac would return to the Progenitor who sought her out on Earth. Her Glory is apart from her kind and requires her Progenitor’s council. Should these connections not be attached, one to the other?”

  Mac could hear the tinkling of rings. Then Fy’s voice, subdued but clear. “Are you sure you are not Sinzi, Nikolai?”

  “Quite sure.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “If we now understand one another, Fy, all credit goes to Anchen as my teacher and Mac as my guide.”

  The man was good, Mac noted, smiling herself.

  While Fy retraced their path to the Progenitor’s ship, Mac, Nik, and Her Glory rearranged themselves in the cramped space. Lucky none of them was claustrophobic, Mac thought. At least the air remained fresh.

  The rearrangement was a precaution. Nik couldn’t vouch for what they’d face when the hatch opened—it made sense that both Humans be at least able to walk. Mac had lost touch with her feet some time ago.

  Her Glory stayed put, being quite comfortable as she was. Nik managed to prop himself up so Mac could rub life back into her legs, hissing as awakening nerves merrily fired their displeasure. Once she could move, Mac crawled on top of the Dhryn, leaving the area directly before the hatch to Nik. The glowing bands were cool, the blue skin warm. She did her best to avoid sticking a finger into any of the tiny mouths.

  Not bad. Mac stretched, careful to keep her feet from the Sinzi’s back. She watched Nik bring out his weapon, holding it concealed in his palm. “You expecting a problem?”

  “They got on the Joy.”

  No need to ask who “they” were. “They don’t need to board a Progenitor’s ship to destroy it,” Mac pointed out. Based on the fragments recovered in Sol System, the working hypothesis was that the Ro had somehow moved portions of their technology from the Dhryn ships into no-space, opening them to vacuum.

  They’d stripped their technology from Emily’s flesh at the same time.

  “No Hift materials were found in the wreckage,” Fy offered. “It was a great disappointment.”

  Nik sat on the deck, easing his legs straight. He looked up at Mac where she leaned her chin on the Dhryn’s forehead ridge. “The Ro attack on the Progenitor’s ship at Haven fried quite a few systems, including what my people deduced were long-range communications. That’s why they hadn’t replied to our signals in the first place. We stopped the Dhryn from repairing them. A gamble, I admit. No way to know if that’s how a Ro destruct signal is picked up and distributed throughout the ship.”

  Mac rose and fell with Her Glory’s sigh. “Surely the proof is that the ship remains intact,” the Dhryn suggested.

  “Something of a comfort, yes.”

  Mac frowned. “Not really.”

  “What are you thinking?” he asked. The Dhryn shifted and tried to turn her head to see Mac, forcing her on her elbows to protect her nose.

  “She was hidden from the Ro,” Mac pointed out. “Now She’s not.”

  Nik jerked his thumb aftward. Fy was listening.

  Mac grimaced but nodded.

  They’d know soon enough.

  The Progenitor’s ship remained intact. The Ro either couldn’t, or didn’t, destroy her.

  Maybe they didn’t have to, Mac thought with a shiver, looking around.

  What had hummed with life and light now seemed filled with the silent desolation of a graveyard. Worse, she decided, following Nik. A graveyard implied mourners.

  From inside the dart, their approach and entry into the Progenitor’s great ship had had all the high drama—for passengers at least—of taking a lift to another floor. Once inside the ship, they’d stepped out into this dimly-lit hollow cave. The space resembled the busy holds of the Annapolis Joy or the Uosanah only in being big enough to hold shuttles and their like. There were no guides along the floor. No lines of waiting empty craft. No crew. Lighting from above failed against the black, anti-Ro fabric lining ceiling, floor, and angled wall. Behind them, the Sinzi dart glittered like exotic jewelry, dropped and abandoned on velvet.

  “There’s the Impeci.” Nik’s quiet voice echoed into the distance. He pointed to an ordinary shuttlelike craft, larger than those on the Joy.

  Mudge would have known the specs. Mac took a steadying breath. The Human ship looked normal. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing a thorough scrub and filter replace wouldn’t solve. Without that, you’d need an evacsuit to survive the radiation inside for more than a few hours.”

  “Where is everyone?” Her Glory was subdued; her body hunched low over her legs. “I’ve been here before. There should be workers here. Those to greet us. Other ships.”

  “There were when I left,” Nik said. Mac, hearing that slight edge, glanced at him. His face was expressionless. Never a good sign. “My people will be in their quarters. We set up a com relay there. That way.” He pointed to a door, its frame askew with that characteristic Dhryn slant.

  Just then, a side hatch opened on the Impeci, sending a wash of brighter light outward along with its ramp. A figure appeared, calling out even as he began to stumble in their direction. “Nik? Is that you?”

  “What the hell—” Nik took off at a run. “Tucker!” She understood the horror in his voice as Cavendish drew close enough for her to see clearly.

  No suit!

  The man staggered more than walked. When the two met, Nik grabbed and held him. Mac and the two aliens hurried to join them.

  Nik had had isolated burns, already healing. The face Cavendish turned to greet them with was a mass of weeping sores and hanging implants, as if the flesh beneath the skin was dissolving away. His eyes were the only thing sane within that madness. Sane and, when they fell on Her Glory, filled with wonder. “What are you?” he asked, his lips bleeding with the words, enunciating with care.

  Because he’d lost most of his teeth, she realized with a sick shock. Mac eased her shoulder under Cavendish’s other arm, helping to support his weight, careful of what she touched. “We have to get you home—”

  “What were you doing in there? Where’s your suit?” Nik interrupted furiously, though his hands were gentle. “I gave strict orders to stay away from the ship—”

  “Had to . . . come back. Stay inside. She can’t control . . . warned . . . us . . . stay in the ship.” Cavendish gasped between each burst of words, but didn’t stop. “She’s running out of Dhryn. Feeders . . . entered our quarters. Took . . . took . . . we’ve lost a few. Rest of us . . . figured . . . better the radiation . . . wouldn’t be long before we got off . .
. share the suits. Now you’re here.” This with a trusting look.

  From where she stood, Mac could see how Nik’s free hand clenched into a tight fist, but when he answered, it was warm and reassuring. “You’ll be fine, Tucker.”

  Others appeared at the hatch, walking down the ramp. One, two Humans, an Imrya. Then no more.

  Was that all? Mac watched Nik mouth names as they approached, his face growing pale.

  Only two wore protective gear. She suddenly remembered Nik’s battle with Cinder, her mind now filling in the rest. Cinder’s sabotage—she’d gone after the suits. None looked as gravely ill as Cavendish. Mac looked her question at Nik. “You stayed on the coms all the time I was gone, didn’t you, Tucker?” he asked, his voice soft. To Mac, “Even in a suit, exposure adds up.”

  “Thought you might call,” Cavendish said, then convulsed in a cough.

  “There are medical supplies on my dart.” Fy took over from Mac and Nik, using her fingers to form a slinglike seat for the ill Human. Cavendish leaned back in that support, his head lolling against the stained white of her gown. “Sinzi,” he managed.

  Though all from the Impeci had suffered radiation burns, the two remaining researchers, especially the Imrya, were in far better shape than the ship’s pilot. He needed help to walk, and exhibited more burns to his skin. Mac guessed he’d traded shifts at the Impeci’s com with Cavendish. He’d been the ship’s pilot. Now, he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder.

  A reflex she understood very well.

  Grim-faced, Nik told them what had transpired on the Annapolis Joy. Mac watched the hope of rescue fade from the faces of those who’d been waiting for it. There was no protest, only quiet questions. A measure of Nik’s colleagues, she judged.

  While this went on, Cavendish and the pilot, Bhar Dass, were made as comfortable as possible in the Sinzi’s tiny ship. Nik ordered the Imrya—whose name Mac couldn’t pronounce—and her Human colleague, Fiora Parrish, to stay and care for them. “We may have to run for it,” he told them when they protested. “I want you here, ready to go. We’ll keep in touch.” He showed them the remote links the Sinzi had provided. “You’re sure you can use the com system?” This to the Imrya. “It’s not quite IU standard.”

  The alien looked at the Sinzi, who nodded. “We Imrya are honored to be the first recipients of improvements by the gracious Sinzi. I am familiar with this system.”

  Nik didn’t look surprised. “Monitor what’s happening outside and keep us posted.”

  “Should I broadcast a detailed advisement not to fire on this ship, given the presence of the Sinzi-ra?” The Imrya clutched her recorder tightly, as if she’d like to mention the presence of that as well.

  Hand over proof to those already worrying about a Dhryn/Sinzi connection? Mac touched Nik’s sleeve; he met her eyes and nodded before turning back to the Imrya. “Given the situation, let’s not get specific. Just say this is a nonhostile ship, under truce.”

  The pilot raised his head, his eyes haunted. “Is it?”

  “We’ll find out,” Nik promised.

  The tiles, colored and bright, hadn’t changed. The soft green carpet, the woven silk panels in rainbow shades, the floor rising in great steps were familiar. But nothing bounced on the carpet, or slept within the paneled pens, or cooed sleepily. The tiles surrounded a crèche emptied of life.

  Mac stepped back from the lookout with a sigh. The Dhryn with her seemed less affected. Perhaps because these hadn’t been her oomlings.

  More likely, she reminded herself, this sacrifice was part of being Dhryn, too.

  “This way,” Nik said, pointing down the right-hand tunnel.

  These tunnels had their own ghosts. “Did you see any Wasted while you were here?” Mac asked as she rejoined Nik. Not that they could feed the one they had.

  He shook his head.

  The Progenitor must have consumed their faint flickers of life, too.

  Fy trailed their small line, her attention repeatedly caught by this or that about the walls or exposed controls, holding up one of the recorders she’d attached to a belt before they’d left the dart. Mac supposed the Sinzi was happy, in the way a researcher could find joy with her subject.

  She couldn’t remember it.

  “Almost there,” Nik told her. His fingers laced with hers. “No sign of trouble yet.”

  “As if that’s a good thing to say,” she complained, only half joking.

  They watched for Ro, even here, where the shroud material of the Dhryn should provide protection.

  As for Dhryn . . . “Could the entire ship be this empty?”

  Nik shrugged. “We couldn’t estimate the minimum crew requirement to keep things running. A lot’s automated, as you’d expect.” A pause. “When I was on board, She was working Her way through one section at a time.”

  Spy School 101: Euphemisms for All Occasions, Mac said to herself, not fooled by his tone. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “If it helps, I felt Her grief through the lamnas. She consumed Her own children first.”

  Another shrug, this sharp and tense. “Feeders don’t discriminate. We’ll need to be careful.”

  “The Mouths of the Progenitor do not think,” Her Glory agreed, her voice full of warmth and longing. “They only provide.”

  Of course she’d want to find feeders. Nik’s fingers tightened around hers. Not the only one worried. “Can they provide for you?” he asked the Dhryn, as casually as if he inquired after her favorite color.

  “Among the many things I don’t know, Vessel. This state—” a quiet hoot, “—is new to me as well.” Her Glory paused. “I’m reassured Haven remains after all. Even in this form. Something of my old life.”

  “Have you reached accommodation with your other self?” This from Fy. Understandable curiosity from someone having a little trouble in that department.

  “Accommodation?” The Dhryn appeared to consider the question as they walked, the taller Sinzi leaning over to listen. “Those memories have no taste, no power. I simply know what happened. We arrived at Haven to find it destroyed. We waited for nothing, hiding ourselves from the Ro, from all that were not-Dhryn. The time came when some chose to die. I know I chose to survive, despite having no purpose or value. For that, I await the judgment of the Progenitor.”

  As if on cue, a figure appeared ahead. Standing, Mac noticed with relief. Nik’s other hand eased back to his side. He’d been ready to fire.

  “You were told to stay in your ship, not-Dhryn. Why are you here?” A Dhryn voice, male, older, his Instella flawless. He stepped forward into the light. Two hands missing—someone of importance. As if in emphasis, his eye and ear ridges were traced in vivid turquoise, more of that color on his lips and in the silk banding his torso.

  The effect would have been better, Mac decided, if he hadn’t needed strings to hold the bands around what was close to a match for a Wasted’s body. The strings had a second function, being beaded with the Dhryn version of imps. Odd decoration, she puzzled.

  “Deruym Ma Nas,” Nik greeted. “I’ve returned, as promised.”

  The Dhryn leaned forward, slight threat. His remaining hands, Mac noted, held weapons, though not pointed at them. Yet. “Which not-Dhryn are you?”

  Something about the attitude of what was obviously a cloistered Haven Dhryn, albeit an educated linguist, stiffened Mac’s spine. “You know perfectly well he’s Her Vessel,” she stated in Dhryn. “We come on urgent business for That Which Is Dhryn and the Progenitor expects us. I am Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol.”

  His stumps and hands came together in a startled clap of respect. “I didn’t see you. Or—” Words in either language failed him as Deruym Ma Nas finally caught sight of Her Glory.

  She was worth a look, Mac thought with poignant pride, easily half again the size of the Haven Dhryn, her body robust and full. The dulled lighting only emphasized the golden luminescence banding her torso. Her Glory needed no silks—or were the brilliant silks of modern Dhryn
an echo of what they’d lost? she wondered abruptly.

  “Deruym Ma Nas,” Her Glory said in that warm, loving voice. “A most admirable name. I take it into my keeping, though I’ve none of my own to exchange.” She held out her single hand. “Know me by this, erumisah.”

  The other Dhryn rose in a bow, then brought his mouth close to her palm, lips working at the air above the skin. His eyelids lowered and he began to sway in what seemed ecstasy. Or a seizure, Mac cautioned herself.

  Never assume with aliens.

  An old rule, but a good one.

  With Deruym Ma Nas as escort, their group moved quickly to the wide, downsloping ramp that led to the Progenitor’s Chamber, more precisely as quickly as his frequent backward looks at Her Glory permitted. Mac glared at the Dhryn as he did it again, almost stumbling.

  The lush carpet quieted their footfalls. There were more spirals of silver than she remembered along the black shroud lining the walls. More names added. She wished for time to try and read them. But time they didn’t have.

  They should be running.

  It wasn’t only fear, though Mac didn’t understand her eagerness to reach their destination until they stopped in front of the vaultlike door to the Progenitor’s Chamber.

  It felt like coming home.

  Did she think the Progenitor could fix things?

  Make things right?

  Bring back the dead?

  Mac shook her head, hard. The Progenitor was as endangered as the rest of them. She followed Nik through the door, seeing Deruym Ma Nas glance up at the last minute. Curious, she did the same.

  Before, the holes around the great door had been empty, inexplicable. Now, a pale feeder Dhryn squatted in those above, as if waiting for strays.

  Mac dropped her gaze, her nerve endings remembering what her mind refused.

  “This one will remain here.” Deruym Ma Nas pointed at Fy.

  The Sinzi’s fingers clenched in shock. “But I must see the Progenitor!”

  No surprise, Mac thought. To a Sinzi, a physical meeting was paramount.