Regeneration (Czerneda) (64 page)

E
MILY WAS STANDING outside, lit by sunshine, framed by intense blue. Her head was covered in a large fluffy mass, more like a growth of bright red hair than a hat; a scarf of the same improbable fabric traced the underside of her jaw and cheek. Her nose was distinctly pink and her breath left little puffs as she spoke. “Hi, Mac! Got your message. You sound the veteran spacer. Proud of you, girl.

“Guess where we are!” The image briefly tilted sideways, catching the ice-rimmed prow of the harvester lev, a flat expanse of sea beyond. “Two tries. Whoops! Wrong!

“Tracer’s working, Mac. It’s working,” this with passion, her face close. “I knew it would. I’m on its tail—or whatever. Sneaky bastard. It’s been leading me around . . . playing some tricks . . . thinks it’s clever. But I’m not going to lose it. Not now.”

Quiet, intense. “You should be here, Mac. This is where the answers are. I feel it. Forget that ball of dirt. This is where we’ll learn how to stop
Them
, once and for all.”

The image tilted again, this time spinning in a circle as if Emily had grabbed the ’bot for a dance partner. Behind her, more blue sky and ice, frozen metal, distant others wrapped against the cold.

“C’mon home, Mac,” she urged, becoming still. She brought the ’bot to her eyes, as if trying to see inside, turning the image into a confusion of lashes and dark, dilated pupils. “
They’ve
never been in a hurry before.
They’ve
never made mistakes. Something’s started the clock. Not—not at noon. It’s eleven. Mac, it’s eleven. Remember that.”

The ’bot swung up, as if she’d tossed it, then leveled out and returned to its original position. Emily tucked her chin into her scarf. “Gotta go, Mac. Can’t leave the Tracer for long, not even with Casey-boy.

“Just . . . come home as soon as you can. Okay?”

Case was sitting, his back against a curved wall that might have been anywhere along the lev’s inner hull. He’d tanned, or gained freckles; aged, by the fine lines beside his eyes and mouth. But he looked out from the image with assurance. “Hi, Mac. We’ve been at sea a while. Feels good, you know. Being out here. You likely expected that.

“Em’s gadget is hauling us all over. Sing-li’s always on the com getting clearances. Part of my job is warning civilian harvesters we’re coming through. A couple learned the hard way Em isn’t going to divert course. You ever been on one of these big harvs when it ramps up and over another lev? Whoot! Don’t worry. No one’s been hurt.” A grin. “Maybe a few feelings. Handy having Earthgov and the IU on our side, that’s for sure.”

The young man rubbed one hand over his jaw, the grin disappearing. “I guess I’m the one to tell you. Em—I caught her taking ’fix. She laughed—boasted ’Sephe was getting it for her, that no one cares, long as she finds their monster. I think—I know she’s right, Mac. Everyone’s too quiet, too focused. Feels like we’re in a whirlpool and don’t know how long till the bottom.

“About Em . . . I don’t want you to worry. I’m making her take supplements, got her promise not to up the dose. I’ve seen guys ’fix for weeks, Mac. They weren’t good for much by the end, but they pulled their weight for the harvest.”

Case’s lips quirked sideways and his eyes glowed. “With or without, none of them could keep up to Emily, though. She’s on the trail.

“Hope you’re okay, Mac. As I said, don’t worry. We’ll find this thing. You can trust us.”

Hard to tell if Hollans had aged. His wrinkles contrarily defied it. Instead of looking at the ’bot, he stared out over a wide patio, edged by trees; one hand rested on the stone wall that edged the terrace. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Dr. Connor. Mac. They told me what happened on the
Uosanah.
I never meant you or Sigmund to be in any danger. I want you to believe that.” A pause. “I’ve spoken to Katie, his wife. Those things—doesn’t matter how many times I do it, I never know what to say. But I made sure your family knew you were okay. The media’s got more than I’d like about the whole business. No help for that now.”

His fingers worked at the stone. “What you did . . . what you both did . . . I’ve decorated agents for less.” A low laugh. “You know, I can picture your face right now. Don’t worry, Mac, I’d never make you accept a medal.

“I’d like to know how you found out about the walker before we sent the specs to you, but I’m learning not to be surprised by anything you and your people accomplish. Dr. Mamani, for instance. She’s already chasing whatever the Ro left in Castle Inlet. None of our sensors detect a thing. She’s either crazy or our best shot. I’m inclined to the latter.”

He turned to face the ’bot at last. “I hope you’ve had news from our mutual friend. I know you’ve heard about the mess with the Frow. ‘Mess.’ ” Hollans made a face. “A tragedy, that’s what’s coming. Earthgov’s expelled the Trisulian ambassador. We aren’t the only ones. But you know being politically isolated will send the wrong message to the Trisulians. I feel like a voice shouting in an empty room. We should be finding them opportunities to colonize, maybe even the Dhryn worlds, if it comes to that. Help them believe their coming generation is safe. But you get politics within species as well as between. Anchen’s conducting negotiations around the clock.” He looked away again. “Maybe they’ll work. Regardless, now every species in the IU knows the Trisulians tried to summon the Dhryn. It’s not much of a step to realize the only way to end that threat is to eliminate the Dhryn themselves.

“So we’re back to that, Mac. The Ro or the Trisulians. Both now hold the Dhryn over our heads.” His voice became very quiet. “You know what I’m asking. You know, I hope, what you must do if you have the opportunity. What Nik must do.

“For all our sakes.”

 

 

 

M
AC CLOSED HER ’screen, hand trembling. The rest of her messages could wait.

She’d known. Deep inside, in the place where nightmares festered while she was awake, she’d known Emily was expendable. And the Dhryn.

And everyone else.

It was hard to remember normal, to think about the way the IU had been before this fundamental threat to its very nature.
Not that she’d paid attention to it then,
Mac mocked herself.

She walked over to the pod, and put her hand on its cool surface. “It’s not even your fault,” she said.

Numb, Mac walked to the lighting controls and accepted ship settings. The room dimmed to twilight, the shadows softening the edge of machine and pod, the aroma of crushed plants teasing at the senses, a pretense of life.

She climbed on the bed and laid down, rolling to face the Wasted through his windows. He no longer swallowed, the nipple stuck to a lower lip as if abandoned. Perhaps he was dying.

Mac closed her eyes and wept.

Mac squinted, opening her eyelids the barest amount possible.

The glow wasn’t much, but it was right in her face.

For an instant, she believed it was a flaw in the pod, its internal lights jumped to some higher setting, ready for an autopsy.

Then, as she came fully awake, she realized it was something else entirely.

The Wasted was . . .
glowing
.

She slid from the bed, tiptoeing closer, and gasped. Her hands caught at the pod to keep her upright.

The creature inside the pod wasn’t what she’d left there. It was no feeder, no normal adult . . .

Warm, golden eyes gazed back at her.

“
Lamisah.
What am I?”

“I don’t know,” Mac breathed.

The Wasted had . . . changed.
Cayhill was right,
she thought.
An arrested metamorphosis, not a failed one.

The Dhryn before her was still blue, but that blue was almost painfully vivid. What had been fractures in his skin were now connected into bands wrapping his torso and limbs in softly glowing white. His face and body had fleshed again, the body thicker than before, stronger. The eyes. The eyes were everything Mac remembered about Dhryn, warm, alive, vibrant.

With a beseeching look. “Can you release me,
Lamisah?
I no longer fit inside.”

Her hand reached for the control and froze.
The voice!
It was higher pitched, with a different cadence.

Mac shook off her paralysis, aware the being was right. He—she—now more than filled the inside of the pod. No matter what else, getting out was a priority.

First, Mac went to the door and locked it from the inside.

Then she went to the table and picked up the closest thing to a weapon she could find, a thin metal rod.

Last, she went to the pod, pushed the release, and moved back.

There was an alarm.
Of course.
Lights in the room shot up to normal day, then strobed orange. No sound here, but doubtless abundant bells and shrieks elsewhere.
She didn’t have long.

The pod lid opened and fell back with a clang, knocking over Cayhill’s stand of bags.

The
creature
sat up and smiled. “Thank you.” He—she climbed out with ease, power and grace in every movement.

When she stood on the floor in front of Mac, it was on four sturdy legs, not two. The uppermost arms were now legs, the middle set thicker, more muscled. They’d regrown something almost like hands at their wrists but these were broad, almost webbed.
Feet.
At the moment, those middle arms were bent at the elbows and carried up against her midsection. When she bowed her head and shoulders back in gratitude, Mac saw the seventh limb, now muscular and with a three-digit hand.