Migration (62 page)

The last lump of slime-coated leather came free in her hands, as much because what was beneath was digging itself out of the sand as Mac’s tugging. A faint muffled
coo,
then two limpid eyes stared up at her, blinking grains from their eyelashes.

A baby Myg?
“Come here,” Mac urged gently, carefully helping the tiny creature from its hiding place. “Shhhh. It’s okay.”

With a pounce that would have done a cat proud—or an aroused male Trisulian—the baby attached itself to the front of her jacket, doing its utmost to shiver its way through the warm skin of Mac’s throat. She cradled it there with one hand as she got to her feet.

“I’ve a pretty good idea where Fourteen might be,” Mac announced. “Let’s go.”

“We have to report this.” At the shake of her head, he protested: “Mac!”

“Raising an alarm—likely too late, I might add—will only stop us from getting to the Origins Room. I have to get there, Sing-li. I have to work with my team.” Mac looked at the too-familiar damage. “Ro don’t tend to stick around.”

He wasn’t happy, but didn’t argue.

They made their way to Unensela’s quarters, Sing-li having contacted Mudge for the location within the building. He’d signed off the com link to frown worriedly at Mac. “Mr. Mudge says there was no answer from her room either. Do you think the Ro—?”

Mac, busy trying to convince a certain small and persistent Myg that a Human female was physically incapable of offering it a snack, merely grunted: “Doubt it.” Unensela’s quarters were on the uppermost residential floor. This time, they took the lift, Sing-li stepping out first to sweep the corridor with a glance. After a long second, he waved at her to follow. Mac didn’t argue, too busy listening. She knew the sounds of the Ro, heard their
scurry . . . spit pop!
in her dreams.

“Clear,” he said, then frowned. “What’s that noise?”

“That noise” being a series of loud squeals that incited the Myg baby to squirm up to Mac’s shoulder, chattering with excitement, Mac didn’t feel particularly worried. “I think we’ve found out why Unensela isn’t answering her com,” she said.

A knock on the door did no better—the squealing having grown too loud anyway. The two Humans exchanged glances. “I don’t know if we should just walk in, Mac.”

“The Ro?” she reminded him.

“Good point.” He pushed open the door . . . . . . giving Mac perfect line of sight on a pair of madly vibrating paisley shorts, an unexpected alignment of body parts, and a wildly squealing female Myg who, upon spotting new arrivals, freed an arm to wave them inside with every appearance of sincerity.

Clandestine meetings indeed
. At least his grandsires would be pleased.

“Let’s give them a moment,” Mac suggested, stepping back into the corridor.

Sing-li didn’t argue with that either.

Fourteen had exchanged his formal wig for his Little Misty Lake General Store hat, jauntily dipped over one ear. Mac was fascinated to see that his forked tongue, white until now, was engorged and distinctly pink.
No external genitalia indeed,
she speculated.

A happy Myg. Or he would have been, if it hadn’t been for her news. “Whaddyou mean, dey’ve sdarded sending da signal?” The tongue was causing him problems.

“Idiot,” this from Unensela, who seemed unaffected by anything other than containing the offspring who kept trying to jump to Mac.
She didn’t blame it
. Neither adult Myg had evinced concern about the child having narrowly escaped the Ro; after his initial trauma at missing the successful signal, Fourteen had worried more about his clothes.

Probably why he’d so glibly offered her his firstborn, had he had one,
Mac recalled, struggling with this variation on parental behavior. “I suppose now you’ll want to celebrate,” Unensela continued. She leaned confidingly toward Mac, necessitating another grab at the offspring. “I was consoling him on his failure,” she explained. “Males. Any excuse.”

Sing-li made a choked noise; Mac didn’t bother turning around. “Could we focus on the problem at hand, please?” she asked both Mygs. “And walk a little faster?”

Fourteen put a protective arm around his partner, avoiding the offspring climbing on her shoulders. “Of course she can’t,” he claimed, both expression and tone highly smug. “Not yet.”

Unensela squealed; Sing-li smothered another laugh.

Was she the only one intent on saving the planet?
Mac began to wonder about their collective sanity.

When they reached the lifts, she drew Fourteen aside, scowling at his somewhat theatrical sigh at leaving Unensela’s side. “I need you to do something for me, Fourteen,” she told him, keeping her voice low.
Not that she knew the auditory acuity of a Myg,
she realized belatedly.

Abruptly serious, his tiny eyes riveted on her. “You haf my allegiance, Mac. You know dat.”

And she was about to test it—severely
. Mac bit her lower lip, then took him by the arm and walked him a few more steps away from where the others waited. Probably an unnecessary caution. The offspring, having discovered Sing-li’s armor made interesting noises, were keeping both Human and their mother preoccupied.
But she’d rather not share this.

“I want you in the signal room in the Atrium—yes, I know what’s in the basement,” she said at his attempt to look surprised. “Where do you think I’ve been?” Mac firmed her voice. “They’re monitoring for a response from the Ro. I need to know when they get it, Fourteen. What it says. This isn’t something the Sinzi-ra would approve,” she warned.

“I will be your eyes and ears, Mac,” he promised, puffing out his chest. “If anything happens, I’ll send a message to your imp. I can do it so none are the wiser, even our omniscient host.” The tongue only tripped him on “omniscient,” the word coming out more like “omblifflivy,” but Mac understood.

She gave a grateful nod, trusting he could read the gesture. “There’s one other thing, Fourteen. This won’t be as easy to hide. I want you to find a way to disrupt the outgoing signal—to do it if I say so, without question.”

His chest collapsed in a quiet moan and the Myg put his hands over his eyes. She grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms down again, quickly but gently, hoping Unensela hadn’t noticed the despairing gesture.
The smell she couldn’t help
. “The Ro are to save us, Mac,” he protested, unhappy but quiet in her hold. “This is not an act of
strobis
. I cannot.”

“And if they are not saviors, Fourteen? What then? They’ve been spying inside the consulate. Who knows what they intended to do with you!”

“Idiot. I’m the only one genius enough to make progress with their code. They could have been trying to communicate with me.”

Save her from wishful academics, regardless of species
. “For that same reason, Fourteen, they could have wanted you dead.” She held his eyes with hers. “Just go there, please. Keep an eye on things. Keep me informed. And, for all our sakes, have a plan in mind. I’ve a feeling whatever choice you have to make will be clear—I only hope you have time to make it.”

Fourteen nodded, then reached out and tapped her nose. “And I hope to embarrass you about this for many years to come, Mac.”

So did she,
Mac thought, watching the lift doors close behind Fourteen.

Night elsewhere, but on the main floor the illumination was daylight normal. Knowing the ways of researchers, Mac had assumed they wouldn’t be the only ones awake in the dead of morning. She’d counted on it, in fact.

Sure enough, each of the six consular staff they encountered was towing a cart of coffee and pastries, including one outside the Origins Room. “Good evening, Dr. Connor,” he said without a blink. “We noticed activity in your room and anticipated your group would also require refreshments. Was this correct?”

“Perfect,” she said a little too warmly.
Should pacify the ones who don’t wake well,
she thought, following the staff through the door. Sing-li, on her signal, came with her.

A series of high-pitched squeals announced them as they entered. Unensela’s offspring left her, bounding across the floor to intercept the cart, only the staff’s quick move to lift the tray beyond their reach saving the pastries.
Just as well,
Mac thought. The female Myg hadn’t been pleased to see Fourteen sent on a mission of his own—although it seemed her pique was more because she didn’t have a secret mission, than any worry about risk to him.
Implying,
decided Mac,
a certain lack of personal commitment in more Myg relationships than parenting.

Mudge hurried up, relief on his face. “Everyone’s here, Norcoast.”

Except Nik,
she thought, having swept the crowd with a look, but didn’t say it aloud. “Good work.”

“Where’s Fourteen?”

“He’s busy elsewhere—”

“What’s going on?” Like most here, Lyle hadn’t wasted time to do more than throw on clothes. His sparse hair stood on end and his eyes were bloodshot.

Mac pitched her voice to his ears only. “We’re going to prove the value of your work once and for all. Or look like blithering idiots. Game?”

His lips stretched in a bitter grin. “Game.”

“Give us a moment first. Sing-li?”

He followed Mac to a quiet part of the room, not that there were many options. When they stopped, he gave her a troubled look. “Mac, I have to raise the alarm.”

“I know. One last thing before you do.” She put her hand on his armor-coated chest, irrelevantly noticing tiny Myg prints marring its gleam. “I want the rest of you here.”

He took a look around the room, then frowned at her. “This room isn’t defensible, Mac, if that’s what you’re thinking. Those windows? The door’s a joke. And who knows what the Sinzi buried in the walls? Specs have this place capable of morphing into a fortress—from the outside, at least.”

She shook her head impatiently through all of it. “I want them here—you, too—in case Nik needs you.”

“For what?” Low and worried. “Mac, what are you planning now?”

“See the signs, do you?” she said, trying to keep it light.

“Mac.” A growl.

“Nik might have to retrieve our guest from the basement. Fast.”

That earned a grim look. “You might be sent home if you’re wrong, Mac. Nik—the rest of us—we won’t be that lucky. Not if we disobey the Sinzi-ra and the Ministry. That’s treason.”

If I have to, Em,
Mac told herself, cold and calm,
I’ll spend them all
.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Mac said aloud.

“Let’s.” Sing-li pressed his lips together for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “No offense, Mac, but we’re not the kind of assets you’re used to—can’t risk being penned in here, for starters. Leave it with me.”

Gladly,
Mac thought, feeling one of the knots in her spine ease. “Whatever you think best, Sing-li.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know what I think.” But he smiled. “Anything else?”

“The door may be a joke, but can you make sure we aren’t interrupted?” His anticipatory grin matched Lyle’s. “Good.”

Leaving Sing-li to contact the others—
and make whatever plans such people made for treasonous activities
—Mac headed into the middle of the room. She grabbed the nearest stool and climbed up on it, finding her balance.

“Good morning, everyone!” she called out.

The answering chorus was ragged, spiced with some complaints about her time sense, though less than she’d expected. The faces Mac could read looked understandably tired and puzzled. “In this room,” she told them, her voice clear and calm, “are two very important things. You. Experts on understanding the past. And your data. Everything collected to date about life on the planet that spawned the Dhryn.

“We can’t answer every question we have tonight. But we must answer one,” she said. “One I believe you’ll find worth losing a little sleep over.”