Regeneration (Czerneda) (81 page)

The Sinzi appeared paralyzed, then her head tilted, as if to let one set of eyes after the other study Mac’s carefully noncommittal face.

Suddenly, her fingers shot upward, before gracefully lowering into circles through which she gazed at Mac. “I, Faras, participate in the promise! And I, Yt!”

Nik put one hand over his eyes and shook his head.

This,
Mac told herself,
wasn’t her fault
.

“I didn’t promise,” Mac insisted. “At least, I didn’t promise what Her Glory thinks I did.”

Nik raised one eyebrow. “Dare I ask?”

“It was more a ‘that way to the washroom, I’ll be here if you need me’ kind of promise.”

“That’s not how She’s interpreted it.”

Mac slumped against the side of the dart. “I noticed.”

“It could be worse,” he said lightly, busy with his imp. It was preset to squeal its contents to a Ministry receiver when entering no-space. Something they were to do very soon, judging by the sensor data, so Nik was recording as much information as he could.

Other ships were on the move behind them; they wouldn’t catch up. Starting position was everything in real-space travel. The only good news so far? The Imrya had caught signals from the
Annapolis Joy.
No specifics, not on unsecured channels, but Mac was willing to settle for knowing someone was alive.
For now.

“Worse how?” Mac grumbled. “Fy wants in on it. Whatever it is.”

“Worse if you’d promised the Progenitor.”

“Oh.” She dropped her head to stare at her feet.
Mistake.
The bottoms of her pants and boots were covered in dried blood and slime. She looked up again, breathing through her nose.
Mistake.

The feeders had followed them to the vast hangar, rising to disappear into its darkness, only to reappear clothed as small silver ships. All five were now lined up between the
Impeci
and the Sinzi dart. Waiting, they’d been assured by Her Glory, for Her to enter Her chosen transport. At which point, they’d latch on to its hull and accompany Her.

Seeing the round doors on the lower half of the small things, Mac guessed where tentacles would protrude, allowing the feeders to digest their target, then suck up the result without leaving their casings.

“What are we going to do about them?” she nodded at the silent row.

This gained her a quick look.

A grim one.
She straightened. “Nik? What did you do?”

“Let’s just say I’ve prepared an option.”

Her Glory was napping by the feeders, conserving Her strength. She’d stopped complaining about being hungry.
Not necessarily a good sign.
Deruym Na Mas sat nearby, nervously checking his imps, nervously checking his surroundings. He was having some difficulty imagining they were to travel outside the Progenitor’s ship.

Fy was inspecting the
Impeci
, wearing a Sinzi evacsuit from the dart. Meanwhile, those from the
Impeci
—the Imrya and Fiora, the pilot, Bhar, and Cavendish—remained inside her craft. It kept them away from the newest members of—
what were they anyway
? Mac wondered.
A merry band of adventurers? Or the walking dead, too stubborn to lay down?

Not something Nik would do.
She knew that about him. She didn’t ask about his “option,” trusting it would save them if the feeders couldn’t find sufficient walnuts.

“Humans?”

It was the Imrya. Mac and Nik rose to their feet as she approached. “Cavendish,” he said.

“Yes. He has expired.” The alien lifted her recorder, then let it hang from its strap. “I find myself too full of words, Nikolai. A noble being.”

Nik merely nodded. With an effort Mac could see, if no one else could, he fought back any reaction, focusing on the task at hand. “Let’s get him on the
Impeci
. I want us all in place before transect. We don’t know what’s on the other side, or even if this ship will hold together.” He went with the Imrya, the thorough professional.

Mac stayed where she was.

She felt ill. If they had to evacuate the Progenitor’s ship, Cavendish, terminal and fading, had improved their chances by dying now.
You could never escape the math.
There had been too many of them for the dart.

She leaned her head back against the swirled metal. They had the poisoned
Impeci.
The Dhryn could tolerate the radiation inside the Human ship.
That wasn’t the problem.
Her Glory couldn’t pilot it, not with only one hand.

Bhar, the
Impeci’s
pilot, was slipping in and out of consciousness. Fy was needed to pilot the Sinzi dart. And Fiora knew as much as Mac about flying a starship.
Which was nothing.

Leaving Nik, who knew too much.

He’d wear an evacsuit. Giving him a few hours of protection.

If that.
He’d been exposed already.

“I hate this plan, Em,” Mac muttered.

Sacrifice the Dhryn? For all they knew, Dhryn might be the only way to kill the Ro.

Sacrificing Nikolai Trojanowski?
Part of the job.

“I hate the job, too,” she said clearly and with emphasis.

“Why are you talking to the air? Does this serve a purpose?” Deruym Ma Nas shuffled closer. “What is that?” This last as Nik walked by them, his eyes straight ahead, carrying the wrapped form of Tucker Cavendish.

“Nie rugorath sa nie a nai.”
Mac switched to Instella. “A Human, Tucker Cavendish. Remember his name, Archivist.”

“I will.” He sat beside her. “I fear I will have more names to remember, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol, than there are living Dhryn.”

She looked at him. “What you do is important, Deruym Ma Nas. Remember that too.”

“It is my value to That Which Is Dhryn,” he agreed, then sighed. Mac felt a vibration of distress through the floor. “Is it true? Will the not-Dhryn help us? The Successor is certain. But I have doubts.”

“You’re her
erumisah,
” she said carefully. “Doubt’s part of your duty, isn’t it?”

“To an extent.” A small hoot. “I confess I lose my reasoned arguments within Her Light.”

“Write them down,” she suggested.

. . . Mac felt a vibration of distress through the floor. “Is it true? Will the not-Dhryn help us? The Successor is certain. But I have doubts.”

“You’re her—” she stopped there, understanding what had happened.

The Dhryn looked confused. “Why do we repeat ourselves?”

“I’ll explain later. Stay with Her Glory.”

Mac started walking toward the
Impeci
. Nik was already coming back. From his intent expression, he’d felt it, too.

A shout from behind—Fiora, from the open door of the dart. “It’s Earth! They’ve taken us home! We’re saved!”

Mac didn’t need to see the horror on Nik’s face to know.

T
HE SINZI SHIPS HAD BEEN MOVING into position for days. Earthgov had maintained a politely interested view of these proceedings, there being little else to be done. Earth media, having more options, had launched sufficient remote probes to constitute a significant navigation threat to normal traffic, which was rerouted to other orbits.

However much a nuisance, it was the media who first realized what the Sinzi ships were doing. They were arranging themselves into an immense spiral, the narrow end pointing toward the Earth, the wider toward her Sun. The effect was dazzling, when the Moon didn’t eclipse it, and the image became commonplace in homes across the system, complete with identifying logos and associated advertising.

Until problems with newspackets and other shipments made the headlines. The curious artistry of the Sinzi slipped from Human attention.

The arrival of the Trisulian fleet, with its threats, soon consumed it. But not, it seemed, the Sinzi, who refused to discuss the matter.

And so matters stood.

Until matters changed.

Hollans rose to his feet. “Say again.”

“It’s gone, sir.”

“The Naralax Transect,” he repeated, wondering what could be affecting the usually exemplary staff of Venus Orbital.
Some Trisulian gas?
“You’re telling me it’s gone.”

“Yes, sir. The approach horizon, the gate—they don’t register. It’s gone, sir. Pending traffic’s sitting in normal space. Yelling for answers.”

“Let’s get confirmation on that, Venus Orbital.”

The voice on the com became somewhat shrill. “You don’t think we’d call about something like this without making sure we weren’t nuts? Sir.” More calmly. “We’ve confirmation from all possible observation points. It’s gone.”

A slender fingertip rose before Hollans’ eyes, claiming his attention. “I’ll get back to you, Venus Orbital,” he muttered, staring up at the Sinzi-ra for Earth.

“Sir?”

He closed the connection as Anchen took a seat at his gesture. “Did you hear that?” he said numbly. “The Naralax . . . gone?”

“It is not gone, Mr. Hollans.” Two fingers inscribed a spiral through the air, rings tinkling. “We have moved it. Temporarily.”

“Where?” Hollans gripped the edge of his desk, trying to understand. “Why?”

Anchen smiled. “Where? To Earth orbit. Why?” Her fingers formed loops before her eyes. “We participate in the promise.”

 

 

 

O
F THEM ALL, ONLY FY wasn’t shocked.
Which was just as well
, Mac thought, since the Sinzi happily busied herself setting up a tactical display at Nik’s hoarse request.