Migration: Species Imperative #2

by Julie E. Czerneda

  For once, Mac would have preferred “Dr. Connor,” which at least sounded reputable. “Yes, Sinzi-ra.”

  Anchen gestured to the empty seat. “Our remaining participant will join us shortly. Implementation of the Myrokynay’s instructions is going very well at last. I’m sure none of us wish to delay it.”

  Nods, a few grunts, and one of the suited figures pounded the table with a heavy fist. Mac hoped she’d remember how each indicated agreement. Not that she expected much to what she had to say.

  “Mac?”

  Automatically, she stood up again, resting her fingertips on the table. Real and artificial. The table felt the same to both. Mac pondered the significance of that as she collected herself. “Parymn Ne Sa Las is dead,” she said. No one moved or spoke, waiting for her to clarify. This wasn’t a group who startled easily. Good. “His personality has been replaced.”

  “By whose?” Anchen prompted, her head tilted to one side as if one of her minds was more keenly interested than the others. Noad the physician, Mac guessed.

  Time to make her first choice, Mac told herself. If there were Ro hiding in this room, listening to what was said, dare she risk the truth? But would Nik contradict her if she lied? Had he already given his report? She hated thinking like a spy even more than meetings. “His personality has been superseded by another’s, called the Vessel. The Vessel is a messenger from a Progenitor, in this case, the one I met on Haven. In practical terms, he is the Progenitor, as She was before Parymn Ne Sa Las Marsu accepted his—fate.”

  Even the IU’s representatives had to mutter among themselves about this. Mac gave them a moment, glancing at Nik for his reaction. Nothing showed beyond the glint of his lenses.

  “Continue,” Anchen said, silencing the rest. “What does this ‘biological message’ say?”

  “The Progenitor—this particular Progenitor—took damage to her ship during the Ro assault on Haven. She’s in hiding. The Vessel doesn’t know where—”

  “As if it would tell us!”

  Mac looked at who’d interrupted. “Dhryn has no word for lie, Mr. Hollans. The Vessel’s sole function is to communicate as accurately and completely as possible. That information wasn’t supplied for obvious reasons.” She looked to the rest. “The Progenitor has a question for us, for the Interspecies Union. She wants to know what’s happening to her species.”

  Someone on the left. “She doesn’t know?”

  Another moment of choice. Mac licked her lips and nodded to herself. “She knows they have begun what she calls the ‘Great Journey.’ As far as I could determine, this journey is something cyclic, a shared compulsion, but it hasn’t occurred in living memory. The Dhryn weren’t expecting it—they hadn’t prepared. She doesn’t know why they’ve embarked on it now, only that they have.”

  A shiver of gold-clad fingers. “Where are they going?”

  “Home.” Mac held up her hand to stop any questions. “Which doesn’t help, I realize. I don’t know where the Dhryn ‘home’ is, if it isn’t their world of origin. The Vessel doesn’t appear to have that information—maybe the Progenitor Herself doesn’t know. However, my team has uncovered evidence supporting an hypothesis that the Dhryn might have been a migratory species. This Great Journey could be just that. In which case—”

  “Migration, is it?” a low bass rumble from an alien to Mac’s right. “We have beasts who migrate on our planet. They respect no boundary, no law. You cannot train them to avoid farmland. We build fences to protect our crops. When those do not work, we are forced to destroy any herd that trespasses.”

  Another delegate: “We could dismantle the transects, lock the Dhryn into one system. Trap them.”

  “Sacrificing the life in that system!” bellowed another. “Whose will you pick? Mine?”

  Worse than Preds scrapping over pizza. Mac rapped on the table with her gloved knuckles. The strange sound got their attention. “I wasn’t finished,” she told them.

  “Please continue, Mac.” Anchen’s eyes took in all those at the table. “There will be no more outbursts.”

  “If the Dhryn’s Great Journey is impelled by a migratory drive,” Mac proposed, “it is an adaptation that has helped them survive on a planet, one planet. There, they had a destination—a ‘Home’—where they could take advantage of drastic changes in their environment. None of that applies to a space-faring civilization. There’s no reason to believe the Dhryn have a real destination anymore, that there is a ‘Home’ for them to seek.

  “If they are responding to an innate drive,” she continued, “it may simply compel them to keep moving and moving until their ships fail or they run out of supplies. No matter which happens first, the Dhryn will starve and die.” Mac paused. When no one offered comment, she continued: “As that will likely be after they’ve consumed as many worlds of the IU as they can reach, the Dhryn migration must be stopped as quickly as possible.”

  “By killing them all!”

  “How?” Nik spoke for the first time, face impassive but his voice rising above the muttering. “We don’t know where they are, let alone where they are going. If I understand what you’re saying, Mac, they could begin picking targets at random. How will we find them then?”

  “The Dhryn didn’t expect this,” Mac reminded them. Another choice that wasn’t. She had to try. “The Progenitor wants to know why it is happening. Migratory behavior is stimulated to begin by certain cues. And ends. If something outside the Dhryn started them moving—provided that Call—maybe something outside the Dhryn can stop them.”

  “The assault on their world set them off—that’s what started it,” offered Hollans. “What we need to do is reach the Myrokynay. They can find the Dhryn—end this.”

  Another chorus of agreement—from all but Nik, who was watching her.

  Brymn hadn’t been ready to transform. But he had. He had.

  The Ro had lied.

  Had they done more than that?

  “We don’t know if that was the stimulus,” Mac countered, feeling sweat trickling down her shirt. “After all, there were Dhryn attacks, perhaps by scouts, before the assault on Haven. We need to look more closely.”

  “The Myrokynay will stop the Dhryn. You have their word.”

  That voice!

  With a wordless cry, Mac was in motion before her eyes fully comprehended what they saw, rushing toward the tall, slim, familiar figure standing in the now open doorway behind the N’not’k. She was only dimly aware of Nik surging to his feet, of the excited rumble of voices . . . None of it mattered.

  “Emily!”

  But the face which turned in answer was the image from the Ro message: cheeks sunken, eyes like dark pits, skin cracked and shadowed. Her hair hung limp and dull with filth. Her body? A skeleton, barely filling its mockery of clothing. And the clothing? Torn and ragged, its rents going deeper than fabric, revealing tears in her flesh that held nothing but space and wheeling stars.

  Mac didn’t hesitate, arms out to gather in her friend.

  But the face turned away.

  The body walked to the final empty seat at the table, sitting as if nothing and no one else existed.

  “The Myrokynay will be gratified you have completed the signaling device,” Emily stated in that clear, dead voice. “They will respond to your messages through that medium, and through myself.”

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Anchen made a graceful gesture. “It was only with your assistance that we were successful, Dr. Mamani. You have our gratitude.”

  As if from a great distance, Mac heard her own voice, strange and broken. “Emily—Em? It’s me. It’s Mac.”

  Hollans said something; she couldn’t hear it, didn’t know if it was impatient or kind. Someone, it was Nik, took her arm, gently but firmly, and led her from the room.

  Once outside, Mac came to her senses. She whirled and tried to go back. Nik stopped her. “Not now, Mac. Please,” he pleaded.

  Sing-li hovered. “What’s wrong?”

/>   “It’s Emily! Didn’t you see her?” Mac demanded, struggling wildly against Nik’s grip. She freed one hand and struck at his face. He caught the blow, holding her wrist. “She needs a doctor—help me, Sing-li!”

  “Nik?” Sing-li was frowning. “What’s all this? Dr. Mamani?”

  Mac threw her weight back, tried to break free. Nik held on. “Stop it, Mac. Stop! Gods, will you let it go a minute? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  The desperate tone penetrated, when the words meant nothing. Mac shuddered and stood still. “It was Emily.”

  “I know. I saw. Something’s terribly wrong with her. We’ll get help—but we can’t interrupt them. We can’t force her. She’s still connected to the Ro, to no-space. Do you understand me, Mac? We have to wait.”

  Mac stared up at Nik, eyes swimming with tears. “She didn’t know me.”

  He gathered her in his arms like something inexpressibly fragile. “We’ll get Emily back,” he promised, lips against her hair. “She’s alive, Mac. She’s here. On Earth. It’s a start.”

  “They’ve taken too much of her,” Mac whispered.

  Nik heard. “Let the medical team worry about that.” He lifted her chin so Mac had to look at him. “You study salmon, remember?”

  “Do I?”

  “That’s the rumor.” Ignoring an interested Sing-li, Nik bent and kissed her on the mouth, once, very soundly. Mac’s eyes widened until she felt like an owl. “Go to your quarters, Mac,” he said gently.

  It was all Mac could do not to look at that door, knowing who was behind it. “I’m in the IU now, not a citizen of Sol, of Earth. You told me I can’t—I can’t ask for help. But, Nik, I—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “You don’t need to ask. I’ll keep an eye on our Dr. Mamani and find out what I can.” A flash of something dangerous in his eyes. “Including why her return was kept from the Ministry until now. I don’t like surprises, especially from allies.” Nik paused. “But, Mac, I’m asking you a favor in return. Please. Go.”

  She gave in. “You be careful.”

  “I will. Sing-li?”

  “I’ve got her.”

  Feeling remarkably like an unwanted parcel—which was infinitely better than feeling like an unwanted friend—Mac let Sing-li escort her to the lift.

  “No.”

  Mac narrowed her eyes. “ ‘No,’ as in you think you can stop me?”

  “ ‘No,’ as in you aren’t going anywhere without me.” She made an exasperated sound. “You can stand by the door. You like that.”

  Sing-li looked anything but willing to negotiate. He tapped his weapon. “No.”

  “Fine.” Mac knocked on Mudge’s door. “But he’s not going to like having you wake him up, too.”

  “I’ll take my chances, Mac.”

  The left hand door to Mudge’s quarters opened a crack. Mac waved at a bleary eyeball.

  “Norcoast? What—?” Mudge opened the door the rest of the way. He wore, Mac noted, managing not to smile, one of the Sinzi’s elegant nightgowns.

  “May we come in?” she asked.

  “We?” Mudge glared at the Ministry guard. “Certainly not. It’s three A.M!”

  Ignoring his protest, Mac started walking inside. “I know. Hence the chaperon,” she told him. “The Sinzi-ra doesn’t approve of fraternization.”

  Blushing furiously, Mudge moved out of the way. Mac and Sing-li followed. “At least let me put something on,” their host muttered, hurrying to the other room as fast as he could move through the sand. To his closet, to be exact, closing the door behind him.

  Mac studied the place, curious. Sure enough, the room was the mirror-image of hers, right to its impossible table of fish. She noted the arrangement of anemone and corals—same view as hers as well. Feeling slightly foolish, she went to the washroom and grabbed the wrap and extra nightgown she expected would be there. Not going to explain, she vowed, aware of Sing-li’s rapt attention as she used the garments to cover the table.

  But his attention wasn’t concerning her compulsion to redecorate. “So, Mac. How long have you and Nik been—?”

  Mac’s look dared him to continue. Sing-li wisely resumed his task of silent looming. Something, she realized, being in black armor allowed a large Human to do rather well.

  Nik had wanted her back in her room. Mac herself wanted nothing more than her jelly-bed and some time to think—or blissful oblivion. But there wasn’t time.

  Besides, why should Mudge sleep when she was still awake?

  “Now,” Mudge blustered, “what’s so important it can’t wait till dawn at least?” As he said this walking out of a closet, it was less impressive than he’d likely hoped.

  “Sit down, Oversight.” Mac did the same, but perched close to the edge of the jelly-chair. If she sank into it, she’d likely spend what was left of the night here. “I wanted to be the one to tell you. Emily Mamani’s back. She’s here, at the consulate.”

  Mudge knew her face a little too well. “Something’s wrong with her.”

  “Yes. She’s been altered by the Ro again. Much more. Physically. Maybe mentally. I don’t know the extent of it. She’s—” Mac looked up and said in a shaky voice: “—I don’t think she’s Emily anymore, Oversight.”

  He harrumphed. Twice. Then: “She’s been living with something stranger than any of us can imagine. Give her time to remember herself, her friends.”

  “That’s the rub. There isn’t time.” Mac waved Sing-li to the other seat. He obeyed, lifting off his helmet. “Oversight, this is Sing-li Jones, from Base. Sing-li, who can hear us right now?” she asked him.

  Sing-li raised an eyebrow, but didn’t bother with denials. He pulled out his imp. “The transmitter on Mr. Mudge feeds directly to this—nowhere else. Unless something warrants an immediate report, I bundle the recordings and send them to main for analysis and file when I go off shift.”

  Before Oversight could do more than turn red and begin to sputter, Mac nodded. “Good. Stop recording, on my authority.”

  Sing-li didn’t hesitate. He stood and went to Mudge, who twisted around in alarm. “Oh, hold still,” Mac told him.

  “This might sting a bit, sir.” Sing-li peeled a fingernail-sized patch of what had seemed skin from the back of Mudge’s neck. “There.”

  The look on Mudge’s face promised an abundance of pithy memos, once the situation permitted such ordinary means of retribution.

  Mac resisted the temptation to feel her own neck. “Do I have one?”

  “Not to my knowledge. You’re aware of the bioamplifier in your tissues.” Mac nodded. “It’s concentrated enough of your DNA signature to let us pinpoint your location with reasonable accuracy.” Sing-li paused thoughtfully. “Unless you’re in a null gravity field.”

  “Not planning on it,” Mac assured him, waving him back to his seat. Then she leaned forward to put her elbows on her knees, studying both men. “I’ve reached certain conclusions about our situation here,” she said. “If I’m wrong? At worst, I’ll be sent home as a nuisance. If I’m right?” She pressed her lips together then continued. “If I’m right, and we do nothing about it, the next blow to strike the IU will fall here, at this Gathering, at Earth. And soon.”

  Sing-li tensed. “So that’s why Nik wants me to stick like glue. In that case, you’re the logical first target, Mac. We should get you out of here.” He started to rise.

  “Relax.” She gave him a faint smile. “I appreciate your concern and his, Sing-li, but I’m not what’s important. It’s what I know and what I suspect. I have things to tell you both. I won’t risk being the only one who knows outside the Sinzi-ra’s inner circle. I can’t, for all our sakes.”

  The two men exchanged grim looks. They understood what she was asking. “Get to it, Norcoast,” Mudge grumbled.

  “First. There’s a Dhryn in the basement of this building, sent by the Progenitor I met on Haven to talk to me.”

  “About what?” asked Mudge.

  “What’s happened to th
eir species. They don’t understand any more than we do. Oh, there’s no doubt the Dhryn are attacking planets. That they’re a horrific threat to other living things. But what’s the advantage to the Dhryn? I haven’t found one—not to the Dhryn. Which made me ask my own question. Are the Dhryn the hands or—” Mac indicated the weapon strapped to Sing-li’s leg, “—the tools in someone else’s hands?”

  “You can’t be serious,” Mudge said, eyes wide. “An entire sentient species?”

  Sing-li’s lips thinned. “You think the Dhryn are being used as a weapon.”

  “I think they were made to be one. I think they’ve been used before, to annihilate the civilizations in the Chasm, then put away in a bottle until needed again.”

  “By the Ro?”

  “By the Ro,” Mac nodded. “And who shows up when we finally have our own source of information about the Dhryn? The Ro’s puppet: Emily Mamani. Just like she did before, when Brymn came to us.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “You’d think I’d have figured it out sooner, having had practice.”

  “Guesswork, Norcoast,” Mudge pointed out. “Even if you had hard evidence—which you don’t, I might add—your feelings about the Ro are no secret. Who here will believe you? They’re doing everything they can to welcome the Ro, not defend against them.” He brought out his own imp. “I’ve gone over the messages and daily summaries. Teams are working feverishly on new weapons—mining the transect gates was thankfully abandoned. Dhryn detectors; predictions of where they’ll attack next; three groups working on the Dhryn acids and how to create shields—none going well, by the way. Four others preparing defensive simulations. Ten spending their time on evacuation logistics and worst case scenarios—most productive of the lot, if you ask me. And a significant investment in Ro psychology—most of their work,” he sighed, “makes the ravings of your ghoul chasers sound sane.”

  “The Origins Team, Oversight,” Mac told him. “We’re close. I can feel it. Unensela has findings about the vegetation and ecology that may prove a Dhryn migratory pattern. Others have discovered evidence of outside tampering with Dhryn technological development. All we need is the missing piece—what, if anything, happened to the Dhryn themselves, their physiology.” Mac’s enthusiasm faded. “And time. Emily helped get the Ro signaling device up and running ahead of schedule. It’s on right now, begging for their help with the Dhryn.” She paused to rub her eyes with the back of one hand, then was startled by the feel of glove instead of skin. “Believe me, I’d give anything to be wrong. I keep hoping I am. But the Dhryn—everything I know tells me they couldn’t have come to exist on their own. And if that’s true? The rest makes too much sense to dare ignore.”