Regeneration (Czerneda)

by Julie E. Czerneda

“Just destroy it,” ordered Se Ferenlaa. As the first blast bubbled its way through the object’s outer casing, se monitored the signal detector. “Again. Good. It’s silenced.”

  Se flipped se-self around and flowed up the crevice, pausing beneath the signs citing rates and regulations, ignoring the agitated flutters from the banished tourists clinging overhead. The Teinsmon Trickle was always busy, being one of the must-do wonders of this region. It wasn’t se’s fault that those waiting for the all-clear had paid a truly ridiculous sum for the privilege of hanging for an hour within its mineral-laden sprays.

  Missing one of the transmitters would be.

  Their Sinzi-ra had made that clear. The outgoing signal must be stopped.

  The Trisulians—may their offspring rot within their bodies—had arranged for an unknown number of the devices to be strewn about the Frow homeworld. Most had been sold as landscaping ornaments, their black polished into a smooth hemisphere that could be affixed on a wall among rooted flowering climbers. Quite fetching, if cheap. Those had been easily traced and destroyed.

  But the rest were of the type se hunted, dropped into shadows by Trisulian tourists. They’d known where to start looking—no Sinzi-ra let aliens wander a homeworld unremarked—but they hadn’t found them all before the transmissions began.

  Calling the Dhryn.

  It had become a race against death. While ordinary citizens went about their business, unaware their world was at risk, those with the right training were given detectors and ordered to climb wherever a device might be hidden, to find and destroy it. Se Ferenlaa installed home com systems, with se’s sib-cousin’s dubious help. Close enough, they’d told him.

  Se held out the detector, hoping they’d found the last here. No. Another signal, nearby. “Come!” Relieved Ne Liani hadn’t noticed the admiration of the spectators—such things turned a young Frow’s head—se led the way as rapidly as se’s older limbs could move, leaving safer paths in favor of any shortcut that beckoned.

  A planet-wide evacuation was impossible. Those of highest rank were told, but refused to leave. Se shared their pride. Frow clung fast and would not willingly fall.

  When no handhold offered, se threw se-self forward and down in hopes of one, membranes out and humming, sulfur-stained rock flashing past. Se’s claws snatched at one grip, then another, finally latching on to a barely perceptible crack. Making sure all four limbs were secure, se looked for ne.

  “Right here, sib-cousin,” came the reply. Ne Liani passed se, moving with easy grace.

  Se checked the detector. “It’s above us. There. Sixty-four.”

  The Trisulian had shoved the transmitter in a fissure near one of the larger trickles, the rocks to either side carved by the claws of the generations of Frow who’d sought miracles from the spring.

  Ne recorded the number. “Sixty-four. Shall I destroy it now?”

  Se wanted to grab the acid pack and do it se-self. “Yes, yes! But climb above it first, fool!”

  “There’s no need to be insulting, sib-cousin.”

  Ne even pouted beautifully. Se clung to the rock and swore to talk to mater if they survived this. “Just do it. Please. Quickly.”

  Ne Liani pumped the spray.

  Se Ferenlaa stared at the detector. “Again.”

  Were they too late?

  “Again. Hurry!”

  It was silenced. Se climbed higher and checked. Nothing. Hardly daring to hope, se went to where cliff ended in the deadly flat land above and held out the detector.

  Nothing.

  They’d done it. Here at least.

  Se put away the detector and climbed down to where ne waited. Without a word, se carefully stripped, hanging hat and uniform on the provided hooks. Se slipped into the nearest glistening trickle of water and relaxed.

  “Sib-cousin. We haven’t paid!”

  Se Ferenlaa sighed. Maybe ne had a future in ticket sales.

  At least now, ne might have a future.

  Consternation . . .

  The Call ends. The path is lost. The Great Ships pause.

  All that is Dhryn is endangered. There is no life but that which is Dhryn.

  The Progenitors call for Vessels, seek accommodation.

  But that which is Dhryn understands the Truth.

  One must survive the Great Journey.

  Even at the cost of another.

  17

  PRESENTS AND POLICY

  MAC WASN’T SURE if she was escorting one corpse or two to the Annapolis Joy. The Wasted, now curled at her feet, had grown quieter and more still throughout the journey. She hoped it was hathis, the Dhryn healing comalike sleep. She feared it was simply the end.

  The lev continued, attached somehow to Halpern’s shuttle. She couldn’t switch to the surround view Norris had installed, which meant she sat in a box for the duration. A very quiet box. She’d told Halpern “Charlie” was sleeping. In turn, he’d expressed concern over who else might be able to listen. They’d agreed on silence.

  Not even a polka.

  The return didn’t take as long as she’d remembered, despite having napped on the way out. Halpern’s relieved, “about to dock, Mac,” announcement startled her.

  Mac sat straight. “And me without a shower,” she muttered to herself, wrinkling her nose. Most of the stink came from her clothes. Sweat and vomit. Lovely. A brush of one hand did nothing for the overlapped stains of Human and Dhryn blood. The hand was bloody, too.

  Her knees glistened with slime. The corpse didn’t. She frowned at it thoughtfully. Useful stuff, slime. A healthy salmon wore a protective coat of it. Salamanders breathed through it. Slugs glided on a road of it. Nothing quite matched her observations. Can’t assume it’s natural slime anyway, she scolded herself, postponing any investigation until much later.

  Moving around the lev was awkward, given the need to avoid contact with alien parts. Mac tiptoed and side-stepped to her backpack. Once there, she took out her water bottle and used what was left in it to wet her face and hands. She used the backpack itself as a makeshift towel, having to trust the end result wasn’t worse.

  Physically, she was in better shape than her clothing. Food was a distant concern; just looking at the corpse made her queasy. Emotionally, she was numb and content to remain so for a while longer.

  Mentally, though, she’d reached the state Emily referred to as “crabby” and Mudge had frequently decried as “utterly unreasonable.”

  In other words, she’d had enough.

  She’d ordered Halpern to bring them into the hangar set aside for Ureif and his consulate, using the premise the Sinzi would want to meet her anyway so it saved time and travel.

  Hollans might have found a walker on Earth. He might even plan to share.

  She’d make sure more than Humans would have a crack at this one.

  Halpern, concerned about “Charlie,” assured her he’d called ahead for a med team to meet them.

  Mac’s lips stretched in what wasn’t a smile. Weren’t they going to be surprised?

  “Unlock the door, Dr. Connor.”

  Mac hugged her knees and didn’t budge from the passenger seat. All well and good to have a plan, she thought ruefully. Until no one listened.

  Halpern, either doubting the sanity of a certain biologist, or following the orders of someone whose sanity he did trust, had ignored her request and returned them to the same hangar from which Norris had left. The Human part of the ship. And now a very familiar voice shouted at her through the com system.

  “Dr. Connor,” Cayhill said, for the fourth time. “Open this door! Let me attend to Mr. Mudge!”

  Funny how the best lie could come back to bite you, sighed Mac. She supposed he knew better than to pound his fists on metal, realizing she wouldn’t hear it, but the image had its charm. “I’ve told you, Cayhill. I’m waiting for the Sinzi-ra,” she said, for the fifth time. “It’s not a hard concept.”

  A new voice. “Norcoast!”

  Mac winced. “Oversight.”
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  She waited for it.

  Right on cue. “Charlie Mudge?” The words came out in a sputtering bullroar that had to hurt the man’s throat.

  The answering harrumph was that signature mix of dignified offense. “I am not ‘Charlie.’ ”

  “And you aren’t on this ship with Dr. Connor, gravely injured.”

  “Idiot! Of course he’s not.”

  Hearing the odds in the hangar shifting her way at last, Mac grinned. “Hi, Fourteen. Is Ureif there?”

  “This is Captain Gillis, Dr. Connor.”

  Or not. Her grin faded. “Captain. I’d like to get out of here.” She put aside her body’s sudden agreement on that point. There was a bottle handy.

  “Then unlock the door.” Reasonable.

  Mac put her hand on the Wasted. Not dead yet. She glanced at the corpse. Still dead. “Once Ureif is here.”

  Reason gave way to official outrage. “The Sinzi-ra is busy trying to keep the Interspecies Union together in this part of space, Dr. Connor!”

  “So,” she replied coolly, “am I.”

  She wasn’t surprised by the ensuing silence, well able to imagine their faces as they tried to decide if she’d been through too much at last, or this was as serious as she claimed. Cayhill would be shaking his head sadly, but with a triumphant “I warned you about her” in the look he’d give his captain. Fourteen would have his hands over his eyes, worried about her and unable to do anything about it. The captain would appear thoughtful. While Mudge . . .

  . . . he’d know. Maybe not what she had on board, but that she did have something—someone—with her she wouldn’t risk being revealed without the Sinzi-ra’s authority at hand.

  There was, of course, a point beyond which she couldn’t push Gillis, not on his own ship. If this had been one of the Joy’s shuttle fleet, he’d have already ordered its door opened and have the codes to do it. Because this modified lev was Dr. Norris’ pride and joy, a man he must believe was dead on his watch, she didn’t think the captain was prepared, yet, to order his crew to cut their way inside.

  Mac estimated she had no more than a half an hour left. She eyed the bottle.

  “I am here, Dr. Connor.”

  Ureif’s voice. Mac checked the time. Twenty-one minutes . He’d cut it tight. Something else had been occupying him; whatever it was, she was about to complicate it.

  “Sinzi-ra.” As she went to the door, she ran her fingers through her hair, finding a patch of something sticky. So much for personal grooming.

  She opened the lev door.

  Captain Gillis hadn’t taken any chances. A semicircle of armored and armed guards posed threateningly, so close they had to shuffle back when Mac sent down the ramp. Both Sinzi, accompanied by Grimnoii, stood beyond that barrier with Gillis and Townee; Mudge and Fourteen beside them; Cayhill and a small knot of orderlies relegated to some distance away.

  This well-thought out arrangement lasted only as long as it took her appearance to register, then Ureif and Mudge were on the move, Gillis only a step behind. The guards took the hint and lowered their weapons, stepping out of the way. Not fast enough for Fourteen, who shoved the nearest aside with both hands.

  Mac lifted her hands to slow the stampede. “Nothing a shower won’t cure,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t hurt.”

  Whether she convinced them or not, protocol paralyzed them at the base of the short ramp: the Humans unwilling to get in Ureif’s way, the Sinzi-ra attempting to defer not to the captain, but to the ashen-faced Mudge. Exceptional awareness, she judged, relieved to be right. Not to diminish Fy, but this was a Sinzi of Anchen’s caliber. They all needed that.

  And while manners sorted themselves out, Fourteen ran past them all and thundered up the ramp, shouting, “Idiot! Idiot!” He stopped short of grabbing her in a full hug, perhaps realizing that would ruin his favorite paisley shorts, and settled for patting her shoulders. “There are others to take such risks,” he scolded all the while. “Others of less value or interest. You should not have gone.”

  “Glad to see you, too,” she said.

  Then Mudge was in front of her. Fourteen stepped aside without a word.

  Judging by his expression, she looked worse than she thought. If he’d offered concern or sympathy, she might have faltered, begun to react to the past few hours. Instead, a calm question. “What do you need, Norcoast?”

  “A stretcher,” Mac said immediately, having made her own plans. “Medical facilities within our portion of the ship. Guards and vids for that. And one of those bigger parts bins.” Mac pointed down the hangar to where crew had stopped pretending to work on another shuttle while such interesting events were underway in their area.

  Mudge nodded and, collecting Fourteen with a look, went back down the ramp. The two moved apart to allow Ureif to advance, the captain close behind. The captain spoke first, eyes wide. “You’re sure you’re all right, Dr. Connor?”

  As she nodded, Ureif lifted one graceful finger to indicate her shoulder, his mouth turning down. “This is Dhryn blood.”

  Mac backed into the lev, mute invitation. There wasn’t room for the other two to fully enter, but she doubted they’d want to anyway. Not once they saw what waited.

  The captain’s hand flew up to cover his mouth and nose, eyes staring. He managed not to retch, but beads of sweat formed on his forehead. For an instant, the Sinzi’s fingers trembled, their blood-red rings sounding like the first hit of freezing rain on dry grass, then they stilled.

  Both looked at her.

  “Don’t worry. The walker’s dead,” Mac assured them, well aware their reaction wasn’t to the Wasted. She gestured to the unconscious being. “He killed it before it could attack me.” Learning how was high on her list.

  Gillis spoke through his hand. “Dr. Norris?”

  “We were exploring the Uosanah when I heard the walker in one of the holds. While I hid, he went to call for help.” Her voice came out flat and strange. Just the facts. “When he tried to come back for me, the Ro’s thing ambushed and killed him.” There was a rise in the sound levels outside. Mudge and Fourteen.

  Gillis’ hand dropped away. His mouth worked before he spoke. When he did, the words were harsh and accusing. “You left Norris there—”

  “He’s got company,” Mac replied wearily. “The rest of the Dhryn are dead.”

  For an instant, she thought he meant to strike her. Then Gillis shook his head, the blind rage in his face subsiding into something more rational. His eyes flicked to the corpse, his throat working as he swallowed. “How the—never mind, I don’t think I want to know. Good work, Dr. Connor. Good work.” Real warmth. “What now?”

  She wasn’t surprised by his self-control. This was the captain of the Ministry’s latest and greatest. “We need to preserve the body. And,” she gazed up at the so-far silent Sinzi, “to invite IU scientists on board to learn everything they can from it. From both factions,” she emphasized.

  This was the key, Mac thought, hardly breathing. Let those who still believed the Ro were the IU’s saviors see this nightmare of flesh for themselves.

  Let them try to imagine its masters.

  Gillis’ eyes took on a gleam.

  A cool finger’s tip traced Mac’s cheek. “I am overcome,” Ureif said, and bowed his head, the white gown whispering with the movement. “What you propose . . . it offers profound congruence.”

  “I thought you’d like it,” she grinned.

  Mac didn’t like where she had to spend the next hour. Instead of following either Wasted or corpse, or even providing a full briefing to someone, she was sent to decontamination and abandoned to the overzealous ministrations of orderlies with a hose.

  Cayhill’s revenge, she judged glumly, lifting her arms for yet another spray. She wore her rings, nothing more. Her imp and the little salmon carving sat in a bag, waiting where she could see them.

  Humans hadn’t been members of the IU long enough—by millennia—to be acceptable hosts for anything worse than Ne
rban shoe fungus. And that only stuck to soles for a ride elsewhere.

  When they were done scouring every centimeter of her skin with pointless biocides, Mac thanked the orderlies for the cleanup. No denying she’d been filthy. She thanked them for providing clean crew coveralls and slippers. Her latest clothing having been sent to disposal. Though she hadn’t much else anyway. Consular staff hadn’t fully appreciated the rigors of life in space.

  She didn’t bother to thank them for the sandwich she pilfered on her way out.

  Kaili Xai was waiting to escort her wherever. Mac smiled with relief, glad to see someone familiar. “Be honest,” she said lightly. “Did they leave me a face?”

  Kaili smiled back, then made a show of peering closely. “I think you’ve lost some freckles.”

  Mac shrugged. “More where they came from—and where are we going?”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  The calm question took her aback. Returned with corpse and guest from a disastrous unauthorized mission, complete with loss of its leader? “I thought,” Mac ventured, “there’d be some yelling.”

  “Oh,” Kaili’s expression turned serious. “Enough of that going around. Half the ship is being turned into a consulate and the captain has his hands full fielding delegations to the Sinzi-ra already.” A dimple. “I’m sure he’ll yell at you eventually.”

  “No hurry,” Mac said. “In that case, I know exactly where I want to go.”

  As she and Kaili walked to the Origins section, Mac wolfed down her sandwich and then began peppering her companion with questions. The orderly might not be an officer or have bridge access, but Mac doubted even Townee had as thorough a grasp on what was happening on board.

  Kaili, who’d taken a certain homesick biologist under her gentle wing the year before, was happy to share the latest gossip. “Oh, no one minds,” she replied, when Mac asked about the crew’s reaction to the sudden changes. “Might be different if it weren’t the Sinzi, but, gad—isn’t it amazing, seeing them walking around? Everyone’s sending mail home about it. I never thought I’d see one in person.” She gave a shy smile. “I even spoke to Fy. She came with Charlie to the dispensary for eyedrops. Graceful. Polite. Quiet. She made me feel special.”