Regeneration (Czerneda) (50 page)

She was nodding before realizing she’d made a decision.
Fine, then.
“I’ll be in my quarters.”

Mac sat on her bed, knees and feet neatly together, hands in her lap. Her hands, palms up, cradled the carving she’d given Nik, and he’d sent back to her through Hollans.

“You’ve been around,” she told it.

The wood took warmth from her skin, as the living version would from the water around it and the rays of sunlight penetrating the surface. She rubbed her thumb gently over the black lines representing the connections between life and world, aware she should find other things to do, unable to do them.

She closed her eyes briefly. They were dry and hot. Tears would have helped, but she wasn’t ready to cry—not yet.
Not without proof.

A knock on her door, too soon to be Norris’ summons. Mac raised her voice. “Not now, Oversight.”

“It is Ureif, Dr. Connor.”

The one being on the ship she didn’t dare refuse.
Had to be an alien conspiracy,
Mac told herself as she rose to unlock the door.
She couldn’t always have this kind of luck.

Unexpectedly, Ureif was alone in the hall. “Greetings, Dr. Connor.” She glanced toward the ladderway. He gave a very Human smile and gestured in the opposite direction, to what had been a sealed bulkhead and was now an open door to another corridor. “The captain has granted me access throughout his ship.”

Including a back door to her part.
Mac somehow returned the smile, and stood aside to let the Sinzi-ra enter. “To what do I owe this honor, Sinzi-ra?” she asked, somewhat hysterically trying to gauge if her only chair or the bed would better suit the lower anatomy of the Speaker to the Inner Council of the Interspecies Union.

The chair.
She pulled it out and offered it.

“Thank you, but I cannot stay, Dr. Connor. I’ve come to deliver this.”

His finger uncurled, its coating of red rings ending in not one, but two of purest silver.

In slow motion, Mac reached out her hand. The Sinzi let the rings slip into her palm. She stared down at them, then up into his great complex eyes. “Forgive the delay,” he asked, bowing his long head. “These came to me first, an unintentional error in procedure, and I was unable to leave the bridge until now.”

He’d left the bridge—and whatever situation brewed among the species at Myriam—to bring her these himself. She closed her fingers around the rings.
A Sinzi could do nothing less,
she realized with some wonder.
Not even one as important as this.
“Thank you.”

He produced a folded sheet of mem-paper from a pocket she hadn’t noticed in his gown.
Nice trick.
“There have been more incidents, Dr. Connor, not as widely reported as we could wish. You should have this information.”

Mac took the sheet with some trepidation. “What do you want me to do with it, Sinzi-ra?”

“Use it as you see fit. Although I would advise care discussing its contents with the Frow. They are a volatile species.”

Great.
Mac opened her mouth to ask for details, but Ureif gestured to the door. “Excuse my haste,” he said. “But the good captain was not calm about my departure. I should return.”

Tucking the sheet in her own pocket, the rings tight in her other fist, Mac went to open the door. As she stood close to the Sinzi, he lifted a curl from her forehead with one fingertip. “It was with this you committed
grathnu
?”

Hair or hand.
Mac still blushed. “I didn’t have much choice,” she explained.

“The Dhryn.” Ureif released the curl. His head tilted to focus his lowermost pair of eyes on Mac, his fingers meeting in a complex shape that reminded her of Anchen.
By far, more sophisticated than Fy.
“I found them pleasant. Industrious, courteous, with a playful humor able to cross many species’ lines. Blind to the larger universe, yet the individuals I knew best sought nothing more than to be happy and contribute to the well-being of their kind.”

Mac nodded. “You watched them leave for home, didn’t you?” she dared ask. “The colony ships. You knew they were at Haven, all this time.”

“They were devastated by news of the Ro attack,” he answered without hesitation. “As the word spread, everyone put down what they were doing and went to the space-ports; nothing mattered but to return to their Progenitors as quickly as possible. They believed they were needed.”

The Progenitors had already left—what had that been like, to arrive home to nothing?
“What could they do but wait?” she observed sadly. “Until they died.”

Ureif’s fingertips twitched. “I am disturbed by their fate, Dr. Connor. By that of all Dhryn. I see no potential circularity. Do you understand this?”

“I think so,” Mac said, leaning her shoulders against the wall. “You see no future for the Dhryn as they are now.” She sighed. “I’d like to disagree. I valued them, too. But I don’t see any hope either.”

“ ‘As they are now.’ ” Ureif straightened his head so all of his eyes looked at her. “What does this mean, Dr. Connor?”

“Mean?” Mac hesitated. “I suppose, being a biologist, I see the Dhryn as the culmination of two processes. We have ample evidence they evolved and were successful on their own world—and mounting evidence that those Dhryn, the original form, were acted upon in some way by the Ro to produce the Dhryn you and I know. A biological weapon.”

“I see why Anchen spoke of your peculiar insights, Dr. Connor.” While Mac puzzled at that, he went on, “Are you aware Sinzi regard no process as inherently linear? That there will always be circularity discovered, if the viewer is sufficiently discerning?”

“Not until now.”
But it explained a few things.
“I don’t feel at all discerning in the present situation.”

“Nor do I, Dr. Connor.”

“Mac.”

Definitely a bow.
Ureif should teach that to Fy.
“Mac. Until our next meeting.”

She locked the door behind him and leaned her ear against it. Once sure there wasn’t another alien ready to knock, Mac opened her fist and gazed down at the rings. “An ‘open me first’ tag would have been useful,” she told them. Her heart thudded in her chest. Now that she had news from Nik, she felt oddly reluctant.

Alive.
That was the easy part.
The good to the soul part.

What else he had to tell her remained to be seen.
Literally.

Sitting in her chair, she stood the rings on the surface of the desk, holding them in place with the thumb and forefinger of each hand. She gave them a spin.

The left ring revolved twice, then fell with a faint clatter. Mac reached for it, then changed her mind, watching the still-spinning ring. “That eager, huh?” She took that ring to her bed, kicked off her shoes, and lay down.

She brought the metal to her lips.

Then looked through it.

/
E
FFORT/

“Mac . . . we made it . . .”/resolve/
. . . so tired
. . . /doubt/

Concentrate, getting easier.
“All of us . . . left . . . safe. Can’t go back . . .” /fear/ “Ship . . . damaged . . . contaminated.”
The darkness almost claimed us. I could taste . . . death.
/determination/ “Made it this far . . . matters.”

Concentrate.
“. . . Vessel introduced us . . . You were right . . . Progenitor . . . amazing sight . . .”
You did this alone, Mac . . . I have to be as strong as you were . . . /a
we/pride/

Concentrate.
“She listened . . . we must wait . . . Mac, she’s weak . . . starving . . .” /pity/fear/horror/
She’s consuming her own to stay alive . . . are we next?

Concentrate.
“. . . She saw me alone . . . asked . . . you. How we . . . Where . . .”
Where are you . . .
/longing/ “. . . have a place . . . must convince Her . . .” /resolve/

 

 

—She smells mint—

“Nikolai, I cannot endure—” Genny P’tool’s beak closed, moist bubbles forming along the junction of top to bottom.

How do you talk to someone already dead
. . . /anguish/ . . .
I would have spared you this, old one.

“Rest, Gorgeous. The Progenitor ship found us in time.”

Time for everyone else.
/rage/frustration/

“Take—take my work. Others can keep . . .”

/despair/resignation/
Be the last breath . . . I can’t stay . . . do us that grace . . .
/pain/
Die while I’m here.

“You’ll do it yourself. Just stop making Mac jealous, okay?”

“Hah. Saw you first. My pretty Nik.”

“You say that to all the . . .”

/grief/relief/guilt/

 

*
layered over
*

 

—She tastes salt—

“Is She not magnificent,
Lamisah
?”

/disbelief/fear/
I’m standing on a hand . . . a hand . . .

“Magnificent is an understatement.”

“I have told Her of your service to that which is Dhryn.” A soft hoot. “And of your daring to argue with Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol.”

/wry amusement/
Even the Dhryn know . . . unfair . . . those eyes of yours could melt stone . . . only flesh, Mac . . . landed me in the drink . . . too busy daydreaming . . .
/despair/resolve/
. . . like now
.

“Will the Progenitor listen to me?”

“She will listen, but we must not tire Her. The Great Journey takes its toll on all that is Dhryn.”

/hope/resolve/
“
You’ll have to help me. She must learn the truth.”

Another hoot. “But of course,
Lamisah
. Is that not why we are here? Although,” a sigh, “it is not a truth anyone would want.”

/pity/determination/

“One step at a time, my friend.”

 

*
layered over
*

 

—She feels silk—

Concentrate . . .
“Let Anchen know . . . Genny P’tool . . . dead.”
With Murs . . . Larrieri . . . Cinder . . . who next . . . doesn’t matter.
“We couldn’t save her.” /anger/futility/

Vessel and I . . . only ones left who know . . . /
determination/
. . . must survive . . .

“Quarters fine . . . She remembered you . . . water in the shower.”
You made an impression, Mac . . . not surprised . . .
/warmth/ “Wanted to know . . . everything. Searched . . . feeders touched me . . .” /horror/

Concentrate
. . . “. . . tried to send more . . . didn’t seem . . . work . . .” We’re underway as planned . . . easy part . . . tell Hollans . . .”

/resolve/