Regeneration (Czerneda) (9 page)

There was more of Nikolai Piotr Trojanowski in this alien’s collection than Mac knew herself.

Not hard.
Mac gave herself an inward shake.
Spy, remember? Mysterious past, tendency to consider anything a secret until proved otherwise. Annoying as hell.

And she missed him,
Mac realized with some astonishment,
the way she missed her salmon.

The walls turned white again. “Forgive me, Mac,” the Sinzi-ra said as Mac blinked at the change. “I should not waste your time with indulgences. Please, let us sit and you can tell me why you needed to see me right away.” She led the way to the jelly-chairs.

Mac blushed at the polite reminder. “My fault,” she explained, taking the chair indicated by the elegant tilt of the Sinzi’s tall head. “I was in a hurry. Not that this is urgent.”

Anchen settled herself, the pleats of her white gown falling perfectly over her long toes. Her eyes blinked. “A contradiction.”

Score another for interspecies communication,
Mac sighed inwardly. “Yes,” she said, then corrected herself: “No. What I mean is—I need to speak with you. It couldn’t wait. It’s about Emily.”

“You should feel no anxiety, Mac. Noad examined her last night following your return. She was tired, but otherwise fine. Overall, he believes your excursion was beneficial.”

“I know.” Mac wiggled so she could lean forward, wishing the alien chairs weren’t so all-encompassingly comfortable. “Em’s downstairs now, working with the others. That’s why I’m here. Last night, Emily made me listen—” Mac couldn’t subdue the twinge of guilt:
to what her best friend wouldn’t listen to before . . .
“I understand now how the Ro involved her. The Survivor Legend. She was obsessed by it. I think she still is.”

“The legend is speculation at best, Mac,” Anchen said, her small triangular mouth tilted down in mimicry of Human disapproval. “I remain unconvinced this is a worthy line of inquiry, despite Dr. Mamani’s persuasion.”

Mac shrugged. “One thing I’ve learned. Living things are messy. They do the unexpected. In some ways, I find it more incredible that the Ro could completely eradicate life from the Chasm worlds than one species might escape them.”

“This has become your obsession also?”

“No, Anchen. I’ve riddles of my own, starting with the Dhryn themselves.” Mac took a deep breath. “I agree the Survivors could be wishful thinking—but they’ve been Emily’s focus, her passion, for decades.”
With a side interest in salmon,
Mac reminded herself. Kammie would approve of such cross-pollination of fields; poor Case Wilson, the deepwater fisher she’d plopped into a study of tidal ecosystems, would doubtless sympathize with Em.

Anchen’s fingers rose to her shoulders, a positioning Mac had learned to read as mild distress. “She has asked for a probe. I have delayed a response. It has not been our way, to attempt to contact an unknown species by giving them the means to reach us in return. The risk is incalculable. And you, Mac, appreciate the moral obligation. Opening a transect gate may well doom any life there.”

“You’re opening new gates right now.” Mac might not like meetings, but she valued the information they—rarely—provided. Such as the continuing expansion of the transect system to new worlds in every direction. The Sinzi might not approve, but they were involved. Every system connected by a transect became part of the Interspecies Union. To be part of it meant hosting an IU consulate—with a Sinzi-ra in residence to oversee the transect gates, because key parts of that crucial technology remained theirs alone.

Mac didn’t concern herself with the details. Someone had to have a hand—or finger—on the switch. And the diplomatic, pragmatic, irreproachable Sinzi had the only fingers every other species trusted.

The Sinzi inclined her head in acknowledgment. “It has not been forbidden.” The “yet” was implied. “Other species within the IU may expand the transect system from their gates, but they do so only where there is evidence of a thriving civilization capable of space travel.”

And good manners. That Sinzi attitude permeated the IU: from the adoption of Instella, the common language used between species, to ships’ hatches that matched regardless of origin, to the use of their consulates to indoctrinate visitors on local customs, before those customs could be violated. You could muddy your own backyard, but please wipe your feet before stepping inside the house.

The transects didn’t carry war.

“There is no such evidence from this world of Dr. Mamani’s,” Anchen finished. “I see no purpose to a probe without it.”

“I’m not here to ask for one.” Mac sensed confusion and pressed on: “Anchen, Emily’s request—it means she wants to help. We couldn’t stop her if we tried. I’ve had her working with my team, but what we’re doing—what I’m doing—is a constant reminder of the Ro. Of what they put her through—of her mistake in trusting them. But what if she continued her work on the Survivors? Whether they exist or not—it doesn’t matter. So long as she believes . . .”
Was any of this getting through?

“I see.” Two fingertips met, forming an arch. “I have been concerned how best to occupy Dr. Mamani’s excellent mind during her recovery. Her Tracer device is part of her search, is it not?” At Mac’s nod, she continued, “A novel application of life-form scanning techniques. Quite impressive. As is her incorporation of relevant principles from Myrokynay technology. While we have yet to discover any clues from that technology, the effort continues.” The Sinzi dipped her head in a slight bow. “I applaud your wisdom in this matter, Mac. Dr. Mamani may have any resources she requires.”

Mac swallowed and sat up straight. “Not here,” she said. “At Norcoast.”

“Why?”

That was the crux of it.
Mac hesitated. It was the right answer for Emily. She knew it. But she couldn’t explain why to herself—let alone to another Human.
How could she explain to the Sinzi?
She blurted out the first reason that came to mind: “She’ll need an aquatic ecosystem to further develop her Tracer.”

Of course, Anchen lifted a long finger to indicate the view out her window. “Is this an insufficient body of water?”

“No,” Mac sighed. “And before you say it, Sinzi-ra, I realize you can provide all the facilities Base has plus some. Emily’s original equipment is already here, in my closet.” In several pieces.
A minor point.

“Then why risk moving her?” Anchen’s head tilted so the eyes Mac had come to associate with Noad, the physician, were most directly aimed her way. “I have concerns. Both for her recovery, and what she may yet remember.”

Mac nodded. “I know. I share them, believe me. But if you could have seen her . . . she was happy last night, Anchen. Her old self, mostly. For the first time since—since coming back. In that crowded, smelly bar—” She stopped, unable to read compassion or confusion in those sparkling amber eyes.

“Where everyone around her was Human,” Anchen finished. Ever the consummate diplomat, the Sinzi formed a gentle, Human-looking smile. “What could be more natural, Mac? We can accommodate anyone you wish to invite here. A wonderful idea. I will arrange for an entire building to be Human-only, until Dr. Mamani is more comfortable. Is this acceptable?”

She should have expected nothing less; Anchen took particular pride in being a good host. Even so, it was an overwhelming offer.

Mac took a deep breath. “No, Anchen. I’m grateful, but what Emily needs isn’t just to be around Humans—she has me and Oversight, Kanaci and his people, Sing-li, ’Sephe, and theirs. She needs a Human place. Base . . . it will be familiar, she’ll have friends, distractions. Her sister could visit.” Mac tried to keep the urgency from her voice.
This was right.
“Nik told me you have someone there,” she went on. “ ’Sephe has a job waiting for her. It’s protected from the media. It’s—”

“This is where you wish to be, Mac, is it not?”

Irrelevant,
Mac told herself and almost believed. “This isn’t about me. Emily’s been told what the Ro did to Base—the attack on the pods; the earthquake on shore. She knows she helped them do it. She might rationalize it wasn’t her fault, realize people have gone on with their work and their lives, but that’s not enough, Anchen. Humans—we have to be in a place, touch it, breathe its air, in order to know it.” She firmed her voice. “That’s why I have to go as well. But not to Base, Anchen. To the Chasm, to Myriam. With the Origins Team.”

The Sinzi rose to her feet with a swiftness that suggested some strong emotion. “Mackenzie Connor,” she started, her voice unusually high, then stopped, fingers lifting well above her shoulders.
Distress?
“You strike at the essence of my selves.”

She’d done it now.
“I didn’t mean to offend—”

“Offend?” Anchen’s triangular mouth shaped a tremulous smile, imitating the Human expression with devastating accuracy. “My dear Mac. I am overcome . . . the harmony of what you would achieve . . . I ask your patience while I compose my selves.”

Mac’s confusion must have been apparent even to the alien, for she waved her own comments aside with a long finger, sinking back to her seat. “This is what I have longed to propose to you and Dr. Mamani, but did not dare.”

“You did.” Mac closed her mouth, guessing she’d been gaping like a fish out of water.
So much for marshaling arguments.
“Why didn’t you?”

“I had to assume you would resist this, as you have resisted every suggestion you be separated. Yet now, you offer to make a personal journey to achieve community.” The Sinzi-ra gave an almost orgasmic shudder. “Can a Human possibly appreciate the significance of this to Sinzi?”

This Human?
Mac resisted the urge to laugh. “Em at Base, me with the team—it just feels the right thing to do. I know it’s not thoroughly logical or rational.”

“Both admit limits,” Anchen dismissed. “Limits are not useful in accommodating disparate ways of thought.” She seemed calmer, though still intent. “Based on my studies of your species, I see your proposal as a Human need to put affairs in order. You plan a leave-taking, a change of magnitude and risk. Part of this plan deals with what you leave behind, so you are free to go. Is this accurate, Mac?”

Mac sat back in the jelly-chair, letting her shoulders sink into its soothing warmth. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.” She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“This is not how it ‘feels’ to me, Mac. In Sinzi terms, your proposal instills profound circularity by its plan to reattach sundered connections. The importance of any connection is demonstrated by the effort—the distance traveled—to accomplish it. Thus, this is a proposal I find aesthetically as well as fundamentally, worthy. ‘Right,’ in your terms. In our different ways, we seek the same result—to restore what was broken. To build harmony.”

Mac held her breath, feeling close to grasping something innate about the Sinzi, about the transects and the IU itself. “The Atrium,” she said finally. “The layout is inefficient by Human standards—researchers have to use a levplatform or walk halfway around the consulate to meet face-to-face.” More than inefficient, Lyle considered it a slight, as if they didn’t belong with other scientists—
archaeologists were touchy that way
. Mac hadn’t been sure. “But it isn’t inefficient to you as a Sinzi, is it? Because the act of physically seeking each other matters.” Perhaps explaining why the Sinzi-ra, despite being in charge of the consulate, constantly roamed its halls and rooms.
Intriguing.
Mac wriggled to sit straighter again.

Anchen tilted her head sharply left, as though Mac had drawn the profound attention of one of her personalities. “You are unusually perceptive today, Mac. Yes. To move to a common meeting point is the highest of courtesies. Effort reflects the significance of the desired meeting. Even symbolic travel, as done using the platforms, helps set the appropriate tone of connection.”

“That’s why you brought experts from all over the IU here, to the Gathering.” Mac took the plunge. “Having them move through the transects was a message to all Sinzi. Or from the Sinzi. Or both. A demonstration of the significance of the Dhryn threat.”

“We felt a profound need for congruence on this issue,” Anchen replied, giving a gracious bow as her fingertips sought one another. Mac wasn’t sure if it was agreement or explanation.
The danger with interspecies communication,
she cautioned herself,
wasn’t when it went wrong, but when it seemed to make sense
. “We value the synergy of coming together. The Gathering proved insightful, as you know.”

“But now you’ve had to send everyone away. What message does that give?”
Probably not the most tactful question,
Mac realized, too late.

“Message? It is the essential reflection, Mac. That which must take place after congruence. Circularity is movement. Congruence grants momentum. The farther we dare go from one another, while remaining always part, the stronger we—” The Sinzi tilted her head the other way and made a soothing gesture. “My apologies. I have lapsed into language inappropriate for discourse with an alien.”

“If we stick to shrimp, we’ll never understand one another,” Mac assured her.

This drew a laugh, but when Anchen’s fingers settled, she pursed her small mouth in a less happy expression. “I will miss our conversations.”

The words took a moment to sink in. Then Mac struggled to her feet. “We can go?”

“Yes. However, there must be preparations.”

Mac nodded and sank back into her chair, already thinking ahead to her own. Her heart was hammering. She’d wanted this outcome—it was another thing entirely to have it. Then, something in the alien’s emphasis caught her attention. “What preparations, Sinzi-ra?”

“Although Dr. P’tool makes progress developing a teachable pattern for the Dhryn language, with the cooperation of the Vessel, it will not be ready for some time. We may need you.” Two fingers lifted as Mac opened her mouth. She closed it. “For this reason,” Anchen continued, “a transect-capable ship will remain in orbit while you are on Myriam. I trust it will not be required. There is considerable circularity in using that world for any negotiations, should we achieve that stage.”