Damn.
This time, she grabbed for his hand deliberately. “I know what I’m doing,” she insisted, trying to convey the same message through look, words, and touch. Trust me. Be patient.
His fingers squeezed hers again, twice, before letting go. She’d have been more relieved if his face hadn’t worn its patented “spy on the prowl” expression.
Later would be soon enough. Mac turned to the Vessel. “What does that mean—the ships weren’t prepared?”
“Before my time, we broke with the tradition of keeping each ship ready to depart. We believed it a meaningless duplication to have food production in every ship, when there were new, more modern facilities above ground. So most was centralized in a few key locations. If the Progenitor is not producing oomlings, and adults fast, it is possible to go for a considerable time without a new source. But . . . that which is Dhryn must not starve.”
“Nik,” Mac translated quickly, her mouth dry, “the Dhryn can’t grow their food, not on every ship. They’ll need an outside source. Given their numbers—probably often.”
His lips pressed into a grim line. “Noted. How many per ship? Weaponry? Insystem speed? We need details—as much as you can get.”
Before the Vessel could open his mouth again—and confirm Nik’s growing suspicions, Mac said quickly: “Don’t answer his questions. Not yet. We need to talk about the Call, first. Was it the Ro?”
“The Ro? The Ro are the Enemy, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol.” A humoring tone, as if she were young and lost. “They do not Call the Dhryn. They steal and terrorize our oomlings. They wish us gone. As, I fear, do all not-Dhryn. Including this one.” An arm ending in a stump pointed at Nik.
“What we wish is not to be food for Dhryn,” Mac snapped back.
“I do not consume not-Dhryn,” the Vessel replied. “Others do not.”
“You saw for yourself. Dhryn are doing this.”
“Aiieeeee! Yes, but I do not understand.” More rocking. “Do not speak of it.”
“For now. The oomlings,” Mac circled back. “Why would the Ro go to such effort to steal them? If they wanted to harm you, they could have destroyed Haven any time they wished.”
“To threaten the oomlings is to threaten all that is Dhryn.” The tone flat and with a hint of threat itself.
Nik heard it and reacted. “What’s wrong, Mac?”
“Nothing,” she snapped, then waved an apology. To the Vessel: “Why do some Dhryn consume other species and other Dhryn do not?”
“I do not know. In the Great Journey, all that is Dhryn must follow the Taste.”
“Scouts,” Mac crowed triumphantly. “I was right! The disappearances earlier—they were caused by Dhryn scouts, weren’t they? They were collecting the Taste of what was on various worlds, bringing it back to the Progenitors. Those that digest and feed—” somehow, she didn’t shudder.
“Impossible.”
“What do you mean?”
“The mouths and hands of the Dhryn must stay with the Progenitor. They do not exist elsewhere. They have no purpose elsewhere.”
“Then how do you find the Taste to follow?” Mac asked, thinking it a reasonable question.
The Dhryn’s mouth turned downward at the edges. Disapproval. “The Taste is not found. It is that which the Progenitor requires on the Great Journey. All that is Dhryn then follows the Taste.”
Mac sighed. Somewhere, she was convinced, buried in the mythic, convoluted language, there had to be a greater truth than she was hearing, some clue. “Vessel, I—”
She was interrupted by Nik, as he rose to his feet. “We need to talk. Now.” He stood, looking down at her.
“I’m going to consult with my companion,” Mac told the Dhryn as she stood, too. “Don’t react to what we say to one another. It is important.”
“As you wish, Lamisah.”
Nik led her a few steps from the Dhryn, but didn’t leave the cell, as she’d expected. “What’s going on, Mac?” he demanded in a low, urgent voice.
“We’re a little stuck on aspects that seemed to be fixed in Dhryn myth. I’m getting stuck,” Mac corrected. “Maybe you can help me—”
“Forget that. What did he say about weapons, deployments, their ships?”
“The Vessel?” Flustered, Mac blurted: “He doesn’t know things like that. I’m trying to find out what’s controlling the Dhryn. Where they go. Why—”
“You didn’t ask, did you?” Nik didn’t let her finish, a new edge to every word. “Mac, that information’s crucial. There are worlds filled with beings needing help now. All the rest—the whys, the past—we don’t have time for your curiosity!” He took a deep breath, as if tamping down his temper. “From now on, I want you to translate for me. Word for word. Nothing more.”
It hurt, seeing his anger, knowing she was the cause.
Couldn’t be allowed to matter, Em.
“I can’t do that,” Mac told him levelly. “You aren’t asking the right questions.”
His eyes, now stone-cold, flicked up to the vidbots and down again. As if she’d forget their audience. “You study salmon, Dr. Connor. I’d like to hear how that makes you an expert in the gathering of strategic information.”
“What strategic information?” she fumed, losing her own temper. “The Dhryn are being led around the universe like a hungry bear following a bait bucket. What would you ask the bear, Nik? How long his claws are? How sharp his teeth? His ultimate intentions toward fish heads?”
Mac watched as it hit him, gave the tiniest possible nod as Nik’s eyes widened, felt a dizzying wave of relief when he didn’t say it out loud, as he realized the consequences if the Ro could somehow hear. He sees the real question, she thought triumphantly.
Who’s carrying the bait?
Then his eyes narrowed again. “It doesn’t matter what theories you’re investigating. We need that information. Either you ask what I want you to, now, or we’ll find another way.” From his grim expression, she knew exactly what he meant. He’d tell others the Vessel understood Instella.
“You can’t!” Mac gasped. “Not now. I’m close. I know I am.”
“Close to what? You can’t make decisions for the IU, Mac.” Trying another tactic, Nik put his hands on her shoulders, bent to look into her eyes. Quietly: “There’ll be time later for your questions, Mac. Please.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a tactic all understood.
A bellow rattled the metal stool. “Release my lamisah!” The Dhryn rushed toward them, his head lowered in threat, three hands rising as if to reach for Nik.
Everything happened so fast Mac was never sure of the order. Nik shoved her aside, but she managed to twist from that force, using its momentum to half fall toward the angry alien. Nik was shouting something she didn’t hear—likely frustrated and directed at her—but Mac was intent on only one thing.
Sure enough, the Dhryn coughed.
She slapped her hand over his mouth and pressed it there as hard as she could, shouting herself.
“Stop, Lamisah! He wasn’t hurting me!”
The sideways figure-eight pupils of the Dhryn dilated, as if to encompass her so close. His three hands had automatically grabbed to stop her from colliding with him. She winced at their tight hold—there’d be bruises—but didn’t release her own. She said more calmly: “It’s okay, Vessel.”
She could feel his muscles ease. The convulsive retch already underway subsided. Still, enough acid spurted between the Dhryn’s lips to dissolve most of the pseudoskin from the palm of her hand. So much for stirring acid, Mac thought inanely. She was careful not to touch any of it with clothing or flesh as she let go and backed away.
“Careful!” Mac admonished as an equally powerful Human hand took hold of her and pulled. More bruises, she thought fatalistically. She held her acid-coated fingers as far from Nik as she could. Drips hit the carpet, sending up smoky plumes. “It would help,” she snapped, as he released her, “if you both calmed down.” For
the benefit of watchers, she repeated it in the oomling tongue.
Almost casually, Nik dropped something from his palm into his pocket. His face was pale and set; a muscle jumped along his jaw. He’d been about to kill the Vessel, she realized numbly. To save her.
“Don’t get close.” His warning to Mac; he should have listened. She could see the bleak awareness in his eyes, the shame of letting his emotions make a choice. They both knew the Dhryn had to live, even if it killed her before his eyes.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She saw that, too, and acknowledged it with a half smile.
“Lami-sah . . .” The alien’s voice was weak. Mac turned even as he stumbled. Nik reached out to support him before he fell. The Dhryn flinched, but couldn’t avoid him, letting the Human guide him to a sitting posture.
“Nik meant no harm to me, Vessel. None to you. Please. Don’t worry.” Mac used her real hand to stroke the Vessel’s forehead, feeling the shivers coursing through his body. A body, she realized, that had been through a great deal, especially for a Dhryn as old as Parymn must have been. She looked at Nik; “He needs rest.”
Their eyes met over the Dhryn’s blood-slicked back. “So do you,” Nik agreed. “And to clean up that hand. I’ll give you both as much as I can. Half an hour, hopefully more.”
“ ‘A Dhryn is robust, or a Dhryn is not,’ ” she quoted, giving Nik a nod of agreement.
But, as she listened to the Vessel’s labored breathing, Mac hoped she was wrong.
- Encounter -
That which is Dhryn accepts the Great Journey. That which is Dhryn must move. It is the Way.
The path changes more often now. It is the Way as well.
As before, the Call is heard. Irresistible . . . dominant . . . urgent.
That which is Dhryn must obey.
It is survival.
- 18 -
MEETING AND MAYHEM
“I TOLD YOU to run, Lamisah. Why did you stay?” Kindly. As though fond.
Those had been the words.
She’d answer, but her mouth was sealed.
She’d run, but her limbs were wrapped in a net. Mac struggled, feeling the bonds around her tightening, feeling them burn. Tears ran down her cheeks, tears of helpless rage.
“You never learn, do you, Mac?” Emily. “Trust. Friendship. Coin of the realm, dear girl. Nothing more. Survival’s what counts.”
Hard to breathe. Mac lunged out with her bound feet, trying to find a target.
“Getting late, Mac. You really should run. It’s the only choice you have.”
Light, sudden, blinding, from everywhere at once. Reflecting from the hard silver of tiny ships. Thousands upon thousands.
Mac fought for freedom even as the rain began to fall, even as her feet dissolved, her legs, her . . .
“I told you to run, Lamisah.”
Jerking awake, Mac rested her forehead against the back of the Sinzi shower, letting the water from three jets pound her shoulder blades, letting the steam and roar keep the universe at bay for a few minutes more.
She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.
Even less to dream.
Mac turned, letting the water hit her face. The Dhryn’s blood and acid was gone; the nightmare wouldn’t wash away. Something she knew full well.
“Time to get back, Em,” she said, licking drops from her lips as she hit the control to start the dryer. “Wonder what time it is.” Late, for sure.
Nik and Sing-li had brought her here, back to the Atrium. A swift, dizzying ride up three steps on a platform, a choice of rooms to suit any body plan. Staff, of course, ready to offer her whatever she might need. A jelly-chair, a table with sandwiches, juice. This shower. She wasn’t the only one who worked late down here, Mac thought. She’d spend some time huddled over her workscreen, trying to catch up while the Dhryn rested, listening to notes from her team. When she’d begun to feel sleepy, she’d stopped trying to pull sense from fragments of disparate information, and went for a shower to wake up.
That hadn’t worked.
Dry, she pulled on her clothes. The staff had performed their discreet magic again. There’d been blood on the beautiful jacket, acid damage to a sleeve, but while she’d showered, it had been replaced by another, this time red. What mattered was her imp was in its pocket. Mac dropped into the chair, pushing still-damp curls from her forehead, and checked for messages.
Nothing new. “I’ve been cut off, have I?” she muttered, closing her ’screen and pocketing the device. “We’ll see about that—in the morning.”
One more minute. Mac leaned her head back, careful to keep her eyes open and fixed on the ceiling, breathing slow and steady through her nostrils.
Not surprisingly, given her past experience with such things, that was when a quiet knock sounded on the door, followed by the door cracking open. “Mac?”
Sing-li. Doubtless looming outside since she’d arrived. “She’s not here,” she told him.
“You dressed?” he asked, coming in anyway. He’d changed into full armor, but left his visor open.
It let her see his face, now set in sober lines, so she swallowed what she’d intended to say. She sat up. “What is it?”
“The Sinzi-ra wants your report—now.”
“Here?” Mac lifted her eyebrows.
“No. There’s a meeting of the Admin council for the Gathering underway. The major players. She wants you to report to all of them.”
“I hate meetings,” Mac informed him. Especially when she didn’t know what to say.
Sing-li’s teeth flashed in a quick smile. “I remember. But I can’t see you skipping out of this one, Mac. We’d better hurry. They’re waiting for you.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“Oh, Mac? Nik sent you this.” Sing-li held out a long supple glove. Mac took it with a nod, pulling it over the now-exposed workings of her left hand and wrist.
As gestures went, she thought with an inward smile, it wasn’t bad.
Her guide led the way. Rather than a platform, he took her via three lifts to the level with the door they’d used, then through that door to the corridor. Once there, Mac hesitated outside the Dhryn’s room. “I should check on—things.”
Sing-li shook his head. “He’s asleep—or unconscious. Nik said to tell you you’ll be notified.”
Answering the question of whether her companion was kept fully briefed, Mac told herself.
They took the door to the next corridor where two guards, neither Human, now stood watch on either side of the entrance to the tank room. Mac restrained a shudder as she passed it, moving closer to Sing-li. They turned right with the corridor.
Another series of plain doors. The place was a maze of featureless white. Or was it? “Just a minute,” Mac said, stopping. “I want to try something.” She reached into her bag and took out her imp.
“Mac, you don’t want to be late. There’s no time for this.”
“There’s always time for a quick experiment, Sing-li,” she assured him absently, setting up her ’screen to show a chromatic display of the walls in front of them. With a slide of her fingers, Mac removed the filtering from the display.
Silvery ghosts, representing ultraviolet reflections, appeared over the normal image. The white walls were aglow with symbols and images. Portraits, schematics, a few rather nice landscapes. And each door in sight had a label. Not Instella, but definitely a script. “Thought so,” Mac exclaimed with satisfaction. This was only an approximation. One thing for sure. The world of the Sinzi and her staff was neither plain nor white.
Sing-li stepped into the area she was imaging. His initials glowed on his chest and Mac nodded her understanding. “I take it the Sinzi-ra doesn’t like faceless strangers.”
“Bad as you, Mac,” he agreed, grinning. “As for the walls? You could have asked for a look.” He tapped his visor meaningfully with a finger.
Mac put away her imp. “I prefer to experiment,” she informed him. “Which one?” She wave
d at the doors.
It was the third. Sing-li opened it for her, but remained outside as she stepped through, taking his post.
“Greetings, Mac,” from Anchen, rising from her seat at the head of a long, well-populated table.
There was always, Mac thought glumly, a long, well-populated table.
The Sinzi’s fingers indicated the position opposite her, at the far end. There was a second empty seat, halfway up one side. Neutral turf. Mac eyed it longingly, but obediently took her place at center stage.
She’d like a moment to take notes on who sat where. Hard enough to keep twenty-five Humans straight, let alone assorted sapients. Her eyes went to Nik, at Anchen’s left. He gave her a comforting look. One ally. He faced the N’Not’k, Genny P’tool. Mac spared an instant to wonder if she’d try footsies with him under the table. Probably not. The ambience was pretty far into stress range. Bernd Hollans sat midway down the right side, facing the empty seat. An Imrya, likely the one who’d accompanied Anchen to Parymn’s cell, was at his side, taking notes already. No other Humans, not that Mac expected more. Two beings in full environment suits. She’d love a closer look, but they were near Nik.
Cinder sat to Mac’s left. Perhaps another ally. Perhaps a complication. Mac gave her a nod and received one in return.
The rest were strangers. She had to assume they represented the innermost circle of the Interspecies Union. Those who had set up this Gathering.
Those would decide the fate of the Dhryn.
She was so out of her depth, she might as well be in the Sinzi’s tank, Mac thought despairingly.
The room itself was square, with four doors set opposite the ends of the table. No ornament visible to Mac’s eyes. No other furnishings. The lack drew her eyes back to that last, empty seat.
Mac glanced at Nik. He’d followed her look and now gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Didn’t know either.
“Are you ready to give us your latest report on the Dhryn, Mac?”
Migration: Species Imperative #2 Page 40
