Mac brightened. Maybe the crowd in this room wasn’t completely her fault.
“Dr. Connor,” Rumnor came forward and indicated The Chair.
She was being punished anyway. Seeing no way to avoid it, not without offending the Sinzi, Mac sat. With the offspring, who promptly started rearranging their holds on her clothing to better see what was happening.
Ureif leaned over and, without moving his lips, made a chipchirrup sound. The offspring swung their faces toward him and echoed it, eyes wider than usual. A second, more emphatic chirrup from the Sinzi, and the offspring climbed off Mac and scampered into the assembly, presumably seeking Unensela.
Despite being relieved her clothes would now stay intact, Mac found she missed their warm little bodies. Probably because now she faced “everyone” without support. She checked her posture and swallowed, hard.
There was a soft tinkling of ring to ring as each Sinzi rested the tip of one long finger on Mac’s shoulder. Startled, she glanced up at them, but both were looking toward the captain.
Whatever its meaning, the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. To’o’s wheezing inhalations—the Cey being congested since morning—were the loudest sound in the room.
“We wish to hear your suggestions as to the deployment of personnel and resources, Captain Gillis,” Ureif said, his voice soft and mellow. “I will, with your consent, establish a consulate within your vessel to service those involved with the Dhryn ships. I anticipate ongoing negotiations. I trust you can accommodate any who need to stay on board? Three staff—” a finger lifted to indicate the Grimnoii, who shuffled proudly, “—will be available to liaise with your crew.”
“Two will travel with me.” Fy’s paired eyes caught the light as she nodded graciously to the remaining Grimnoii. “My dart will be insufficient. I trust you can provide additional small craft to convey us and our equipment to the transect station as well as to the planet surface.”
Fingertips pressed gently into Mac’s shoulders. Her turn. She coughed and gave the plainly astounded captain a sympathetic look. “The Origins Team will be divided during the investigation of the derelicts. I trust—” she deliberately echoed the Sinzi phrasing, “—you can provide those who remain on board full and independent communications with those on Myriam.”
When someone opens the spillway, she thought smugly, you swim.
She saw the captain’s hesitation, his quick glance to Townee and back to her, but couldn’t guess which way he’d go. Her experience with Human government and bureaucracy had tended to be of the “maybe, if you shout long enough” variety—no offense to Mudge. Her experience with the military mind-set? Based on Emily’s old thriller vids. Likely unrealistic. Her recent stint with the Ministry had been—confusing. Something of a blend of anxious bookkeepers and overprotective relatives.
The captain had the ability to stop the Sinzi from playing a role at Myriam. He could, Mac realized, dry-mouthed, turn his ship around and take them back to Earth. Or he could cooperate on every level. She didn’t see any middle ground. Either he honored the intent of his orders, to assist the IU as it sought an end to whatever combination of Dhryn and Ro threatened life, or he retreated behind the doubtless innumerable regulations designed to keep a Human ship on Human business and under Human control.
Been there, Mac reminded herself. “Where on that scale . . .” The grim reality applied to individual species, as much as to individuals. None of them were safe.
As if he knew she understood, Gillis’ eyes burned into hers. She dared a slight nod.
After twelve heartbeats, he returned it.
“Your trust honors us,” Captain Gillis stated, his voice sure and strong. Townee’s scowl vanished, as if she’d only needed a decision. “The Joy is at your disposal, Sinzi-ra. My exec will work directly with your staff. Dr. Connor, expect modifications to your working space. We’ll have to install the equipment you need.”
The fingertips lifted from her shoulders as the Sinzi performed one of their elaborate gestures. Framed by such grace, Mac stayed absolutely still. The moment called for some dignity, she decided.
Which again lasted only until the irrepressible Sam Schrant shouted “Hey, Mac! Ask for ribs!” from the safety of the crowd.
They might have stirred an ant nest, Mac decided two hours later. She dodged against a wall to avoid being run over as a pair of Grimnoii rushed past behind wheeled carts loaded with dark Sinzi bags.
The establishment of a formal consulate, or the best facsimile possible in the time before reaching Myriam, consumed the Joy crew as well. Ureif would remain in the quarters he now shared with Fy, but he’d provided an extensive list of requirements for the other space he would need. Mac heard bits and pieces, mostly from Mudge. Despite the bags under his eyes and her own guilt, she’d asked him to keep involved. Not only had he agreed without hesitation, he’d already managed to justify two trips to the bridge.
Among the more urgent Sinzi requests had been those for meeting rooms and accommodations with direct access to docking ports.
Expecting company.
The Grimnoii were a bustle of efficiency, when they weren’t saying good-bye to one another. Mac spotted a couple rubbing noses outside Ureif’s quarters. They seemed overcome by the urge to stand and sniff at regular intervals.
She assumed the Sinzi-ra were aware and had factored the trait into their schedule.
For a schedule it was. Sandwich in hand, Mac made her way to the work area, once split into four, now divided into three. The combined, larger space was being filled with consoles, displays, and chairs. Gillis was as good as his word. A shifting number of crew had taken up floor plates and were installing various feeds. Fourteen hovered excitedly, pocketing tools when no one was looking, producing one with an innocent smile whenever an irate Human shouted for it.
The waiting courier ship would dock with them within the approach funnel leading into the Naralax. A lesser gate, in terms of volume, but most of its traffic still required tugs to reach final approach positioning. The dreadnought was among the few permitted to enter on her own. Mac hoped that meant they went faster.
She didn’t like waiting.
“Dr. Connor!”
She was pretty close to not liking Norris either.
“Over here.” She sat on the nearest empty table and waited, taking the moment to finish her sandwich.
Norris wove his way through a confusion of bags and people to reach her side. “I sent you a—I’ve been looking for you.”
“You’ve found me.”
His imp was in his hand. “Have you had a chance to think more about your sim experience? Dr. Cayhill suggested some recollections might begin to surface.”
Mac understood the almost pleading note to his voice. She’d been his hope for more data on the Dhryn ship; it wasn’t his fault she’d explored so little of it. Thirty-one steps, three doors, one friend.
And death.
“Sorry, Norris,” she said, surprised to mean it. She’d written her own memo to Gillis, copied to Hollans. It sat waiting with the rest of the messages Fourteen had, in his terms, “brilliantly convoluted.” Cayhill, regardless of his motivations, would no longer be a factor in Mac’s life.
Though dismemberment had its appeal.
She didn’t believe Norris had anything to do with the perversion of the sim. He was too focused on his own work to care about anything else. Something she could appreciate, Mac admitted. “If I get a minute, I’ll go back over my original statement. Might jog a memory,” she offered. “Though the Dhryn didn’t let me see much.”
“You would?” His eyes widened. “I’d appreciate that, Dr. Connor.”
She slid off the table. “Anything else? It’s a little crazy at the moment.”
“Yes. Please.” Norris leaned over her, his free hand reaching as if to make sure she stayed.
Mac sidled to avoid the touch, trying not to be obvious. Civil, she reminded herself. “What?”
He lowered his voice. “I u
nderstood this was a Ministry operation, Dr. Connor. There was no mention of aliens being in charge.”
Or biologists.
Nonetheless, she had a fair idea what troubled him. “You’re worried they won’t let you on the ships.”
“Ureif knows more about Dhryn designs than I do.”
Mac smiled at what seemed an honest complaint. “I can’t see the Sinzi-ra exploring in person. You should be able to do all the crawling about you want. But if there’s any problem, let me know.”
“Why do they listen to you?” Norris looked perplexed, his voice plaintive. “Who are you?”
No one you’d know, she felt like saying, but settled for, “When we’ve time, I’ll do my best to explain. Right now, I suggest you finish whatever prep you have to do. Once we’re in Myriam, it’s likely to be pretty hectic. First ready,” her grin was the one that gave new students fits at the start of the field season, “first out the door.”
From his expression, she’d presented him with a new concept. Bet you’ve made plenty of others wait on your timing, Mac thought less than charitably. But she’d done her best. Time to finish her own preparations. “See you on the other side,” she told him, and walked away, aiming for the one work area where scientists were still actually working.
“Kirby, To’o,” she greeted, stepping over piles that hadn’t been there yesterday. It was as if clutter found them. “Dr. Schrant.” She wasn’t ready to let him off the hook—yet—for shouting her name in the meeting. At least he hadn’t done the entire chant, she shuddered.
“Hey, Mac.” The three looked up through their ’screens. “You got a minute now?”
She checked the time. “About that.” The courier must dock soon. She planned to be first in line, not last. But these three had been at her heels since yesterday. “What is it?”
To’o grabbed a paper-laden chair and tipped its contents to the floor. “Have a seat, Mac.”
“Corrupted by Humans,” Mac observed. As she sat, Kirby hurried to reposition one ’screen in front of her face. She squinted at the now-familiar outlines of the planet Myriam. “What am I looking for?”
“Watch, Mac,” Sam urged. “We’ve run this umpteen times. Here’s the way this world should be.”
“ ‘Umpteen’ is not a—” Mac closed her mouth. The world in front of her had transformed, the upper hemisphere blue-green, white at its pole, the southern brown and yellows. The image flickered, showing the world going through its annual seasons. Winter storms, dust clouds, cyclones. The pace of change increased, until a new pattern appeared. Over time, the seasonal changes shifted closer and closer toward one another, change coming now quickly until, like a flash, the moment came when greens appeared at the lower pole, while at the upper they faded to brown and dull yellow. Triggering the Dhryn migration. “I’ve seen this,” she reminded them. “Myriam experiences a periodic shift in tilt, affecting the overall climate.”
“Did you notice the oceans?”
Mac looked at the image, now flickering so rapidly the change from north to south was like a pulse. Myriam’s oceans resembled narrow ribbons. Much of the planet’s water had been underground; it had never been as moist as Earth. “What am I to notice? They look normal enough.”
“Exactly.” The three exchanged proud looks, then gazed happily at Mac. “Isn’t it great?” Sam asked.
She’d utterly missed the point. Mac frowned at them. “Explain ‘it.’ ”
“Oh.” Kirby and Sam looked a bit too contrite. To’o, as if unaware the wrong Human might understand the gesture, rolled his thumb along his opposite palm.
They were laughing at her.
Mac sighed. Students. “Remind me to show you geniuses some comparative physiology one of these days. What’s so great?”
Kirby poked his finger into one of the oceans hanging in midair in front of Mac. “This should still be here.”
Sam took over. “Nothing we’ve done . . . no scenario we’ve input, no even more catastrophic climatic change or the loss of living matter . . . nothing removed the surface water in this way. And you know how good I am at catastrophe.” He folded his arms, looking pleased with himself.
Mac nodded absently, staring at the image of a world that should be, and wasn’t. “So it was a weapon of some kind. The Ro. We were assuming as much.”
“Not so fast.” Kirby leaned forward. “We checked with the other Cey group. They’ve been looking at the planet surface for signs of some kind of attack. Nothing.”
She frowned. “Then where did it go?”
“Away.” The three shrugged in unison, a gesture the Cey copied perfectly, then sneezed.
“ ‘Away,’ ” Mac repeated. “What kind of answer is that? Away where? How?”
“We need more data,” To’o stated. The others nodded. “Further samples from the ocean floor could tell us if the water was destroyed on site.”
“If not, maybe it was collected and carried off somehow.” This from Kirby. “There are water miners—”
“Way too sudden for that,” Sam objected. “I keep telling you . . .”
Mac stopped listening, her mind filled with a dark tank, boiling with life; she could feel that voice etched along nerve endings. “Or it was drained,” she said very quietly.
“To where?”
“Anywhere. Through a no-space opening within the ocean. The Ro could be capable of that. Maybe they put some kind of device or gate underwater. In an abyss.”
“Mac?” She hadn’t realized Sam had freckles, but he’d grown so pale a smattering of them appeared on his cheekbones. “Do you think that’s what they left in Castle Inlet?”
For an instant, it was as if she could see it happening . . . the low tide that didn’t end, the drying continental plains and estuaries, the snap-crack of settling ice, the last-ever flows rushing down sea canyons, the belching of released gas as the floor itself was exposed . . . the tremulous few gasping in exiled pools, to die by sun instead . . . the rains that failed . . .
Mac tightened every muscle to hold in her shudder. “Good question,” she said, making it brisk, rising to her feet. “Do you have all this ready to send to Base?” They nodded. Your chance to save the world, Em. “Give it to Fourteen. Tell him to mark it top priority. And Sam?”
His eyes were as haunted as hers must appear. “Yes, Mac.”
“ ‘How’ isn’t as important as ‘why.’ There’s a reason for all this,” she promised, herself as much as the frightened climatologists. “It’s our job to help discover it.”
Mac left them to it, considering an addition to her own message for Emily. Doomsday device. Have fun hunting.
She shook her head. While she didn’t doubt Emily would be exhilarated by the challenge, neither of them had believed the Ro would leave anything less.
And what she really wanted to ask, she couldn’t. Not without undermining Emily’s fragile self-confidence. Not without cueing those who’d doubtless scan all incoming messages that Emily might not have recovered enough to be trusted.
Mac intended to know, some day.
Why eleven?
Mac was halfway up the ladder to her quarters when the courier arrived, the Frow apparently otherwise engaged. Maybe they preferred to spend transect in their quarters. She wasn’t quite sure who on board ignored passing through no-space and who fussed in a corner. Kudla, it turned out, was one of the latter. He and his disciples had locked their doors and asked not to be disturbed until safely through to Myriam.
She’d set her imp to an audible alarm, cued for that announcement from Mudge, waiting on the bridge. When it went off, she paused, hands tight on the rung. Up or down.
“Down.”
Admit it. Her heart wasn’t hammering in anticipation of a transmitted message.
Mac’s feet and hands thudded against the rungs as quickly as she could move them, her left palm making a slightly crisper sound. The one time she could use the Frow. One rung . . . two . . . three . . . her right foot slipped on the fourth and
she recovered. Five . . .
Chime!
One rung . . . two . . . three . . . her right foot slipped on the fourth and—
Mac stopped and held on, breathing more quickly. She knew what that moment of déjà vu signified.
They’d gone through the gate.
She resumed climbing down, trying not to estimate how long it took to dock a ship and cycle through an air lock, for someone from that ship and air lock to hand a small package over to the right authority, for that person to return through the air lock into that ship and for that ship to remove itself and move to a safe distance. Because if she did . . .
Mac stopped and rested her forehead on the cold metal.
She’d know it hadn’t been long enough.
“As if I know anything about starships,” she scolded herself, and started moving again. “Maybe they throw things at each other.”
But Mac no longer hurried, afraid of what might not be waiting.
“You should have seen it, Norcoast.” Mudge was practically aglow. “A splendid maneuver. Simply outstanding.”
Executive Officer Darcy Townee preened. The only word for it, Mac thought, fascinated. “We work on our precision.”
“And it shows.” He seemed about to bow, but turned it into a more restrained duck of the head. “I was privileged to be on the bridge during the event.”
“Anytime, Mr. Mudge,” offered Townee.
“Charles, please.”
“Darcy.”
Gods. The woman was blushing.
Mac took a deep breath and let it out. She’d wandered up and down the section of the ship open to passengers in search of a courier package, trying not to appear too eager while asking anyone likely. Intercepting these two on their way back to the Origins area had been promising—until she’d realized neither was carrying any sort of pouch.
“I guess there’s no mail,” she said. And Nik was dead.
“Pardon?” asked Townee.
“She means messages,” Mudge translated, remorse wiping the smile from his face as he took in Mac’s expression, which mustn’t have been the “don’t care” one she’d attempted.
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