Migration: Species Imperative #2 - By Julie E. Czerneda

Acknowledgments

Hardcover part deux! If I’d known the rush I’d get from signing these beauties, I’d have been too excited to finish writing the first one. My sincere thanks to all who took home copies of Survival, including the way you’ve brightened my days since with calls for “more Mac!” Here you go.

The gorgeous look and hopefully sensible contents of this book owe themselves to my always insightful editor, Sheila Gilbert, and the talented folks at DAW Books. A special thanks to Colleen Clarke, of Penguin Canada, for her enthusiastic support. I’d also like to thank these intrepid souls who read first draft: Jihane Billacois, Jana Paniccia, Ruth Stuart, Kristen Britain, and Janny Wurts. Your comments were more than helpful. As I wrote, I was reassured by the wonderful comments of C.J. Cherryh (fan-girl moment), James Alan Gardner, Robert J. Sawyer, Catherine Asaro, Doranna Durgin, and Jack McDevitt on Survival. Thank you all. And I’d be remiss not to mention the superb launch hosted by Bakka Books, where salmon was indeed served.

My first-ever visit to the west coast took place while writing this book. I’d like to thank my gracious hosts: in Seattle, Leslie Howle, Greg and Astrid Bear, and the SF Museum, Nathan Azinger, and Duane of University Bookstore; in Prince George, Rob Budde (UNBC), Lynda Williams, David Lott, Derryl Murphy, and Mosquito Books; while in Vancouver, Dan Archambault and Donald Derrick (Green College, UBC), Walter and Jill of White Dwarf (wow), Margaret McKinnon-Cash, Hazel and Fred Peschl, and Douglas Starink. Hugs to you all! Ahem. About this cover art. You know I wish only the best for Vancouver, but isn’t it glorious how Luis Royo destroyed it for me?

As for Migration, I’ve done my best to reflect what is known now, from geoducks to landscapes. My thanks to these folks for lending me their expertise: Kim McLean (geology and earthquakes), Nathan Azinger (food), Erin Kenny (language), Kevin Maclean (New Zealand), Isaac Szpindel (yet more optics), and Dr. Sally Leys (glass sponges). I was privileged to meet with Dr. Scott Hinch at UBC (a man who knows his salmon). Any factual errors in this book are mine. (If I’ve neglected anyone whose brain I picked for this, please accept my heartfelt apology and/or smack me with a salmon.)

There are real people whose names appear in this story. Gentlemen John Ward and Lee Fyock are back. From charitable auctions come: Frank Wu, who designed and commands his own starship, with teacup; Cathy Palmer-Lister, who named and runs a store in the north woods, and Wendy Carlson, a fine character. A newsgroup contest enlisted Lara Herrera and her son Rob to create a name for me, as did Bobbie Barber and Carol Gaupp, while David Brokman was his noble self. As always, any resemblance to an actual person is unintentional, except for the good bits.

A special note of affection and respect to my dear friends, the Heiers: Linda, Arthur, Mary, and, for always, Eddie. You’ve been with me from the start and I’ve appreciated it more than I can say.

As for my family? Yes! A hardcover book with my photo in it!

You believed, so I did, too.

By what measure

should we

condemn ourselves?

Survival is

a moral choice.

(Recent corridor inscription,

Progenitor’s Hold, Ship.)

- Encounter -

THE GREAT JOURNEY has been renewed. That which is Dhryn has remembered. All that is Dhryn must move.

That which is Dhryn . . . hungers.

That which is Dhryn remembers this place, knows its Taste.

All that is Dhryn must move.

It is the way of the journey, that all follow the Taste.

It is survival.

The language of the Eelings didn’t lend itself to emotion. There was no need; the bioluminescent beings were able to flash patterns of excitement, joy, or strife.

Or fear.

“We have incoming ships,” the transect technician reported. His voice didn’t change, but his lithe body was suddenly ablaze. “Sir.”

There should have been no reason for such a display. There were always incoming ships. The Naralax Transect was like an artery to Ascendis, the Eeling home world, anchored between the orbits of her two moons, constantly pumping trade goods to and from the lush planet, bringing ships to her famed refit stations on the nether moon, sending them away again faster and more powerful. And in debt.

“Multiple collisions. Sir.”

“On my station.” Sometimes a freighter strayed from its assigned path; dealing with aliens and their differing perceptions made that inevitable. The supervisor, as suited One Responsible, covered his feelings beneath an opaque cloak. Despite that caution, as he took in what his own screen now showed, alarm