Survival (58 page)

24

 

 

 

“‘YES?' THAT'S all you have to say?” Mac kept her hand on Brymn.

Emily leaned forward. “No. That's not all.” Her eyes flashed with fury. “We had a chance to end it for good. You gave us that chance, Mac. You and my Tracer, with some modifications. The Dhryn had learned to shield themselves from the Myrokynay's scanners, to keep out their scouts. We couldn't sample the population anymore. All we could do was wait for the signs—”

Mac cut in, her own voice hoarse with passion. “Signs? Of what? Did traveling with them scramble what's between your ears, Emily? Or have you somehow failed to notice it's your damn Ro killing people—not the Dhryn!”

“Some casualties—”

“You helped them sink Pod Six. It was midday, Emily. You know how many students were in it. You know who they were.” They both rose to their feet, but Mac didn't let Emily speak. She flung her hand toward Brymn. “I lived with them, Em. Thanks to you and your ‘friends,' I know the Dhryn better than most of my own relatives. They're alien, I'll grant you, but they're a lot closer to us than your murderers.”

“Don't you think I wanted them to be wrong?” Just as hot; just as sure. “Don't you think I went over the data—searched for another answer—did everything I could
not
to believe them? Gods, Mac, you should trust me by now!”

Dry-eyed and utterly still, Mac let the words drop between them, listening to the sigh of air over the ruins and the slither of dust that followed.

Emily spat out a string of Quechua epithets and went to the bags, digging through them with a violence that promised to leave little intact. She pulled out a too-familiar waist pouch. “Here.” The pouch landed at Mac's feet, stirring a knee-high cloud. “My personal logs are in there, too. The real ones.”

Mac bent down and picked up the pouch. She opened it and looked inside. Both links and the envelope. “So you aren't a thief,” she said coldly. “Yet.” The words were to give her time to think.
The imp from Nik—had it sent its record? Could it tell them where to find her? Could a Human ship reach this system at all?

“I know what's in there, Mac. I know you respected my privacy enough to keep what you thought were my logs in your own imp, away from our Nikolai and his cronies.”

The logs?
“. . . sensory overload on top of the sub-teach.”
Had she dreamed hearing that?
Mac worked her mouth around the words without speaking them, finding the movement of her lips and tongue suddenly unfamiliar. “What language—?” she fumbled.

Emily's expression was grim. “Some of the Myrokynay defense systems are cued to the sound of Dhryn. You were muttering it. For all our sakes, I retaught you English and Instella. I don't know what Dhryn you'll recall, but I advise you not to use it.”

“No ‘is this okay with you, Mac?' Or ‘do you mind if I meddle with your brain again, Mac?' ” Mac growled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Hey, I left your imps alone—with the exception of adding my logs to both.”

“Both?” Mac tried to look puzzled.

Emily's laugh was forced. “Don't bother. We knew all along, between the tech we have and knowing the Ministry's standard operating procedure. Which included that beacon they stuck in you. Boosted the gain for our needs nicely. Don't worry,” she said, misinterpreting Mac's look of dismay. “I've sent your location. We want you found.”

“So you can kill Nik when he comes for us?” Mac accused. “That is your next move, isn't it? To kill anyone and everyone who knows about the Ro and their tech?”

“Mackenzie Connor!”

“What?” Mac countered icily. “Can you be shocked at any level? Is that still possible, Dr. Mamani?”

Emily ducked her head then looked up, the ghost of the old smile on her lips. “Well, the hair was a surprise. What did you use? A filleting knife? And those clothes . . .”

They were enemies.
How could they still feel like friends?

“Damn you, Em,” Mac said, feeling the rage draining from her, leaving something harder to name behind.

“That's what my dear mama always said.”

“Wise woman.”

“Stubborn, too.”

“And you aren't?”

“I've known worse. A certain salmon researcher comes to mind.”

“Salmon.” Mac squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “I don't begin to understand how we got here,” she waved one hand at the desolation, “from Field Station Six. I don't want to know, to be honest. But wanting—it's not something you and I can put first, is it?”

Emily shook her head, once, her dark eyes suspiciously bright.

“Where do we go from here, Em?” Mac asked wearily.

“You? You go over that hill.” Emily's long fingers traced the low rise before the next cluster of ruins. “You'll find some people there, including Humans. They'll take care of you until the cavalry charges into orbit. Archaeologists, treasure seekers, ghoul hunters. I doubt they know what this place is. He will.” She nodded at Brymn, still unconscious on the dusty rock. “You do,” with a challenging look.

“The Chasm—and the Dhryn Homeworld.”

“The start of it all, Mac. You'll find some of the answers here. Don't take too long. Time isn't on your side.”

“And you?”

Emily drew herself up, her face assuming an expression Mac hadn't seen before. Regal, determined, and unutterably grim. “The Interspecies Union picked the wrong enemy, Mac, and won. Now you'll face the real one and lose—unless I can convince the Myrokynay not to abandon our sector of space.”

“You're going with them.”

“It's the only way.”

Mac took a step closer, held out her hands. “It isn't. If there's something dangerous about the Dhryn, you can warn us. If there's something about the Ro—the Myrokynay—we need to know, you can help us communicate with them. You don't have to leave.”

Emily took Mac's hands in hers. “It's not that easy, Mac,” she said, turning their clasped hands so the tear in her left sleeve was uppermost.

Mac gasped. The cast that should have been there was gone.
It had only been a disguise
.

The skin that should have been there was gone, too—replaced by what looked like a slice of space, dark as pitch and dusted with stars. Mac gripped the fingers within hers as tightly as she could, as if Emily might drift away at any moment. “What is that?” she breathed.

“It's what it appears to be,” Emily said gently. “The Myrokynay use space and no-space the way we use electronics or sound. This—diversion—of my body is part of what allows me to communicate with them, helps me endure travel on the trans-ships. It—I think the closest description is that it enfolds me as required.”

“Can it be removed?” Mac released Emily's right hand, so hers could ease open the tear. The slice of space continued up the other woman's arm, but didn't encompass it. Tanned, olive-toned skin edged the depths.
Life guarded the emptiness
.

“Some changes are for the better,” Emily said evasively, using her free hand to ruffle Mac's new curls.

“Em—” Before Mac could finish, Emily let go and took a step back.

“As I said, time's not a friend. My ride's waiting and they've been unusually patient while you recovered.”

Mac sent a despairing look at Brymn. “Brymn has saved my life. He's as dear to me as—as you are. At least tell me why I'm supposed to fear his kind.”

“I—” Emily shook her head. “Mac, I don't know all the details. I've put everything I could beg or steal from the Myrokynay in the imps. I hope you can work it out. I do know one thing. It involves the metamorphosis. That's why the Myrokynay wanted to check the Dhryn offspring before they became adults. They were watching for a particular change in the species. Something that's happened before.”

“Before—before when?”

“Before this.” It was Emily's turn to wave at their surroundings. “Before the Myrokynay understood that not every species should be given the ability to leave their systems. Before the Dhryn—” She winced, drawing her left arm to her side. “They're calling me. Mac, I have to go—now.”

“Be sure you're back before the next field season, okay?” Mac warned, her voice unsteady. “And don't be late. We've work—work to do.”

“I will. I'll try.” With each word, Emily backed a step, as if it was important to put space between them. “Look after the old rock for me.”

Mac lifted a hand in acknowledgment, no longer trusting her voice. Dust began to whirl between them.
A Ro version of a skim
, she assumed. Yet she could see Emily through it, see the tears scoring the dust on her face.

“Mac!” The urgent words sounded oddly distant. “The Ro never took adult Dhryn because of the risk. Injury can trigger the next metamorphosis. Be careful!”

This from the woman leaving in an invisible ship?
Mac found herself smiling through her own tears. “You, too!”

The dust grew to a column taller than Mac and she moved away, covering her mouth and nose with one hand.

The dust blew past her in a single, violent gust, then the air grew still again.

Emily was gone.

Mac smeared away dust and tears with the back of her hand. “A camp over the hill—possibly with real food,” she reminded herself in a thick voice. “Human ships on their way—possibly containing someone I—well, someone. Life could be worse.” She glanced at the very still, very large Dhryn decorating the rock. “Okay, so maybe there's still a problem.”

But it was a Mac-sized problem, as opposed to an end-of-life-as-we-know-it-sized problem.
She busied herself at the bags, presuming Emily had left them for her use.

The first contained more strips of the shroud fabric. Toxic-to-Ro waste being dumped on her? Discards from Ro experiments? Trophies? It didn't matter. The stuff was soft and strong, so Mac stretched out each strip, organizing them by size. None were quite as large as Brymn, but together she had enough for either a shelter or a sled.

The second bag proved more interesting. That was the one where Emily had stashed Mac's waist pouch. Sure enough, Mac pulled out several long boxes. Two contained stiff brushes of varying sizes, an assortment of drills, sieves, and hand scanners—all well-used. The tools of an archaeologist. Emily's own, perhaps.

Well,
Mac thought, putting them aside,
they were probably of more use on this planet than those of a biologist.

The next box contained a tent, sleeping bag, and other outdoor equipment, definitely not new. Mac hoped not to be out here long enough to need them, especially after she opened the last box.

No food or water. No signaling device. The box was full of bright scarves and baskets, dresses and shoes. A folded jewelry case. Emily's notion of traveling equipped, back when she traveled with Humans.

Mac closed the lid carefully, her hands shaking.

“No clouds. It's going to be cold at night.” The dryness of the air didn't promise much in the way of condensation, but Mac knew, in principle, how to make a dew-catcher. Dhryn physiology gave her another source of water, but she'd have to be very thirsty before she'd go that route again.

However, her priority was Brymn himself, so she went to sit beside the big alien. “We've three—make that four—choices,” she told him, stroking the handless arm. “I find a way to wake you up and we walk to the camp. I drag you to the camp. I go to the camp and bring back help. Or we both wait here for the ships Emily said will be coming.” Mac sighed. “I agree. There's only one choice,” she said, as if the unconscious Brymn had expressed an opinion. “Who knows how far the permanent transect is from this planet? They could take days getting here from there. I don't want to leave you—and I doubt I could roll you onto a sled, let alone pull it. We'll try the waking up.”