Migration (9 page)

“Us? We came here for an engine refit,” Melosh reminded his commander. “We off-loaded our live armaments. We cannot close the transect from only one end. We cannot save whatever remains of this world. We can run, but the Dhryn could follow.”

Wu turned and met his own reflections in each of the Norwelliian’s immense emerald pupils. Not surprisingly, he looked grim in all three.

Timing, Wu knew full well, didn’t make heroes. Resolve did.

“You’re right, Melosh. There’s only one way we can hope to stop the Dhryn and that’s to catch them on the planet surface. Get the crew to the escape pods.” Putting his tea aside, Wu stood, straightening his uniform jacket with a brisk tug. “But first, find me the weakest spot on this planet’s crust.”

The mighty
Guan Yu
spat out her children, all nestled in their tiny ships, then sprang in silence toward the twitching corpse of a world. Her captain sat quietly at the pilot’s console, tea back in hand, ready to do what had to be done.

No hero. Not he.

A chance, nothing more.

Then, the scope of the nightmare made itself known as the Dhryn’s Progenitor Ship came into view from around the far side of the planet, catching the sunlight like a rising crescent moon. Glitter rained down from her to the surface, still more returned, until it seemed to any watching that the mammoth Dhryn vessel didn’t orbit on her own but instead floated atop a silver fountain of inconceivable size.

Then specks from that fountain swerved, heading straight toward the
Guan Yu
. Hundreds. Thousands.

Wu’s lips pulled back from his teeth and he punched a control. The
Guan Yu
hurtled downward even faster than before, seeking the heart of what had been the home of the Eelings.

The escape pods went first, each disappearing within a cloud of smaller, faster ships. Swarmed. Consumed.

Wu tossed aside his teacup and secured the neck fastenings of his helmet. Lights flashed and dimmed, flashed and dimmed. The
Guan Yu
lost atmospheric integrity. One or more seals had failed.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take you with me,” Wu promised his unwanted guests.

As the first feeder, clothed in silver, drifted down her corridors, the
Guan Yu
screamed her way through the atmosphere and stabbed into the weakest part of Ascendis’ crust. Shock waves rippled across the continent, setting off quakes and volcanoes.

The air itself burned.

The Great Journey must continue until home is attained. That which is Dhryn has remembered. All that is Dhryn shares that goal.

There will be danger.

There will be hardship.

It is the way of the Journey, that most will not reach its end.

So long as that which is Dhryn achieves safe haven, all sacrifice is joy.

“
I
TOLD YOU to go,
Lamisah
. Why didn’t you listen?”

A soft, reasonable voice. The voice of friendship, of trust.

The words. It hadn’t been those words. Those—were wrong.

She’d go, but she couldn’t see.

Mac shoved her hands outward, pushing at the darkness. The darkness
burned
.

She screamed as her fingers dissolved, as the backs of her hands caught fire, as the bones within her palms curled like putty and dripped away.
Drip. Drip
.

She screamed as the drips were sucked into mouths—into mouths that insisted, in their soft, reasonable voices, voices of friendship, of trust:

“We told you to go,
Lamisah
. We warned you.

Didn’t we?”

Her arms went next . . .

Mac rubbed her hands up and down her arms, shudders coursing through her body until it was all she could do to sit still, to stay on the couch, to fight for calm.

“That was—” she began, then pressed her lips together.
A familiar nightmare, although it usually started at an earlier moment.
If she had to dream it, Mac preferred this version. She’d rather face a floating bag of organic acids than look into those familiar yellow-irised eyes and see their warm glow dim, see them sink, watch him become . . .

“No!”

She leaped to her feet and went to her desk, gripping it with both hands.
One hand and one substitute,
Mac corrected herself, always aware of the difference, though she couldn’t feel one.
Illogical
. Both delivered the same sensory information. One simply used nonbiological circuitry.

One wasn’t hers
.

No chance of more sleep, not with her body wringing wet with sweat and her heart jumping in sickening thuds within her chest. Mac unopaqued the wall and ceiling, hoping for dawn.

Close
. No stars, but the distant peaks snarled against a paling sky.
Time to be up and moving,
she assured herself. Not that she felt like either.

A shower, short and cold, a fresh set of coveralls, and a barefoot prowl after coffee made the coming day seem slightly less impossible. Merely onerous. Before it had to really start, Mac took her steaming mug outside, finding a perch on the stairs leading up and around the wall of Pod Three where she could watch the rest of Base wake up.

The muted, directionless light of predawn made mysteries of pods and walkways, turned them into pale-rimmed shadows curved one into the other. The walkways were still damp from yesterday’s rain, evaporative drying rarely a factor around here.
Something a few new students hadn’t learned yet,
Mac decided with amusement, eyeing a series of towels hanging heavy and soaked from the terrace of Pod Two.
Probably wetter now than last night
.

The moisture played tricks with hearing, too. The lapping of ocean against pod and rocky shore was as intimate as breathing; footsteps and yawns loud and clear well before Mac spotted the first group of students making their way to Pod Three for breakfast.

The sun leered over the mountains at her, a reminder time wasn’t patient. She cradled her mug between her hands, lifted it to savor the rich aroma of coffee on sea air, impatient for it to cool. Habit. Mac tended to ignore minor details such as how long her cup had sat on desk or workbench, so she’d grown used to what she gulped being cold, eventually liking it that way. Unfortunately, grad students were prone to random helpful acts, and she’d scalded her mouth more than once since coming to Base when someone reheated her coffee without warning.

What first: Mudge or breakfast?
She was not combining the two.

“Mind if I join you?”

Mac turned her head with a smile. “Morning, Case.” She gestured to the stair beside her and the student sat down. He was dressed for diving, though his wet suit was open at the neck and sleeves, the hood hanging down his back. His bare feet were porcelain pale and his toes, like his fingers, boasted reddish hairs at their joints. Like Mac, he carried a steaming mug in one hand. In the other was a promisingly plump bag.

Case grinned at her interest. “Muffin?”

“Thanks.” Mac pulled one from the proffered bag. Warm, yes. Also lopsided and unexpectedly green.
New cooks.
She took a generous bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Mint,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Now that’s original.”

“But is it edible?” Case examined his own muffin dubiously.

“You’ll have worse,” Mac assured him. She was pleased he’d sought her out; it took some students a tedious amount of time to realize research staff were people, too. They ate in companionable silence for a moment, watching a raft of bufflehead ducks bobbing on the swells. “Where are you diving today?” she asked.

“We
were
heading for the reefs—down to the glass sponge observation station.” He didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “I’ve seen remote images of the deep corals off the coast of Norway, but nothing as up close as you have here.”

“Were?” Mac had learned long ago how to instill a wealth of interested neutrality into both voice and expression. Lee’s plans weren’t hers to question—in front of his still-shiny student, anyway. “What changed?”

Case looked taken aback by her question. “That’s what I was going to ask you. A memo came through everyone’s imp, just when we were suiting up. No diving. No skim traffic. Nothing on-water today. Even the t-lev from Vancouver’s been delayed until tonight.” A sideways, very wise look from those sea-faded eyes. “That’s not usual stuff here, is it, Mac?”

“No, Case. No, it’s not.” Mug in one hand, Mac dusted crumbs from her thighs with the other as she rose to her feet. “Then again,” she smiled, “what is? Someone’s probably forgotten to post they’re running a sensitive assay in the inlet this morning. I’ll look into it. Thanks for breakfast.”

His “You’re welcome,” hardly registered. Mac’s thoughts were racing ahead even as she climbed the stairs to her office at her normal pace.

Seeing the tactic for what it was, knowing she had no reason to feel any special bond to ’Sephe, any friendship, didn’t help. Mac still felt betrayed.
What was ’Sephe up to?
Whatever it was, if she’d interfered with Base operations . . .