Migration: Species Imperative #2

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “He must have been desperate—or insane,” Nik said grimly. “I know the species, Mac. It never occurred to me any Trisulian would risk their symbiont. It would be like you or I ripping off an arm to use as a club. Worse.” He collected himself. “I didn’t get the tracking report until morning. Kay was picked up by a lev and taken to the Baffin spaceport. A Trisulian courier ship with diplomatic clearance was sitting at a way station—another stood ready to enter the Naralax immediately, which it did after receiving his transmission.” Nik nodded, more to himself than her. “With what he’s delivered to his government, our Kay will get his moment of glory. Mind you, he’ll also be arrested for deviance.”

  Nik continued, saying again: “I didn’t realize Kay would go to such extremes just for a head start with the Ro message. I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.”

  “If I’d realized what that furry excuse for a gonad could do,” vowed Mac, “I’d have taken the cast iron skillet with me down to the lake.”

  “No, thanks.” Nik’s lips curved into something easier. “Hard enough to explain a paddle to the Trisulian ambassador. I’d rather not involve cooking utensils.”

  “I see your point.” Mac smiled at him. “It worked out well,” she offered. “Oversight seems willing to stay. He’ll be—” she almost said ‘a comfort’ and stopped herself in time, “—useful.”

  “Useful.” That dimple beside Nik’s mouth.

  This time, Mac let herself bristle. “We’re not friends,” she insisted, wondering who she was trying to convince. “He’s—annoying.”

  “As long as he’s useful. And stays quick with a paddle.” This last wasn’t amused. “You’re the only one who can talk to Parymn. That puts you at risk.”

  “Oh, no,” Mac objected, sitting back and cradling her coffee. “I’m not going to start looking over my shoulder, here of all places. This is an academic conference. A secret academic conference. With—” she freed one hand to wave wildly at the atrium, “—this! Our guys in black. You!”

  She regretted the last when Nik’s face darkened with shame. “Me. Where was I when you were attacked in your own cabin? When an earthquake almost drowned you?”

  “We’ll concede the weasel,” Mac quipped, trying to ease the moment. “But you couldn’t have predicted the earthquake. Right?”

  “No.” His lenses caught the light, hiding his eyes. “They gave us no warning.”

  “They? You found out who caused it?” she breathed, leaning forward. “Wait. If it wasn’t the Ministry . . .” Mac narrowed her eyes. “I knew it. The damn R—”

  Nik’s finger was across her lips before the word could come out. “Not here,” he said very quietly. His fingertip stroked her lower lip before leaving it, as if he used the intimacy to add weight to the warning.

  A warning the Ro could well be here, with them, and they’d never know.

  Mac shivered. Maybe someone here, a level above, on one of the hovering platforms, behind a wall, was close to penetrating the Ro’s stealth technology, would make it possible to detect the thinning of reality when the aliens used no-space to defeat the senses and devices of other species, make it possible to yank them into real space. Surely the IU would be fools not to work on at least a defensive weapon. Surely the Sinzi-ra was not a fool.

  Unfortunately, Mac was equally sure they’d see the Ro only when the Ro wanted them to, and not before.

  She thought of the ruined hillside and coast, the lives lost, and began to shake with rage as much as fear. Couldn’t you have picked—safer—allies, Em?

  “Mac.”

  Nik’s voice drew her back into herself and this room, made her remember the mug in her hands, the bench beneath her. “How can we work with them?” Mac demanded, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper. “If they’d do this? If they’d do what they did before? How can we dare?”

  If she’d wanted reassurance, there was none in his grim face. “I’m no happier than you are,” he said, again very quietly. “But it was an impressive demonstration of power—listen, Mac—” when she would have objected to that description, probably loudly. “I’m just letting you know that’s the way the earthquake damage’s being seen—by Human eyes as well as others.” He paused, as if waiting for her comment.

  There were no words, Em, Mac thought with disgust, waving him to continue.

  Nik pressed his lips together, then went on. “With no success against the Dhryn, the strain is showing on the IU itself,” he told her. “The Sinzi have their fingers full. A coalition of newer species has petitioned to have their transects cut off from the rest. Then there’s nonsense like the Trisulians taking advantage of utter misery.” His voice deepened. “It’s going to get worse. More transect connections are being made all the time, Mac, at every edge of the IU. That can’t be stopped without threatening the entire system, even though it adds new, unknowing systems to the reach of the Dhryn. The Sinzi—we all need the hope of a strong ally, Mac, even a ruthless one, to hold everyone together.” A curt nod drew Mac’s attention to the telematics center, with its knot of researchers huddled around. “Unfortunately, it’s a hope waiting on a miracle. Transmit a signal into no-space?” His lips twisted as if over a bad taste. “No one’s convinced it can be done. I’m told the Myrokynay’s instructions, if not interpreted correctly, are as likely to ruin the entire communications array as retune it.”

  Mac jerked her thumb toward Parymn’s cell. “If you want the Ro that badly, put him on the roof.”

  “It’s been proposed,” Nik said matter-of-factly. “So has putting him in a suit and dragging him through transects like a worm on a hook. Both risk the most potentially valuable resource we’ve got at the moment. Some of us have prevailed otherwise—for now.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I take it ‘us’ includes you, Anchen, Elbows, and Mr. Obnoxious in the Brown Suit. Bernd Hollans,” she added.

  Nik leaned back and hooked both hands around one knee. “Oh, I knew you two would hit it off.”

  “With sparks,” Mac confessed, half apologizing. “But he wasn’t hearing me.”

  “He’s everything you think he is, Mac, but cut him some slack.” Nik half shrugged. “Hollans’ job is to provide humanity’s help to the IU, while making sure nothing puts Earth and humanity in special danger. Thankless from all sides. Having the Dhryn brought to this consulate was over his protest. He wanted you taken from Sol System instead.”

  Mac said quietly: “I would have gone.”

  “I know.” His eyes glowed with warmth. “But the Sinzi-ra wasn’t budging. Neither was ‘Elbows,’ better known as Dr. Genny P’tool, the N’not’k. Genny is—” Nik hesitated.

  “Is what?” Mac prompted.

  “Her people enjoy a special closeness to the Sinzi.

  Genny herself is not only of high rank within her government, but has been mentor to Hone for many years, one of Anchen’s selves. She’s considered one of the IU’s leading no-space theorists. And . . . there is one other thing you should know, Mac. Since it might come up.” Nik let go of his knee, sitting straighter. “It’s a little personal.”

  “Personal?” Mac grinned at him. “Let me guess. This important, brainy alien has a crush on you.”

  He actually blushed.

  She’d been kidding. “Oh. Well. Any chance of you two . . . ?” Mac waggled her fingers suggestively.

  That earned her one of those warm and dangerous looks.

  “Guess not.” Mac tilted her head at him. Fun was fun, but . . . “I can’t argue with her taste,” she admitted, smiling.

  “What about taste?” Cinder asked, wandering into their oasis at exactly the wrong moment.

  Or exactly right one, Em. They weren’t alone. They had vital tasks to perform. Mac told herself the sensible things, sure Nik was doing the same.

  It would help, she thought wryly, if he’d stop looking at her like that.

  Cinder sat on the opposite bench, eyestalks forward with obvious interest. “Lunch? Or something else?”

/>   Mac turned and forced a bright smile. “Nik was about to tell me how you two came to be partners,” she improvised.

  “Now there’s a story worth telling.” The Trisulian waved away the staff who’d hurried up, pot in hand. “Where shall I begin?”

  “Don’t,” Nik said flatly.

  “Nik . . .” Mac stopped. He’d tensed, from the fingers around his knee to the muscle jumping along his jaw. New topic, she decided, filing the first for another time. “What about Trisulian males?”

  Nik’s tension disappeared in a burst of surprised laughter. Cinder, on the other hand, began combing her front hair furiously, apparently struggling for composure.

  Oh, dear. “I take it that was inappropriate,” Mac concluded, looking from one to the other. “Sorry.”

  Cinder relaxed, her hands dropping to her lap. “The Unbonded—females—may only discuss such things in private. Girl talk—isn’t that the Human expression, Nik? Maybe later, Mac, you and I can compare notes about our opposite sexes?”

  The biologist in Mac rose to the bait. “I’d be delighted.” Nik’s expression turned to one of comical dismay. Not buying it, Em, Mac thought. Both of them were trying to distract her.

  Not likely.

  Not when her guts were churning just sitting this close to a Trisulian.

  Mac took an appreciative swallow of now-cold coffee, weighing the chances of offending both Nik and his partner. It didn’t matter. She was who she was, Em. Honest, yes. Subtle?

  Not so much.

  So. “If we can’t trust your species, Cinder, why should I trust you?”

  Nik merely tilted his head, the light hitting his glasses and hiding his eyes. Cinder’s hands stayed calm and quiet in her lap. “Good question. All I can say is that—like you, Mac—I’m here as a member of the IU. I’m not bound by the policies of my kind, which I believe lack nimscent. Nik—the word?”

  “Nimscent,” Nik told Mac, “is an expression meaning ‘future thinking.’ Its lack implies going after a short-term gain in a way that may jeopardize ultimate success. Risk-taking.” He reached over the low table and smacked the Trisulian affectionately on one leather-wrapped knee. “Don’t worry, Mac. Cinder’s okay.”

  Friendship? Trust. Nik should know better.

  Abruptly weary, Mac wondered if she’d ever see them as a source of strength again, and not a trap.

  Dismayed by her own reaction, she did her best to smile cheerfully at both of them. It must have been a miserable effort because a worried crease appeared between Nik’s eyebrows and even the Trisulian bent a concerned eyestalk her way.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Connor.”

  It was One, wearing a long white coat over his yellow uniform. Mac looked at him with relief. “Yes?”

  “The Dhryn is ready.”

  Nik and Cinder stood to accompany her, the former giving her a small nod of encouragement, still with that worried frown.

  Well, Em, Mac told herself as she stood, there’d been coffee.

  “Parymn Ne Sa Las.”

  “This was your doing, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol?”

  Mac walked around the two sides of the cage left with bars, astonished. “Not alone,” she said. The other two sides of what had been the cage were now walls, one with a door leading into a biological accommodation, complete with smaller sonic shower, and the other featuring a pulldown cot, Dhryn-sized. The nearer barred side had developed a door, her size.

  Not bad for an hour.

  The Dhryn hadn’t recovered. She could see it in the way he listed as he sat. It likely didn’t help that he had no hands on his lowermost arms, so had to balance himself on the stubs of his wrists.

  But, like his accommodations, he’d improved immeasurably in that short time, even without hathis, the comalike Dhryn healing sleep. The floor was clean, and so was his skin, glowing its rich blue. With the ooze removed, Mac could see his wounds were regular, as though he’d used the sharpened fingers of his seventh arm to carve thin stripes along his midriff and over one shoulder. None of the wounds looked dangerous. Most were days old and healing.

  None, her eyes narrowed, appeared older than the severed wrist, his latest act of grathnu.

  Completing the picture, Parymn’s body was wrapped in bands of white silk. He’d had trouble doing it; the layers weren’t perfectly aligned. It didn’t matter. When you were used to clothing, wearing it went a long way toward restoring confidence.

  That was the real difference, Em, Mac cautioned herself. He might be weak, but Parymn was again every bit the stern, formal erumisah she remembered from Haven, the one who’d warned her about the impossibility of her succeeding as a Dhryn.

  “I wish to be returned to my own chambers.”

  “Your chambers?” Mac echoed, with a puzzled frown. “These are your chambers, Parymn Ne Sa Las—”

  “Of course not.” His great black pupils dilated further. Stress? “My chambers adjoin the Progenitor’s. I do not know where this place might be or how I got here. Nor—” a scowl, “—why not-Dhryn have been permitted on Haven, but I rely upon the Progenitors to have good reason.”

  He wasn’t aware of leaving his world, Em, Mac told herself, amazed. Or he chose not to believe it.

  An attitude she fully understood.

  “You must stay here,” she said.

  Parymn Ne Sa Las pursed his small lips and stared at Mac for a moment. But he didn’t press the point, saying instead: “Then you will express my desire for warmer air to the not-Dhryn.”

  Definitely back in form, decided Mac. “So now you believe they can talk.”

  He’d folded his arms just so. “Now I believe they can hear you,” he qualified. “Have you come to talk to me, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol?”

  Mac gestured to Two, who brought forward a tray of jiggling black tubes. They’d had her data on the Dhryn diet and no trouble reproducing something comparable—only in stopping Parymn from throwing it.

  “If you eat.”

  “If you do.”

  Oh, in fine form—Mac smiled. “Of course.” At her signal, Two brought the tray to her, a finger discreetly indicating the nearer cylinder. Mac deftly pulled it free, tipping its contents into her mouth. “Delicious.” Which was true, considering what she’d consumed was a fruit jelly.

  The Dhryn’s turn. Mac didn’t look at Nik as she took the tray from Two and walked to the new door in the side of the cage. Mr. Trojanowski had made his objections to the door known, strenuously, and now stood close by it. His hand was in his pocket, doubtless with a weapon already in his palm.

  She didn’t, Mac shivered inwardly, really mind. Not that she needed to fear Parymn. Not in this incarnation, anyway. Memories were what chilled her blood as she stepped inside his enclosure, door snicking locked behind, then walked close enough to bend down and place the tray on the floor within his reach, sitting, despite Nik’s hiss of displeasure, on the floor herself.

  “Eat,” she said. The rest of the tubes contained a fungal concoction that should, the dietitians said, help alleviate the nutritional cost of days spent fasting.

  One arm unfolded, but instead of reaching for the tray, Parymn’s hand shot toward her head. Mac forced herself to remain still as his fingers, three in number and arranged much like petals on a flower, roughly explored her scalp. “What is this?”

  Dhryn didn’t have a word for bandage. “ ‘A Dhryn is robust or a Dhryn is not,’ ” she quoted, amazed her voice didn’t shake. Behind, she heard the door close for a second time. Nik must have started through, then backed off as he realized the Dhryn meant no harm.

  “True.” His hand left her and found one of the cylinders. Mac concealed her relief as he sucked it empty, then went for a second. “These are adequate. Ask the not-Dhryn for—” and he rattled off a series of dishes.

  “I’ll see what they can do, Erumisah,” she said doubtfully, having recognized only the first.

  He was on his third tube. Adult Dhryn didn’t experience h
unger until they were shown food, Mac remembered. That being the case, Parymn’s new appetite had at least days, possibly more, of starvation to overcome.

  “You said the Progenitor seeks the truth,” Mac began carefully. “The truth about what?”

  Parymn put down his fourth empty; his hand was markedly slower going after the fifth and last. “Where is Brymn Las?”

  Mac pressed her real hand against the floor, keeping her voice steady. “Brymn Las Flowered into his final form, then—”

  “Stop.” Parymn’s eyes could be very cold. “This is nonsense. He would not have done so. What are you talking about?”

  “His body underwent its final transformation,” Mac explained, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t the Wasting.”

  Parymn flinched at this—no Dhryn willingly acknowledged that type of death, where the body failed its change and withered. Sufferers were shunned and left to die alone, preferably in the dark.

  “Brymn Las,” Mac continued with difficulty, “became one of those who serve the Progenitor.” She lifted both hands, fluttering them as if in flight.

  “That is not possible.”

  “I assure you it is. I was there. He was—damaged—in a storm. Then he began to change.” She fought to control her voice, to be careful what she revealed. “He didn’t survive very long after that. I was there—at the end.”

  “No!” Parymn threw the final cylinder across the room as he staggered to his feet. “None of this is possible!” He towered over her.

  “It’s okay,” Mac called in Instella, knowing Nik would react. Then, in Dhryn, as steadily as she could: “Sit, Parymn Ne Sa Las. Perhaps this is part of the truth the Progenitor seeks. Please. Calm yourself and sit.”

  He obeyed—probably, Mac thought, more because he was about to collapse than due to her urging. “Talk to me,” she suggested. “Tell me why you say what I saw with my own eyes is impossible.”