Regeneration (Czerneda) (44 page)

The whoosh of giant levs overhead, the steady stream of equipment and personnel heading to Pod Two.
“The Ministry?” she hazarded. “What makes you think they’ve found something? Not that they’d rush to tell us.”
Perhaps for good reason,
she thought, remembering Nik’s caution to Hollans.

“There are other channels,” Mudge announced, a hint of smugness on his face. “I’ve maintained contact with staff at the consulate, of course, to ensure our group will receive full support on Myriam. To save time, I requested an updated inventory of materials of interest—on hand and in transit. Which I’ve received.” He held up his imp. “It makes for informative reading, Norcoast.”

Mac touched finger to forehead in salute. “I’ve always said you were a dangerous man, Oversight. Go on.”

He didn’t blush.
That serious,
she thought uneasily. “The consulate received an urgent request for equipment to be delivered to Castle Inlet. Specifically, Sinzi devices to inhibit the formation of a no-space transect, as well as their most advanced stasis chamber.”

Mac leaned forward, her breath catching in her throat. For a wild moment, she imagined some pitched battle along the walkways of Base, with an intrepid Tie bringing down aliens with his trusty antique flare guns. Then she shuddered, knowing any such confrontation would be in the dark, with an enemy heard, not seen.

“Do you think they’ve found the Ro?” she asked Mudge, unable to keep a tremor from her voice.

“The Ro seem to work through others wherever possible,” he said soberly. “Dr. Mamani said they’d swept ‘those who walked for them’ into the ocean, along with whatever they were hiding there. My guess would be they’ve found one or more of those bodies. Or what’s left of them. It’s been months, Norcoast. You know as well as I do how efficient ocean scavengers can be.”

The normalcy of crabs and bacteria steadied her nerves. “They may not be a factor,” she pondered aloud. “The ‘walkers’ were swept down in the landslide.” Sing-li had said they’d found the bodies of their agents within mud and stone.
The cold comfort of recovery beacons.
“They could have been buried.” Mac’s heart began to beat faster.
A look at what the Ro really were—or as close to it as possible?

His face mirrored her own growing excitement. “And be virtually intact. If that’s so—we might have gained our first advantage, Norcoast.”

“I must contact Anchen. Hollans. Both of them.” She rose to her feet. “I have to see the scans—get samples sent here.”

He held up one hand. “Nothing can happen right away, Norcoast. The captain’s right to maintain a com ban. It’s just a day and a half till we meet the courier at the gate. You’ll have to wait.”

“Pointless waste of time,” Mac muttered, but sank back down.

Mudge gave her his stern look.
The one where he planned to refuse a perfectly reasonable request on grounds that would make no sense to her.
“The point, Norcoast, would be to prevent anyone in this system confirming your presence on board until we’ve left for Myriam.”

“Use codes. Do secret stuff.” She gestured wildly. “It can’t be that hard.”
She wasn’t that important.

“The risk isn’t justified, not to satisfy our curiosity.”

Mac scowled. “I don’t see who would care.”

“Do you want me to name all the species connected by the Naralax, or stop with the Ro?”

She pressed her lips together and glared at him as if this were all his fault.

Mudge
harrumphed
. “Whatever’s going on, Norcoast,” he mollified, “we’ll learn more when we get the next batch of messages. Old-fashioned, but secure.”

“I don’t like waiting in the dark.”

“Come now. You’re capable of appalling patience, Norcoast. Use it.”

Mac snorted. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Mudge sat back, fingers laced together, and gazed at her.

She wasn’t the only one,
Mac realized with familiar frustration. “A day and a half.” She made a face. “Fine. I’ll start preparing my messages. Townee’s going to show me their procedure for secure mail.”

“Their procedures?” Mudge grimaced back at her. “That wretched Fourteen already broke those. Much as it pains me, Norcoast,” he heaved a sigh in demonstration, “we’d better give everything private to him for encoding. I can’t imagine anything more secure. Except for those.” He nodded to her rings.

Mac shifted her hand below the table, then felt her cheeks warm.
Could she be more obvious?
“You know about
lamnas
?”

“Lamnas,”
he repeated, as if, like Hollans, he fixed a new word in memory. “I didn’t know, Norcoast. But I observe. You never wear jewelry, yet you leave the consulate wearing a ring identical to those on Anchen’s fingers. It could be a token or gift. But before we leave Earth orbit, one ring has become two. Am I right to suppose you anticipate a third when we meet the courier?”

Something of her despair must have shown, because Mudge grew very still. “These
lamnas
aren’t from Anchen.”

Mac gave the tiniest shake of her head.

“How dare he—?” The words were fierce and low. “It’s unconscionable. Is there anyone who isn’t using you in some way, Norcoast?”

“There’s you, Oversight,” she replied unsteadily.

“Totally unacceptable,” he blustered. “Do you hear me? Unacceptable!”

“I’m not arguing,” Mac said, comforted by his honest outrage. “But I’d rather know—be used—if that’s what it will take to resolve all this and make sure everyone’s safe.”

Harrumph.
“And at that time, I plan to tell a certain someone exactly what I think.”

She wished Nik luck.
“You do that.”

Mudge
harrumphed
again, angrily, but calmed. “I suppose we must be satisfied that things are underway, Norcoast. The Dhryn ships, our going to Myriam, whatever the Ministry’s uncovered . . . the other ship . . .”

That was what they called it between themselves, the “other ship,” to be sure they weren’t the ones to inadvertently discuss Nik’s so-fragile mission.

If there was a ship the Ro would want to find,
Mac knew beyond doubt,
it would be the one carrying the Vessel home to his Progenitor.

Mac and Mudge spent the better part of an hour talking around what was to come. Neither could be sure what to expect in Myriam System, so they made contingency plans to the best of their ability. He didn’t argue when she said he should go to the planet with the archaeologists; she didn’t argue when he told her Fourteen should stay on the
Joy
with her. It was a measure, she thought, of how seriously Mudge took their present difficulties in communication that he wanted her to have the one being able—and fiendishly delighted—to circumvent ship’s security.

When she left his quarters, she felt if not in control, at least prepared.

A feeling that lasted as long as it took for Mac to take two steps toward the dining room.

“Dr. Connor. Why haven’t you reported to the simulation lab?”

Few people became
this
annoying on second acquaintance,
she decided, wheeling to confront Norris.

“What are you talking about?”

He’d added a hovering ’screen to his attire, set to hang above his line of sight, so his eyes constantly flicked up to it.

Mac, considerably below, waited for him to look back down at her, mentally giving him a count of three.

At two, Norris returned his attention to her.
Disappointing.
“I sent you notification. Surely you read your mail.”

“Not if I can help it,” Mac said truthfully. “Is this something that can wait, Dr. Norris? I’m about to check on my team.”

“Team?” His eyes lifted to the ’screen, as if seeking confirmation. “You’ve been reassigned to me. You have no team, Dr. Connor.”

Before Mac could settle on what she would actually say in response to this,
it being early in their relationship for her to kick his skinny shin,
they were interrupted by the arrival of Sam and his new colleagues, To’o and Kirby.

“Mac! There you are. You have to come and see this.”

She threw Norris a triumphant look. He didn’t appear impressed. “Dr. Connor is busy,” he said.

Mac wasn’t sure which reaction was more telling: the sudden silence, or the way even the Cey’s eyes opened wide as all three climatologists stared first at Norris, then her.

Too easy,
she decided regretfully.

“Dr. Norris, why don’t you grab a coffee and we’ll continue this later,” she advised, keeping it civil, then walked past them all, heading to the work area.

But she’d underestimated Norris’ ability to miss a cue. “Dr. Connor,” he exclaimed. “Our time on the ship’s simulator is not limitless. And Dr. Cayhill is waiting.”

Mac’s hand twitched. Despite her instinct to keep on walking, preferably until the entire bulk of the
Joy
was between them, she stopped and turned around. “What could Cayhill possibly have to do with some simulation you want to show me?”

Norris’ show of surprise was a little too studied. “Aren’t you aware of safety requirements when a subject is immersed ? A physician must be present. Dr. Cayhill, being familiar with your physiology, kindly volunteered.”

Familiar with what’s left of my arm,
she nearly said aloud, but knew too well how someone of Norris’ type would respond. Instead, she gave him a withering glance before saying to the now-worried climatologists. “Oversight’s in his quarters. Fourteen’s somewhere in the work area. I want them both here, please. Now.”

They hurried off, glancing back at her with questions in their eyes. Mac crossed her arms and stared up at Norris. “The
Pasunah,
” she said.

“A working facsimile, yes.” He looked insufferably pleased. “I knew this class of ship carried a complete suite of training sims.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“It wouldn’t be if your ‘firsthand’ account had been at all adequate.”

She felt her right leg tense and deliberately eased her posture.

“Mac?”

“Norcoast?”

From different directions—
and different-shaped wind-pipes
—came identical tones of disapproval.

“They’ll be coming, too,” Mac informed Norris.

Dr. Gordon Cayhill was a middle-aged man of average height, average mass, and—in Mac’s estimation—above-average tenacity when it came to what he viewed as the most appropriate medical treatment for his patients. No doubt he’d performed miracles for those in his charge.

The only problem? He’d wanted to perform one for her as well.
She’d said no. Loudly. Repeatedly. And with all the apparent impact of water rushing over a barnacle glued to stone. The only plus had been to leave the ship knowing they’d never have to deal with one another again.

She didn’t bother to smile. “Dr. Cayhill.”

“Dr. Connor.” He didn’t smile either.

“Charles Mudge III,” that worthy introduced himself, pressing forward into what was patently a conversation going no further without help. “I presume you are qualified to supervise such a procedure?” His voice implied anything but.

Now Mac almost smiled.

Fourteen wasn’t to be left out. “Irrelevant. We presume nothing.” He drew out an imp and set a ’screen up between them, muttering under his breath as he worked. Then, “Ah! Oh. You are.” He closed the screen and gave Mac a shrug. “At least he hasn’t let anyone die.”

“There,” Norris pronounced. “Can we get on with this?”

No?
Mac swallowed, aware she’d gone as far as she could in terms of protest. More and Norris was capable of tossing Fourteen and Mudge from the room.
She didn’t want to be alone here.