Regeneration (Czerneda) (69 page)

She wanted nothing more than to stay like this, the door locked with them hidden inside, his arm, sleep-heavy, across her stomach. Mac admitted it, then drew her fingertips down the side of his face, smooth one way, catching in stubble the other. “No more rest,” she said when Nik opened his eyes.

Their hazel darkened as he gazed at her. His arm lifted, but when she started to move away, it came down to hold her in place. “We need to talk,” his breath warm on her cheek.

As meeting venues went,
Mac thought, snuggling closer,
this had merit.
“Who starts?”

His hand captured hers; his fingers toyed with the rings she wore. “I see they made it.” A question in his eyes.

She nodded. “And worked. Those three,” she amended, touching the one exiled for safety to her artificial hand. “This—I’m guessing the Progenitor wanted a close look.”

His expression could only be described as dumbfounded. “She imprinted a message?”

Mac winced. “Let’s just say I appreciate Her situation.”

A pause. “So you got most of what I wanted you to know.”

And more.
She tensed involuntarily.

“What’s wrong?” A flash of concern. “Did the
lamnas
hurt you? Mac, I would never have tried them if I thought there was a risk.”

Okay, a potential disadvantage to bed meetings.
She made herself relax. “Have you ever received a
lamnas
?”

He shook his head slightly, his lips brushing her ear.
Distraction.
Mac wasn’t entirely clear if that was a disadvantage or not. “Anchen and I practiced, but I couldn’t make sense of what she tried to send me. I had to rely on her belief that another Human—you—would be able to detect words, if I concentrated on them.”

If they hadn’t been like this—the dim light, huddled together under a sheet—Mac might not have said it.
Not without a few beers.
But Nik deserved to know. “To be honest,” she said, “your messages weren’t just words.”

His turn to tense, which under other circumstances she would have found intriguing. “What do you mean?”

“I—felt—what you were feeling.”

“Oh.” His lips curved beside her eye. “I suppose that explains the lack of small talk, even from you.” His hand rose to cup her breast in its warmth. “I can’t say I mind.”

“Not just those feelings,” she clarified. “And not just feelings. I received memories. Your memories. As if I’d been there. Been you.”

He might have turned to stone. Mac pulled away reluctantly, sitting up and crossing one leg beneath so she could look at him. Nik’s stricken expression as he stared back was more than she could bear. “It’s okay,” she said, feeling clumsy. “No one else knows.”

“Anchen—she didn’t say anything about memories.”

Mac didn’t flinch from the growing outrage on his face.
She’d feel the same.
“How could she know what would happen between Humans? And how do we know she’d make that distinction at all?”
Words, feelings, memories—what had to pass between the individuals inhabiting one body?

Nik sat up, ripping free the tubing that had somehow stayed in place.
Not for want of trying,
Mac thought, tempted to smile despite everything else. “What memories?” he demanded harshly, eyes dark.

“Your worst,” Mac admitted without fear. “At a guess.”

“Oh.” His face paled and she watched him swallow. “And you still . . .” A hand waved vaguely at the bed.

She frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Gods, Mac.” Nik took her in his arms, pressing his lips to her forehead before burying his face in the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.

The man
was
in a weakened state.
She put up with it for another thirty seconds, then tapped him on the back. “Saving the known universe?”

Nik lifted his head, his anguished expression wiping whatever else she might have said from her mind. “We have to talk about this,” he stated. “All of it. I have to explain—”

From somewhere, Mac found the strength to deny him. “Later,” she promised, very gently. “If we live that long. If it still matters.” Before he could argue, she tightened her arms around him once, then stood. “Right now, there’s someone the Progenitor needs to meet.”

“She isn’t here.”

Mac blinked. “I saw the ship—”

“A negotiated sacrifice.” Nik eased his legs over the side of the bed, wincing only slightly. His hand rested on his stomach, where Cayhill had applied mem-skin over the almost-healed but tender wound.
Habit,
Mac decided, well able to imagine trying to get medical help from the Dhryn.

There must have been others.
“Who else survived?” she asked, feeling guilty not to have given the rest of his companions a thought. Then what he’d said sank in. “ ‘Negotiated sacrifice?’ ”

The corner of his mouth deepened. “We came out better than expected. The
Impeci
’s crew of five made it, as well as the research staff other than Genny P’tool. A bit worn, but nothing worse. The Progenitor broke from hiding to come to us; we docked and so escaped most of the radiation. As for the sacrifice?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it, Mac. Another Progenitor had taken shelter in the same system. Both were starving. They discussed the situation through their Vessels and the other—well, I don’t know what argument was used, but all the Dhryn, including the Progenitor, from the other ship agreed to be consumed in order for our Progenitor to survive.”

Mac tilted her head. “ ‘Our’ Progenitor?”

Nik looked up at her, his eyes like transparent green glass. “I learned a few truths myself.” He rose to his feet with almost his usual grace. “I’ve come in the empty ship, with a skeleton Dhryn crew, to act as Her Vessel.” He paused. “Skeleton crew. There’s truth for you. How long can they fast? I never saw one eat. They were skin on bone, Mac. Haven Dhryn. None spoke Instella—whenever one looked my way I’d say
lamisah
and hope for the best.”

Mac fastened on what caught her attention. “You’re Her Vessel? What happened to the Dhryn Vessel?”

“He disappeared the second day we were on board,” his face grim and set. “Along with all the Dhryn not directly engaged in operating Her ship. There was no explanation.”

“No need.” Mac wasn’t sure if what she felt was sympathy for the being who had been Parymn Ne Sa Las, or admiration for Dhryn communal will to survive.
Likely both.
“She told me.” She held up her hand and touched the fourth
lamnas
. “The Progenitor’s running out of time.”

Nik looked stunned, but didn’t ask.
Just as well,
Mac thought. “That’s why I’m here. She sent me to prepare the way. She’s following, to meet with the IU and negotiate a truce through the Sinzi. While we rested, Ureif’s been setting up the protocols.”

“We need a shower,” Mac announced bluntly. “Now.” She took his arm in a firm grip and pulled him into the stall with her, turning on the sprays. Once sure they were surrounded by the noise of water, she burst out: “Are you trying to destroy the IU? To ruin any credibility the Sinzi have? Because you couldn’t have found a better way to—” The rest was smothered by his mouth.

When the wet, passionate kiss ended—
too soon and not soon enough, under the circumstances—
Nik held her close. She felt his sigh. “There’s risk on all sides, Mac. But you said it. She doesn’t have much time left. None of the Dhryn do. And we need them to defeat the Ro.”

Brain damage?
Mac considered it, as well as the option of having Nik sedated. “The Dhryn are the Ro’s weapon,” she pointed out.

“A weapon that almost destroyed them.”

She shut off the water. They stood toe-to-toe, dripping in unison, Nik waiting for her to speak.
Which might take a while,
Mac thought wildly.

As if sensing this, he reached out and plucked a towel from the rack. “Our Progenitor sent Brymn Las looking for an answer.” He began drying her off, starting with her hair. “What is the minimum genetic diversity required in a population to respond to evolutionary stress? Could this number be predicted for a species? He discovered your work on evolutionary units in salmon. Which, Dr. Connor,” the towel progressed downward, “I found riveting reading, given our situation.”

Just her luck,
Mac grumbled to herself,
to be toweled by a handsome man in a shower and have
him
want to talk salmon.
“Brymn Las was worried about his people,” she said, taking the towel and her turn drying him.

He put his hands against the tile behind her head as she worked, eyes warm. “That wasn’t why his Progenitor asked the question, Mac. She wanted to know if they’d killed enough Ro in the Chasm to doom that species—to finally be safe from them.”

Mac dropped the towel. “The Chasm?” she breathed, staring up at him.

“The Chasm. It’s been the puzzle all along, Mac. The key to solving it isn’t how, but why those worlds were laid waste.” His smile was faint, but triumphant. “And that it happened twice.”

“Twice.” Now she let him hear her skepticism. “Why didn’t the Origins Team—or any other—find a result like that?”

“There was nothing to find. The Ro used the Dhryn to wipe the life from those worlds, Mac. What happened next? The Progenitor had stories, legends, bits of information passed down from the three Progenitors who made it to Haven. Who were taken to Haven,” he corrected, nothing warm or calm in his eyes now. “From these, and what She learned from Brymn Las and others—including what we told Her Vessel—She pieced together the rest. They were changed by the Ro, used by them to destroy other life in the Chasm, including their own homeworld. But there’s more.”

“Go on.”

“Ro attention was fixed on those empty worlds—why, no Dhryn knew. The Dhryn were preoccupied themselves, desperate to find food for their now-starving Progenitors. Some broke the Ro conditioning. Whether they then realized what they’d been made to do and rebelled, or whether they were simply trying to survive—it doesn’t matter now. The Dhryn attacked every world in the Chasm again, this time obliterating the Ro. Or so they thought.”

“They were wrong.”

“Yes. My guess is that some Ro were in their ships. All they had to do was wait for the Dhryn to turn on one another. Rather than lose such a useful tool,” his voice had an edge, “they collected the last three Progenitors and took them to Haven, locking them into one system. The Dhryn could do nothing but breed and wait. The Progenitors kept their dreadful secrets from the new generations, hoping they’d done so much damage to the Ro that they’d never return for them, always afraid they would. They did their best to forget. And almost succeeded.”

The defense of ordinary Dhryn: “We do not think of it.”
Mac shivered. “The Ro did return. The IU even helped, giving the Dhryn access to the Naralax.”

“Just what the Ro wanted. Only this time, when the Dhryn rebel, they’ll have allies. The IU.”

She frowned with concern. “Who else knows all this?” The question of his sanity she kept to herself.

“The Sinzi-ra, the captain, the Inner Council, the Ministry. The decision makers.” Nik’s fingers traced her jaw, lingered on her lips. She gave a startled protest as he turned on the shower. “No one needs us quite yet,” he assured her, his voice low and husky. “You remember how dry a Dhryn ship can be, don’t you?” He leaned his head back until water ran over his closed eyes and burned skin. It streamed from his chin and down his chest, glistening on his shoulders.

“Definitely yummy,” Mac murmured, following the drops with her hands.

“
L
OOK!” “This may be a tedious and menial posting, but those are insufficient to excuse failure to fully utilize the excellent protocols established and prepared for our use.” The seniormost Imrya relished this opportunity to elaborate in a meaningful yet sensitive manner appropriate to the youth and inexperience of her younger compatriot. “To properly request my attention,” she began, “you must first—”

But her younger compatriot wasn’t listening. Instead, his nostrils were pressed to the viewport. “Have you ever seen anything so glorious?” he gasped. “I must record this. I must write at least a stanza—no, I will surely dedicate the rest of my days to an epic work worthy of this moment, this spectacle, this—
oof
—”

The seniormost Imrya, notepad in hand and having successfully deposed her younger compatriot from the only viewport on this side of the station using her ample rump, settled in to see what was worth a life—such moments coming rarely even to a species devoted to the pursuit of literary perfection.

Slivers of light were converging on the Naralax gate, a region of space both infamous and lately well-explored by playwrights. Other traffic gave way, as was the custom when encountering a Sinzi courier dart.