Regeneration (Czerneda) (32 page)

“But—”

Mac headed for the lev door. “You do want me to try to read it now, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He rose to his feet as well, but seemed to change his mind as he met her eyes. “How long will it take?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Staff had packed her entire apartment while she’d peered through the first one.
Either they were incredibly efficient, or it had taken a while.
“It might depend on what’s in here,” she speculated, lifting the fist with the ring.

The door didn’t open to her touch on the pad.
What did he think she’d do? Run?
Tight-lipped, Mac let Hollans reach past to key in a code. “You’re sure?” he asked in a low voice, giving her a look she couldn’t interpret.

“About going out, yes. I have to be alone. The rest?” She shrugged. “These days, I make it up as I go.”

“That’s hardly reassuring, Mac.”

His aggrieved tone made her laugh. “I thought you liked it when I was blunt.”

“I prefer my experts wallowing in self-confidence.” Hollans gestured to the now-open door.

“So you,” she rejoined, “can leave them stuck in it when they’re wrong? Politics. No thanks. I’ll stick with blunt and ‘hardly reassuring.’ ”

Mac stepped down the short ramp to the mossy ground, doing her best not to shiver at reencountering the cool Yukon night. She paused to let her eyes adjust, a task made easier as the light from the compartment dimmed to a faint glow behind them. There’d been an old tipped stump not far from the lev. She spotted the dark mound that marked it and walked along until she found a more-or-less level spot within its dry exposed root mass. She sat on top, wiggling to settle herself between bristled sprouts of new growth, and took out the ring.

She was startled when Hollans, who’d followed, took off his suit coat and laid it over her shoulders. It was heavier than it looked, and warm. “Thanks,” Mac said, pulling it close. “Now . . .”

“Alone,” he acknowledged. “That much, okay?” A brief shaft of light from his hand slid over black armor: a guard stationed at the nose of the lev.
Doubtless,
Mac reminded herself,
equipped with night vision.

“No.” With regret, she took off his coat and passed it back.
Probably bugged.
“I get privacy for this, Hollans, or you can leave.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she heard his quiet order. “Expand the inner perimeter by fifty meters.” And the result. An astonishing number of footsteps moved away in every direction,
doubtless snapping twigs and scuffing sand for her benefit.

“You, too,” Mac insisted, the ring warm in her hand.

“Of course.” He took two steps away, then stopped. She could hear him breathe.

“What?”

From the dark. “I trust you saw the final report on the Ro attack on Haven.”

“I saw it,” Mac admitted.
Which was technically true.
She just hadn’t read the thing, given it was jammed with jargon and offered footnotes on particle physics. “The Ro fired some weapon at the planet. Your ships disrupted no-space around the Ro ships, exposed them, and they left. I was,” she reminded him dryly, “there.”

“Whatever else they accomplished, it’s clear now the Ro wanted that one Progenitor dead. The targeting was precise. They almost succeeded.”

“As I said. I was there.” Despite the bite to her reply, Mac winced. If she closed her eyes, she’d see it.
The immense flame burning through buildings and pavement, penetrating deeper and deeper underground . . . the death cries of a world.
“She escaped.”

“The point is that She attracted the Ro’s attention, whether through Brymn’s actions or yours. She has ours now. This being may be our only chance to negotiate with the Dhryn. This has to work, Mac. We must have a reliable source of information the Ro can’t intercept.”

A rustle from somewhere beneath the log made Mac hold her breath; only when frenzied squeaks added punctuation did she let it out again. “What if they’re here, listening?”

“That,” Hollans declared with surprising confidence, “we’d know. Trust me, Mac.”

That word again.
“Reliable, maybe,” Mac said quietly. “Information? That I can’t promise,” she warned, running her fingers over the ring. “The last time—there wasn’t much, Hollans. Things were the same. Everyone was the same.”
Nik’s despair at his own feelings was her business.
“Nik understands Cinder. He’s—he’s willing to use her anger at the Dhryn. I saw that.”

She thought he nodded, but it was too dark to be sure. “Maybe this time,” he said “there’ll be something more. I’ll wait in the lev. If you’re sure about being out here alone?”

“I’m sure.”

Mac waited while Hollans’ red light traced his path back to the lev, the even fainter glow from inside the craft marking the opening and closing of the door.

She waited an instant longer, stroking her palm along the corded smoothness of the wood. It was like muscle, frozen beneath her hand.

Finally, she brought the
lamnas
to her lips, breathed once, and lifted it skyward until she saw three stars within its circle.

I
NDECISION/

“Mac . . . I have to believe this . . . working . . . I will believe it.” /determination /
Need you
. . . /loss/ concern/

Concentrate, fool.
“Hollans . . . Hollans . . . he’s got to know, Mac.” /shame/
Couldn’t tell you . . . not then.
/heat/confusion/effort/ “Forgive . . .”
Doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters.
“. . . tell him.”

Concentrate.
“ . . . sabotage . . .” /rage/frustration/fear/ “Ship okay . . . casualties . . .”
friends, colleagues . . . part of me still slips away . . . what if it were you?
/despair/emptiness/

/effort/ “Vessel safe . . . systems okay . . . suits . . . most gone . . .” /irony/ “. . . same boat . . .”

 

*
layered over
*

 

—She smells soap—

The Vessel hooted. “Do not worry so, Nikolai Piotr Trojanowski. We shall soon be with the Progenitor and safe from harm.”

I’ll believe that when we head for home . . . but Mac believes . . .
/wistful/
. . . wish she was here.

“You’re sure about the protocols.”

“Yes, yes. They are simplicity itself, my
lamisah
. Your ship will approach and dock, I will offer greeting, all will be well. You’ll see.”

/resignation/
Those of us who live that long. Glad Mac isn’t here. Radiation’s not a graceful death.

“Here. This is a recording of what I’d say to your Progenitor. I want you to keep it with you at all times.”

A distressed
thrum
. “Do you fear more violence?”

I fear dying too soon.
/determination/ “A precaution.”

“All will be well. You’ll see.”

 

 

—She tastes blood—

“Hurry!” “This way!” “Aiiiiieee!!” “I’m hit!”

/agony/

The words merged with thudding footsteps, explosions, and anguished cries, a staccato sequence.

Followed by silence.

/calm/focus/
Don’t reply . . . don’t reveal . . .
/flutters of pain/endure/

“Nik! Where are you?” Cinder’s voice, anxious and sharp. “Anyone?”

/patience/

Footsteps. A sharp
ping
. Then another. And another.

/emptiness/
It’s come to this . . .
/dread/

“Stop!”

A roar, followed by a splatter. A crunch.

/pain/

 

*
layered over
*

 

—She feels blood, slippery and wet—

Concentrate . . .
“Hollans has to know, Mac. Lost . . . Murs . . . Larrieri . . . dead.” /urgent/need/denial/
Can’t tell you, Mac . . . can’t let you know what I did . . . had to do . . .
“Cinder . . . dead. Saboteur . . . dead.”

A piece of me slips away . . .
/anguish/grief/

“Ship okay . . . next stop . . . the Progenitor.”

/guilt/
She couldn’t help herself . . . I should have known . . . stopped her somehow . . .
/failure/despair/
It’s only the beginning . . . will fall apart . . .

Concentrate.
“The Vessel misses you . . .” /need/loneliness/

/resolve/

 

 

 

M
AC SLIPPED THE RING on her finger, to join its mate.

It was dark; the lev door was closed. When she eased to her feet, her left leg tried to fail, afire with pins and needles from hip to toe.
Answering the question of time,
she thought ruefully, rubbing her thigh.

Her cheeks were ice-cold. Drying tears, she discovered when she touched her face.

The message . . . “Gods, Nik,” she whispered out loud as the horror of it surfaced.
What had he done?

Fought a battle. Killed a friend. Made a decision to risk all their lives.

Day on the job,
she told herself, and didn’t believe it.

Again, the
lamnas
had revealed more than he’d intended. Far more. “He’s hurt,” she whispered to the dark.
Outside and in.
Mac didn’t need to try and imagine what it had cost Nik. She could feel it, like a fever eating at every part of her body; taste it as ash in her mouth. “ ‘Part of me slips away,’ ” she repeated, without making a sound.

She stumbled toward the lev, hands out in case she fell. Before she’d taken more than a few steps, its door opened and Hollans came striding down the ramp. Before he reached her, forms materialized from the darkness on either side and swept her up between them. Mac wondered if these were people she knew.

She rested her hands on their armored shoulders and silently wished them safe.

“I was hoping for information, Mac.” Hollans’ responsible wrinkles had settled into tired and old. “I didn’t expect anything like this. Are you sure?”

Mac shrugged, feeling tired and old herself. “How can I be? Whatever words Nik wanted to pass along are mixed up with conversations he remembered. I could be mistaken about a great deal. What seems clearest? An unsuccessful attempt to sabotage their ship. Some of your people were killed.”
She’d given him the names she had: Murs. Larrieri. Cinder.

“The evacsuits.” He circled back to that again. “Were all of them damaged?”

That was the crux of it.
And she didn’t know. “There was something about the suits. It—it wasn’t good. Nik’s sending the ship in anyway. He wanted me to tell you that.”

“It’ll reduce their safety margin. They won’t all make it.” He rubbed his face with one hand, then looked at her. “This is a disaster. Was the Trisulian responsible?”