Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “This is Venus Orbital,” he announced. “We’ve unannounced warships coming through the Naralax Transect. Repeat, incoming warships. Species—?”

  “Trisulian, sir. They aren’t broadcasting idents, but I’d know those profiles in my sleep. Fifty, another group of twenty, still coming.”

  “Going by profile, the intruders are Trisulian,” he sent. “Venus Orbital, standing by.” He began punching in the codes to lock the facility behind blast doors, for all the good they’d do against ships capable of smashing planets to rubble.

  The technician swiveled her chair to stare at him. “Standing by for what, sir?” she asked in a low, urgent voice. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Her supervisor looked up at her question.

  “Let’s hope it isn’t war.”

  “The Trisulians are demanding the Sinzi immediately submit to their authority, disband the Inner Council of the IU, and relinquish all information on no-space technology and the transect system.”

  Hollans picked up his teacup. “Anything else?”

  “Did you not hear me?” The Imrya ambassador was a remarkably succinct individual for his species. Doubtless why he’d been posted so far from home. “You must allow me to request the immediate deployment of the Imrya fleet here.”

  “And escalate what is currently rhetoric into a battle?” Hollans sipped his tea. “No, thank you, Ambassador.”

  “We must stop the Trisulians! We must protect the Sinzi!”

  “Our forces were already en route to the gate.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Hollans, but your forces wouldn’t give an Ar pause. We’ve had peace between systems because the Sinzi were scattered, everywhere. Now too many are here, vulnerable to attack or capture. They have made themselves too tempting a target.”

  “Something I’ve told the Sinzi-ra,” Hollans replied rather testily, “several times. We all have. They persist in providing no information whatsoever.”

  “Do they wish confrontation? To what end?”

  Hollans put down his teacup. “I think it’s something far more dangerous than that, Ambassador. I think the Sinzi seek a congruence, here. If that’s the case, the Trisulians?” He lifted his hand and bent one finger down. “They’re merely the first to accept the invitation.”

  25

  PREDICAMENT AND PERIL

  AN ETERNITY LATER, the shuddering ended, the hand stopped moving, and no one was dead. During that time, while waiting to fall, be thrown, or survive, Mac noticed the little things. The skin beneath her hands was warm, although loose and dry, no longer as elastic as she remembered. The smell? She wrinkled her nose and tried to keep her face away from the surface. The Progenitor’s circulation was failing; the hand itself likely septic.

  Really not a good thing to think about while on that hand.

  Although Her Glory appeared content to stay prone, Deruym Ma Nas struggled to his feet almost at once. “The evil of the Ro has no limits,” he exclaimed.

  Which would sound more impressive, Mac decided, peering at him, if he wasn’t still shaking.

  She was surprised not to be. The combination earthquake-with-potential-plunge would once have had her gibbering with fear.

  New standards.

  “Your idea about the Ro,” Nik whispered. “It fits, Mac. What we know so far; what we’ve guessed. Good work.”

  “Desperation,” she whispered back.

  In answer, he kissed her nose.

  They rose to their feet, the hand having remained stable throughout this exchange. The process entailed what Mac considered a responsible amount of clinging to one another.

  A shame to let go, she acknowledged as her fingers left Nik’s sleeve.

  “Please forgive me,” the Progenitor said quietly. “I could take such dreadful news when I was strong. I could endure.” Her eyes held inexpressible weariness. “Now, I fail. And That Which Is Dhryn fails with me.”

  She had a choice, Mac realized. Something that seemed to be happening all too often lately.

  She hated having a choice.

  Nik simply raised an eyebrow when she sent him a pleading look. Up to her.

  Mac glowered but nodded.

  “That Which Is Dhryn may not be failing,” she told the Pro-genitor, stepping aside so Her Glory was no longer hiding half behind her.

  The Progenitor’s eyes glanced at Her Glory, who stood up literally ablaze with joy, then back to Mac. “What is this?”

  Mac thought of the lamnas. The Progenitor had done Her stomach-turning utmost to convey not only her despair, but her need. A need she understood. “What you asked of me,” she said. “The truth.”

  The Progenitor’s lips quivered and Deruym Ma Nas lowered his body in warning. Nik looked poised to—do what? Tackle the bear-sized alien and toss them both off the hand?

  Mac didn’t see much future in that.

  “Explain,” the Progenitor said at last.

  Mac coughed. In for it now. “You spoke of the Ro’s interference, Progenitor,” she said carefully. “They’ve done more to That Which Is Dhryn than you know. Without them, I believe you would be like this. A little bigger,” she added, giving Her Glory a considering look.

  Or a great deal bigger, she suddenly realized, once the migration had ended and the Dhryn population entered a stationary rebuilding generation—a variability within the norm the Ro could have exploited. “The Ro didn’t just take you from your home world into space,” Mac went on. “They didn’t just find ways to control your behavior. They made changes to the Flowering itself.”

  “Continue,” the Progenitor said, her small mouth turned down at the corners, yellow drops forming on her nostrils. Otherwise, she appeared reassuringly calm. “Why would they do this?”

  Calm for how long? Mac swallowed. “The Ro wanted Progenitors who could produce more oomlings. They wanted as many feeders, Mouths, as possible. Those are their weapon. That meant Progenitors so large they could no longer move by themselves. They knew how to change the pattern of your growth and development.” Another piece snicked into place. “And Ro technology produced food to sustain you. These ships? They were essential. Not just to bring you where the Ro Called, but because—as they made you—you can’t live anywhere else.”

  When the hand didn’t immediately tip, she relaxed very slightly and continued. “They could alter the Flowering process, too. Remember Brymn Las? He didn’t become what you predicted, a Progenitor, because the Ro—” she forced the words past the memory, “—made sure he didn’t.”

  She indicated the silent Dhryn at her side. “This is what I believe you both would have become without the Ro. The original form of Dhryn Progenitor.”

  “Where did she come from?” Still to Mac. Protocol between Progenitors, or a refusal to acknowledge what stood before her? Without knowing which, all Mac could do was press ahead. She noticed Nik taking advantage of the Progenitor’s attention to turn slightly away and lift his wrist to his mouth, likely contacting those left behind. Warning them the ship was on the move.

  Where was anyone’s guess.

  “Where?” This from the Progenitor, when Mac failed to answer immediately. Gentle, but insistent. “Our home world? A colony of Dhryn who escaped the Ro?” There was a distinct and growing excitement in her voice.

  “A little closer,” Mac said. “Her Glory was once captain of the Cryssin freighter, Uosanah. He Flowered into what you’ve been calling the Wasted.”

  Deruym Ma Nas scuttled as far away from Her Glory as the hand permitted. Almost too far.

  “I do not wish to doubt you, Lamisah,” responded the Progenitor graciously. “But this is not possible. The lost ones fail and die. It is the Way.”

  “It’s the Ro’s way,” Mac countered. “All they had to do was make it possible for your bodies to synthesize certain substances, things once obtained from what you ate on your home world. Any Dhryn without this ability would starve to death on Haven or on board your ships.” The whole truth. “They might survive a little longer by
eating other Dhryn. That’s why the Wasted attack their own kind. To save one? All we had to do was provide this Dhryn, who was dying, with food as close as possible to what would have been available to your ancestors. Look at her.”

  “I hunger,” Her Glory offered, less than helpfully.

  The Progenitor’s eyes shifted to her. “As do I, little one.”

  Before this could become a negotiation about who should eat whom, Mac jumped back in. “The point is, the diet you’ve been producing for yourselves on Haven—” however clever the fungus, “—was part of the Ro’s plan. It couldn’t meet the needs of any Dhryn born who reflected the original type. That was one way they’ve controlled your population. Any Dhryn whose body threw off their conditioning and reverted to the ancestral form would starve to death at Flowering instead of becoming a Progenitor. Wasted.” Had some Progenitor known to call them that? “You would continue to produce the kind of Dhryn that suited the Ro.”

  “They came—they came and touched the oomlings until we found ways to keep them out.” Deruym Na Mas had risen to a more conciliatory posture and was watching Mac intently. “Is that why, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol?”

  Why did everyone think she understood the damned Ro? Mac shrugged. “I don’t know. They could have been making further modifications. They might have been monitoring something about you. Or—” She hesitated and looked to Nik. He nodded, still trusting her with this. Great. “Maybe the Ro were waiting for something. A sign your population was ready to migrate.”

  “The Great Journey. Even that they would pervert?”

  “Especially that,” Mac agreed.

  “Have the Little One approach me.”

  Mac turned but Her Glory was already walking forward, her movement powerful yet graceful. Fit.

  Could the Progenitor see it?

  Her Glory stopped when she could walk no farther. She lifted her sole hand and spread her strong, delicate fingers against the wall that was the Progenitor’s cheek, then rose on four legs so their eyes met at the same level.

  Gusts of warm air moved outward, cooler air returning. Nik stopped talking into his com, watching the new and the old. Or rather, Mac corrected herself, the original and the perversion.

  Though to call the gracious Progenitor a perversion seemed as wrong as anything else. Especially when Her face, suspended in the wall like an image of who she really was, formed an expression of such kindness. “Can you speak so my Vessel can understand?”

  The Progenitor had used Dhryn, but Her Glory didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” in Instella. “I ask your wisdom, She Who Lights the Way.” Her luminescent bands shone more brightly, as if activated by emotion. They cast shadows on the great palm and attentive face. “I wish to know how I can serve That Which Is Dhryn.”

  The Progenitor squinted. “Commune with me. We shall sing the Gnausa.”

  Deruym Ma Nas drew in his arms, leaning back in a Dhryn bow. Just what they needed, Mac thought. Ro on the attack and a pause for another alien ceremony.

  She was not providing a body part.

  And neither was Nik, decided Mac, having grown fond of his as well.

  Singing implied voice, to a Human at least, but the Dhryn kept silent. To Human ears, Mac cautioned herself. She watched in fascination as Her Glory leaned forward, slowly, carefully, as if to offer the Progenitor a Human-style lover’s kiss. She stopped a few centimeters short of contact. They remained thus, their lips parted, close but not touching.

  A long minute passed. Then another.

  Mac eased left for a better view.

  Nothing.

  Another minute. Two more. Deruym Ma Nas remained in his bow, although his limbs were now trembling with strain. He had a decidedly desperate look, as if he’d rather fall off the Progenitor’s hand than stop bowing.

  Mac glanced at Nik. He was studying Her Glory and the Progenitor. Catching her eye, he nodded toward the two, mouthing, “Look.”

  She dared step nearer and finally saw that something was passing between the open mouths. Moisture glistened on their lips and the surrounding flesh. A fine spray? Whatever it was, Her Glory’s eyes had half closed in apparent rapture. The Progenitor’s remained open and fixed on the other Dhryn.

  This could take a while.

  Mac walked over to Nik, careful to avoid the edge. “New to me,” she whispered. “Have you seen anything like it before?”

  Deruym Ma Nas’ turquoise lips turned down in disapproval. Haven Dhryn. Mac smiled at him.

  “No,” Nik answered as quietly. “But when I agreed to be Her Vessel, She said it would be in spirit only, since Humans couldn’t sing. Could be part of that process.”

  Mac turned to look outward, her shoulder against his. “Any idea where She’s taking us?” More exactly, where the Ro were leading them?

  “I had Fy contact the dart, to have Bhar check sensors. We’re tractored to the other Dhryn, heading for the gate. From there?” She felt his shoulder move. “Any number of choices, Mac.”

  She sighed. “None of them good.”

  “No.” A pause. “We’ve a couple of probes left on the Impeci. Once through the gate, we can at least let the IU know which system is under attack.”

  Mac reached into a pocket and brought out a nutrient bar. She snapped it in half. “Here.”

  Nik tapped his to hers. “Cheers, Dr. Connor.”

  She smiled. “Now you see the extent of my culinary skills.”

  “We won’t starve.” Nik’s arm stole around her waist. “I can cook.”

  “Another experiment?” Mac leaned her head against him. Although her stomach objected, she ignored it, methodically chewing and swallowing the entire morsel.

  Water would have been nice, but there was some on the dart. They weren’t desperate.

  Yet.

  “Incredible, isn’t She?” Nik murmured.

  Mac gazed out at a vista holding all the beauty of a desert at twilight. “You should have seen Her whole.” Before She began to die.

  Before so many did.

  She took an uneven breath and Nik’s arm tightened. “You didn’t see him fall,” he said with that uncanny perception. “That’s what you told me. That’s what you need to remember.”

  “I feel appallingly selfish,” Mac confessed. “Hoping for one among all the rest. With what’s happening—”

  Nik gathered her against him. “Then I’m selfish, too.”

  “Mac.”

  Didn’t mind the sound of her name this way, breathed into her ear with such tenderness. Not about to wake up. But the sound . . . that was nice.

  “I think they’re about done. C’mon, Mac.” The tenderness remained, but there was an added note of urgency that didn’t intend to be ignored.

  Mac opened her eyes, immediately realizing two things. First, she was tucked very comfortably within a nest composed of Nik’s lap, arms, and body. Second, they were in . . . “This is the Progenitor’s Chamber.” She flushed and struggled to her feet. “You let me fall asleep on Her hand?”

  In front of aliens?

  “Guilty, though in my defense there was no ‘letting’ involved.” Nik grinned unrepentantly as he stood. “Should I mention snoring? Guess not.” This at her glare.

  Mac rubbed her eyes. “What did I miss?”

  “The Progenitors communed.” Deruym Ma Nas sat nearby. His hands fussed with the strings holding his silks and the imps. He looked exhausted. Not only the prolonged bow, Mac judged. He was too thin, malnourished, and worn with care. “Gnausa is complete.”

  She looked at Her Glory. The large Dhryn leaned against the wall of the Progenitor. Glistening liquid streaked her jaw and upper chest, as it did the flesh beneath the Progenitor’s mouth. Her bands glowed and her eyes were vivid gold. The Progenitor’s eyes were closed, as if She slept.

  “What is Gnausa?”

  “It is how a Progenitor anoints Her Successor,” Deruym Ma Nas told them. “No one else knows what passes between them.” His lips moved and he folde
d his arms as if overcome by emotion. “But I—I can feel the result; I know I am in the presence of not one, but two of Those Who Light the Way.” A hint of a bow to Mac and Nik. “An unexpected joy.”

  “Forgive me, but you don’t seem joyful,” Mac observed.

  “After what you’ve revealed?” The archivist sighed. “I would like to believe there will be more accomplishments by That Which Is Dhryn to remember and record, but I am no fool, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol. A Progenitor alone is doomed. A Successor without a future cannot save us.”

  Her Glory had been listening. Now, she came over to Deruym Ma Nas and bent to look the smaller Dhryn in the eye. “Despair cannot save us,” she corrected.

  This close, Mac could see that the liquid had spilled out of Her Glory’s mouth—which made sense, since the being could no longer swallow—yet was viscous enough to stick to her skin. She looked closer. It was collecting in a maze of fine cracks in the thick blue. Or had produced the cracks, she realized, thinking of the potency of Dhryn spit. “How do you feel?” she ventured.

  “Hungry.” Her Glory smiled, as if asking Mac to share the humor in that admission. “Ambitious. Determined.” She rose to her full height. “Is this not a glorious day? Who could not feel wonderful?” This as a shout that echoed far below.

  “Hush. Leave me, Daughter.” The Progenitor didn’t open Her eyes. “I must rest before we reach our destination and defeat the Ro.” There was no room for debate; as She spoke, Her hand moved away from Her face.

  And so did they.

  Fy was waiting for them within the long arched doorway. “May I see the Progenitor now?” she asked eagerly as Mac stepped from the hand.

  “She fails,” Her Glory said, her voice implacable. “I endure.” She brushed by the Sinzi and headed up the ramp, Deruym Ma Nas following behind with a clatter of imps.

  Move on. Survive. Mac understood the impulse. Part of her applauded it.

  Part of her was already grieving. No matter what happened next, the days of the Progenitor—Brymn’s, hers—were numbered.