Regeneration (Czerneda) (37 page)

Not words,
was her first grateful thought. The display was a schematic of the worlds connected along the Naralax. Many were pulsing an angry red. As Mac puzzled over the now-familiar map, she began to see the pattern.

Oh, no,
was her second thought.

“
Se
Lasserbee,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Are those planets that have been attacked by the Dhryn?”

“Several, yes, including ravaged Ascendis. N’not’k. Regellus. Riden IV. Thitus Prime. Others have not suffered any recorded assaults.”

“Yet.” She clutched the bars on her
cloc
. “Multiple sources for the same message? Wasn’t that unusual?”

“Ah. We thought so, too. The Sinzi of that time considered it congruent and thus somehow more credible. Between us, Dr. Connor, I don’t think they are as smart as everyone thinks.”

Mac didn’t think
Se
Lasserbee was as smart as
se
seemed to believe, but refrained from comment. “Let me get this straight,” she said, her heart starting to thud within her chest. “The location of Haven was sent to the Sinzi by all those different species. At the same time.”

Se’s
claws tickled the metal struts, producing something remarkably like tinny fanfare. “Even from those worlds lacking the required technology. There can be only one conclusion, Dr. Connor.” Another pause, but shorter, as if the being was too eager to wait for her prompting. “The Myrokynay!”

Mac heard the word and felt nothing.
It was as if she’d already known.
But a gut reaction wasn’t enough. “Do you have any proof?”

“They have their agents, do they not? It’s a pattern of behavior, to act behind others.”

“So no proof.
Se
Lasserbee—” Mac shook her head.

“Who else could it be? Doubtless they were trying to warn the species of the Interstellar Union to avoid the Dhryn System, in hopes the Dhryn would die out on their own. The Sinzi misinterpreted. Interspecies communication,”
se
announced firmly, “frequently involves such confusions.”

“That it does,” Mac agreed wholeheartedly, clenching her hands around the pipes until her knuckles ached. “What did Anchen say? Has she raised—” the alarm, she wanted to say, then remembered who she was talking to.
Idiot faction.
A waste of breath to argue; worse, he might stop talking to her. “Has she taken action to confirm all this?”

The Frow opened
se’s
neck ridges to bend
se’s
neck left, as if seeking another angle to view her. “Why would I tell Sol’s Sinzi-ra before you, Dr. Connor? You are the ranking individual of our group. It has been confusing, I’ll admit, but your promotion is now evident.”

When interspecies communication fails, shut up.
Having made this new rule, Mac followed it. She hung onto the Frow’s idea of a chair and tried feverishly to piece together any sense from this.

If she believed
Se
Lasserbee’s conclusion, the Ro had arranged for the Dhryn to join the Interspecies Union.
Which meant
. . . a shiver trailed down her spine . . .
the Ro had been on those red-marked worlds
before
Haven had been connected to the Naralax.

Humanity hadn’t joined the IU that much sooner than the Dhryn. The Ro had already been there, existing outside of normal time.

Mac deliberately pushed all such thoughts far to the side, for now.
Not helpful to reduce oneself to gibbering terror.

“Ah. Dr. Connor? Have I said something incorrect?”

If
se
only knew
. Aloud, “The Frow contingent from the Gathering reports solely to you,” she ventured cautiously.

“I am the assigned nexus for all Frow reports on this subject. I handle the forms. There must be order.” This last as though blindingly obvious.

It might be to someone in a pointy hat,
Mac thought grimly. She plowed forward. “And you’re part of my group, not Anchen’s. Now.”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Reporting to me.”

“Have I been confusing, Dr. Connor?”

Not the time for an honest answer.
“Of course not,
Se
Lasserbee,” Mac asserted, leaning forward as if relaxing. That every muscle in her body felt more rigid than the poles supporting her was beside the point. “I’m only—surprised—you didn’t report this to Dr. Kanaci in my absence.”

Or anyone else! The time
se’d
wasted,
she thought with a mix of horror and disgust.

“Dr. Kanaci is subordinate,” the Frow proclaimed. “All those immediate are subordinate. I am observant. You make decisions. You talk louder.” A flutter of membrane. “And he was gullible.”
Se’s
dazzling list of evidence complete,
se
settled
se-self
more comfortably on the support and gazed at her.

Mac was beginning to suspect a certain inflexibility of thought in the Frow, or rather a channel
se’s
thoughts preferred to travel. Find the individual of greatest authority. Give that individual the form. Congratulate oneself. The form’s contents weren’t as important as making sure it was handed up.
Probably saved time,
she mused,
but only if a reasonable chain of command was maintained
.

Abandoned on Earth, ordered to find the Ro by any means, and receiving information
se
had to know was crucial? Poor
Se
Lasserbee had made a truly stunning leap of faith to transfer
se’s
upward obligation to the most likely alien.

Though
se
should have picked Mudge
.

Someone more experienced in dealing with other cultures—or brighter—might have grasped the rudiments of Human hierarchies and told the ship’s captain. Se
wasn’t likely to get a second field assignment,
Mac judged.

She pulled out her imp and set its ’screen to intersect with
se’s
. “Please transfer the relevant forms.”

Se’s
claw tips scratched through the displays as if
se
couldn’t wait to obey. Once finished, and their respective imps put away,
se
climbed partway up
se’s
support and swung to hang upside down. “You will attempt to contact the Myrokynay at these locations?”
se
asked from that vantage point. “You will let me come, too?”

Mac stepped down to the floor, one hand on the nearest pole as she looked up.
Did one admit to having superiors or hold onto perceived power?
She compromised. “I must consult. You’ll be informed. Thank you.”

The Frow must have taken this as confirmation of all
se’s
aspirations, because the next thing Mac knew, Se Lasserbee was scampering effortlessly from support to support, the close spacing of the furnishings now making perfect sense as
se’s
hands and feet loosened and grasped one after the other.
Se
rushed up to the sleeping lackeys and yanked hard on each in turn. One almost fell, grabbing to save
se, ne,
or
sene’s-self.

Once awake, they immediately joined Se Lasserbee, all three flinging themselves up and down and around the room. Mac twisted her head to follow. It was like watching birds’ flight, or fish darting through a clear stream.
No wonder they hate walking,
she thought, inclined to envy. Their claws made
tings
of varied pitch against the metal; their feet thumped against the pads; their membranes fluttered. The dance overlapped into melody.

To her ears anyway,
Mac cautioned, smiling to herself.

She leaned on a pole, not daring to move until they stopped. A Frow at full speed took up a daunting amount of space.

“Dr. Connor.”

“Captain Gillis.”

“Dr. Connor.” With more weight, as if her name constituted some problem.

“I know who I am,” Mac offered helpfully. “May I send the message?”

Captain Michael Gillis gazed back at her from his seat behind his tidy desk. He was a tidy man, his uniform impeccable, his silver hair trim and in place. He obviously ran a tidy ship; all she’d seen of the
Annapolis Joy
and her crew could be described as gleaming.

Mac, in their brief encounters together, had come away convinced he most likely folded his socks.

“To the Interspecies Consulate on Earth,” he repeated her request, his tone making it clear this was as much a problem as her name. “Not the Ministry. A personal message to a Sinzi. From you, Dr. Connor.”

She had no reason to believe he was hard of hearing or obtuse, so she restrained herself with considerable effort. “Yes, from me. Surely I was given authorization.”

“That part was left out.” Gillis’ executive officer, Darcy Townee, stood to one side of her captain’s desk. She was a small, round woman who might have been anyone’s favorite grandmother, if you ignored the lines of muscle up her neck, the fingers missing from her left hand, and the parade-ground snap to her voice that made even Mac’s shoulders itch. “We received orders to get you to the rendezvous in the Dhryn System, Dr. Connor, with all speed and stealth. Stealth, for your information, includes no outgoing signals from passengers we can’t admit we have.”

“Myriam.”

Townee looked taken aback. “What?”

“The system and planet,” Mac explained, feeling helpful. “They’ve been named. Myriam. It’s official. You can look it up.”

The exec declined to argue. “We will arrange to transfer any and all messages to a Ministry courier ship when we reach the gate.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get along with
Se
Lasserbee,” Mac said blandly.

“We’re not in the habit of taking requests, Dr. Connor.” The unspoken implication behind that being she should be grateful to be heard at all.

Mac, having argued her way past what seemed the entire complement of the
Joy
to reach this small antechamber—as close as they’d let her to the bridge—wasn’t about to stop now. She leaned forward, eyes on Gillis. “We won’t be at the gate for what—another two days? I assure you, Captain. This can’t wait.”

“You’d help your case, Dr. Connor, if you’d tell us what was so urgent.” The captain raised his eyebrows. “An imminent threat to Human security? Some risk to the safety of this ship, perhaps?”

That the Sinzi themselves might have been manipulated by the Ro from the beginning?
She owed Anchen the right to hear it first.

Mac pressed her lips together and glared. “Our leaving for Myriam was hardly a secret. You had to specify an approach path to move this thing safely through commercial traffic, so everyone knows you’re heading to the Naralax, not another gate. What could possibly happen if anyone learns we’re traveling together—a media scoop? Oh, I can see it now. ‘Warship offers scientists free ride.’ The demands will come pouring in—next will be physicists, mark my words. I know their kind.”

Their expressions didn’t change from polite attention. “Will two days alter the consequence of your message, Dr. Connor?” asked Townee.

Supposition. She had no proof—only the Frow’s eager belief and her fear.

“Let’s hope not,” Mac told them pleasantly, giving up.
It was that, or a tantrum she couldn’t explain.
She put her palms on the arms of the chair and pushed herself to her feet. “I appreciate your time, Captain.”

Captain Gillis stood as well. “We’re subject to orders, Dr. Connor.”
Almost an apology.
“I trust you and your people are finding the accommodations satisfactory, the crew helpful?”

“As always,” Mac acknowledged, involuntarily flexing the fingers of her left hand. “Thanks. About that message—” she looked to Townee.

“You’ll want something more secure than the usual packet?” At Mac’s nod, she added, “Then I’ll stop by with the protocols, Dr. Connor. Is there a time you prefer?”

Mac opened her mouth to reply . . .

The alarm sounded.