Migration (42 page)

Every being Mac could see aimed its head, eyes, or whatevers at the sky, as if that was the most likely place to find Ro. She could tell them otherwise.
But it was an impressive display
. Hundreds of such diverse life-forms, all intent on one result. Would the Ro pay attention?

The Tui decided to practice its Frow laughter again.
Entirely too appropriate,
Mac thought grimly.

The voice began again, drowning out the bird. “Our new arrivals have been assigned to existing research teams. Provide requests for additional equipment and other needs to any member of the consular staff at the earliest opportunities. Record all findings and results for review and assessment.

“As of this moment, the IU confirms three worlds lost to the Dhryn. We fear more have been consumed. It is up to you to end this.”

The semi-party atmosphere of the greeting arena vanished as if it had never existed, replaced by subdued tones and purposeful movement. Everyone seemed to know where to go. Consular staff appeared and began to remove tables. The bubble tents for the non-oxy-breathers rolled away, presumably self-propelled. Some of the aquatics from the fountains donned helmets, walking or slithering away. Others, to Mac’s frustration, slipped away down large drains before she had a good look.

Maybe tomorrow,
she thought wistfully.

“Where to now, Norcoast?”

“Where?” Mac eyed the huge building presently being restocked with aliens.
Not there
. Not yet. “Why don’t you both go ahead—see what you can find out about our research colleagues and facilities?” she suggested.

Fourteen didn’t look happy. Mudge, on the other hand, positively glowed.
Definitely had the detective bug, Em.
“What about you?” the Myg asked her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll meet you there.” Mac drew out her imp. “Got a map.” She made a gentle shooing motion with her hands. “I’m fine. I need a few minutes alone, that’s all. Here.” Here being the garden around them.

As more and more left, the place was revealing its true self, an outdoor palace of magnificent proportions, shaped by growing things and stone, bordered by widely spaced trees whose dappled shade enticed the explorer. Birds who couldn’t compete with the crowds like the Tuis had begun to flit about, adding their song and chatter to the restored babble of fountains. Fat pigeons waddled the patio, cooing as they hunted dropped olives and bits of pastry amid the litter of leaf and seed case.

One wandered by them, making its methodical, unhurried way down the path of shredded bark and moss that led under the trees, away from the patio. That was enough for Mac. “See you in a while,” she announced.

She half expected one or the other of her companions to follow. She’d been reasonably certain one of the many yellow-garbed consular staff would object to pigeon pursuit, or at least send her off with the rest.

But no one followed or objected. The pigeon left the path on its own business. And after those initial dozen or so steps, Mac slowed her pace, answering both her mood and the thumping of her skull.

“More likely the little weasel knocked something loose, Em,” Mac only half joked as she walked.

Not a wild forest, she decided, but designed for the peace and contemplation one could provide. Mac grew absorbed in the patterns and textures, admired the skills of those who coaxed living things to remain tame, while showing off their natural beauty. Ferns swept alongside the path like still-life rivers. In openings, groves of miniature conifers guarded pale roses. And everywhere birds. High above, in the canopies. In the shrubs, busy at their business. Perched and watching her with bright, distracted eyes.

The path was lined with white benches, some designed for anatomies Mac couldn’t imagine. She found one that suited hers and sat.

After looking around to be sure she was alone, and not daring to hope, Mac folded her hands on her lap.

“Here I am, Em.”

Nothing stirred that didn’t belong.

“Short of stealing a lev and heading out to sea, this is the best I can do.”

Nothing
.

“Your mother said you always were difficult,” Mac said, her voice thick. She coughed to clear it. “In case you don’t know everything, Em, I’m here to work with other Dhryn experts for the IU. I tell you though, what they really want is to talk to your—to the Ro. If you can arrange that, first beer’s on me. And the next ten. Mind you, after that I’m probably broke. No one’s talked about paying me here. I suppose I’m out of a job at Base. I know. I could have asked. You’re the practical one. You should have reminded me.”

The sunbeams cutting across the straight, tall trunks were the only answer.

Mac drew up one leg and put her chin on her knee, watching what appeared to be an extraordinarily large cricket, disturbed by her arrival, as it pushed its way through a pile of twigs. If she picked it up, it would almost fill her hands, real and artificial. “You probably aren’t here, Em,” she went on. “But I’ve been talking to you when I knew you weren’t, so talking to you when you ‘probably’ aren’t is a step closer to sane, don’t you think?” She paused. “Sane’s overrated, in my opinion. But still. There’s perception.”

The insect, free of the twigs, stroked its long antennae through the air at her before marching under a nearby bush.

“Would it be so hard to answer me back, Em?” Mac turned her face so her cheek rested on her knee, let her eyes trace the textures of chipped bark and fallen leaf. “Won’t they let you? You, who can charm grant funding from a stone? You know what to say. Tell the Ro we’re on the same side. Tell them we’re sorry about that misunderstanding at Haven—we’re only Human, right? Make a joke. Beg. Bribe. Whatever it takes. Whatever they understand. Spout prime numbers.”

Mac closed her eyes, seeing the familiar, graceful turn of a head. “Don’t worry, Em,” she whispered. “I won’t let go. I’ll wait.”

T
HERE WASN’T SAND on the floor, but the expansive curved room assigned to her research group had all the other hallmarks Mac had come to expect of Sinzi design: clean lines, light, unornamented walls, and abundant windows overlooking the patio—presently revealing the shadows of gathering clouds. Not to mention comfortable chairs—although these were better suited to being moved from conference table to console than the giant jelly-chairs in her room.

The room also possessed all the hallmarks of a bad start to a field season: too-quiet staff; resentful looks; everyone sitting as far apart as possible. Worst of all, no one already at work. They’d waited for her. Even Fourteen and Mudge greeted her with somber looks.

Assessment completed with that one glance, Mac strode through the door. “Good afternoon.” Without waiting for a response, she went straight to the table in the center and leaned on her knuckles, gazing around the room from face to sullen face, or reasonable facsimile, as she spoke.

“Yes,” Mac said, her voice ringing out. “I brought Brymn Las to your camp. No, I did not kill your friend. Yes, Brymn changed into the deadly form of his kind. No, we didn’t know that would happen or we wouldn’t have come to you in the first place. And yes, for his sake as well as for the sake of the friend you lost, and for the millions dying as we waste time with what can’t be changed,” she drew a deep breath and gave them all her most intense “get on with it” glare, “I will have every single thing you’ve learned, suspected, or outright guessed about the Dhryn from you. In return, I promise you not a moment’s peace. But I will give you everything I know. Together, we may have a chance to stop them. Do we understand one another?”

Fourteen put up his hand. “The waste of time is this group. Studying the past is irrelevant.”

Mac hid a smile as the archaeologists leaped to their feet, at least four shouting at once. She did enjoy the passion.

But not the way Lyle Kanaci was looking at her.
He was ignoring the others. His eyes burned and his jaw was clenched tight enough to hurt.

“I see.” She propped a hip on the table edge and stared right back at him. “We don’t understand one another.”

The silence following those words had an ugly quality to it. Those who’d stood, sat. No one moved otherwise.

“Oh, we understand you have ‘special’ knowledge about the Dhryn,” Kanaci spat. “What we don’t understand, Connor, is why you aren’t still in jail and why we have to put up with having you here.”

“In jail?” If Mac’s eyebrows rose any higher, her forehead would hurt.
Too late
. “Pardon?”

Therin, if she’d identified the Sthlynii correctly, spoke up. His voice surprised her, the words as crisp and clear as anyone’s. Mac was distracted by the thought that the elongated vowels he’d hissed at her earlier had been some kind of vocal threat display, an intimidation.
Which only worked if the one being intimidated knows the rules
.

“We saw them take you away under guard after helping your
friend
kill Myriam—before you could attack the rest of uuuus! Saaaaaaw yoooouuu!”

So
. Mac nodded, gesturing to a flustered Mudge to keep seated and quiet. She pulled up her left sleeve and flexed her hand. The ceramic pseudo-flesh caught the light, returning its strange hue, more blue-pink than flesh. “This is why they rushed me away,” she corrected, keeping her voice matter-of-fact.
They had a long way to go here, and no time for mistakes
. “I’d been injured as well. There are people at the consulate who can testify to that—you don’t need to take my word for it.”

“As if we would!” Surly, then louder. “Liar! Murderer!”

“Anchen will make sure you get the facts.” Her calm invocation of the Sinzi-ra’s name seemed to startle them.
Good,
Mac thought grimly.
About time they realized she had support from higher up.
She hoped it was true. “Brymn couldn’t help but attack me,” she continued. “He’d lost all reason by that point in his metamorphosis. As for my being under arrest?” She didn’t have to force a laugh. “I don’t know where you got that idea. I went straight back to work until being invited here.”

“What work? We tried to find you.” This from another of the Humans, a dour-faced individual Mac remembered only as one of the non-scientists in the original group. “We couldn’t.”

“What were you using? Only my name?” He gave a reluctant nod. Mac felt sympathetic. Mackenzie Connor, in Sol System and throughout the colonies, must turn up hundreds of times.
Hundreds of thousands
. “Remember something under Norcoast Salmon Research Facility?”

Lyle frowned. “Yes, but . . .” his eyes widened. “That’s you? The Earth-based fish biologist?”

There was a moment of bedlam, most shocked and none flattering. Mac waited it out, tapping the table with one finger. Therin’s voice won; not by volume, the others deferred when he spoke.
Good to know, Em.
“Lies!” the alien exclaimed. “You’re a criminal working with the Dhryn—a murderer! They’d have us believe—these twooo, theee staaaff here—you’re an experienced science administrator?” He made a rude noise that fluttered his mouth tentacles.

“Oh, that I am,” Mac replied coldly. “I’ve helped run Base—the Norcoast facility—for fourteen years. Ask Oversight here. Check government records. My life isn’t a secret. You just didn’t see it.”

Before Mudge could make his contribution—something he seemed adamantly determined to do, being on his feet with a fist in the air—Lyle leaned forward and shouted. “Then what the hell were you doing on the Dhryn home world, Dr. Connor?”

“Mac.” She waved Mudge down a second time before he obeyed, and finally took a chair herself. The ordinary act stopped some of the background muttering, but not all. Mac ignored it, concentrating on Lyle. He led them as much now, in this room, as he had during the sandstorm. She chose her words with care, aware the moment was fragile, and said quietly. “I was looking for the truth.”

“What truth? The Dhryn’s? Yours? I doubt it’s ours.” Murmurs of agreement.

“There’s only one truth.” Mac’s eyes traveled from person to person as she spoke, making sure she had the attention of all twenty-seven. “The problem is finding all of it. If anyone understands the danger of extrapolating from partial evidence, it’s you. Everything we think we know so far? Fragments. Pieces. We can’t use them; we can’t even see where they belong. We must find the connections to put those fragments together. Into one truth. The truth.”

“First time I’ve heard the word since we’ve been here.” This from a gray-haired woman sitting between the two Cey. “No one at this Gathering of the Sinzi’s is talking about truth. We’re supposed to build a weapon or dream up some strategy to destroy the Dhryn. Not exactly what our lot’s qualified to do.”

There was a smattering of laughter at this. Mac felt some of the tension leave her spine.
Not all.
She raised her prosthetic arm again. “No one,” she emphasized, “wants to be eaten alive. Or see the life of a world stripped bare. But we, all of us here, know some new weapon, even if it does wipe out an entire species and end the threat, isn’t an answer. We need to understand how something like the Dhryn came to exist, learn where they came from, what might happen in the future. We need the truth.”