Regeneration (Czerneda) (23 page)

She’d completed her farewells without blubbering, thankfully.
In part due to Blake
, she smiled to herself. He’d whispered a most unbrotherly comment about her missing beau that would have made Emily proud.
Anything to break the tension.

Mac missed them all.
At least she’d said good-bye this time, thanks to Anchen.

She’d found time to change into shorts and shirt—her cottage leftovers, kindly included in her bag by consulate staff. Now, she watched the shore as it flew past. This part of the inlet was an estuarine lowland where the Tannu negotiated for entry into the inlet through a series of braided, changing outlets. The main channel, opposite Base, was a deep turmoil of fresh and salt water, the proportion of each varying with tide and season. The others were quiet, less determined flows, brown and slick between mudflats dotted with sandpipers and other birds already heading south for the winter. Farther in, the channels twisted out of sight behind expanses of reed grass and low trees. Debris from upstream testified that not all days were peaceful sunny ones. Immense logs, bleached soft gray by salt and sun, lay everywhere, as if strewn about by a giant’s hand.

The first cliff rose up as if the river was of no consequence. The midday light was deceiving, smoothing out crags and jagged edges until the stone appeared dressed like some castle wall, revealing how the inlet had been named. The next cliff met it at angles, soaring higher, topped by trees and eagles.

Ahead?

The soft, unhappy sound drew Mac forward to her friend, sitting up by Tie. She put her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Bit of a mess,” she acknowledged awkwardly.

The outstretched arm that defined the inlet from the Pacific curved westward in front of them, the sun striking harsh glints from exposed rock. The summer hadn’t been kind: deep furrows eroded any patches where soil had escaped the tumbling rush into the ocean; any vegetation that had landed roots down and green was now either completely dead or sported bare branches.

Branches with eagles, fair enough. Those bare limbs lined by gulls who were nothing of the kind caught Mac’s attention, especially when the tiggers, as one, turned their heads to inspect the approaching skim and its occupants. “You make sure we were cleared to approach,” she shouted at Tie.

He grunted something annoyed. Reassured, Mac leaned against the gunnels near Emily. “There’s the new station,” she said, happy to take her eyes from the ruined slope.

Pod Two didn’t quite sparkle in the sunlight. For one thing, it was colored, like the other pods now at the Tannu, to resemble the natural stone of the landscape.
For another,
Mac grinned,
someone had been very busy indeed
. The lead researcher, Martin Svehla, must have been overjoyed by his capital budget, given he loved nothing more than nailing things together.

Now, the roughly oval shape of Pod Two bristled in every direction with floating platforms, some enclosing large amounts of water. A myriad collection of levs, skims, and in-the-water barges were tied up on the lee side. There were cranes hanging from the terrace that spiraled up the outside of the pod. And, Mac squinted in disbelief, a slide dropped in a crazed swoop from the rooftop, ending a formidable height above the ocean surface.

“I take it you let Marty play,” Emily commented, making an obvious effort to keep her eyes from slipping west.

“He seemed the right choice.” Mac, recipient of an impressive flow of data from Svehla and company courtesy of the Ministry, wasn’t worried there’d been more fun—namely construction—than work, but now she shook her head in mock outrage. “I hope he’s planned how to stow all this before winter.”

While they talked, Tie brought the skim sweeping into Pod Two’s new dock, an elaborate affair with steps as well as ramps. And, Mac noticed with mute admiration, a roof as well as a countertop for sorting gear. She sighed happily. About to climb out first, she paused and turned to Sing-li. “After you.”
Only fair to let him do his job.

The agent was busy whispering into his wrist com, eyes darting back and forth over the docking structure. Mac felt a chill. When Emily stood up beside her, ready to climb out, she lifted her hand to hold the other woman in place. “Something we should know?” she asked Sing-li, mouth dry.

“Do you see anyone here?” Sing-li demanded, getting to his feet. Like Nik, he moved differently when alarmed.
Like a barracuda, effortlessly keeping its jaws and muscular body aligned with the next doomed fish.

“Why would there be?” An unconcerned Tie shut off the engine and tied off the skim. “Party tonight. Most’re back at Base getting a head start. ’Spect we’ll find Marty and his crew there.” He pointed to the walkway linking the pod to land.

The one place Mac hadn’t wanted Emily to go.
She should have called ahead, warned Kammie, done something to prevent this.

But it was too late. Sing-li, with a nod, accepted Tie’s explanation and climbed out. Tie followed suit, Emily going by Mac without a word.

She heard a gentle
harrumph
. “I could stop them,” Mudge offered in a low voice, coming to stand beside her. His face was pale and beaded with more than ocean spray. “Make up something about new Trust regulations.”

“Wouldn’t work.” Mac wasn’t sure if she was touched or shocked he’d lie for Emily’s sake.
Both,
she decided. She met his worried look and shrugged helplessly. “Maybe it’s better to get it over with now, while I’m here. If Emily can’t handle this . . .” She didn’t need to finish. He knew as well as she did that if Emily Mamani broke, she’d be hospitalized again. This time, without Mac. Worse, she could easily end up in a Human facility, where she’d be safe from pestering by the Frow and their ilk, but more vulnerable to the Ro. “Besides,” sighed Mac, waving at Mudge to go first, “it’s why she invited you.”

He frowned and didn’t budge. “She told you?” Almost outrage.

Mac hesitated. Tie had led Emily and Sing-li to the junction of walkway and deck, gesturing to something about its construction.
Likely complaining—he approved of change about as much as a Sthlynii.
“Not in so many words,” she said carefully. “But it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

She’d never seen him smile like this before, a small, quiet smile that reached his eyes and made them twinkle. “I would have thought so, Norcoast, but you can be remarkably obtuse at times.”

Obtuse?
Interspecies communication suddenly seemed easier. “Oversight—” Mac swallowed, “—why do you think you’re here?”

“Dr. Mamani’s worried about you. It’s going to be difficult—emotionally difficult—saying good-bye. To her. To your other friends. Base. She thought—” he actually blushed, “—she said you’d need a friendly shoulder on the trip to orbit and I’d be the best choice.” He
harrumphed
and collected himself. “Not that I expect you’ll do anything of the sort, Norcoast,” this gruffly. “But I could tell my agreeing to come and offer my support eased her mind.”

Mac tried to imagine weeping on Mudge’s round shoulder and failed. What she could imagine, all too well, was Emily choosing to lie to him.

“Emily’s mind is a slippery thing,” she said grimly. “Particularly when it comes to moving others in directions that suit her. I appreciate your kindness—really I do—but Emily?” A nod to the ruined slope. “She’s brought you here as punishment, Oversight.”

Mudge flinched. “Why?” he gasped. “What have I done to her? I—”

“Not yours,” Mac interrupted gently. “Hers.”

The blood drained from his face, but he gave a short nod before she could say anything more. “I see. We’d best not delay, Norcoast.” He started moving.

“Wait.” Mac stopped him with a touch on his lapel.
Only Mudge would wear an antique tweed jacket to visit Base in August.
“Damn Emily,” she heard herself say. “You don’t need to do this, Oversight. You don’t need to go through it again. Stay here and wait for us.”

“If I do,” he countered with remarkable calm, “you know what will happen. Every time she looks at me, she’ll blame herself again for what the Ro did here. There’s enough guilt going around, Norcoast. None of us should carry more than our share. Especially Emily Mamani.”

Each time she thought she knew the caliber of the man, he surprised her. “Probably not a good time for a hug,” she decided out loud, her voice unsteady. At his look of horror,
likely feigned,
she patted him firmly on the lapel.

“Let’s go.”

The original walkway to land was gone, of course, along with the holdfast pillars and gate that had allowed access, if you had the right codes, to the system of suspended paths. It had been built with care so scientists could observe and record without leaving a record themselves. The new walkway was higher, to pass over the debris-crusted shore. If you could call trees larger than a transport lev debris in any sense.

The illusion of walking on air was disarming. Mac gave a tentative bounce, then another, stronger one. The membrane flexed like a giant trampoline.

“Norcoast!” Mudge protested. He looked inexpressibly silly with his fists clenched out from his sides, although Mac’s own fingers were wrapped around the transparent rope rail. “What do you think you’re doing? Stop that!”

“It’s a fable,” she explained but obeyed.

A Dhryn fable. Brymn’s.

Emily and the other two men were at the new gate, Tie keying in the code. Tiggers on top of each pillar watched him, as if eager for a mistake.

Gulls,
Mac thought,
made vindictive watchdogs
.

Over land, the membrane lost its slight give, darkening as their feet approached steps to show the way in the bright sunlight.

At first, Mac noticed what was missing. Shade, for starters. The sun was hot as well as bright. Hot, bright, and unforgiving. The air smelled of dryness and dust. They were lucky, she judged, running her glance upslope to where the ridge overlooked the Pacific. When the westerlies were underway, it must be like a miniature dust storm here.

Life . . . as she looked closer, she realized it wasn’t missing at all, simply changed. Every sheltered nook contained its blush of rich green moss, its feathers of fern. Fungi bracketed the lee sides of fallen wood and thrust its way through curls of dead bark. Exposed soil was peppered with sprigs of new grass and the coin-shaped seedpods of fireweed, except for a too-even scar where otters had made a slide to expedite their trip to shore. She smiled.

A squirrel scolded them from its perch on a half-buried tree, one tiny paw braced against an upturned twig, its tail swishing with outrage. Mac saluted before hurrying to catch up with the others.

“Told you,” Tie announced. “There’s Marty and his crew. Don’t ask me what they’re doing now.”

As it was clear Svehla and his trio of students were ferrying mem-wood over the crest of the ridge, Mac could make a good guess. The observation deck on the opposite side had been one of his pet projects; she’d expect him to rebuild it as soon as possible. However, given the original construction had resulted in Mudge canceling a third of the proposals for that season—there being no way to remove the deck without more perturbations and him not being the sort to simply throw things at Mac and be satisfied—she also knew why Tie wasn’t about to admit it to present company.

He was contained and too quiet, every step deliberate. Emily, on the other hand, flitted up the path ahead of them all like some frenetic butterfly, her long legs flashing through the panels of her improbable dress, waving to Svehla, who had put down his load and shaded his eyes to see who was paying them a visit.

Sing-li waited for Mac. “What are we doing here?” he demanded in a low voice.

She could see the strain on his face; a compliment to their relationship, that he didn’t hide it. The Ministry had lost three of its own during the earthquake, men Sing-li knew, perhaps as friends, though she’d never dared ask. “Emily’s penance,” she replied, equally quietly.

As if the earthquake mattered—as if three lives mattered—against entire worlds lost and threatened.

Mac shook her head to clear it of Nik’s implacable voice. Her companion misunderstood. “You don’t approve.” Sing-li stared at Emily, now hugging Svehla and talking so quickly her voice was like a bird’s. “Then why did you agree?”

“Think I was asked?” Mac snorted. “Doesn’t matter. I wanted to take a look myself. It’s one thing to know succession will take place—another to see it happen. It’s reassuring.”

And it was,
Mac realized, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She’d held the image of wrack and destruction tight in her mind for too long, believed somehow it was her responsibility to be here and help fix it.