“You talked to me before. Here I am.” Talk? Mac’s hands became fists. She remembered all too well how the Ro’s version of speech had seemed to rip through her skin and burn itself into the flesh beneath. “In case you’re confused on the topic, I’m not dead.” She replayed that last bit mentally. Another gem of interspecies communication.
The darkness developed chill fingers, pressing against her face, working their way down her throat. Mac wrapped her arms around her middle and cursed her imagination. “What do you want from us? Answer me!” she ordered, careful not to shout, but her voice echoed.
An echo complete with the tinkle of small silver rings.
Mac turned as far as she dared, unwilling to put her back to the tank and what might—she dreaded as much as hoped—might be hiding inside. “Anchen?”
A ball of translucent red ignited between them; Mac assumed it was some kind of portable light. It cast a warm pink glow over the Sinzi-ra’s white gown and skin. The great topaz eyes remained in shadow. “Hello, Mac,” Anchen greeted her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you. I’d be a poor host indeed if I did not wish you well on your journey.”
Mac swallowed, keeping a wary eye on the dark tank. “How did you know?” The consulate was clear of the vidbots annoyingly prominent in Human public places. Mac had grown rather fond of believing she could skulk at will. Had that changed?
The light was enough to see Anchen’s half bow. “We are alike, Mac, in several respects. I felt confident you would revisit those places of meaning to you before you left, as would I. I confess, I hadn’t expected to find you conversing with the past.” A thoughtful pause. “Or do you truly believe the Myrokynay have slipped past our watch and returned? And, if so, that they will reveal themselves to you if you shout at them?”
Put that way . . . Mac winced and stopped there. “I thought it worth a try,” she shrugged. “Everyone else thinks I matter to the Ro. And you did rebuild the tank,” this last a half question. Why?
The Sinzi-ra moved to stand beside her, taller and more fragile, yet with an otherworldly grace even the shadows couldn’t disguise. One fingertip, with its stiff useful nail, tapped the dark glass. “Like you, I thought it worth a try,” answered the alien.
The lamnas slid along Anchen’s long finger, sending glints of rose from the light she carried. Mac wondered what each might reveal. If a Human brain could make any sense of it, she added honestly, considering she wasn’t sure how much sense she’d made of Nik’s and they’d started with similar wetware.
Then she shook her head, more concerned with something else, something far more important. “Anchen. Don’t make it easy for them. Don’t invite the Ro back here.”
“We cannot begin to understand one another if we do not converse, Mac.”
“I’m all for conversation. Just let it be somewhere and someone else.” Mac didn’t bother being dismayed by her own bluntness. The Sinzi-ra was used to her by now. “I mean no insult, Anchen,” she continued in a low voice. “I—” Only the truth. She took a deep breath and flattened her hand over the place on the tank where Anchen had tapped, feeling the cold. “I’m afraid. For you. For all Sinzi.” The whole truth. “For us, if anything happens to you. You must be more cautious.”
“I need not remind you, Mac, that all life is currently at risk from the Dhryn. It is inappropriate to fear for one species—or individual—over another.”
“The rest of us don’t stand in the Ro’s way, Anchen. Your species maintains the Interspecies Union. Without you, the transects fail and we’re each alone.”
“If,” the alien stressed the word, “the Ro are a threat.”
“You can’t take that chance!” Mac insisted, turning to face Anchen. The red glow danced back, as if courteously avoiding her face. She couldn’t tell if it was somehow tethered to the Sinzi or floating free like a vidbot. In either case, its light enclosed them both in a bubble that might almost have been privacy, if not for the ominous tank and its instruments. An audience to this was fine by her. “You don’t dare, for all our sakes. Please, Anchen. Tell me you’ll be careful.”
“Following your example?”
Mac snorted. “I’m not important.”
Cool fingertips coated in dancing silver reached to her face, one tracing the line of Mac’s jaw, another lifting a curl of regrown hair. It was the first time the Sinzi had touched her other than in Noad’s role of physician; Mac’s eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t move. “I—all of my selves—hold a different view of your worth.”
Friendship as she understood it—or something more akin to the assessment of an experienced diplomat? Mac discovered she didn’t care. The warmth inside her was enough. “Then listen to me, Anchen,” she urged. “Don’t expose yourself to the Ro. Let others do it. At least until we know more.” Mac shot a suspicious look at the dark tank. “That includes not coming here by yourself again. Protect yourself. Promise me.”
The Sinzi-ra didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers wove themselves into something complex and troubled, hard to make out in the low light. Answering, Mac thought irrelevantly, the question of whether the alien held the glowing globe. “A promise is a connection between those involved,” Anchen said at last. “Across any distance.”
Mac grinned. “That it is.”
“We do not make promises lightly.”
“Neither do I,” she assured the alien. Never let go.
Anchen gave an almost Human sigh. “I may have shown you too much of the Sinzi view of the universe.”
“Fair’s fair,” Mac replied. “You know more about Humans than most Humans do.”
That shivering laugh, then the other seemed to come to some decision, for her fingers unfolded with blinding rapidity. “Then we shall exchange promises, Mackenzie Connor, for such a connection must be forged both ways.”
Uh-oh. “What would I have to promise, Sinzi-ra?” Mac asked, wary at last.
“To bring me something for my collection.”
Somehow, Mac knew the wording was precise. Bring. Had Anchen elicited the same promise from Nik every time he’d ventured on her behalf? Complete the journey. Come back where you started.
The Sinzi ethic.
That to do so meant surviving whatever might intervene was in a sense incidental to Anchen. It was finishing the cycle that mattered.
The distinction, to quote Fourteen, was irrelevant. Mac didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
Anchen leaned forward, tilting her head so the eye Mac associated with Casmii, the judge, faced her most directly. “What is promised will bind us both, Mackenzie Connor. Are you sure?”
“If you promise to protect yourself from the Ro, I promise to bring you something for your collection,” Mac stated, content to finally encounter common sense when dealing with aliens. “I’m sure.”
She could just make out Anchen’s half bow. At no command Mac detected, the light from the floating globe increased until she had to narrow her eyes. The Sinzi-ra lowered her long neck so they were looking directly at one another before she raised her fingers, their tips curling inward to form a ring like lamnas in front of each pair of eyes. “I so promise,” she said, holding that posture. “We are bound.”
Then: “I promise.” “And I.” “Over my better judgment, I promise also.” “You have my promise, Mac.”
Finally: “Promise given and accepted. We are bound.”
Every voice the same in tone, the words alone differed. The Sinzi-ra uncurled her long fingers then intertwined them, rings slipping back and forth like raindrops.
Mac realized she’d been addressed, for the first time, by each of Anchen’s individual minds. Not that she had a clue who was who.
For a fleeting instant, Mac wondered if she’d somehow managed to commit herself to something far stranger than she could possibly imagine. Again.
Then she shrugged.
There had to be a tacky souvenir somewhere on Myriam.
“Yo
u’re quiet.”
Mac waved one hand, the other holding her bag. “Thinking,” she explained. They were almost at the hangar; she could tell by the way the floor had become a down-turned ramp. The Sinzi-ra had left the tank room with her, bidding them both farewell in the corridor. Sing-li’s eyes had been like saucers at the sight of the alien, but he’d asked no questions.
Until now. “Everything all right?”
She glanced up at Sing-li. Seeing the concern in his face, she decided against flippant. “More or less,” she admitted. “It’s suddenly real—the move offworld, going to Base. Leaving Emily—the rest of you. Didn’t feel that way this morning.”
He pressed his lips together in an unhappy line. “I should be going with you.”
Pinching an errant grape between her fingers, Mac gave his shirt a tug. “If you aren’t, you really should change.”
“You know what I mean, Mac.” The agent shook his head at her. “Some on the IU committee aren’t pleased with Dr. Mamani leaving the consulate. They’re resisting Hollans’ efforts to negotiate clearance for more Humans on Myriam—doubt he’ll get a straight answer before you clear the gate. Don’t like it, Mac.”
She wasn’t thrilled either. “Don’t worry,” Mac told him. “The planet’s going to be crowded enough as it is. And I’ll have Oversight.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Sing-li said darkly.
“Be fair. He can be scary.”
“You don’t know what you might face.”
“I’m minding a bunch of archaeologists on a lifeless world—what can happen?” Mac stopped and laughed without humor. “Don’t answer that.”
Before Sing-li could try, they rounded the last corner and saw who was waiting.
“Idiot!” Fourteen called cheerfully, his arm around Unensela, the Myg xenopaleoecologist.
Unensela’s six offspring were seated at their feet, looking as angelic as hairless lumps with long necks and big brown eyes could. On seeing Mac, they immediately squealed and scampered at full speed to run up her legs before she could fend them away with her free hand.
Once they were firmly attached by clawholds on her chest and shoulders, a struggle since each had doubled in mass over the past few weeks, Mac recovered sufficient balance to glare at Sing-li. He gave a helpless shrug and appeared to be trying not to grin. “Wasn’t me,” he vowed, taking her bag.
She’d left orders with everyone imaginable that Fourteen was not to know about her little detour before Myriam. It had been worth a try. “He’s not coming to Base,” Mac muttered under her breath. Four of the Myg offspring excitedly demonstrated their recently acquired ability to mimic sounds, babbling “basebasebasebase” in their high-pitched voices. The remaining two merely howled along.
“You won’t believe this, Mac,” Fourteen announced as she staggered closer. “We almost missed the flight!”
Mac lurched to a stop by Unensela and waited. The female Myg gave her a sly look—an expression which came naturally, given the sunken Myg eyes and wide expressive lips. She was wearing one of Fourteen’s shirts and apparently nothing else. Fortunately, the shirt went down to her knobby knees. Unfortunately, the shirt was a vile orange and turquoise patterned in juggling hamsters.
“Get them off me,” Mac said as calmly as she could, given one offspring was gumming her left ear for all it was worth. “Now.”
“You should be proud,” the Myg insisted. “You’re the only Human they like.”
“I’m honored. Off.”
Unensela pouted, another typical Myg expression in Mac’s experience with the species.
Mac took a deep breath.
“Idiot!” Fourteen said hastily, pulling offspring from Mac with both hands and tossing them at his—what, Mac wondered, did you call someone who appeared to dislike you but would have sex with you anywhere, anytime? She settled for fellow alien. The offspring didn’t mind the treatment, each making a “whee” sound as they flew through the air. Unensela didn’t try to catch them, letting the small beings latch onto her shirt with their claws wherever they struck. They dropped to the floor at once, cooing contentedly by her feet.
Sing-li was making that strangled noise again. Mac rolled her eyes at him.
Once free of hitchhikers, she pulled her clothing back into some order, ignoring the myriad small holes left by affectionate Myg claws until her fingers found skin through a long tear in previously intact silk. At this, she growled something safely wordless in her throat.
“Hurry, Mac. We’ll be late.” Fourteen, she noted grimly, was bouncing in place, his favorite, and now-faded, paisley shorts threatening to slip loose.
“Late for—”
“Arslithissiangee Yip the Fourteenth!” A thunderous Mudge came striding up the corridor from the direction of the hangar. “What are you doing here?” He counted Mygs as he approached and amended, “What are all of you doing here?”
“Idiot,” Fourteen proclaimed. “The glorious Unensela is here to warm me with her presence as long as possible. I am waiting to board the lev with Mac.” The overlooked offspring, following all this intently, burbled “macmacmac.”
Mac’s “Oh, no you aren’t,” collided with Mudge’s “I think not!” and Sing-li’s alarmed “You don’t have clearance.” Unensela’s “But you promised to take them with you!” came afterward, prompting everyone else to stare at her.
“Well, he did,” she finished.
“Irrelevant,” Mac told her, then looked at Fourteen. “You aren’t coming.”
The Myg covered his face with his hands. Distress, real or feigned. Likely real. She didn’t doubt Fourteen’s desire to accompany her, or his zeal to be of help. Strobis, the Myg version of obligation and promise. She seemed to be collecting a few of those lately.
Mac sighed and pulled his hands down. He peered at her, moisture dotting his fleshy eyelids. “I need you here,” she said earnestly. “To find out who else is heading for Myriam—what they want there.” She’d left him a message about the Frow and Grimnoii. If there was anything Fourteen relished, it was obliterating the secrecy of others.
“Irrelevant! Why must you go to Base?” he countered. “Charlie can take Emily. They can have sex.” He stuck out his white forked tongue and Unensela giggled.
Mudge’s face was a study in various hues of red. Mac silenced him with a look. Fourteen knew how to push his rival’s buttons, not difficult at the best of times.
“He has abundant external genitalia,” Fourteen persisted. “We all saw—”
“I’ll see you in orbit,” Mac interrupted. She let her tone imply she wasn’t worried if Fourteen was inside a ship when she did or not. “Gentlemen?”
She grabbed her bag from Sing-li, who wisely surrendered it, and headed for the hangar doors, pausing only to make sure Mudge was coming, too.
“My apologies, Norcoast,” that worthy panted. “He got past me.”
Mac glanced at him without slowing. His face glistened with sweat and at least some of its ruddiness looked to be from exertion. The rest, she blamed on Fourteen. “Did you run the entire length of the consulate?”
“A bit more, actually.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then took a couple of deeper breaths. “Damn Myg cheated and took a skim.”
“I should be the one to apologize,” Sing-li offered glumly. “I told Selkirk to keep an eye on him—trickiest being I’ve ever met. I swear you could hide something at the bottom of the ocean and he’d have it copied and on display by noon.”
Mac snorted. “Good thing he’s on our side. More or less,” this last to mollify Mudge.
“Of course I’m on your side,” Fourteen said in her ear.
Mac jumped and swung her bag. Sing-li swore and Mudge simply stopped where he was, throwing up his arms.
Fourteen, having dodged Mac’s swing, smiled unrepentantly as he rose from his crouch. “See? I sent Unensela away. It’s me now. I was never bringing the offspring.”
“Go away,” Mac growled.<
br />
“You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“You won’t win, Fourteen,” Emily said lazily.
Mac turned to see her friend leaning against one side of the now-open door to the consulate hangar, arms folded across her chest. Beyond, through the opening, was a line of levs and other transports, beings of various species moving around them at their work. The wide doors to the outside were mere shadows in the distance. The Sinzi built on a generous scale. There were a couple of larger service corridors, as well as this one, leading into the hangar. Not to mention a small, hidden entrance from the surface, for those who preferred even more stealth.
Wouldn’t have helped.
“Can you hurry it up, Mac? Pilot’s getting antsy.”
Mac raised an eyebrow. “I’ve no doubt.” The outfit was remarkable, even for Emily. For her triumphant return, she’d donned a white dress of the Sinzi’s favorite fabric that might have been painted over her curved torso, flaring in randomly transparent panels from thigh to ankle. Ropes of black pearls hung from her throat, almost reaching her waist; black satin gloves and sandals completed what was, to Mac, most definitely armor.
She gave her Myg-torn shirt a self-conscious tug and winced as she heard it rip further. Hopefully she could change on the lev.
“If he’s going,” Fourteen pointed at Mudge, “I’m going.”
“Oversight’s just seeing us off,” Mac began. Which hadn’t been part of the scheme of things, but she did appreciate Mudge’s efforts to intercept the determined Myg—however futile. “Now you both can,” she finished brightly. “Good-bye. See you on the transport to Myriam.”
A harrumph. “Ah. Norcoast. I am coming with you.”
At this, Mac’s head whipped around so quickly she felt a strain in her neck. “Pardon?”
“Staff’s done an excellent job,” Mudge explained. “Stellar. No one needs me.”
It was like some comedy routine, Mac thought with disgust, with her playing the the innocent victim from the audience. Had everyone forgotten who was in charge here? “No, Oversight.” This firm and calm. “Emily and I are going. Sing-li is coming with us because I can’t stop him without arcane paperwork or a sledgehammer. You are waiting for us in orbit, making sure everything is ready.”
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