Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Mudge was going to blame her for this.

  “Why would I blame you, Oversight?” Mudge asked mildly.

  Too mildly. Mac waited for the rest.

  The Frow had snatched her from the ladder and carried her down faster than falling, then skittered out of sight before she could so much as open her mouth to chastise them. They probably knew full well they were in trouble. Lyle had only shaken his head and pointed down the corridor when she asked where Mudge might be.

  She’d gone straight to his quarters—or rather his sanctum. Since losing his roommate, he’d managed to create a full office, complete with an intimidating desk facing the door, and chairs for supplicants. His bed was now a pull-down attached to the back wall. There were no personal belongings in sight. Like Emily, he armored himself with his space.

  A harrumph as Mudge settled deeper into his chair, having greeted her at the door as if she was late for one of their ‘discussions’ about the Trust. “Just because you dragged me into this in the first place, made me spend a less-than-memorable night in a Yukon cabin, and have since failed to adequately explain even one of the events that have transpired since we left the consulate? Why would I blame you because the Frow tried to kill me?”

  Mac raised a brow. “Don’t exaggerate, Oversight.”

  He used his finger to describe a drop, then flattened his palm with a thud on the table. “Two levels before they deigned to stop my fall. Two! I could have died, Norcoast.”

  “You know perfectly well they were just—” Mac hesitated. Fooling around? wasn’t quite the term for it. Setting you beneath them?

  “Even when I insisted I was to meet with you, they refused to let me climb one rung. The only good to come of it all was that Da’a was able to use the ladder without torment. I have,” he pronounced, “formally expressed my displeasure to the Frow representative.”

  Who’d been one of the beings tossing Mudge around. Mac frowned, afraid she understood too well why Mudge hadn’t been allowed up. The Frow had established their chain of command, putting her at the top. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine they’d given themselves a similar promotion by appointing themselves in charge of access to her.

  Alien hierarchies were as abundantly awkward as Human ones.

  “Se Lasserbee likes forms and protocols,” she said at last, planning to have a private chat with the Frow concerning her chain of command. “As for explanations?” Mac leaned her chair back and stared at the ceiling, going through the list herself. The promise? The Sinzi on the ship? Mudge knew more than she did. What was happening with the Vessel and Nik? He knew as much.

  Hollans?

  One day, she cringed. Maybe.

  “I wish I had some, Oversight,” she said finally. “Back on Earth I could hunt my own answers. At least make the motions and feel useful. Right now? All I can do is worry about what might be happening.”

  “Which is out of our control, Norcoast.” A pause. Then, quietly, “It doesn’t help. Being here, on this ship.”

  Mac dropped her gaze to his too-knowing one. “It doesn’t,” she gave him, her hand, that hand, curled in her lap. “But we’ve enough real demons to keep us busy. What happened here . . . there was never ill will, Oversight. I was—” a rueful smile twitched her lips, “—just a fish out of water.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  Time to change the subject, she decided. “Now, Oversight, what’s so important you risked death by Frow to tell me yourself?”

  Mudge sat straight, his face assuming a grimmer cast. “I believe there’s been a discovery in Castle Inlet.”

  She tensed. “There was nothing in my messages.” Then she remembered, like a bad dream, how Nikolai Trojanowski and the Ministry had produced vids purportedly from her to cover her absence from Earth—vids so realistic they’d fooled her family and friends. “They wouldn’t dare,” she snapped, ready to march straight to the bridge and demand to speak to Hollans himself.

  “What, fake communiqués?” Mudge shook his head. “I see no point—we’re supposed to work with Base on any data. But your people aren’t the only ones looking, Norcoast, are they?”

  The whoosh of giant levs overhead, the steady stream of equipment and personnel heading to Pod Two. “The Ministry?” she hazarded. “What makes you think they’ve found something? Not that they’d rush to tell us.” Perhaps for good reason, she thought, remembering Nik’s caution to Hollans.

  “There are other channels,” Mudge announced, a hint of smugness on his face. “I’ve maintained contact with staff at the consulate, of course, to ensure our group will receive full support on Myriam. To save time, I requested an updated inventory of materials of interest—on hand and in transit. Which I’ve received.” He held up his imp. “It makes for informative reading, Norcoast.”

  Mac touched finger to forehead in salute. “I’ve always said you were a dangerous man, Oversight. Go on.”

  He didn’t blush. That serious, she thought uneasily. “The consulate received an urgent request for equipment to be delivered to Castle Inlet. Specifically, Sinzi devices to inhibit the formation of a no-space transect, as well as their most advanced stasis chamber.”

  Mac leaned forward, her breath catching in her throat. For a wild moment, she imagined some pitched battle along the walkways of Base, with an intrepid Tie bringing down aliens with his trusty antique flare guns. Then she shuddered, knowing any such confrontation would be in the dark, with an enemy heard, not seen.

  And involve blood.

  “Do you think they’ve found the Ro?” she asked Mudge, unable to keep a tremor from her voice.

  “The Ro seem to work through others wherever possible,” he said soberly. “Dr. Mamani said they’d swept ‘those who walked for them’ into the ocean, along with whatever they were hiding there. My guess would be they’ve found one or more of those bodies. Or what’s left of them. It’s been months, Norcoast. You know as well as I do how efficient ocean scavengers can be.”

  The normalcy of crabs and bacteria steadied her nerves. “They may not be a factor,” she pondered aloud. “The ‘walkers’ were swept down in the landslide.” Sing-li had said they’d found the bodies of their agents within mud and stone. The cold comfort of recovery beacons. “They could have been buried.” Mac’s heart began to beat faster. A look at what the Ro really were—or as close to it as possible?

  His face mirrored her own growing excitement. “And be virtually intact. If that’s so—we might have gained our first advantage, Norcoast.”

  “I must contact Anchen. Hollans. Both of them.” She rose to her feet. “I have to see the scans—get samples sent here.”

  He held up one hand. “Nothing can happen right away, Norcoast. The captain’s right to maintain a com ban. It’s just a day and a half till we meet the courier at the gate. You’ll have to wait.”

  “Pointless waste of time,” Mac muttered, but sank back down.

  Mudge gave her his stern look. The one where he planned to refuse a perfectly reasonable request on grounds that would make no sense to her. “The point, Norcoast, would be to prevent anyone in this system confirming your presence on board until we’ve left for Myriam.”

  “Use codes. Do secret stuff.” She gestured wildly. “It can’t be that hard.” She wasn’t that important.

  She didn’t want to be.

  “The risk isn’t justified, not to satisfy our curiosity.”

  Mac scowled. “I don’t see who would care.”

  “Do you want me to name all the species connected by the Naralax, or stop with the Ro?”

  She pressed her lips together and glared at him as if this were all his fault.

  Mudge harrumphed. “Whatever’s going on, Norcoast,” he mollified, “we’ll learn more when we get the next batch of messages. Old-fashioned, but secure.”

  “I don’t like waiting in the dark.”

  “Come now. You’re capable of appalling patience, Norcoast. Use it.”

  Mac snorted. “Is that supp
osed to be a compliment?”

  Mudge sat back, fingers laced together, and gazed at her.

  She wasn’t the only one, Mac realized with familiar frustration. “A day and a half.” She made a face. “Fine. I’ll start preparing my messages. Townee’s going to show me their procedure for secure mail.”

  “Their procedures?” Mudge grimaced back at her. “That wretched Fourteen already broke those. Much as it pains me, Norcoast,” he heaved a sigh in demonstration, “we’d better give everything private to him for encoding. I can’t imagine anything more secure. Except for those.” He nodded to her rings.

  Mac shifted her hand below the table, then felt her cheeks warm. Could she be more obvious? “You know about lamnas?”

  “Lamnas,” he repeated, as if, like Hollans, he fixed a new word in memory. “I didn’t know, Norcoast. But I observe. You never wear jewelry, yet you leave the consulate wearing a ring identical to those on Anchen’s fingers. It could be a token or gift. But before we leave Earth orbit, one ring has become two. Am I right to suppose you anticipate a third when we meet the courier?”

  Only if Nik survived to send it.

  Something of her despair must have shown, because Mudge grew very still. “These lamnas aren’t from Anchen.”

  Mac gave the tiniest shake of her head.

  “How dare he—?” The words were fierce and low. “It’s unconscionable. Is there anyone who isn’t using you in some way, Norcoast?”

  “There’s you, Oversight,” she replied unsteadily.

  “Totally unacceptable,” he blustered. “Do you hear me? Unacceptable!”

  “I’m not arguing,” Mac said, comforted by his honest outrage. “But I’d rather know—be used—if that’s what it will take to resolve all this and make sure everyone’s safe.”

  Harrumph. “And at that time, I plan to tell a certain someone exactly what I think.”

  She wished Nik luck. “You do that.”

  Mudge harrumphed again, angrily, but calmed. “I suppose we must be satisfied that things are underway, Norcoast. The Dhryn ships, our going to Myriam, whatever the Ministry’s uncovered . . . the other ship . . .”

  That was what they called it between themselves, the “other ship,” to be sure they weren’t the ones to inadvertently discuss Nik’s so-fragile mission.

  If there was a ship the Ro would want to find, Mac knew beyond doubt, it would be the one carrying the Vessel home to his Progenitor.

  Mac and Mudge spent the better part of an hour talking around what was to come. Neither could be sure what to expect in Myriam System, so they made contingency plans to the best of their ability. He didn’t argue when she said he should go to the planet with the archaeologists; she didn’t argue when he told her Fourteen should stay on the Joy with her. It was a measure, she thought, of how seriously Mudge took their present difficulties in communication that he wanted her to have the one being able—and fiendishly delighted—to circumvent ship’s security.

  When she left his quarters, she felt if not in control, at least prepared.

  A feeling that lasted as long as it took for Mac to take two steps toward the dining room.

  “Dr. Connor. Why haven’t you reported to the simulation lab?”

  Few people became this annoying on second acquaintance, she decided, wheeling to confront Norris.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He’d added a hovering ’screen to his attire, set to hang above his line of sight, so his eyes constantly flicked up to it.

  Mac, considerably below, waited for him to look back down at her, mentally giving him a count of three.

  At two, Norris returned his attention to her. Disappointing. “I sent you notification. Surely you read your mail.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Mac said truthfully. “Is this something that can wait, Dr. Norris? I’m about to check on my team.”

  “Team?” His eyes lifted to the ’screen, as if seeking confirmation. “You’ve been reassigned to me. You have no team, Dr. Connor.”

  Before Mac could settle on what she would actually say in response to this, it being early in their relationship for her to kick his skinny shin, they were interrupted by the arrival of Sam and his new colleagues, To’o and Kirby.

  “Mac! There you are. You have to come and see this.”

  She threw Norris a triumphant look. He didn’t appear impressed. “Dr. Connor is busy,” he said.

  Mac wasn’t sure which reaction was more telling: the sudden silence, or the way even the Cey’s eyes opened wide as all three climatologists stared first at Norris, then her.

  Too easy, she decided regretfully.

  “Dr. Norris, why don’t you grab a coffee and we’ll continue this later,” she advised, keeping it civil, then walked past them all, heading to the work area.

  First to move wins.

  But she’d underestimated Norris’ ability to miss a cue. “Dr. Connor,” he exclaimed. “Our time on the ship’s simulator is not limitless. And Dr. Cayhill is waiting.”

  Mac’s hand twitched. Despite her instinct to keep on walking, preferably until the entire bulk of the Joy was between them, she stopped and turned around. “What could Cayhill possibly have to do with some simulation you want to show me?”

  Norris’ show of surprise was a little too studied. “Aren’t you aware of safety requirements when a subject is immersed ? A physician must be present. Dr. Cayhill, being familiar with your physiology, kindly volunteered.”

  Familiar with what’s left of my arm, she nearly said aloud, but knew too well how someone of Norris’ type would respond. Instead, she gave him a withering glance before saying to the now-worried climatologists. “Oversight’s in his quarters. Fourteen’s somewhere in the work area. I want them both here, please. Now.”

  They hurried off, glancing back at her with questions in their eyes. Mac crossed her arms and stared up at Norris. “The Pasunah,” she said.

  “A working facsimile, yes.” He looked insufferably pleased. “I knew this class of ship carried a complete suite of training sims.”

  “Is this really necessary?”

  “It wouldn’t be if your ‘firsthand’ account had been at all adequate.”

  She felt her right leg tense and deliberately eased her posture.

  “Mac?”

  “Norcoast?”

  From different directions—and different-shaped wind-pipes —came identical tones of disapproval.

  “They’ll be coming, too,” Mac informed Norris.

  Dr. Gordon Cayhill was a middle-aged man of average height, average mass, and—in Mac’s estimation—above-average tenacity when it came to what he viewed as the most appropriate medical treatment for his patients. No doubt he’d performed miracles for those in his charge.

  The only problem? He’d wanted to perform one for her as well. She’d said no. Loudly. Repeatedly. And with all the apparent impact of water rushing over a barnacle glued to stone. The only plus had been to leave the ship knowing they’d never have to deal with one another again.

  Funny how things worked.

  She didn’t bother to smile. “Dr. Cayhill.”

  “Dr. Connor.” He didn’t smile either.

  “Charles Mudge III,” that worthy introduced himself, pressing forward into what was patently a conversation going no further without help. “I presume you are qualified to supervise such a procedure?” His voice implied anything but.

  Now Mac almost smiled.

  Fourteen wasn’t to be left out. “Irrelevant. We presume nothing.” He drew out an imp and set a ’screen up between them, muttering under his breath as he worked. Then, “Ah! Oh. You are.” He closed the screen and gave Mac a shrug. “At least he hasn’t let anyone die.”

  “There,” Norris pronounced. “Can we get on with this?”

  No? Mac swallowed, aware she’d gone as far as she could in terms of protest. More and Norris was capable of tossing Fourteen and Mudge from the room. She didn’t want to be alone here.

  No
rris, with the inevitable escort of Joy crew, had brought them to this distant part of the ship. It was an area without the warm colors and natural light tones seen elsewhere; the corridors were lower, cramped, their walls curved in as if reinforced. Mac remembered it vaguely—she must have been carried through here when brought on board.

  Screaming.

  She made herself focus. The simulator lab was more of the same, function and form. The presence of life was mocked by sullen gauges and flickering displays. The center was taken up by a long, low box.

  Great, Mac thought, licking dry lips. It would have to look like a coffin.

  “Do you understand the procedure, Dr. Connor?” Cayhill asked.

  She made herself walk to the box. “Incoming feeds supply the simulated environment I’m to experience. The firing of my nerves to move muscle will be translated into that environment seeming to move past me.” She shrugged. “Everyone’s played games on a sim.”

  “This is far beyond anything you’ve seen within a game platform,” Cayhill stated dryly, opening the lid. Mac stared down into what appeared to be a nest of dark wire and somehow managed not to leap back. “We use a combination of sub-teach and other neural methodologies to induce a totally convincing experience. Your own memories will fill in any blanks. You’ll believe you are again inside the Dhryn ship, Dr. Connor.”

  Wonderful.

  She’d briefly explained what Norris wanted to Mudge and Fourteen on the way here. Neither had offered an opinion. Not out loud. She could read their disapproval; she knew they understood why she wanted them there. Now Mudge stepped up, his shoulders squared. “Given you will shortly have three Dhryn ships at your disposal to examine, Dr. Norris, I fail to see how this is anything but an imposition and a waste of Dr. Connor’s valuable time.”

  “And who are you again?” Norris demanded, sneering at Mudge.

  “Idiot!” bristled Fourteen. “To begin, he is someone immensely more important than you, and obviously of greater intelligence. Bah. This entire process is irrelevant. You are irrelevant!”