Regeneration (Czerneda) (26 page)

“As good-byes go, not bad,” her friend commented. “Quick. To the point. A tad public. I think you shocked poor Charlie.”

“Shut up, Em,” Mac suggested.

“Just giving my expert opinion.”

“Didn’t ask for it.” Mac ran her tongue over her lips, tasting beer, and grinned.

Emily gave a throaty chuckle. “You never do.”

Noticing they were about to pass her office, now Emily’s, Mac slowed and gave the other a sidelong look. “I’m leaving in an hour. Did you want to check the gear now?”

“Do you?”

Mac lifted the beer she’d nursed since supper and tapped the one Emily carried. “Not really.”

“Dr. Connor. You shock me.”

A sudden buzz brought three Preds, who’d been sitting against the wall by Mac’s door, scrambling to their feet. Mac stepped in front of the first before they could start running. “Turn them off,” she said gently.

“What?” said one.

“Mac,” protested another. “It’s the transient pod off Field Station One. Gotta be. We’ve been waiting all summer—”

She heard the pain in their voices, saw the anguished curves of their shoulders as the full consequence of what they’d promised came home at last, and couldn’t say another word.

“Turn’m off,” ordered the third student, tearing free her own wrist alarm and stuffing it into a pocket. “It’s okay, Mac. We forgot. Habit, you know.”

“Look on the bright side,” Emily told them. “You can go to the dance.” This notion drew smiles and they trotted away—if not happy, then willing to be distracted.

Mac watched them go. “Thanks, Em,” she said after a minute.

“You do realize I’d take all this as my fault—moan, beat my chest, and so forth—except you’re doing such a great job of assuming the blame I can’t be bothered.”

Mac’s lips twisted. “Anytime.”

Emily tipped her bottle against Mac’s. “Let’s go visit your fish,” she said. “I can dance later.”

From the lowermost loading dock, at the end of Base closest to the Tannu River, the sounds of the party, the murmur of voices and music, blended into the restless slap of waves against mem-wood. Sitting on the stern of Norcoast’s venerable barge, Mac stretched her bare feet downward and was rewarded by the occasional flip of chill water on her toes. She didn’t need to see into the depths to know what swam there.
What the Ro had left was another matter.

“One day you’ll do that and something with teeth will think they’re bait.”

“Obviously, you’ve never tried fishing off the dock,” Mac countered, wiggling her toes pensively. “I’d be lucky to get a nibble.”

“What could
They
have left, Mac?” Emily didn’t seem to expect an answer
which,
Mac thought,
was just as well
. “The memory of that day, of the earthquake . . . I know I was there. I know it. I remember being . . . feeling . . . insignificant. No. Small. That was it. I can’t trust what I recall of dimensions, Mac. Time, space, they blur together. But this . . . I think I felt small because I was near something much bigger.”

“Big could be good,” Mac decided, leaning back against one of the huge coils of rope that lined the stern access. She studied the horizon. Black on black. A trace of mauve where clouds hovered over the mountains and caught starlight. Lines of fluorescence straggled across the dark water, rising and falling as if the sea itself was breathing.

“How?”

“Harder to hide.”

“
They’re
experts.”

“So,” Mac said firmly, “are we. And we have you.” She looked at her companion, nothing more than a darker shadow. “We do, don’t we, Em?”

“Looks that way,” the other replied, the words spaced apart and thoughtful. “I admit it shook me, remembering . . . what I remembered. But being here, Mac?” Emily took a deep breath and let it out. “How did you know? I feel like myself, for the first time in too long. Oh, I’ll be able to work, all right.” A low, sparkling laugh. “And I still know the best pubs, for when I’ve had it with the peace and isolation.”

Something for Sing-li to deal with,
Mac thought, more amused than worried. “Try not to completely disappear on me again, okay?”

“You, too.”

Mac couldn’t help looking up, to where stars appeared between the clouds. Some weren’t stars at all, she realized, but way stations in orbit, shuttles moving to and fro, the endless traffic of a world whose markets and interests spanned thousands of solar systems beyond its own.
Such a long way from home.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she vowed, to herself as much as Emily. “And while I might not have a pub in reach if I get bored, well, there’s the Fourteen and Oversight show.”

“Poor Charlie,” Emily chuckled, then her voice turned serious. “You take care of him, Mac.”

“I’ll do what I can, but that Myg . . .”

“You know what I mean.”

Mac pressed her lips together, then let out a slow breath. “I won’t promise, Em. I can’t. You saw what I did today. I put Base, all these people, at risk without hesitation. You, too.” She shuddered. “What’s worse—I’d do it again.”

“Don’t take too much credit. You didn’t put anyone at risk, Mac,” Emily corrected. “
They
did. You simply cut some red tape. Although I hope you realize I’m going to continue my work on the Survivors, between helping the others search.”

Tossed down like a gauntlet.
Mac smiled to herself. “I couldn’t imagine trying to stop you, Dr. Mamani.”

Instead of the quip she expected, Emily said quietly: “You’re the only one who could.”

Mac let the words resonate between them, dismayed by Emily’s trust. Who was she to judge the value of another’s life’s work? Who was she to be right—or terribly wrong—about the application of that work to the present crisis?

The image struck Mac as funny, for no particular reason, and she relaxed very slightly. “We’ll stay in touch. Let me know if you need anything—at least while I’m still in Sol System. After that, it might be more efficient to have Sing-li steal it for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Handy, having your own spy.”

“Until he takes off on some doubt-I’ll-return-intact mission,” Mac said, then blushed.
Good thing they were sitting in the dark.
She coughed.

“You’re blushing, Mackenzie Connor.”

“How can you—?” she closed her mouth.

“Too easy.” Emily chuckled. “Still, if you think Mr. Jones could disappear on me in similar fashion, I’d better have an assistant who’ll stay put. Hmmmm. There were some firm and energetic specimens in the rib queue earlier.”

“Now who’s too easy?”

“Is it my fault I appreciate the finer things in life?”

“Yes.”

They sat in companionable silence after that. Mac didn’t need to check the time. Half an hour left. Part of her seethed with pointless advice and all the other things people say when they imagine never having the chance again.
Don’t do what I’d do?

When Emily Mamani never acted on another’s impulses?

When that was where Emily’s Tracer would be used?

None of it was worth saying, not now.

The rest of her wanted nothing more than to sit here in the dark as long as possible, cradled by ocean, and listen to Emily’s breathing. No need to fill the air with words. They’d spent more time in such peace together than chatter; while working, hours could pass.

Although not working and staying quiet, for Emily, couldn’t last seconds. “What was it like?” she began brightly.

Mac bumped her head gently against the rope, twice, before giving up. “What was what like?”

“Meeting the Dhryn female. A life-form the size of a small city—had to be incredible.”

“The Progenitor?” Mac ran her fingers through her short hair. “Big.”

“Mac.”

“Okay,” she relented. “My initial reaction? Glee. Those stuffy old biology texts were wrong again. She blew away any prediction on the maximum size of a living being. After that, I got busy trying to figure out how she could be that large: a colonial organism, perhaps a fluid body core with a living skin, a few wilder ideas. But once I saw her face . . .” Her foot was engulfed in a taller wave than most and Mac pulled it up, shaking off the drops. “Once we started talking, I forgot her size. The Progenitor’s a remarkable person. I think you’d like each other.”

Emily’s reply was drowned out by a prolonged
whompf
of wind as a transport lev, a mammoth one, flew by overhead. It was towing sleds, each loaded with an orbit-capable shipping crate.
They’d better not be planning to put her into one of those again,
Mac told herself grimly, but the lev passed Base. They watched as it followed the coast, heading for what had been the Succession Documentation and Research Pod.
The Ministry was apparently done with subtle.

“Poor Marty,” she murmured. He’d avoided her altogether after her announcement. She’d last seen him curled in a corner, nursing a bottle of what hadn’t been beer. “He’d built such a wonderful dock. And that slide?”

“Won’t be wasted—the dock anyway. And they’ll need his survey data and maps.” Emily, apparently done with sitting, too, got to her feet. Mac, reluctantly, followed suit. “Hate to say it, but the next one will likely be yours, Mac. You’d better get ready. Unless you’re wearing those on the trip.”

Mac considered the notion of wearing her very comfortable cottage shorts to Myriam.
Fourteen would love it.

“I’ll change,” she agreed.

They climbed up the short ladder and retrieved their respective footwear, Emily’s glittering in the dock lights. Given it was August, Mac shook each shoe and, from the second, caught a spider in her hand. She released it on the dock.

“Mac, before you go—” Emily said. “About the Progenitor—”

“Oh. Right. Tell you what.” Mac finished fastening her shoe and stood. “I’ll record a better description and send it. There’ll be plenty of time while we ship out to the gate. Right now, I—”

“Mac.” Emily touched her arm. “Please. Listen to me.”

She looked up and was warned by her friend’s anxious expression. “This isn’t another confession, is it?”
There had to be,
Mac sincerely hoped,
limits to even Emily’s past.

“No.”

“Oh, good.”

“No. It’s not good, Mac. Don’t you see? It’s a pattern with you. This hanging on to the past—this loyalty to friends no matter what. You can’t keep doing it. The Dhryn don’t deserve it. Your friend Brymn transformed into a feeder and would have killed you. This Progenitor of yours, this remarkable person, could do the same, or worse. You can’t trust any Dhryn.”

Mac frowned. “We don’t know enough about the species to make—”

“We know the Dhryn are a biological weapon, made and wielded by
Them
. Don’t go out there believing you can save the ones you like.” Emily took her arm, though she hadn’t tried to leave. “The entire species has to be exterminated,” she insisted. “
They
must be left helpless.”

“It’s hardly up to me, is it?” Mac said, freeing herself as gently as possible.

“Like it or not, you’ve become of interest to the people who will make that decision. A word at the wrong time, to the wrong ears? It could mean the wrong choice, Mac.”

Mac felt her heart clench. “You’re assuming there’s a right one.”

“There always is. The one that lets us survive.”

Mac shook her head, but not at Emily. “I’ll try not to say anything to anyone. How’s that?”

“Unlikely.” Before Mac could say a word, Emily’s arms went around and held her tight. “Less trust,” she urged, her lips to Mac’s ear. “I want you back. Hear me?”

“More air,” wheezed Mac, doing her own holding.
Too thin,
she fussed to herself.
Her friend was skin over bone.
“No saving the universe without me.”

“Deal.”

They clung to each other a heartbeat longer, then Emily broke away. She pirouetted on the barge deck, pearls swinging. “Say hi to our Nik for me,” she said. Three quick steps took her up to the dock where she dipped in a graceful curtsy, the Sinzi fabric flowing with the motion. “And don’t be so serious all the time.” Over her shoulder, as she tripped lightly along the walkway toward the music.
“Adios, hermana-muyo.”
Sister-mine.

And Mac was alone.

“Just once,” she complained, “I’d like to make the grand exit.” The empty barge didn’t comment.

She wrapped her arms around herself, holding Emily’s fading warmth.