Migration (69 page)

Anchen touched fingertip to fingertip. “I had hoped we would be negotiating with the Dhryn, not shouting at them to run. You remain sure this is the only option?”

Nik shrugged. “Right now? Yes, Sinzi-ra. Given the time and situation, there’s no choice.”

Genny P’tool spoke up: “It will be a test. If it works, if the Dhryn are repelled, then we can provide this to other members of the IU.”

“Even if it works,” Mac cautioned, “it may only work once. The Dhryn are obeying instinct, but they obviously haven’t lost their ability to function as intelligent beings. They can operate ships—navigate transects to find a specific target. They are making decisions. They’ll soon realize they should ignore alarms that come from outside their ships.”

“They don’t learn to ignore the Ro’s call.”

“We can’t know that,” Mac insisted. “Some might be trying to. This Progenitor did—” a gesture to the Vessel. “And there’s another difference. Organisms will seek food even if sometimes the clues are wrong. It’s too essential a need. But they can’t keep reacting to false alarms. It’s better to risk ignoring a valid alarm, than to starve hiding from false ones.”

“That which is Dhryn mustn’t starve.” The Vessel’s comment, low and implacable, sent a shiver down Mac’s spine.

Hollans turned pale as well. To his credit, his voice stayed calm. “Understood, Dr. Connor. But if it might save even one more world, it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

Anchen’s fingertips snapped past one another. “We will not test the patience of the Dhryn. Send the alarm.”

- Encounter -

T
HE PROGENITOR’S warning is felt by all that is Dhryn. The Great Ships turn to flee.

The Progenitors must endure.

Conflict . . . confusion . . .

The Progenitors on each ship call for Vessels.

No time for consultation. In this, the will of all comes first. The Call has been silenced.

The cry is paramount.

All that is Dhryn must
move
.

“Say again.”

“The Dhryn ships have come about, sir. Projected course—the gate to the Naralax Transect! They’re running!”

In the midst of cheers and whistles from her bridge crew, Lemnitov heard an astonished: “From us?”

She gave her Weapons officer a sideways grin. “Don’t think we’re scary?”

“Do you?”

“There have been days . . .” Seeing the scan tech trying to get her attention, the captain raised her voice. “Quiet down, people. We can celebrate at the next way station. What is it?”

“You need to see this, sir.”

“Main display.”

The center space of the bridge filled with the images of ships.
Dying.

That which was Dhryn had lost the call.

That which was Dhryn has turned to flee.

~~FAILURE~~

It is not the Way to risk the Progenitors.

~~WITHDRAW~~

Holes appear down every seam of the Great Ships; their silver sides, like so many petals, fall open to vacuum. Gouts of air vent and freeze, icy splinters coat the figures that tumble into space.

Within, the Progenitors die even as they try to shield their newborn with their vast hands,
oomlings
floating free in every direction as gravity fails with all else.

As the last heartbeat sounds in silence, that which was Dhryn tumbles toward the Naralax Transect.

Nothing more than debris
.

E
MILY SCREAMED, a drawn-out shriek that choked on moisture. Mac hurled herself to her side, hearing other cries but understanding only this one.

“Emily!” Mac tried to free her from the blanketlike restraint, but the jelly-bed held firm. Emily’s body spasmed in another scream, muted to a gurgle by the blood still pouring from her mouth.

“I need help here!” Mac shouted.

She was pulled aside, others pushed past. She didn’t resist, trying only to see what was happening.

But when she could see, Mac screamed herself and turned away.

Someone held her.

No one could erase what burned behind her closed eyes, the bloody ruin of arms and legs, the wet gaping abdomen.

The Ro had taken back what they’d put in place of Emily’s flesh.

“Dead.” “It’s confirmed. Dead.” “Dead.” Like a contagion, the word sped through the room. Mac choked back her tears, pushed away to free herself, heard clearly what at first made no sense: “All of them, you’re sure?” “Yes, all dead.”

All of
them
? All of
who
?

“AIEEEEEEEEEEEE! LAMISAH!”

Half blind, Mac fought to reach the new scream, struggling to get past what seemed an army intended to hold her in place as gently as possible. She flailed out, got ready to kick.

“Mac. Mac. They’re helping Emily. Hang on. This way.”

Nik
. With the voice, movement in the right direction. No more screaming, although disquieting mutters of “dead” kept circulating around her, part of confused fragments of conversation.

Others were caring for Emily. Only she could help the Dhryn
.

Emily.

Inside the Dhryn cell was peace of a sort. The area outside was crammed with people, the outer door opening and closing with a steady growl of permissions asked and given. Overhead, more noise, a heady buzz from the other side.
Cheering?

Mac focused on the Vessel, a huddle of patent misery in the middle of the floor. Had he even stood again after running into the lift? She couldn’t remember. Nik, faster than she, was already at his side. “We didn’t do it,” he was saying, confusingly if urgently. To her: “The Dhryn ships. They self-destructed. All of them. After they’d powered up on a heading to leave the system.”

“Why would they do that?” she asked numbly.

“They didn’t,” Nik said between his teeth. “Their ships must have been rigged. Some kind of triggering pulse was sent from inside the consulate. We’d never have caught it, but we were set up to listen for a reply to the Ro signal. We’re tracking the source.” She’d never seen such naked rage on a face before. “It—Emily was affected at the same time.”

Too cold for anger, Mac bent over the Dhryn, touched him gently. “Vessel.
Lamisah
. Do you understand now? The Ro are the enemy. They tried to use these Dhryn against us; when that failed, they destroyed them. We have to work together; find a way to stop the Ro before more die.”

Low, in Dhryn, muffled by an arm. “I must go back.”

Mac kept talking in Instella for Nik’s sake. “What do you mean, ‘you must go back’? Back where? Why?”

The arm shifted to reveal one golden eye. The Dhryn made the effort to reply in kind. “I was sent here to talk to you, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol. To learn the truth. I have, to my unending sorrow, done so. Now, I must return to my Progenitor and tell her.”

Mac sat back, giving Nik a startled look. “We can’t—” she began cautiously. He put a finger to his lips, then leaned close to the Dhryn’s ear.

“I’ll make sure you get there,
Lamisah,
” she heard him whisper. “But please, don’t speak of this to others until we’ve made the necessary arrangements.”

As he spoke, Nik looked straight at her.

Full-scale plotting.

And no one had better get in his way.

“She’s alive. I admit to being surprised. I had thought her body would give up the first night.”

Mac pressed her lips together and stared out at the ocean. The Sinzi-ra had come in person to report on Emily’s condition. She was grateful for that.

Once the Dhryn were gone, the consulate had morphed back to its normal state, giving them all back their beds and belongings, restoring access to the research rooms. She was grateful for that, too.

She wasn’t grateful to have been sent to her bed the moment it was available.
Not,
Mac admitted,
that she’d been good for much by that time.
Fastfix made you pay. She had vague memories of a quiet, comfortable corner, some floor of her own, annoying people who claimed she was in the way and made her get up.

Mac shook herself. “Emily’s always been strong,” she said. “Thank you for your care of her. Strong or not, I’m not sure she would have survived what the—what the Ro did to her without Noad.”

An elegant sweep of fingers to head, the meaning unmistakable. “It remains to be seen how much of her has survived, Mac. You should be prepared.”

How could she do that?
Mac asked herself. Aloud: “What else do I get to know, Anchen?”

“Whatever you wish. You have more than earned my confidence, Mac.”

“Is the IU going to release the Vessel? Let him return to his Progenitor?”

They were sitting on the terrace. The storm front had passed, leaving a clear sky. The breeze lifting from the ocean played with Mac’s hair and set the beads by the door in motion. It wasn’t enough to move the Sinzi’s fingers, yet she pretended it did, waving their tips before her great eyes like silver-coated reeds swaying in the wind.