Survival (50 page)

“That's not good enough,” Mac objected. “Any such metamorphosis has a biochemical basis. You have chemists—surely some could find ways to monitor the change, control it, help those who are in difficulty—”

Brymn looked horrified. “You'd ask us to tamper with the very process that defines our future, that determines the rightful Progenitors of our species! Are you mad?”

A rebuttal trembling on her lips, Mac made herself stop and think.
Who was the alien here?
she asked herself.
How dare she impose her values on their biology, their culture?
Chastened, she subsided, settling farther back on the luggage rack. An arm around the upright support kept her from slipping, but the rack itself was making serious efforts to reshape her posterior. “I withdraw the suggestion, Brymn,” she said quietly. “I never meant to offend you. It's my nature, part of being Human, to be affected by such suffering. I feel a need to act . . . to help.”

He held out an empty hand and she willingly put hers into it. “I could never be offended by you, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor. Confused, yes,” this with the tiniest of smiles. “But that is the beauty of our differences, that you see possibilities I do not. Perhaps I shall surprise you, one day.”

“Oh, you've already done that, Brymn.” Mac gave his hand a squeeze, then let go, along with her questions.
She'd find the answers herself
. “Do we still have time for the tablet?”

A broad smile now. “But of course! I have taken the liberty of reorganizing the reports by system of origin. Excuse me,” he said, while he relocated himself with a bustle of moving limbs and shuffling bags—he'd slung two around his torso. Eventually he sat so his right side was against the rack and she could look over his shoulder—thoughtful, even if the words on the tablet in his hand were no more legible now than they'd been in her apartment. “There. I shall start with reports from Sol.”

As he began to read aloud, something about sports scores, Mac stretched out on her side as best she could, finding it more comfortable if she laid one arm over his warm, rubbery shoulders.

Even as she listened to his deep bass rumble, she couldn't help but wonder.

- Portent -

I
N HER DREAMS, the world was hinged and could swing open like a door. She struggled with bar and latch, with lock and bolt, until only her hands held the world closed. Held the world safe.

In her dreams, green liquid, like pus from a wound, seeped under the door that was the world, leaked along its sides, dripped from its top until it burned her from toe to hand to face, until it ate from her skin and flesh and bone.

In her dreams, she had the choice. To turn away and run, letting the world take care of itself . . .

Or to hold the door against death as long as she had life . . .

“. . . We're losing her.”

“There's nothing left to lose—”

“Tell that to her family! Forget the legs—get more gel on her midsection. Damn it—I said more . . .”

“No use. It's over.”

In her dreams, the world was hinged and could close softly, like the lid of night, shutting out pain and fear, letting her rest.

“Next.”

20

 

 

 

M
AC PRESSED her nose against the window. Another stop identical to the five before. “You could at least tell me where we're going,” she complained, pulling back.

“No, no. I know Humans enjoy surprises.”

Mac nudged Brymn with her toe. “Some Humans. Others are happier knowing where they are going.”

“That is coaxing. I am able to resist.”

She grinned. “I'm impressed.”

Of course. He'd had Emily to teach him about humanity
.

Mac pushed aside the thought, shunting it deep inside with the bitter disappointment of no message from Earth.
Or none she could find
. The reports from Sol System had consisted of racing results from Neptune's rings and the announcement of discounts to species who brought their own ship engineers when accessing Earth's repair and refit facilities. Brymn had reread them until they'd both memorized every word. Nothing sounded like code. Nothing hinted at a hidden meaning.

So there was nothing she could do, about Emily or Nik or Base.
Mac had decided she owed herself—and Brymn-—a few hours without the troubles of the universe.

Brymn seemed to have less difficulty immersing himself in the moment. “It is the very next stop,” he proclaimed cheerfully, waving four arms about. One clutched the ever-present map; the other three, assorted bags. She assumed he'd brought snacks as well.

Mac had saved her cereal bars, but gave herself a carefully small drink of water. Given the rainfall, she hadn't expected a shortage. Then again, she hadn't expected Brymn would be taking her what felt like halfway across—or, more accurately, through—the planet.
Rationing seemed prudent
.

“Next stop, is it?” Mac tried to snatch the map, but his arm bent at an impossible angle to keep it out of her reach.

“You will see,
Lamisah
. Soon enough.”

“Soon enough” translated into the longest distance between two stops yet on their journey through the tube. Mac loosened and rebraided her hair uncounted times. Brymn's bright blue eyelids closed and he let out tiny, quiet hoots, as though dreaming something amusing. Eventually, Mac found a way to scrunch herself into the luggage rack so she could almost nod off, if not quite. The train was making too many turns for her to trust any one position.

They were alone in the car. Fellow travelers—in three instances—had chosen to move elsewhere at their first opportunity.
Nothing to do with her,
Mac decided, though the presence of a Human must seem bizarre to home system Dhryn. It was Brymn the Tourist, who missed no opportunity to praise Haven and explain he was from the colonies, making his first trip back since Freshening and wasn't the tube system a magnificent achievement involving a full century of effort and did they appreciate how many . . .

Mac could recite the spiel verbatim—in fact, it was hard to get the facts and figures to stop dancing around in her head hours later. She gave up and twisted upright again.
Time for another walk.

On straightaways, like this, the train might have been standing at a station. There was no vibration underfoot she could detect.
To avoid interfering with infrasound conversation?
Intriguing concept. As Mac paced down the middle of the empty car, her fingers automatically tugged her braid from its knot and undid it, combing through the hip-length stuff.

Seung was always looking for quieter tech, quieter in terms of whale acoustics. She should arrange for a Dhryn engineer to work with the Preds at Base next season.
You never knew where you'd get a breakthrough,
Mac hummed to herself, splitting her hair into three and rebraiding as she paced.
Or from whom.

Take the Dhryn technology to defend against the Ro. Judging from the tube system and the removal—Mac still found that incredible—of whatever else had orbited Haven's sun, part of that defense relied on physical barriers.
For a reason?
Was the attack on the pods typical Ro behavior, when stealth failed them?

An idea—no, less than that—
a combination of possibilities
paused Mac's busy hands, slowed her feet to a standstill. She adjusted to the slight tilt of the flooring without thinking, accustomed to more unstable surfaces than a polite train.

The Ro hadn't made a single mistake in their attack on Base.

Minimum action for maximum result. The anatomy of a salmon modeled the concept. Power applied where the least amount of effort would push the streamlined body through the water—or air—with the greatest force.

No mistakes, minimal action implied advance planning. Advance planning meant a source of knowledge.

Mac tied her braid in a tight knot and shoved it inside the back of her shirt.
Base wasn't that sophisticated,
she argued with herself,
not to beings who could knock out power and evade sensors
. The Ro didn't need any help.

But she'd told Brymn:
“I seek the truth. It has nothing to do with what I want.”

She'd better damn well mean it.
Mac stared ahead and saw nothing but a face with its trademark smile, a touch lopsided for perfection, which made it so perfectly friendly.

Emily could have given the Ro the plans to Base. She could have told them how best to knock out the power. She could have . . .

Mac ground the heels of her fists into her eyes.

“
Lamisah?
Is something wrong?”

She dropped her hands to meet Brymn's anxious gaze. “Too much thinking, my friend. That's all.”

“Ah. Soon you will have new things to think about. Are you ready?”

Feeling the train slowing beneath her feet, Mac knew what he meant. “I don't suppose you'll tell me now where we're going?” she asked one final time, going to the rack to pick up her bag.

“Where we will stand between one beginning and another.”

“Riddles, now?” She made the effort to smile as she turned to face him. No need to spoil Brymn's pleasure.

He wasn't smiling. She noticed the map was no longer in sight. His body was canted down, not as far as threat, but certainly lower than it had been for the role of Brymn the casual tourist.

This was Brymn with a mission
.

Mac nodded to herself; somehow, she'd known. “This isn't a tour, is it?”

“I wish it could be,
Lamisah,
” the Dhryn said. “But I have something to tell you, something I couldn't mention above, where the air could have ears.”

“You're so sure we're safe here?” The train slowed to a stop. All Mac could see out the windows were walls on both sides, lit only by the lights from the train. It made her feel trapped behind bars.

“If this place isn't safe, Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor, then it is too late for anything we might do to save ourselves.”

Brymn led the way off the train. Once on the platform, Mac understood why he'd sounded so confident.

The walls were dark because they were lined with the same glistening black material as the shroud the Dhryn had tossed over her box on the way station, supposedly able to disrupt the Ro's technology. She followed it with her eyes up to the ceiling, where it became part of the shadows stretching overhead and to either side. There was more underfoot. She wanted to lift her feet from it.
Afraid of a carpet?
Mac scolded herself.