Regeneration (Czerneda) (49 page)

“I have been given brochures,” confided Fy. “I plan to study them carefully when time permits.”

Was no one safe from Fourteen?
Mac shook her head. “You’ll get more reliable answers from me, Sinzi-ra. Believe me.”

“Anchen did state this. Which is why I asked staff to bring you to me, Mac. I will soon leave for the transect station and then the planet.” The knotted fingers visibly tightened on one another. “I will be alone.”

“I’ll have access to communications—you can call me any time,” Mac promised, bemused to be the one offering comfort and advice. “Before you go, Fy, I’ll introduce you to Charles Mudge. He’s going to Myriam as well. You can rely on him.”

Fy’s head went back, but only for an instant, as if she’d realized the gesture meant nothing to Mac. Meanwhile, her entwined fingers loosened, but kept moving with a slow fretfulness over the fabric of her gown. “I am grateful. But, while we remain congruent, I have questions, Mac.”

“Please.” Mac sat back and hoped for something easy.
Like external genitalia.

“Why am I here?”

Okay, not easy.
“What were you told?” she hedged.

“I participate in both promises Anchen has made with Humans. To fulfill my duty to yours, I was told I was needed here. That you would explain why.”

“Me?” Mac said incredulously. “Anchen said I would?”

“Can’t you?” The knot began to re-form, joined by the left fingers.

Mac tsked her tongue against her teeth. “You know about transect systems,” she hazarded. “Myriam has one.”

The fingers flew apart, dancing frantically in midair, rings tinkling like so many castanets. “I’m an archaeologist, not a traffic analyst! I should be back at my work!”

“But Fourteen said you were a transect engineer,” Mac countered, then corrected herself: “Faras, that is. And Yt is your student. Oh. Sorry.”
Don’t identify the component personalities,
she scolded herself. “I didn’t mean to be rude, Fy.”

A lift of fingers that had to be surprised laughter, from what she knew of Anchen. “A transect engineer who studies the remains of alien technology discovered in the Hift System. And whose student is the inestimable Yt, a historian of promise. Our field is not one of wide interest. The Sinzi moved beyond the partial clues left by the Myrokynay long ago.” Not pride, but certainty. “However, there remain interesting questions about the originators of the technology I hope to answer one day.”

Mac could hardly breathe.

“You must have attended the IU’s Gathering on Earth,” she ventured.

Fy brought two fingers close, but not touching. “Anchen accessed potentially relevant data from all Sinzi, including mine. I study molecules of metal, Mac. I analyze dust for alien components. I interpolate design from pieces found in congruence. My work has nothing to do with the living.”

“You’d be surprised,” Mac said, feeling suddenly old. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s my understanding the transects within the Chasm don’t use Sinzi technology, but were reactivated when the Naralax was—”
What did you call it when a nonexistent worm burrowed through no-space and left a hole that wasn’t there?
“—made.”

“Through the Hift System, yes. But it would be incorrect, Mac, to say the Chasm worlds continue to rely on alien technology. The first act of the Sinzi upon discovering the Chasm was to replace all existing transect stations. The originals were destroyed, of course.”

“Why?” Mac asked, startled.

A look that in a Human would be astonishment. “They were less stable. We could not permit unsafe connections to our system.”

The promise to the Imrya freighter?
She wanted to ask, but thought better of it.
Really didn’t want to know.
“So the remains at Hift are all you have to study.”

“Yes. Which is why I am confused to be here.” Distress. “How can I serve the promise?”

Fy’s
lamnas
caught Mac’s eye. The rings were bolder than Anchen’s, their mix of metals reflecting unsteady white-and-yellow flecks that ran down the walls.

“There might be more remains,” she told Fy. “We—the Origins Team—are exploring the hypothesis that the Ro—the Myrokynay—used no-space technology to somehow drain Myriam’s oceans, very quickly. If they did, there should be some physical trace of their technology. Like Hift.” She didn’t let herself think about a working version.
Not yet.

“Why would they do this?”

“We’re looking into that as well,” Mac said grimly.

With the swift grace of a pouncing cat, Fy lunged to her feet. She began to pace, the panels of her gown fluttering. “I must go down there. At once! I must have samples, scans.” She lifted all six fingers before her eyes, as if searching for a
lamnas
to set it all in motion.

Though loath to leave its comfort, Mac extricated herself from the jelly-chair. “On that front, I have good news. Myriam’s been a very busy corpse. I daresay every centimeter’s been mapped and surveyed. Enough data for a start.”

Fy stopped pacing to look right at Mac. “Even if your hypothesis is correct, Mac, there may be nothing to find. Much of the Hift site was left intact for us. There’s no reason to assume any other Myrokynay site will be as cooperative.”

“Left intact for you.”
She didn’t like where this was going.
“You think the Ro meant you to find it?”

“There is no proof.” The Sinzi-ra spread out her fingers, then pulled them into her body. “However, our more recent history has become of concern. Anchen has brought forth the possibility that the timing of our discovery and its implementation as the transect system suited the purposes of the Myrokynay. The findings of how we were ‘shown’ Haven and the Dhryn only underscore this.”

“You’ve heard.” Some tension she’d carried until now released, and Mac smiled. “The Frow were so adamant about following their own chain of command.”
To her.

“Of course. We have arranged to hear everything of interest that travels the transects.”

Mac blinked. “I don’t understand,” she said, fearing she did.

A graceful sway left, then right. “I do not know how it is for a Human in these times, Mac, but the current lack of consensus among the IU species on this situation deeply disturbs us. We do not easily comprehend such a state as sane. Though I am arguably closer to it during this difficult phase of my life, even I cannot imagine the ability of others to function while in disagreement.” Fy ran the tip of one fingertip down the rings of another. “When disturbed, all Sinzi listen. Very carefully.”

The Sinzi-ra in every system of the IU were eavesdropping?
Mac had no problem imagining a unanimous reaction to that revelation from both sides of the Ro debate. “Please don’t talk about this to anyone else, Fy,” she warned uneasily. “It’s important. You can ask Ureif, if you wish.”

“I do not need to ask. I trust you, Mac. Do you require a promise?”

“No, no,” Mac replied hurriedly. “I trust you as well. Focus on the problem—leave the politics to others.”
Her own plan.
Fortunately, the problem was bigger than any politics. “Before we jump to any conclusions about Ro motives,” she went on, “keep in mind their sense of time isn’t like ours. I’ve a feeling they understand biological timelines, but there’s no evidence they grasp how long it takes other species to change culturally.”
Or care,
she added to herself. “Including the time it took you to develop no-space technology. I believe they were surprised by the Sinzi application at the consulate. The display tanks?”

“I will keep this in mind. Yet there is admirable congruence in their actions.”

Mac hesitated, leery of misinterpretation.
Between her assumptions and Fy’s Human-naïve enthusiasm, probably not much could be worse than the two of
them
talking.
“How so?” she asked finally.

“They return to you, do they not?” The pacing resumed, as if Fy were too excited to stand still.
Or she thought better moving.
“Demonstrably, Mac, you have come to occupy a rational nexus of attention, being of significance to both past and current Dhryn, and to the Gathering of the IU, while reestablishing your own connection to their former agent, Dr. Mamani. To be in your presence must be a powerful attraction for the Myrokynay.”

Now there was a horrifying thought.
Mac shook it off. “I appreciate the compliment,” she told the Sinzi, turning in the sand to keep watching the alien as she paced around in a circle. “But it’s a Sinzi perspective. Other species don’t necessarily think in such terms.”

Fingers swung from side to side. “What other terms are there?” Fy demanded, moving around the room faster and faster, her long legs flying.

Shoes full of sand, Mac began to get some idea of the effort Anchen had expended to learn to interact effortlessly with Humans. “Would you please stand still?”

Fy might have turned to stone. Sand drifted down around her hem.

“Thank you. And here’s some advice about being around Humans. Fewer, slower movements. We get dizzy.”

Fy’s fingers twitched at their tips. “This is unnecessary with the Grimnoii.”

“The Grimnoii,” observed Mac, “shove their noses under your door. You could probably dance on their heads and they’d like it. Which reminds me,” she continued, having a suspicion of what might constitute “necessary.” “You do know about their eyedrops? They expect you to provide them.”

Fy sat down again. Considerably more slowly, this time. “What are eyedrops, Mac?”

Interspecies communication fails again.
Mac decided life was too short to keep score.

“We’ll put Oversight on it,” she said. “But first, let’s take a walk. I’ve some colleagues you’ll want to meet.”

Mac left the huddle of Sinzi, Human, and Sthlynii to its work. They’d plunged into the more esoteric realms of molecular archaeology, opening overlapping workscreens replete with jargon. She’d become unnecessary; Fy confident.
Leave it to a mutual passion to get past the little things.

“Prioritize,” she repeated under her breath, wondering what to do next. The hall and rooms were still buzzing with activity, but with an anxious underlay. Arrival in Myriam had revealed some complications.

Rumor, the fastest briefing, held that a Trisulian warship was on approach to the
Annapolis Joy,
demanding some kind of clearance from the Humans. Mind you, rumor also held that Dhryn Progenitor ships had been sighted in any of thirty systems, tonight’s menu would include fresh N’not’k clams in mint, and Wilson Kudla had sold a new book which would detail his successful mystic battle with the Myrokynay.

“Couriers can carry clams,” Mac muttered, pausing to give a Grimnoii right of way. Yellow liberally stained his cheeks, chin, and clothing, and he looked as close to content as one of his kind could.
Mudge was a force.

He’d been waiting for her outside the door to Fy’s quarters. One look at his face, and Mac had known. There hadn’t been a package for her.

Since, she’d gone through the motions.
Easy to be calm, when you don’t dare think.
Mudge had wanted to talk; she’d sent him after eyedrops.

She felt enclosed in a bubble, detached from the conversations walking by with their preoccupied owners, their urgency.
She needed work.

“Prioritize,” she said again, forcing herself to examine the ’screen floating beside her face, using the effort of reading to stay focused.

Cayhill’s entreaty for her to come to the medlab she deleted. The current set of complaints about Fourteen she grouped into one, forwarded to the Myg.
He’d enjoy that.
Mac frowned. Norris had sent her several messages, all marked, of course, urgent.

Spotting him coming down the busy hall, she deleted those, too.

“Dr. Connor!” He halted to let Da’a go past, then had to dodge around three intent Humans and their cart.
The man had a gift for finding traffic.
“Dr. Connor, a moment please.”

Mac closed her ’screen. “Got your messages,” she informed him.
Technically true.

He came close and lowered his voice. “Can you be ready?”

Might have been a bit hasty on the delete,
she realized. “Ready for what? When?”

“I’ve obtained clearance.” He didn’t appear to notice her admission of ignorance, perhaps used to her.
Or too intent on himself,
she judged. “The
Joy
is closing on the first derelict. We should be in range within the hour.”

“They’ve settled the jurisdictional issues?” Mac felt a shiver of caution.
Nothing was this smooth with aliens.

“We’ve permission for an external survey. A start. I want you to come. Please. I’ll send someone from the crew to bring you to the hangar bay when it’s time.”