Regeneration (Czerneda) (38 page)

 

 

 

“
G
ET HER BELOW!” Gillis snapped, already on the move toward his bridge.

“I can—” Mac began, but Townee took her arm in a tight grip, urging her toward the door to the main corridor.

The ship’s alarm cut off as suddenly as it had started.

A not-so-calm voice replaced it. “Standing down. Captain, we’ve a confirmed friendly on docking approach. A bloody fast approach. Permission to synchronize?”

Gillis and Townee exchanged looks. “Who is it, Ming?” she asked.

“You won’t believe this, Exec.” The voice developed a note of awe. “By the spec sheet, it’s a Sinzi transect dart. I’ve never seen one before. No idea how it surprised us—Jim’s looking into it. Could have been tucked behind a freighter we just passed. Sucker’s bending the laws of physics—”

There was a sharp, short whistle.

“Ah, Captain—?”

Gillis shook his head. “I take it synchronization would be redundant.”

“Yes, sir. They’ve docked themselves, sir. Hangar 1A.”

With an unnecessary brush at his uniform and an uninterpretable look at Mac, Gillis headed for the bridge. When the connecting door opened, Mac could see nothing past him but stunned-looking faces.

Even after it closed, Townee remained where she was, eyes swimming with suspicion. “Impeccable timing, Dr. Connor,” she said slowly. “Care to comment?”

Mac tugged her arm free, arranging her face in its best
how should I know?
expression. She’d practiced it often enough with Mudge. “Not really.”

Townee’s eyes hardened. “To my knowledge—and it’s one of those things I would know, Dr. Connor—no Sinzi craft has ever approached and docked with one of ours. To my knowledge,” she emphasized, “the Sinzi have only made appearances on planets, well-planned and prearranged appearances, with the right people in attendance. They don’t sneak around other species’ systems.”

“Sneak?”
The officer’s choice of words made Mac snort. “I thought they were ‘friendlies.’ ”

Townee gestured toward the door. “Everyone’s friendly,” she stated dryly, “until proved otherwise.”

Word spread on board a ship even faster than on Base.
Due no doubt,
Mac decided,
to those on a ship not having to dry off and run up stairs first.
“Sinzi? That’s what they said?”

“Would I make that up?” she said somewhat testily. “Can we get back to the business at hand, people?”

With the Grimnoii in their quarters and the Frow in theirs, Mac had hoped for some time with the seniormost members of Origins.
Gods knew, she had enough to tell them.
It didn’t help that they were having difficulties concentrating, between the alarm itself and its cause. Therin kept puffing, the air setting his mouth tentacles in motion. The Cey, To’o and Da’a, poked fingers into their wrinkles as if searching for lost change, a nervous habit that made Mirabelle, sitting beside them, hold her hand beside her eyes to block the view. Busy writing his next novel, Wilson Kudla wouldn’t leave the quarters he shared with his two acolytes, much to everyone’s relief.

To make up for it, there was Fourteen, who shot up to pace around the table again, drawing yet another glare from Mudge.

“Would you please sit down?” she begged, rubbing her neck. “My head isn’t built on a swivel.”

“Irrelevant,” he grumbled, but dropped back into his chair. They’d taken over the dining area, Mac and Mirabelle taking turns looking under the tables. All was gleaming, including the kitchen.
A tidy ship.
“We need answers!” the Myg declared, his eyes peering from their fleshy lids.

“For once, I agree with Fourteen,” Mudge announced, his frown apparently set in place and now directed at her. “If you don’t have them, Norcoast, we should call one of the ship’s officers for a briefing.”

Townee would just love that,
Mac thought. She rested her fingertips on the table and looked at each of her colleagues, seeing trouble or concern on every face she could read, imagining it there on the ones she couldn’t. “We’ve two days to prep for Myriam,” she reminded them. “Whatever else is going on, you’re heading for the planet surface, to continue our work. Important work. It’s unfortunate there have been some—distractions.”

“Distractions?” Lyle burst out in a laugh. “There’s a Sinzi ship where it shouldn’t be, the Ro have dropped something into the Pacific, and we’re losing you.”

“While gaining
Se
Lasserbee,” she said, her lips curving in a wicked grin. “And friends.”

Lyle made a negating gesture. “You can’t blame me. They told me you authorized them to tag along.”

“Explain to me again why you didn’t request proof of any kind.” This from Mudge, who had yet to forgive the lead archaeologist for what he referred to as a logistical nightmare. Lyle turned a flaming pink and half rose in his seat.

“Let it go, Oversight,” Mac ordered, sorry to have brought that up again. “Lyle. Lyle! Thank you,” as the man sank back down, still scowling fiercely.
Academics and turf wars,
she sighed to herself. “The Sinzi are the captain’s problem, whatever the Ro might have left is Earth’s problem, and I’m hardly lost. For one thing, there could well be features on the derelict ships requiring your expertise, not just someone to read labels. If so, believe me, I’ll be in touch. But before all that—I’ve a question for all of you. About Haven.”

“We-ee are no-ot—” Therin shook from his head down and started over. “We are not experts on modern Dhryn, Mac.”

“We’re the other team, remember?” This from Lyle, obviously still smarting.

“You’re here,” she said.
Likely not making him feel any better.
“What was the state of the Dhryn world when the transect first connected them to the IU?”

By now, they’d learned her stranger questions had a purpose. They looked at one another, unease on the Human faces. Fourteen stirred first. “There are some numbers,” he volunteered. “I will look at them, of course. But . . . Irrelevant? Important? Depends what you are looking for. Can you be more specific?”

“How close to extinction were they? How long—” Mac swallowed, “—how long would the Dhryn have lasted if the Sinzi probe hadn’t arrived when it did? A rough estimate will do.”

“A rough estimate?” Lyle looked flabbergasted. “Where’s this coming from, Mac?”

“Perhaps from perception as much as reality.”

Mac rose to her feet with all the others as they were joined by—her eyes widened and she heard Mirabelle gasp—not one, but two Sinzi.

Behind the tall aliens came Captain Gillis and Executive Officer Townee, both pointedly looking at Mac.

Not everything was her fault,
she thought, rather resentful.

At first, Mac was struck by how much these Sinzi resembled Anchen. The same willowy form and grace, the same deceptively plain white gown, the same rapt attention to everything around them. Even Fourteen was silent.

Their differences gradually registered and she saw them as individuals. A lesser rise of shoulders, with more of an inward bend, made the one male. His fingers bore rings—
lamnas
—of red, their shimmer as he moved disturbingly like blood pouring from several unseen wounds.
Not that it likely looked that way to a Sinzi,
Mac scolded herself. His two great complex eyes were made up of five pairs.
Five minds.
He regarded her solemnly, offering a slight bow at her attention. “Dr. Connor. I am Ureif.”

The second Sinzi bowed as well. Her rings were silver, set with flecks of green. Her eyes were two by two, and not quite aligned with one another.
Probably not the time to ask,
Mac decided, restraining her curiosity. “I am Fy,” the female Sinzi said.

Mac hastily remembered her manners. “May I introduce—”

“You are known to us,” Ureif said smoothly. “Greetings.”

Now what?
The Sinzi made the dining room seem cramped and overly—
Human,
sprang to Mac’s mind, and she smiled involuntarily. “Are you from Anchen?” she asked.

Both raised their fingertips, forming a complex pattern, and gazed through them at Mac where she stood between chair and table.

“We participate,” Fy said unhelpfully.

“Participate in what?” asked Gillis. “I’m still waiting for an explanation. Why are you on my ship?”

The Sinzi showed no sign of being offended. They lowered their long fingers, the sound of their rings an incongruous rain on water. “We participate in the promise,” Ureif said, as if that should explain everything.

This couldn’t be her fault,
Mac told herself, despite the sinking feeling it most likely was. “So. You’re here to—to help out,” she said brightly. “How thoughtful.”

Gillis and the rest looked perplexed. The Sinzi looked solemn.

The Frow who’d just clawed
se’s
cautious way around the corner flung a membrane over
se’s
face and moaned.

While the three massive Grimnoii who crowded in behind, forcing Townee and the captain to move or risk their toes, and sending the poor Frow tumbling out of sight with a squeal?

They gave a brisk salute and announced: “Sinzi-ra Myriam. Sinzi-ra
Annapolis Joy.
Your quarters for the voyage are prepared and ready.”

There were times,
Mac decided,
you just had to roll with it.

She offered the beleaguered captain a cheery smile.

The
Annapolis Joy
did have a proper meeting room, Mac discovered sometime later. Like all meeting rooms of her experience, the victim was put at one end of a ridiculously large table, while all others took seats where they could stare at said victim. Although she’d never been able to prove it, she was also convinced such rooms tweaked environmental controls to create a zone of lower oxygen and temperature.
As for the sacrificial chair?
Mac thought grimly as she took her seat.
Its comfort wouldn’t last.

Mudge sank into the first seat to her right. “This is amazing, Norcoast,” he whispered in a husky voice. “Simply amazing. What a privilege.”

Mac glanced at the source of his ecstasy. The left wall of the meeting room was transparent, giving them a full view of the
Joy’s
main bridge. Which could have been, so far as she could tell, any assortment of consoles, hovering ’screens, and intent operators from the Atrium.

The tree, looking as embarrassed as foliage in that setting possibly could, stood guard beside the door to what Mac assumed was the captain’s office. From here, she couldn’t tell quite what kind it was. Healthy. Its upper branches had grown into the ceiling panels, leafy tips poking back out seemingly at random. Its irregular shape implied judicious trimming was all that kept it from blocking the door.

Was the tree a revelation about Gillis,
she wondered,
or a legacy he’s had to endure?
It might be helpful to know.

She could use any help possible. The captain hadn’t been impressed to learn his visitors were now passengers. After the Sinzi left with the surprisingly alert Grimnoii, he’d scowled at her.

And all he’d said was, “Dr. Connor.”
In that voice o’doom.

Townee had jerked her head for Mac to accompany them as she’d walked out with Gillis.

Without being asked, Mudge and Fourteen had appointed themselves her escorts and tagged along.
Moral support or morbid curiosity.
A couple of crew had met them at the entry station, then all five had squeezed into a bolus for rapid transit here. The captain and his first officer had taken their own, apparently having another stop to make first.

The Myg, uncharacteristically silent, now sat to Mac’s left. He’d immediately busied himself with multiple imps, setting up palm-sized ’screens which he continued to study intently.