Migration: Species Imperative #2

by Julie E. Czerneda

  A true smile this time, frayed with exhaustion, but offered as one friend to another. “Sounded all right to me,” Hollans said, then stood. “Mac, I also came to make sure you understood why I asked the IU not to send you with the Dhryn. Nothing to do with your abilities.” His smile turned rueful. “Believe me, Mac, I’ve become convinced. But—” he paused.

  Mac stood, too. “Anchen told me. Nik Trojanowski is going and you can’t risk us both.” She was surprised when the words came out sounding normal.

  “So you think he can do it?” A little too casual, given the anxiety she read in his eyes.

  Mac didn’t hesitate. “Nik doesn’t speak the language,” she admitted. “That’s a disadvantage among Haven-raised Dhryn. But—he understands the Dhryn. And, to be honest, he understands this—” Her wave was meant to encompass not only Earth and the consulate, but all the IU. “—unlike me. You’re better off with someone out there who won’t shove the universe at the wrong time.” She paused, then said: “And the Vessel does know where he’s going, in case you were wondering.”

  “But I thought you said—”

  Mac blushed, just a bit. “The Dhryn don’t lie, Mr. Hollans. But I’m not a Dhryn.”

  A curt—and very relieved—nod. “Thank you, Mac. That helps.”

  She walked him to her door, scuffing her bare toes in the sand. About to leave, he stopped and turned to look at her. “We’ll do our best for Dr. Mamani. Under the circumstances, I’ve arranged for the charges against her to be dropped.”

  “Charges?” Mac repeated, then stopped her automatic protest. What hadn’t Emily done? “Thank you.”

  She closed the door.

  As for the circumstances?

  “He believes you’re going to die, Emily,” Mac said, her forehead against the doorframe. “Don’t start being convenient now.”

  No messages. No more visitors. Mac’s nerves stood the peace and quiet as long as they could, which was not at all, then she dressed and went out.

  “Hi, Mac.”

  The voice from nowhere made her jump half out of her skin. “Don’t do that!” Mac hissed.

  ’Sephe’s lips stretched in that magical smile of hers. “Your feet left the floor.”

  Mac snorted, then shook her head. “I’ve things on my mind. Why exactly are you standing outside my door?”

  “Even I pull guard detail.” Not that ’Sephe was in full armor, although she wore one of the vests and had a weapon hanging at her hip. Underneath, she wore a bright red dress, complete with matching sandals.

  “I thought the Sinzi had put up Ro detectors of some kind.” Mac had heard the explanation given to another and tuned out all but the key, to her, part. Safe, for now. “Disrupts their ability to exit from no-space within the building.”

  “Untested technology to stop an unseen foe?” ’Sephe arched one eyebrow.

  “And not everyone in this place is a friend of mine,” Mac suggested.

  A sober look. “Let’s say we’re going to stick a little close for a while. If you don’t mind.”

  “Do I have a choice?” but Mac softened it with a smile of her own. “I don’t mind the company, ’Sephe.” In fact, she’d hoped for it.

  “Where to?”

  By way of answer, Mac held up a palm-sized salmon. It had been the smallest one hanging from her ceiling, and one of the nicest. A traditional Haida rendering, pale wood with dramatic lines in red and black, shaping eye and sweep of tail, offering meanings as well. The cycle of life. The whole as a sum of its parts. The dangling thread still attached caught on her finger and she wrapped the excess around the tail. “A token for a traveler,” she said somewhat breathlessly.

  “Mac, you know there’s a security blackout. Clock’s started—”

  “Then why did you let me sleep so long?” she snapped, then, desperately: “ ’Sephe. Please.”

  Muttering something that wasn’t Instella or English—or polite—under her breath, the Ministry agent turned and led the way down the corridor to the far lift. Mac stayed close behind, not daring to say another word.

  Theirs didn’t seem a particularly clandestine route—down a regular lift—main hall—outside along the patio, walking on top of the Atrium—but Mac knew better. They passed one too many faces she knew, faces that gave ’Sephe a look of disbelief and Mac one of pity.

  This route was guarded.

  She had to trust they were guarding against her as well, that ’Sephe wouldn’t have given in this easily had Mac’s impulse posed a risk.

  That wasn’t to say others might not. “There you are, Norcoast!”

  ’Sephe gave her a warning look. Mac just shrugged. There were some people you couldn’t lose. “About time you woke up,” Mudge went on as he caught up. “They wouldn’t let me see you. Are you all right? I’ve had a briefing from the Sinzi-ra herself. Fine job you did. Risky, but—”

  “Oversight,” Mac interrupted, “we’re in a bit of a hurry here. Do you mind if we talk about all this later?”

  He harrumphed, his cheerful expression changing to suspicion as if she’d thrown a switch. “What’s wrong? I thought we won. What’s going on. Where are you going?”

  Mac rolled her eyes, then grabbed Mudge by the front of his jacket, pulling him along in the direction ’Sephe had indicated until he scampered to keep up. ’Sephe, with a heavy, completely clear sigh, took a few longer strides to get ahead and lead. “We didn’t win,” Mac told him as they passed under the trees. “Not yet. And, thanks. I’m all right.”

  “This is the way to the landing pads.” Mudge grabbed her arm, tried to slow her down. “What’s going on? Are you leaving, Norcoast?”

  Mac rested her fingers over his for an instant, smiling what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “No. But a friend is. I want to say good-bye, that’s all. You can wait back at the consulate.”

  “And miss a chance to see the latest Sinzi machines?” he said. “Nonsense, Norcoast.”

  She’d tried. “Fine. But don’t slow us down.”

  Much to Mudge’s chagrin, the last part of their journey angled away from the landing field. Instead, ’Sephe paused on the path beside a bench like all the others, checked all around, then led them off the path into the forest. Behind a dense planting of shrubs with thorns Mac decided would make quite reasonable knives, they came to an access port built into the volcanic rock. “Through here,” ’Sephe said quietly. “Watch your step.”

  The warning came suspiciously late, Mudge having gone first and a faint cry of pain coming from the open doorway.

  ’Sephe grinned at Mac. “I told him.”

  Mac followed ’Sephe, who, after closing the door, took her down three uneven steps, then up a fourth where a low rail required those passing it to duck underneath. Mudge was there, rubbing his head. “This doesn’t seem very efficient,” he complained.

  “If you have to run through here,” ’Sephe assured him, “you’ve other things to worry about.”

  The corridor wasn’t Sinzi white, but crudely carved into rock, in some places so irregular that the ceiling protruded downward. ’Sephe activated the lights in each twisting segment as they approached, checking the way ahead but stopping short of making them wait while she did so.

  Just when Mac felt they were probably under the ocean, the corridor widened into a disarmingly normal cargo loading space, complete with busy servos and workers moving crates to and from a series of rakish-looking surface-to-orbit craft lined up before immense closed doors.

  Mudge made a happy sound.

  ’Sephe jerked her head toward what appeared to be a temporary shelter within the cargo bay. “In there, Mac. Don’t be long.”

  Now that she was here, Mac’s feet felt glued to the floor. She held out the salmon. “Take this for me—”

  “Mac.”

  “Please.” She shoved it into ’Sephe’s hand and ran back into the tunnellike corridor.

  She’d said good-bye to Sam.

  She couldn’t say good-bye to Nik. />
  “Stupid rail.” Mac sat on the bench and rubbed her hip.

  She’d forgotten the trap and almost flipped right over the bar, saving herself in time.

  Bruising her hip nicely.

  She leaned back, grateful the bench had a back, although it wasn’t quite meant for her particular body plan. And those odd holes in the middle . . . Mac bent over to look, trying to match their shape to the posteriors of the aliens she’d met here.

  Rustle . . . rustle.

  She froze in place. The sound was surely innocent in a tamed wood like this. Mac listened, but heard nothing further.

  Suddenly, a wooden salmon appeared under her nose, peering up at her through one of the holes.

  “Funny,” she managed to say, sitting up with a jerk.

  The salmon withdrew and Nik came around the bench to sit beside her. He didn’t say a word, just held the carving on his lap, in both hands, apparently studying it for all he was worth.

  Shy?

  Mac looked at him. Gone were the glasses, the suit, the cravat. Now he wore a spacer’s jumpsuit, faded enough to likely be his own, pockets everywhere. It might have been dark blue once. Maybe purple. The boots were newer.

  “You didn’t dream last night.” Quietly, as if to the wooden fish.

  She gave an exasperated snort. “If you were there, why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “I hadn’t seen you sleep like that before.” Mac watched the dimple suddenly deepen in his cheek. “You snore.”

  “I do not,” she protested and was fascinated by the upcurve of the corner of his mouth.

  “It’s a cute snore.”

  “Oh, that helps.”

  They fell silent again, Nik watching the salmon, Mac watching him.

  “I made some notes for you,” she said abruptly. “I gave them to Anchen.”

  “Got them. Thanks. And this.” He put the salmon in one hand, and drew out the amulet from around his neck, the one the Progenitor had sent with Parymn. Still not looking at her, Nik brought it to his lips, then put it back inside his coveralls. The salmon went in a pocket. He leaned back, his head tilted to stare up into the trees. “I left you some notes, too. Gave them to your friend, Oversight.”

  Mac memorized the strong lines of his throat, pleasantly tormented by the pulse along the side, the soft shadow below his jaw. “Aren’t you supposed to be leaving? Soon.”

  “Now. They’re holding the launch for me.”

  Time’s up. Mac’s hands felt strangely heavy. “Nik. Why didn’t you wake me? We could—” She couldn’t help the huskiness of her voice. “A night. At least that.”

  She watched his throat work as he swallowed. “I considered it.” The voice was light. Then Nik lifted his head and her heart pounded at the heat in his eyes. “Then I realized I’d want tomorrow and the next night. That I couldn’t imagine any amount of time with you being enough. That I had to leave then or I wouldn’t leave at all.”

  “Oh.”

  He didn’t smile at the single syllable she managed, gazing into her eyes as if he couldn’t do anything else, motionless.

  Sometimes, Mac told herself as she reached for him, you had to give the universe a shove.

  The universe didn’t seem to mind at all.

  - 23 -

  READING AND REUNION

  MAC NUDGED the glasses on the table in a half circle, careful not to touch the lenses. They’d been with the notes Nik had left her. Mudge had thought them an odd sort of gift. Then again, he still thought Nik was Stefan.

  They were an odd gift, she smiled to herself, but useful . Through Nik’s lenses, the white walls and furnishings of the consulate showed their true Sinzi glory. Not a bad perk for being the Sinzi-ra’s favorite Human.

  There’d been no news. Not yet. The Ro were silent. The Dhryn might have all been killed—not that anyone believed it. Researchers were poring over every scrap of wreckage and space-chilled flesh. Nik hadn’t reported in—that they’d told her. The two, Human and Dhryn, weren’t traveling alone, although Mac hadn’t been pleased to learn Cinder had been one of those selected. But Nik could handle it. She had her part of the puzzle. The Origins Team was busy and productive.

  Although there had been, Mac scowled, far too many meetings.

  “Where did I leave off?” she mumbled to herself, picking up the clumsy thing. The book wasn’t a real antique, but a copy. A stack of others lay in the sand—gifts from her Dad. The format was, Anchen had assured her, a welcome change for her eyes, easily tired these days from practicing her reading skills.

  “Ah. Here.”

  Mac had wrestled one of the jelly-chairs to where the afternoon sun would fall over her shoulder. Winter had already given them a frost or two, but also clearer skies. She curled herself up and looked over at Emily with a wistful smile.

  Against the white pillow, her face was composed, at peace. As it had been for the last twenty-seven days. The skin had recovered some of its luster, though not all. The cheeks were still sunken, the arms above their prostheses too thin. Her bones, graceful yet ominous, pressed outward as if anxious to leave. The hair alone seemed right, shining black and thick.

  Every third breath was that soft little snore Em had denied utterly when awake. Mac listened for it in the night, obscurely comforted.

  “Any change?”

  Two put a glass of water on Mac’s desk, in reach of her hand. “No, Mac. Do you wish me to stay?”

  “It’s okay. Unless you want to hear the rest of this story?”

  The staff came as close as ever to smiling, a crinkle at the corner of her eyes, a tilt to her head. “No, Mac. I heard sufficient of the last seven to know how it will end.”

  When Two had left, Mac took a drink, then found her page. True, the selection tended to a certain similarity in plot, but there were exciting bits. This part, for example. She cleared her voice and started to read aloud. “ ‘The trail through the bog had grown cold since midnight—’ ”

  “There’s no sex in that one either.”

  “There doesn’t have to be sex in everything you read,” Mac said automatically, turning the page.

  Then, realizing what had just happened, she stopped. The book fell from her hands as she looked toward Emily.

  Dark eyes, tired sane eyes, met hers. “I should have remembered,” Emily said, voice weak but feathered at the edges with that familiar, amused warmth. “You never let go of anyone, do you, Mac?”

  Grin or cry?

  Instead, Mac took Emily’s outstretched hand gently in hers. It didn’t matter that neither were real.

  “Welcome back, Em.”

  Read on for an excerpt from

  REGENERATION Species Imperative #3 Coming from DAW in May 2006

  CONTACT

  “WE SHOULDN’T be here.” Inric didn’t let his attention stray from the scanner readout. “No one will know.”

  His partner, an as yet unblooded Ehztif and thus certified for space travel with other life-forms, continued to pace. She’d taken the usename Bob for its supposed calming effect on Humans, obligate predators being uncomfortable company. Not that Bob was such a predator—not until that first ritual hunt, years in her future, when her digestive system would switch into its mature phase. For now, she drank packaged secretions like everyone else, and expressed a fondness for salted crackers.

  Inric pursed his lips and tried to ignore the unsettling click of Bob’s talons on the floorplate. It had seemed a good idea at the time to choose an Ehztif partner. No Human-centric games. Enough daring for any escapade but reliably steady.

  He would have to find the one Ehztif with an imagination. “Relax,” Inric said, leaning back to demonstrate. “Get the data. Get paid. There’s nothing here.”

  Bob stalked—there was no other word for it—to the platform’s edge and stared out over the waves. “Nothing. You don’t know what that means, do you, Human. But I—I can taste it on the wind.” The Ehztif released her prehensile tongue, flipping it through the air before she broug
ht it back into her mouth. She appeared to chew for a few seconds, then sharply expanded her cheek pouches in disgust. “Nothing lives here.”

  As that was exactly what the Sencor Consortium hoped to confirm, Inric gave a tight smile. “If the scanners are as accurate as your taste buds, Bob, our clients will be pleased.”

  “Scavengers.”

  “An essential part of life,” the Human replied.

  The Ehztif sniffed. Her species shared their home system with the much-despised Sethillak, definitely closer to the scavenger scheme of things. That the two had managed to coexist after encountering one another in space was one of the marvels of the Interspecies Union.

  Didn’t mean they wouldn’t eat one another when the occasion offered.

  Inric sat up and leaned over the readout again. The platform’s underside bristled with the latest in remote analysis gear, including two prototypes he’d obtained in return for initial field tests and favors to come. And that wasn’t all they used to search this world. “Check the imagers again, will you, Bob? They should be close to finishing the latest flyover.”

  “They’re coming,” Bob answered, gazing at the horizon. Better vision was only one of the adaptations that made Ehztif useful companions. “Wait. What’s that following them? Ssshhhhssahhsss!” the Instella dissolved into a hiss.

  Inric lunged to his feet and ran to the rail. “What’s wrong?” He stared where Bob pointed, expecting the worst—an IU inspector, come to push them offworld. They had clearances. Just not real ones.

  The worlds scoured by the Dhryn were restricted, even ones like this, where there hadn’t been a sentient species to leave its accomplishments behind. In the present state of near panic, Inric doubted they’d be fined and sent on their way. There’d been rumors of entrepreneurs simply disappearing, lately. “Can’t be an inspection,” he concluded. The ship they’d left in orbit was to send warning of any approach, as well as being nimble enough to elude almost anything transect-capable given that warning was received in time to retrieve her absent crew of two.