Regeneration (Czerneda) (68 page)

“That’s not the question.” Mac drew another straight line outside the rest, adding an arrow. “You must remember the components. The IU is made up of cultures who view their progress as linear and isolated, who appreciate the role of the Sinzi and Sinzi technology, but as aids to one thing.” She drove a thick, deep furrow through the complex spiral, putting an arrow at the end. “Survival. Together, or apart.”

Fy pulled herself back as if the line were threatening, then leaned forward again. Two fingers explored the air above the drawing. “Remarkable. But if true, we are fundamentally different in our understandings and approach. How do we ever communicate properly?”

The mild complaint made Mac smile. “We keep trying,” she said. “It’s easier when dealing with similar goals. Biology’s helpful that way—living things have a great deal in common.”

“Technology also.” Fy nodded. “There are rarely protests against physics.”

She’d fit in at Base.
Mac laughed, returning to her seat. “So you get my point?”

“We shall see.” The Sinzi tilted her head one way, then the other, as if her two minds considered Mac separately. Then she straightened. “The Grimnoii see Ureif’s support of this Dhryn and the Progenitor ship as an indication that all Sinzi could move away from their—direction.” Fy touched the heavy line. “They fear we make a different choice. That we would abandon them, in favor of the Dhryn.”

Mac was impressed. “And not return. There would be no circularity.”

The Sinzi shuddered, rings glinting. “No future. They must be so afraid.” Her voice rose. “I must share this with Ureif.”

Who probably knows and moves ahead anyway,
Mac told herself,
gripped by the tighter connection, perhaps believing he sees the right course
. “He was Sinzi-ra to the Dhryn, Fy.”

“He bound himself to your promise,” Fy said, as if Mac should realize this by now. “It takes precedence. We must preserve the Interspecies Union.”

Her head hurt.
“That’s part of my promise?”

“How will you get home if the transects fail?”

As this was a question she tried to avoid on the principle of there being no good answer, Mac let it go. “There’s another problem, Fy.” She took a deep breath and plunged. “It’s come to my attention—”
there was a good euphemism for having a code-breaking, moral-free Myg in your pocket
”—that some within the IU believe—it’s ridiculous, of course—but rumors spread. What I mean is, some believe the Sinzi are—” Mac stopped, staring at the graceful being across from her.
She couldn’t say it.

“They believe we are the Myrokynay?” Fy’s fingers shivered in a Sinzi laugh. “Ah! I am learning your face, Mac. It opens like a flower when I surprise you.”

Mac shook her head ruefully. “Consider me in bloom. You knew?”
Had Fourteen sent his message to the Sinzi as well?

“The site at Hift has been the focus of debate and controversy long before I began to work on it, Mac. Some groups claim we found the inspiration for no-space technology elsewhere, moving it to Hift to hide other discoveries. Others claim there was no ancient technology to be found, that we planted clues to cover the theft of vital components from other species.” A dismissive gesture. “And, yes, there have always been those who say we are the Myrokynay’s descendants, that Hift was a long-lost outpost rediscovered. How else would we have known where to look? And so forth. My work, in part, laid those claims to rest. The devices at Hift were made of materials previously unknown to Sinzi.”

“But they are materials used by the Ro?”

“That remains in question,” Fy replied with an almost Human shrug. “We have had none to compare. The Chasm transect stations were replaced before this was a priority. I await an opportunity to examine samples from the ocean floor of Myriam.”

Mac chewed her lower lip, then nodded. “I think there’s something closer.”

“No.”

“That was pretty quick. You could at least think it over.”

Darcy Townee snorted. “What I think, Dr. Connor, is that you should have had enough shuttle rides for one lifetime. And realized our current situation means no travel, no exceptions.”

Fy rested a fingertip on Mac’s shoulder. They’d contacted the consular hangar deck, to find they’d need the captain’s authorization to release the Sinzi’s tiny ship. The next step had been a trip to the bridge, only to find Gillis tied up in a meeting.
Probably looking at them through the wall right now,
Mac thought with irritation.

“Surely I may be permitted to take out my dart? I should inspect the transect station.”

Among other things.
The Sinzi-ra had been galvanized by Mac’s suggestion she investigate the construction of the Progenitor’s ship, so conveniently nearby.

“That’s not up to me, Sinzi-ra. I’m very sorry.”

“Then get him.” Mac pointed to the wall.

Townee gave her a very strange look. “I beg your pardon, Dr. Connor?”

“You heard me.” She took a step and wrapped her hand around the tree trunk, not for support but as warning she was prepared to hold on and stay. “You’re interfering with the business of the Sinzi-ra of Myriam. We’re not leaving until you release the Sinzi-ra’s dart, or get Captain Gillis in here to do so.”

Standing beside her, Fy let her fingers swoop around in a gesture that, while impressive, Mac was reasonably sure meant nothing in particular.
Quick study.

Townee, confronted by insubordinate behavior on her own bridge, by individuals she couldn’t do more than sputter at, turned a dusky red.
Mudge could do it better,
Mac thought rather cheerfully.

They should have stopped by his quarters to collect him.
Nothing like officious moral support.

“Dr. Connor. We are at alert. I will have you removed.”

Mac tightened her grip, the artificial fingers indenting the bark. “You can try,” she offered politely.

“My money’s on the biologist.”

She reacted to that voice before she named it, her heart thudding helplessly in her chest.
Handy tree,
she thought, holding on for dear life.

Nikolai Trojanowski stood at the top of the stairs leading to the meeting room, within the opening left by its sliding door. Captain Gillis and Ureif were with him, as well as Cayhill.

Mac’s resentment vanished in a flash of understanding. Cayhill was supporting Nik, his arm around the other man’s waist, his shoulder under Nik’s arm.
He’d been hurt.

That was how they came down the three wide stairs. Slowly. So slowly she had time to loosen each finger in turn, then walk forward to meet them.

“We wish to leave this ship,” Fy insisted, having come along also.

Mac was close enough to see the amused look Nik gave her. “You do?”

Close enough to see the crusts of burns on his skin, the way his clothes hung loose, how Cayhill was keeping him upright.

She stifled a cry behind her hand, eyes filling with tears. Nik said something she couldn’t hear, pushing free of Cayhill to reach for her. She hurried to take his weight, inhaling sweat, sickness, and pain as she pressed her cheek against his. His hand cupped her head, then slipped. Warned, she held tighter. “Cayhill!”

“I’ve got him. Here.” They eased Nik to the floor, Mac going down first to support his head and shoulders. “I warned you,” Cayhill snapped furiously at no one in particular. “Get a stretcher up here, stat.”

“Is he dead?” This from Fy.

Mac ignored everything but Cayhill, kneeling beside Nik. “How bad is he?”

He gave her a quick look, then resumed going over his new patient. “Until I do a scan and blood work, I won’t know. Doubt he’s slept in days. Signs of dehydration. Those burns—healed, maybe, but look like radiation. Stayed on his feet by will, nothing more.”

“Here.” Mac held her hand over Nik’s lower left rib, drew it up and over to his right side. “He was hurt here. In a fight. About a week ago. I don’t know the weapon.”

Cayhill opened Nik’s shirt, giving a short grunt at what he saw. “I do. Handheld disrupter. Doesn’t look too bad. More direct or prolonged, though . . .” He looked at her. “How did you know?”

Because she remembered the pain as if it had been hers . . .
“We’ve been in touch.”

The stretcher arrived. Mac hovered nearby, finding it strange to watch the smooth practiced motions of Cayhill and his orderlies from her feet, not her back.
As Nik had watched when she’d come on board.

No one spoke to her. There’d been a look or two. A whisper to the captain. The Sinzi stood by, Fy silenced by confusion if nothing else. Mac didn’t have room for her now.

When the stretcher left the bridge, Mac followed.

No one tried to stop her.

By the time Nikolai Trojanowski opened his hazel eyes, Mac had spent a lazy eternity reminding herself of the strong lines of his jaw, the shadows below cheekbone and eyebrow, pooled in the hollow at the base of his throat. She’d already met the wound on his body, now washed and sealed with the rest of his scars.

By the time his eyes focused and puzzled at the ceiling, she’d adjusted the fine chain around his neck, with its paired rings. Each time, she’d practiced what she’d say when he awoke, and changed her mind as often. She’d flushed and paled and finally settled to content.

So by the time his head finally turned on the pillow and those hazel eyes found her, she just smiled. “Took you long enough. Trust Cayhill.” The physician hadn’t asked anyone’s permission before pumping Nik full of sedative as well as nutrients.
Crisis or no.

But when Nik didn’t smile, or speak, or do anything but look at her—his eyes like someone drowning—Mac understood. “I’m really here,” she whispered. “I can prove it.”

She took off her clothes. Careful of the tubes and healing wound, she slipped in beside him, and pressed her body along his. “There. I won’t let go.” She held him while he shook.

And held him after he stopped shaking.

Mac opened her eyes and found Nik looking down at her. “Took you long enough,” he said, his hand resting flat and warm on her hip. His cracked lips twitched into a half smile. “I can’t believe you got Cayhill to put me in your quarters.”

“We’ve reached an understanding.” His hand strayed and she frowned. “An understanding, Mr. Trojanowski, which included you resting.”

“Define ‘resting,’ Dr. Connor.”