Regeneration (Czerneda) (31 page)

“Speed isn’t the point, is it?” she countered. “If it were, we’d be at the spaceport instead of here.” Travel between systems might consume no time, but crawling along a planet’s surface did.

“Oh, no,” Mac said as this crystallized. “Don’t tell me those ‘jurisdictional issues’ are coming with the derelicts. Don’t even think about dropping me in the middle of a squabble between alien governments. Hollans—you of all people should know better!”

“You won’t be involved in any—”

“Wrong,” she interrupted. “If everyone, Human or otherwise, is expecting me to translate whatever records, trash, labels, or vids the Dhryn left on those ships, how can I not be involved? Bah!” Mac tucked her knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I should pretend I can’t read the stuff. I really should. Starting now.”

Hollans appeared to hold back a smile. “You won’t be on your own, Dr. Connor.”

She rested her chin atop her knee to regard him. Hollans was still the image of calm civility, mug of tea in one hand, coffee-soaked boots neatly aligned.

“You could have told me all this by message, too,” Mac accused. “It’s not as if I’ve a choice.” She lowered her voice. “Why are you here, Hollans? No more games.”

His almost-smile faded. “I need your advice, Dr. Connor.”

“My—” Mac’s eyebrows rose. “Really.” She tried, and failed, to imagine what possible advice she could offer Earth’s Person-in-Charge other than to avoid Frow in parks. She tilted her head. “Was this Anchen’s idea?”

“The Sinzi-ra respects your insight, Dr. Connor. As do I, in this instance.”

“Our esteemed Sinzi-ra also collects rubber fish,” Mac pointed out somewhat warily. “All this time at the consulate, you never once asked for my advice. Why now?”

“We’re alone.”

The implications of that sent a shiver running down her spine. Mac refused to take the bait,
if that’s what it was
. This man had been Nik’s boss. She was not in that league.
And didn’t want to be.
So she simply nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

After a deliberate sip of tea, Hollans gazed into the liquid, as if considering how best to phrase his answer. A familiar habit. He’d sip and stare innumerable times per meeting.
Came close to getting her imp in his mug once.
Before she had to resort to that tactic, he looked up. “It concerns Trojanowski’s latest report.”

Mac lowered her feet to the deck and leaned forward, her impatience forgotten.

“The Dhryn—the Vessel—” he continued, “has directed them to enter a region which poses a significant natural hazard to several species on board, Humans included.” He pursed his lips for an instant. “I can’t identify that hazard without risking their security. I’m sure you understand, Dr. Connor.”

As if it would help
her
find them on a star chart.
Mac didn’t bother saying that aloud. She burned to ask if there’d been a message for her, another ring, but knew better. The
lamnas
was the most private form of communication she could imagine.

Nik had chosen it for a reason.

Love letters,
Mac thought wryly,
hardly needed alien tech.

She twirled one finger in the air. “Can’t they go around?”

“The Vessel claims his Progenitor is inside this region—that Dhryn can withstand it.”

“A hiding place,” Mac concluded and started to relax until she took in Hollans’ bleak expression. “You think it’s a trap?”

“It could be. The Vessel assured Trojanowski those on board can be protected in evacsuits long enough to reach the Progenitor’s ship, where they’ll be safe. What if he’s lying?” He held up his hand to silence her instant objection. “Yes, Dr. Connor. According to you, Dhryn don’t lie. Say I believe you.” His tone made that improbable, but he didn’t belabor the point. “Could the Vessel be wrong about Humans surviving this? Dhryn have made mistakes about alien biology before.”

“I’ve noticed. What do you want me to say, Hollans?” Mac asked, abruptly weary.
Should have had that second coffee.
“Trap or Dhryn miscalculation. They can’t stop now. There’s too much at stake.”
Where on that scale . . .
“I shouldn’t have to remind you.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“You don’t.” He put down his tea, then laid his hands palm down on his thighs. They were thick-fingered hands, with prominent knuckles and mottled skin. She’d asked Sing-li what Hollans had done before becoming a thorn in her side and been surprised to learn he’d grown up a miner, working first on Earth, then Saturn’s moons.
He’d have appreciated the Progenitor’s underground home,
she thought irrelevantly.

His blue eyes bored into hers. “I need to understand the risk I’ve asked my people to take. How far do you trust that Dhryn, Dr. Connor? How far can I?”

“Irrelevant.” Mac shook her head. “The Vessel’s a biological interface; a way for the Progenitor to disperse and collect information. As well trust your imp.”

Hollans’ face developed that look, the one he’d get at meetings when she went off on a technical tangent.
Usually,
Mac admitted,
when he’d been sipping and staring and she couldn’t in good conscience throw anything physical.

“What you can trust,” she explained, emphasizing the word, “is this Progenitor’s will to protect Herself and Her species. She’s resisted the Ro. She sent Her Vessel to find us and learn the truth. To bring it back. And . . .” Mac shut her mouth.

“And what?” Now Hollans’ eyebrows drew together, resulting in what Mac privately labeled as his don’t-mess-with-me wrinkle set. “Dr. Connor,” he prompted when she didn’t immediately speak. “Please.”

“She warned me,” Mac said reluctantly. “She warned us all. At the time, I took it as the Dhryn fear of the Ro. They’d gone to such lengths to protect their
oomlings.
Since? I think She had some inkling of what might happen to the Dhryn themselves. Maybe something from their oral history. Maybe more.”

“I—see.” His stern expression eased into something closer to puzzlement. “Where are you going with this, Dr. Connor?”

Mac shrugged, uncomfortable speculating. “I’m not sure. This Progenitor’s behaved differently from the beginning. She called Brymn and me to meet with Her, to commit
grathnu
—a bonding ritual, as much as a reward for service. When I was there . . . something about Her . . . a presence . . .” Mac let her voice trail away, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I doubt it matters.”

Hollans sipped tea, his eyes locked on her. “Continue anyway, Dr. Connor.”

“What about Sebastian and the rest? The shuttle to orbit?”

Hollans glanced at the closed door to the pilot’s compartment. “Status of our sleepers?” he asked.

A disembodied voice answered. “Everyone’s safe and comfortable, sir.”

“Now, Dr. Connor. Indulge me.”

Mac thought of those vast underground spaces, home and safety for beings at the heart of their kind.
The breeze, a breath.
“Presence wasn’t the half of it,” she sighed, frustrated by mere words.
The landscape, a form.
She made herself focus on that small ship, heading into whatever additional hazard space had to offer—as if vacuum and radiation weren’t enough. “The Progenitor wants Her Vessel back, with answers.”
The warmth, a smile.
“Anyone who helps accomplish Her will? They’ll be considered Dhryn. I’m not saying that guarantees their safety, but it has to be less risky than approaching Her ship uninvited. Best I can do, Hollans.”

Mac touched her new arm, and made herself remember that, too. “None of us are safe anymore.”

“No. But I’m encouraged. Thank you, Dr. Connor.”

She gave him a searching look and, for an instant, saw only a man worried about others.
Someone should,
she thought, inclined to envy. “Mac.”

Gods, a full smile.
It threw his dignified wrinkles into disarray. “Mac.”

“If you didn’t trust the Dhryn before,” she asked quietly, “why agree to go in the first place? Besides the chance to get close enough to destroy a Progenitor’s ship.” Her voice came out calm and level, as if it had become routine to talk about the annihilation of hundreds of thousands of beings, including the person currently inhabiting a large part of her heart.

Hollans lost his smile. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

A year ago, she’d have shocked herself.
Where had that Mac gone?
“If it comes to that,” she said, flat and cold, “Nik will know.”

“Not his call,” countered Hollans. “IU mission. He’ll have to get the other representatives on board to agree.”

Mac frowned. Cinder, the Trisulian. Her reaction to the Dhryn should be predictable. Dr. Genny P’tool, the N’not’k. Despite the alien’s advanced age, Anchen had asked her to go for her knowledge as a no-space theoretician as well as to continue her work on the Dhryn language. Apparently linguistics and esoteric physics were a logical combination for the N’not’k, though Mac suspected this was Anchen’s way of finding something useful for her friend to do. An obligate pacifist. The Imrya. A recorder of events, as well as a renowned designer of servo translations. She wouldn’t have any problem making a decision.
Probably would take a while conveying it, though.

Mac didn’t know who else had scrambled aboard the shuttle with Nik and the Dhryn. Couldn’t have been many.

“This isn’t about the Dhryn at all,” she said abruptly. “A Trisulian ship at Haven, causing trouble . . . you’re worried about Cinder, aren’t you?”

If she’d thought she’d seen Hollans’ face wrinkled into grim lines before, she’d been mistaken. His eyes were like sparks set in pale, eroded stone. “This goes no farther, Mac.”

She hated being right.
“I’ve had the talk. What’s going on?”

“What do you know about Cinder?”

Mac hadn’t reported how an impassioned Cinder had begged her help to keep from murdering the Dhryn. She’d bet Cinder hadn’t shared that moment either.

“She’s Nik’s partner,” Mac hedged. “However that happened.”

“Was,” corrected Hollans. “The Ministry pairs field operatives with other species whenever possible. Experience for us, exposure to our ways for them. Trojanowski and Cinder were an exemplary team until his retirement.”

She didn’t think she imagined the slight hesitation before “retirement,” but nothing in Hollans’ expression or this situation encouraged her to ask about the past. “Things change,” Mac observed cautiously.
Secrets went both ways.

“Indeed. Cinder is, to all extents and purposes, now a widow, as is her species. Which is nothing new.” At her startled look, Hollans nodded. “That’s right. Floods, disease, war have decimated their male populations before now. Mated females respond by impregnating themselves, then seek out new, safer territory before their offspring are born. By whatever means necessary. Wherein lies our problem. The Trisulians are looking outside their systems. And the means . . . ? They stole it from you.”

She could be shocked after all.
“You think—they’d use the Ro signal?” Mac sputtered. “Call the Dhryn?”

“Yes.”

She licked dry lips. “Have they?”

“Not yet. Not that we know,” he clarified soberly. “And the posturing by the Trisulians at Haven could be nothing more than heightened territoriality—to be expected.”

He didn’t look like a man who believed that.

“What does Nik say?”

“That, I need you to tell me, Mac.”

She could almost feel the
lamnas
on her finger and resisted the urge to touch it in front of those keen eyes. “You read his message to me, I’m sure. ‘Continuing as planned; situation nominal.’ I could have used more.” She managed a stiff shrug. “That’s a spy for you.”

“There was more.”

Mac froze in place. “What do you mean?”

Hollans turned his hands palm up. “The Sinzi-ra didn’t send me to see you, Mac. Trojanowski—Nik—did. Before he left orbit, he urged me not to trust even secured channels, concerned we don’t have a handle on the Ro’s capabilities. He said he’d arranged a safe way to reach you.” He reached into a pocket and brought out a small wooden salmon, holding it out on his thick, callused palm. “I was to show you this.”

Mac found herself too tired to guess. She took the carving from Hollans and put it away in her pocket, then held up her right hand. The
lamnas
gleamed. “Did he send me another of these?”

“Yes.” Hollans looked relieved as he took a gleaming circle from an official-looking envelope. He passed it to her. “I was hoping this was the message, but my people couldn’t find anything on it.”

The silver didn’t show any damage, so Mac refrained from pointless comment about private gifts and privileged information.
After all, who had the coffee-soaked socks?
“You wouldn’t. The
lamnas
is for me.”

“What’s a
lamnas
?”

Mac lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“Nik was consular liaison. He’s been deeper in the Sinzi-ra’s confidence than any other Human—until you, Mac.” Hollans glanced at the ring she held up between two fingers. “It’s some kind of communication device, isn’t it?”

She considered him for a long moment, then snapped her hand closed over the ring. “It’s more. And less. It gives me fragments of Nik’s memories, layered one over the other. Hard to sort out; not random. Memories that matter to him. It’s—” She took a deep breath and let it out, eyes roving the inside of the lev compartment. Their two seats, a door, curved blank walls.
And Hollans.
“I have to go outside.” She stood.