Survival (59 page)

She'd been thinking about this. The composition of the ruins, here at least, appeared mostly ceramic, with some natural rock beneath. Perhaps the original building had been tucked against a cliff. Brymn was lying on what might have been a floor. Or a collapsed roof.

It took Mac a few moments to find the implement she wanted, a rounded, solid piece of stone. She pushed Brymn's head so one ear was against the floor, then took a few steps away. Lifting the rock over her head, Mac let it fall.

Definitely a vibration beneath her feet, as well as the sound of the rock smacking into the ground. The Dhryn didn't so much as twitch.

She retrieved the rock, lifted, and dropped it again.

And again.

And again.
Had an eyelid moved?

Her arms began shaking as she lifted the stone yet again. “C'mon, Brymn,” Mac urged, keeping her voice as low-pitched as possible. Down went the rock.

His eyes shot open. Mac rubbed her sore arms as she hurried to his side, falling to her knees. “Brymn. Brymn!” She hesitated, belatedly remembering the violence of his last awakening, and prepared to scramble away if it was repeated. “Brymn?”

Fortunately, this time all the Dhryn did was open his eyes and turn his big head in the direction of her voice. “Mac,” he said weakly, his mouth working as though struggling to find words. “What—? Where—?”

“What was Emily. She'd arranged for us to be scooped up from Haven during the Ro attack. Where?” Mac found a smile. “Where you've wanted to go since you first believed it existed,
Lamisah
. Home.”

“I really think we should find that camp before nightfall,” Mac observed, not for the first time. She had to grant Brymn was enthusiastic about his subject. Once he'd fully comprehended where they were, he had to explore everything, consumed by the wonder of Dhryn artifacts older than any he'd seen before. Mac had made the mistake of mentioning Emily's toolboxes, so now he was waist-deep, in Human reckoning, in a hole whose location Mac suspected was pretty much a matter of chance, humming to himself. She had to admit, multiple arms made for quick digging.

However, the sun was closing in on the far horizon, stretching long fingerlike shadows in the direction they should be heading.
Now
.

“Brymn. We can come back tomorrow. For all you know, there's a better site over the hill.”

“I'm almost through to the next level. The floors collapsed on one another, Mac. It's quite fascinating.”

Mac stood up and brushed futilely at the dust coating her arms and legs. “What's going to be fascinating is seeing if you can keep up with me.”

Two giant yellow-irised eyes appeared at the top of the hole. “You wouldn't leave me, Mac?” He'd turned from blue to gray with dust. “I don't feel safe without you.”

The Dhryn outmassed her two to one, not to mention his extra appendages. He was also a touch superstitious. Mac sighed and assured him again: “There are no such things as Chasm Ghouls, Brymn.”

“How do we know for sure?”

She shook her head.
Archaeologists
. “Nothing could live here.” Mac had used one of the hand scanners to test the dust and air. No organics. Almost no water.

“Something did,” Brymn pronounced, as if this was proof.

“Yes, something did.” Mac looked into the distance. The shadows teased images of the original buildings from the ruins, their odd angles joining into a growing darkness.

The Dhryn used his upper arms to pull himself from the hole, like a sea lion climbing on shore. “You don't believe what Emily said, do you?” he asked in a low rumble after standing. “About the Dhryn and the Ro—the Myrokynay? You don't believe we could harm other species, that we caused this ourselves?” He didn't bother to indicate the ruins.

“I—I know that we don't know,” Mac said with frustration. “All we have is finger-pointing, like two kids standing beside a broken skim, each blaming the other. Who to believe? Your Progenitors? The one who spoke to us admitted to hiding your past. The Ro? I'm hardly sympathetic to a culture that either hides or kills, but that could be Human prejudice. I'm a salmon researcher, Brymn, not a diplomat.” Mac controlled herself. “What matters is that people are dying and this place . . . this place could hold some answers. That's what Emily said.”

“So I should keep digging,” Brymn offered hopefully.

“So we should walk over that hill and learn what's already been found.”

“Are all Humans this stubborn?” he asked.

Mac began piling the boxes under the shroud fabric, using stones to hold the material in place. “There's worse things to be,” she said.

There wasn't a roadway or tracks to guide them, but Mac had memorized the most distinctively shaped ruins as landmarks. She was hoping those at their destination would have lights up and running. Despite finally budging Brymn from his hole, they'd be lucky not to be walking in full darkness before reaching Emily's promised camp.

The one thing Mac didn't doubt was that the camp existed. Emily would have left her rations and water if there had been any doubt she could find those on her own. While Mac was unhappily sure Emily could commit murder if she had to, it wouldn't be like this, by marooning her friend on a desert planet.

She and Brymn carried only what they wore. As for weapons—or proof of identity? Mac was counting on the envelope in the pouch, now safely under her clothes and around her waist.

The terrain rose in low upward swells, but the footing was better than Mac had expected. The dust had been blown into firm curls and dunes, often exposing the tiles of what might have been courtyards and walkways. Her boots created echoes. They rarely had to walk around the remains of walls, although there were tall piles of debris. Mac was uncomfortably aware that this meant the buildings had been destroyed, not left to time and the elements. She was even more uneasy about the lack of life. It was one thing to read about the Chasm and its stripped worlds—quite another to be the only living things on one.

Brymn, on the other hand, was thrilled to his core, keeping up an unceasing commentary on their surroundings. “Do you see that . . .” indicating a partial archway that looked like all the rest. “Could we stop and measure . . .” this, concerning a raised basin, filled with dust. “This could be a good place to stop and rest . . .” at almost every new ruin they passed.

Finally, her feet starting to hurt and far too thirsty for patience, Mac snapped at him: “Must you talk the entire way?”

Brymn was silent for several more footfalls, then said in a small voice: “Dhryn worlds are never this quiet.”

“Oh.” Mac ran the fingers of one hand through her hair. “I could hum.”

He tilted his head to look down at her. “You mock me?”

Mac kept any hint of a smile from her face. “Never. Humming makes it easier to hike.”

“Ah. Then we shall hum together.”

And they did.

“Who's out there?”

The faceless challenge in Instella was reassuring. Mac put her hand on Brymn's nearest arm to hold him beside her. They'd just crested the top of the hill and, as Emily'd promised, there was a collection of tents and a solar array below, all the markings of a field camp. Mac felt a certain sense of homecoming. The tents were illuminated from within—everyone settling in for the night.

They likely hadn't expected humming from the darkness. Discordant humming at that.

“Drs. Mackenzie Connor and Brymn Las,” she called down. “We're looking for shelter.”

The subsequent rush of bodies from the tents was even more familiar.
Grad students,
Mac thought fondly.

A very short while later, she and Brymn were seated in the largest tent, surrounded by curious faces. Well, she assumed the look on the faces of the four Cey was curiosity and not indigestion, and it was anyone's guess what was under the writhing mass of tentacles that served the five Sthlynii for mouths, but the Humans, in the majority here, were unabashedly bright eyed and intrigued.

Mac smiled at them all before taking another sip from the glass of juice they'd provided, her taste buds sparking with joy.

“Yes. We have Ministry ships insystem, Dr. Connor, and on approach. They're about two days from here. Yours?” Lyle Kanaci was the group's spokesperson—a short, chubby Human with pigmentless hair and skin. Mac found this living evidence of diversity within her own species fascinating and had to remind herself not to stare.

“My ships? Unless you were expecting visitors, they should be,” Mac said.

“Weeee dooon't aaaallooow viiisiiitooors.” The Sthlynii who hissed this leaned over the table, saliva dripping from its tentacles.

Mac felt Brymn's annoyed rumble and nudged him. “Good, good. That's essential to our work, isn't it, Dr. Brymn Las?”

Either his new name or her nudge conveyed the desired message. “Essential. As is the availability of . . .” Brymn began to rattle off technical questions about the camp's equipment, excavations, findings, and other minutiae understood only by archaeologists. Mac settled into her chair, trying to decide between cookies and soup.

It hadn't hurt their reputations one bit that the text of choice in the camp was Brymn's collected works, a discovery that meant Mac didn't have to produce her envelope, nor explain her clothing.

Much better to be accepted as one of the group
.

Mac nibbled and watched, finding herself less comforted by the Human faces than she'd expected.
Probably instinct,
she told herself. Several should have had “crackpot” stenciled on their foreheads before being allowed out, just to save time. She knew the type. They probably slept with “Chasm Ghouls—They Exist and Speak to Me” and hoped desperately for an encounter with the undead.

On the way here, she and Brymn had discussed whether or not to reveal that this world had been home to the Dhryn. In the end, it was a moot point. Despite the presence of several nonscientists, the rest were doing significant work here. They'd already determined the former inhabitants had been Dhryn. In fact, they'd sent their findings to the Progenitors but had received no acknowledgment.
No surprise,
Mac thought. They'd been worrying about the protocols involved in releasing such information elsewhere without permission.

Yet another reason they were overjoyed to see Brymn.

Mac's first opportunity to ask her own questions came when the majority of the camp researchers headed off to rearrange the sleeping quarters to accommodate the new arrivals.
First things first
. “Brymn,” she whispered. “Can you eat any of this?”

“It is not permitted to eat that which is not made by Dhryn.”

Great.
“Preference or physiology?”

“Are they not the same?”

Mac snorted. “One you can bend; the other bites back.”

“Ah.” He considered. “My preference, then, would be to wait until the ships arrive with your fine medical supplies, in case of bites.”

She grinned. “Converted you, have I?”

He looked smug. “I have always been open to new ideas, Mac.”

“I'll remind you of that,” she warned, then spotted Lyle deep in conversation with someone who'd just entered the tent. From the way those nearby stopped talking and turned to listen, the news was either very good or very bad. Mac stood. “Excuse me a moment.”

Lyle saw her coming and waved her over. “Dr. Connor. This is Nicli, our meteorologist.”

Another Human, female, in a coat buttoned against the growing chill outside. She gave the newcomer a distracted glance before turning her attention back to Lyle. “We have to lock everything down. It's the biggest event we've had yet.”