Mac sat back in the jelly-chair, letting her shoulders sink into its soothing warmth. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.” She nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“This is not how it ‘feels’ to me, Mac. In Sinzi terms, your proposal instills profound circularity by its plan to reattach sundered connections. The importance of any connection is demonstrated by the effort—the distance traveled—to accomplish it. Thus, this is a proposal I find aesthetically as well as fundamentally, worthy. ‘Right,’ in your terms. In our different ways, we seek the same result—to restore what was broken. To build harmony.”
Mac held her breath, feeling close to grasping something innate about the Sinzi, about the transects and the IU itself. “The Atrium,” she said finally. “The layout is inefficient by Human standards—researchers have to use a levplatform or walk halfway around the consulate to meet face-to-face.” More than inefficient, Lyle considered it a slight, as if they didn’t belong with other scientists—archaeologists were touchy that way. Mac hadn’t been sure. “But it isn’t inefficient to you as a Sinzi, is it? Because the act of physically seeking each other matters.” Perhaps explaining why the Sinzi-ra, despite being in charge of the consulate, constantly roamed its halls and rooms. Intriguing. Mac wriggled to sit straighter again.
Anchen tilted her head sharply left, as though Mac had drawn the profound attention of one of her personalities. “You are unusually perceptive today, Mac. Yes. To move to a common meeting point is the highest of courtesies. Effort reflects the significance of the desired meeting. Even symbolic travel, as done using the platforms, helps set the appropriate tone of connection.”
“That’s why you brought experts from all over the IU here, to the Gathering.” Mac took the plunge. “Having them move through the transects was a message to all Sinzi. Or from the Sinzi. Or both. A demonstration of the significance of the Dhryn threat.”
“We felt a profound need for congruence on this issue,” Anchen replied, giving a gracious bow as her fingertips sought one another. Mac wasn’t sure if it was agreement or explanation. The danger with interspecies communication, she cautioned herself, wasn’t when it went wrong, but when it seemed to make sense. “We value the synergy of coming together. The Gathering proved insightful, as you know.”
“But now you’ve had to send everyone away. What message does that give?” Probably not the most tactful question, Mac realized, too late.
“Message? It is the essential reflection, Mac. That which must take place after congruence. Circularity is movement. Congruence grants momentum. The farther we dare go from one another, while remaining always part, the stronger we—” The Sinzi tilted her head the other way and made a soothing gesture. “My apologies. I have lapsed into language inappropriate for discourse with an alien.”
“If we stick to shrimp, we’ll never understand one another,” Mac assured her.
This drew a laugh, but when Anchen’s fingers settled, she pursed her small mouth in a less happy expression. “I will miss our conversations.”
The words took a moment to sink in. Then Mac struggled to her feet. “We can go?”
“Yes. However, there must be preparations.”
Mac nodded and sank back into her chair, already thinking ahead to her own. Her heart was hammering. She’d wanted this outcome—it was another thing entirely to have it. Then, something in the alien’s emphasis caught her attention. “What preparations, Sinzi-ra?”
“Although Dr. P’tool makes progress developing a teachable pattern for the Dhryn language, with the cooperation of the Vessel, it will not be ready for some time. We may need you.” Two fingers lifted as Mac opened her mouth. She closed it. “For this reason,” Anchen continued, “a transect-capable ship will remain in orbit while you are on Myriam. I trust it will not be required. There is considerable circularity in using that world for any negotiations, should we achieve that stage.”
Mac swallowed. “You’d rather bring the Dhryn to me,” she said, numbly contemplating the immense power and scope of the Interspecies Union, focused on one, out-of-water, salmon researcher.
It made sense beyond the Sinzi aesthetic. The Chasm worlds were already dead. Myriam was as close, through the Naralax Transect, as any other world connected along its reach, including Earth. There was just one small problem.
“I study salmon,” Mac repeated aloud.
That tiny smile and a gentle correction, “You study life, Mackenzie Connor. But don’t worry. In the event you are needed to translate, there will be senior diplomats to handle every aspect of the negotiations.”
“Great. You’d better send someone to translate them for me,” Mac muttered.
Anchen ignored the mutter, bringing her fingers together in a complex arch. New topic, Mac guessed. Sure enough. “You realize several here will protest losing their access to Dr. Mamani.”
“The idiot faction,” Mac identified without thinking. “I didn’t mean that,” she said hastily, then winced. How confusing could she be? “I do,” she admitted. “I just didn’t intend to say it. I apologize.”
“There is no need.” Anchen made a soothing gesture. “I envy your ability to speak what you mean.”
Mac had to laugh. “Trust me, it’s not a gift.”
“You could start a war by yourself,” the Sinzi agreed with remarkable complacency. “Hence the urgent need for diplomats.” Before Mac could protest, the alien smiled at her. “A joke. You have shown gratifying restraint under difficult circumstances.”
Well, she hadn’t thrown anything, Mac thought. Lately. Despite temptation. She took advantage of the Sinzi’s mood to ask what she hadn’t dared before. “You agree with me, don’t you? About the idiots.”
“I agree that some of my colleagues on council have failed to overcome species’ bias when interpreting the actions of others.” The alien swayed to the left, then back. “It is more common than not, Mac.”
“Interpretation?” Mac couldn’t help herself: “The Ro are the threat, not potential allies! Their actions proved it!”
“Through your eyes.” A lifted finger silenced Mac’s response to that. The Sinzi went on: “Through other eyes, other minds, Mac, the same actions encourage differing conclusions. Actions alone, facts alone, are never enough. They must be considered within the species imperative. What matters to the Myrokynay? What is their nature? All of us must learn to see as they see before we can grasp their true motivations. That is why your exploration of the past is so important.”
Mac scowled. “I deal in facts. The Ro are the enemy. Everything I’ve discovered supports that.”
“Are the walls of the consulate featureless and white?” The Sinzi steepled all of her fingers, their rings cascading down with a sound like rain on ice. “Is this a fact?”
Checkmate.
If she said yes, the Sinzi would correctly inform her they were white only to her Human eyes. If she said no, she was admitting the Sinzi was right—that knowledge about an alien species was crucial to interpreting the actions of that species.
Mac shrugged it aside, not ready to surrender. “What if the imperative for the Ro is to destroy all other forms of life, starting with anyone who dares tamper with no-space?”
“Then our survival will depend on how quickly and well we answer that question, Mackenzie Connor.” The Sinzi stood and two staff appeared in the doorway as if this had been a summons. “You know what to do, I trust.”
Mac rose to her feet, but stayed where she was. “My team’s ready to go,” she stated. More than ready. Kanaci kept his clothes packed, according to Oversight. “But, Anchen. About Emily. I’d like to talk over the arrangements—”
Instead of responding, Anchen beckoned to her staff. One, a male, passed her a silver ring, just like any of the hundreds adorning her fingers from shoulder to final joint. Light reflected in a quick flash as her fingertip rolled to hold it. “Perfect,” she said, her voice pleased. The finger, with its contents, reached toward Mac. “For you.”
Mac took
the smooth ring in her hand. Already warmed by the Sinzi’s touch—implying a higher body temperature—it was a plain circle of precious metal. When she tried it on, it slipped over her right ring finger, fitting as if made for it. A good-bye gift? “Thank you, Sinzi-ra,” she said, nonplussed.
The staff glanced at Anchen for permission. At her nod, he said: “It is a Sinzi lamnas—a private communications device, Dr. Connor. Each lamnas accepts only one message, intended for a sole recipient.”
Which meant . . . Mac’s eyes widened and she stared at Anchen’s ring-coated fingers. She couldn’t begin to imagine why a Sinzi would want to carry his or her mail this way, yet the small devices were obviously designed to be worn, perhaps at all times. And were the ones Anchen bore messages received or those waiting to be sent? She couldn’t see any outward differences.
Before she could frame her curiosity into questions, the Sinzi gestured to the ring in Mac’s hand. “This arrived today, in a transect com packet from the Impeci. You are the recipient.”
The ship name wasn’t familiar. Which didn’t mean anything. “Why would you think it’s for me?” Mac asked, proud of the evenness of her voice. Hope wasn’t familiar, either; her heart began to pound with it.
With a left finger, Anchen stroked the rings on a right, setting up a faint cascading chime. “Each Sinzi-ra carries a supply of lamnas, uniquely marked, with which to send information,” she explained. Explaining those she wore. “That is one of four Nikolai asked of me before he left.”
Mac’s fingers closed around the gift, her mouth forming a silent: Oh.
Anchen pulled free one of her rings. “It functions thus. To record.” She brought the ring, encircled by her flexible fingertip, to touch her pursed triangular lips. She blew gently, then opened her mouth further to place the ring on her tongue. Her lips closed over it. After an instant in which Mac couldn’t see anything happening, Anchen removed the ring and gave it to the waiting staff. “At first, Mac, I doubted. A Human, even one with so disciplined a mind as Nikolai, imprint a lamnas? But he insisted on making the attempt, and I could not refuse him. We share a deep and abiding connection.” Fingertips touched. “The results were—interesting. Be aware, Mac, this is not a message which can be decoded and sent to another device. This is an imprint, affected by intent as much as event. I cannot say how your mind will interpret the result.”
“So—it might not work at all,” Mac ventured, her hope of an instant before fading.
“Oh, it will. But how? That only you can discover. To receive, act thus.” The Sinzi chose another ring, identical to the rest as far as Mac could tell from a distance, and repeated the same initial movements, touch to the lips, a breath through the ring, but finished by holding the ring to one of her eyes, looking through its tiny circle. As if to avoid distraction, Anchen brought this ring down again quickly and replaced it on her finger, shaking it up to join the rest.
“Now, if you will excuse me, Mac, I am reminded of an appointment—”
Somehow, Mac wrenched her mind to the business at hand, preparing to stand her ground. Emily. If there was one thing she’d learned in dealing with bureaucracy—or aliens or most particularly alien bureaucracy—it was to never leave without a final answer. Ideally signed and sealed. “We need to talk about Emily.”
Anchen turned so all of her eyes were directly on Mac, one finger sending her staff to other duties. “Be assured I have given this considerable thought. Dr. Stewart appears capable of monitoring Dr. Mamani’s recovery, given instruction. I myself will be available to Dr. Mamani at any time via secure com to discuss her memories. What remains an issue . . . Mac, as you yourself said, there are many in the IU interested in your friend’s relationship with the Myrokynay, ‘idiots’ and otherwise. I expect more delegates later this week. Sending her anywhere else on Earth ends their access except through your Ministry. I must consult with Mr. Hollans. There must be arrangements in advance, mutually agreed—”
“Or one lev, tonight,” Mac interrupted, taking a step closer. “Discuss the details after she’s gone. You can arrange vid meetings with Emily for those who want to talk to her. In the open, with you present. Whatever it takes.”
Anchen bent until the tops of her eyes were aimed at Mac. It was so unusual a posture Mac guessed she’d attracted the particular attention of Casmii, the IU judge.
That wasn’t, she decided, necessarily good.
“Relations between the Frow and Trisulian delegations have been strained over this issue,” the Sinzi-ra mused. “There is merit in distancing the source of contention. It could serve to return attention to the problem at hand: developing a defense against the Dhryn.”
Or, it could be good. Mac brightened. “We can be out of your way in no time.”
“ ‘We,’ Mac?”
“I have to go with her,” she explained, although surely it was obvious even to an alien with tentacle fingers. “I’ll need to talk to Dr. Noyo and the other senior staff—make sure Emily’s settled.”
“How long would this process take?”
Mac pushed aside wistful thoughts of visiting field stations, inspecting the new anchors, and generally being a nuisance to Kammie and Tie, who were doubtless looking after all of the above and more. “Three days,” she proposed and did her best to look regretful. “I realize I’ll miss some meetings.”
“I doubt that troubles you,” the Sinzi commented shrewdly. “But, yes, so long an absence would be noticed.” She paused—consulting her selves? Mac wondered—then tilted into her more usual posture. “It is not impossible. I should be able to schedule your team’s departure for the Chasm to allow time for you to ‘settle’ Dr. Mamani and still meet them in orbit. The meetings—I will arrange a means of obtaining your input even while you are on Myriam.” Of course she would, Mac sighed to herself. “You,” Anchen finished, “face the more difficult task.”
Mac, in the midst of congratulating herself for everything but the meetings, gave the Sinzi a suspicious look. “What might that be?”
“Convincing Dr. Mamani.”
No problem.
Emily, Mac told herself, would love the plan.
Permission to free Emily from the consulate. Away from reminders and questions.
A private message from Nik.
And a return to Base!
If she’d been impatient before, Mac was nigh on to frantic now. Her mind whirling with plans, arguments, and the tendency to simply stall in possibilities, she somehow managed not to run down the ramplike hallway. Not quite, anyway. Her low-impact lope couldn’t have been mistaken for a walk by any being. Maybe it would stop anyone from pestering her on the way.
“Ah! There you are, Norcoast.”
Or not.
Mac growled under her breath but waited for Mudge to catch up to her. There wasn’t a window, but diffuse light filled the hollow core of the building. If she walked to the corridor’s edge, she would see how its gentle slope spiraled to connect the main floors. And probably startle a few pigeons. “In a bit of a rush, Oversight—” she began.
As well talk to the walls. Charles Mudge III had successfully fought his end of their interminable arguments about Base’s access to his Wilderness Trust for fourteen years. His recent career change to Mac’s admittedly invaluable assistant, administering all the business and com traffic of the research team they ran—truth be told, together—hadn’t softened his approach. That she’d noticed.
Now, predictably, he ignored her protest, instead shaking a crumpled mem-sheet under her nose. “Look at this!” Mudge fumed. “Dr. Kanaci knows how I feel about proper lines of communication. I’ve made it abundantly clear. Submissions must go through the main system. I’m telling you right now, Norcoast—”
Mac was acutely conscious of the lamnas around her finger. “Can’t you tell me later?” she pleaded.
“Certainly not.” For no apparent reason, he stopped at that, giving her the oddest look.
Maybe Mudge was more annoying than Hollans. “Oversig
ht?” she prompted, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “What can’t wait?”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There’s a message from Stefan.”
“Nik,” she corrected automatically. For all Mudge paid attention to Nikolai Trojanowski’s real—or at least official—identity, she might not have bothered telling him at all. On the other hand, Mac assured herself, she no longer had to worry about using the right alias. They all seemed to work. Spies.
“You know who I mean.” His eyebrows rose and fell suggestively.
While Mudge’s attempt to be clandestine was entertaining, in a bizarre sort of way, Mac refused to be distracted. “Yes, I know who you mean. And I know about the message. The Sinzi-ra mentioned a com packet arrived today. It’s being decoded.”
“Done.”
Mac stopped trying to escape and snatched at the mem-sheet in Mudge’s hand.
He pulled it away. “Not this,” he harrumphed, crumpling the mem-sheet into a ball. “I’ll have you know I had to go in person to get a copy. Security reasons.”
Mac nodded impatiently, barely restraining the impulse to search his pockets. “Where’s the message?”
“I had to get it from that Myg.” He waited.
Oh. Mac reined in her temper. “I trust he cooperated.”
“I didn’t take the chance.” Stiffly. “I brought a Ministry agent with me. The one with no sense of humor. Selkirk.”
She’d have to find a way to deal with this. Unfortunately, Fourteen’s intellect either soared with brilliance or hung around bathrooms looking for entertainment. Which meant Mudge.
Give the alien credit, Mac thought with reluctant admiration. He applied his genius. The “mirror image” switch had involved not only every item on Mudge’s desk but also each and every file accessed by his imp. Then there was the time Fourteen replaced the backside of Mudge’s pants with a material that could be rendered transparent by remote.
Regeneration (Czerneda) Page 7
