Migration: Species Imperative #2

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “My companion has no tact,” Kay said, his tone contrite. “What he means to say, with sincere regret and no disrespect to your species, is that neither of us are physically capable of satisfying your overwhelming urge to copulate. You’ll have to use Mac.”

  Oh, she should have seen that coming. Mac shook her head with appreciation. Nik, meanwhile, had an alarming gleam in his eye. “Sam’s too old,” she informed them calmly, before he had a chance to say anything. And make it worse. “He doesn’t have those urges anymore.”

  Fourteen blinked, then broke into his barking laugh. Kay drummed the palms of his hands on the table—presumably his version.

  Nik?

  The look he sent Mac wasn’t official at all. In fact, it was the next best thing to ominous.

  Mac grinned. “Hadn’t you better get to work, Sam?”

  After the dishes were done, and Kay had gone to his bedroom for, as Fourteen put it, time to commune with his overstuffed douscent, Mac left the Myg rearranging porch furniture for some obscure reason and went to check on Nik.

  Black flies lifted from every leaf as she left the porch steps, hovering in confusion an arm’s length away—aware she was close, but not knowing where. Mac waved at them cheerfully. Technology wasn’t cheating. “Go chew a moose,” she advised.

  The top third of the path from the cabin was the most seriously eroded, convenient for Nik—since she assumed he’d want to overhear anything said on the porch. Mac edged her way alongside the deep crevices of exposed gravel and sand, keeping to root-tight soil. Unlike the coastal rain forest, here the dimly lit forest floor was a brown carpet of decaying needles, punctuated only by absurd balls of moss, vivid and vulnerable, and clumps of blushing mushrooms. If a tree fell, letting in the sun, the ground exploded with grasses, blueberry bushes, and eager saplings. If sun touched stone, the smallest cracks became lined with stubborn willow shrubs and packed with moss, its surface crusted with lichens.

  The path bent sharply before the next drop; Mac heard the thud of his ax before she spotted him working just below.

  Mac stopped, her real hand resting on the cool moist bark of the nearest tree. It wasn’t hot yet, but Nik had already stripped off shirt and tool belt. More confused black flies circled his head, hunting a landing. He was chopping back a huge, upthrust root to make room for a wider stair. The new timbers were stacked behind him—they’d been stored under the porch for years, waiting for someone with time and inclination.

  For once, Mac didn’t wonder about Emily’s reaction to the easy play of muscles over his shoulders and back with each confident rise of the ax, or the sweat plastering hair to his forehead and neck, glowing on his skin in the morning light.

  She felt her own.

  How complicated brains made the basics, she mused, putting her back against the tree, content to enjoy the moment before he noticed her. Which biological drives remained untouched once you added intelligence and tossed in civilization? Breathing. Leaping away from flame. Past that, even something so central to being Human as caring for a child evolved regulations and customs, habits and judgments.

  Now, interaction with non-Human intelligence. What effect did it have, blending biology so three species could share breakfast, and thousands could share space?

  What were they missing about the Dhryn? Mac frowned.

  Nik chose that instant to look up and see her. “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, shifting his grip on the ax.

  Mac found a smile. “Just thinking. You’re doing a great job.”

  He used his forearm to wipe his brow. “It’s a wonder you didn’t break your necks climbing this,” he commented, gesturing at the ground. This section did look worse in daylight, more dry gully than path.

  “It keeps casual visitors down. Usually.”

  Nik glanced up the slope, then lowered his voice slightly. “There’s nothing casual about those two. Fourteen’s been at the Gathering for several weeks. I’ve asked for background information, his area of expertise, but nothing’s come through yet. As for Kay—he’s a more recent arrival, for all they seem pals. Does he only have four eyestalks?”

  “That’s all I’ve seen so far. Why? Do they come and go?” Within that hair, it was possible. Mac was quite taken with the notion. “How many should he have?”

  “Four is normal,” Nik said disappointedly. “But your Kay is no ordinary messenger, judging from the clout he had in arranging this little ambush in the woods. I’d have thought he’d have more by now.”

  “Care to explain that?”

  “I—”

  “Mac-ac-ac-ac!” They both looked downslope as the hail echoed across the lake and back. They could hear the rub of paddle against a canoe. “Mac-ac!!!”

  “What? I don’t believe it. That’s Russell,” Mac said, recognizing the bellow. “Fourteen told me he’d called to cancel their trip last night,” she growled. “Should have done it myself. You’d better stay here,” she said as she clambered past Nik and jumped the timbers, heading for the cove. He started to follow her anyway, and she paused to look back at him. “He’ll know you aren’t local,” she warned.

  “And not Sam Beckett.”

  He knew? Then she understood. Damn Ministry dossiers. “I had to pick a name,” Mac defended, grabbing a handful of cedar for balance. “There wasn’t time to consult.”

  “You don’t let go of people, do you?”

  “No.” Mac’s lips twisted. “Not first,” she admitted, beyond caring what that revealed about her. “Just keep busy and out of the way. Trust me. Russell won’t stay long.”

  Another of those offhand salutes, but his hazel eyes were troubled. She felt them watching her as she went down to meet the canoe.

  “Wendy Carlson,” Russell Lister introduced. The tall woman slogging through water to her ankles waved at Mac, then kept pushing her canoe up the beach. They’d brought the store’s two largest, Russell fully aware how much gear Kay and Fourteen had brought.

  “Nice to meet you,” Mac said, taking the paddle Russell shoved at her. “But you’ve made the trip for nothing. They canceled their trip. I thought Fourteen—the Myg—called you last night about it.”

  “He did,” Wendy said, then nodded at Russell. “Made us come anyway.”

  Mac turned to him. “Why?”

  His face went bright red. “No reason. You’re fine. I can see that. Plain as day. We’ll just head back now. Sorry to trouble you, Mac.” He reached for his paddle and Mac returned it with a puzzled frown.

  Wendy, a friendly-faced young woman with a glorious mane of red hair blowing free in the wind, broke out laughing as she pulled the front of her canoe onto the sand. “Honestly, Russ, you’re hopeless. Don’t mind him, Mac. He expected to find you hanging from a tree in some alien bondage ritual. It was all Cat and I could do to stop him calling in the police last night to storm the place.”

  “Bondage . . . ?” Mac repeated incredulously. “You’re kidding.” But from Russell’s embarrassment, Wendy wasn’t.

  Mac couldn’t decide if she should laugh or tear out her hair. On second thought, maybe she should put Fourteen and Russell in the same room for a while. Or maybe not. “Russell? What on Earth put that in your head? You were the one who dumped them on me in the first place.”

  He rested the blade of his paddle on top of his boot, crossing his hands on the handle. “I know. Just made it worse, Mac. Worrying you’d come to harm because of me. Glad you’re okay.” He heaved a sigh, then shook his head. “I feel like such an idiot.”

  “You should,” she agreed. “Alien bondage? You and Cat watch too many vids over the winter. I should send you some comparative anatomy texts.” She put her hand on top of his, pushing gently. “Thanks for checking.” Mac paused, then the light dawned. Aliens, she sighed to herself. “What exactly did Fourteen say to you?”

  “That’s the thing.” Russell lowered his voice conspiratorially, although the three of them were the only beings in sight who’d conceivably hear. Wendy sent Mac a
look of sympathy. “We weren’t in, so he’d left a message.”

  Mac waited a long moment, swatting at an inquisitive—and precocious—deerfly. When Russell still didn’t speak, she burst out: “Well? What did the message say?”

  Russell gave her a hurt look. “Give me a minute, Mac. I’m making sure I get it right.”

  A spy on her path, aliens on her porch, and Russell taking his time. Mac pinched the bridge of her nose to make sure she was awake. “The gist,” she suggested acidly, “will do.”

  “I heard it,” Wendy volunteered. Ignoring Russell’s humphf, she shifted into a credible imitation of the Myg’s gruff voice. “ ‘The canoe trip is now irrelevant. The female Human meets our needs. Charge Kay triple and stay away. And send four more of your fine shirts to the address I left. Add them to Kay’s bill.’ ”

  Mac winced. Damn Myg sense of humor. “Okay, I can see how you might take that the wrong way. My apologies, Russell.”

  He rolled his eyes and didn’t move, doing his own credible impression of Man Terribly Wronged. The one that never worked, Mac remembered, but always made Cat laugh and give him a hug.

  She grinned. “Why don’t you and Wendy come up to the cabin for a drink?” she invited. “We can get your bill settled there.”

  “Great!” Wendy smiled cheerfully and gave the older man a light push. “C’mon, Russ.”

  Nik had taken her suggestion and made himself scarce, Mac noticed as they negotiated the path to the cabin, although she suspected he was capable of hiding behind the thinnest tree. She led the way up the steps and opened the porch door.

  The two aliens had arranged three armchairs around a trio of mismatched tables this time, and were busy playing another card game. So far, the cards were safely in their hands or on a table. The IU’s finest, Mac grinned to herself.

  “Mr. Russell! Mr. Wendy!” Kay greeted them warmly. “How are you this morning?”

  “Fine, fine,” Russell got the words out somehow, though Mac could tell he was still trying to regroup. Admittedly, aliens playing cards was a far cry from what Russell had imagined he’d find here. She was sorely tempted to knock his and Fourteen’s heads together. Interspecies communication was difficult enough, without throwing in erotic and anatomically unsound vid dramas—not to mention, Mac fumed to herself, brochures on human sexual behavior.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take the trip?” Russell had continued. Not being privy to Mac’s thoughts, his voice was closer to normal. “It’s an amazing opportunity—”

  “Irrelevant,” Fourteen interrupted. “You were told not to come. We have other plans. Be amazed without us.”

  Kay’s upper two eyestalks—four in total, Mac confirmed involuntarily—bent to aim at Russell. “Ignore the rude creature,” Kay told him. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. We will, of course, pay the full price for our trip regardless. Send my companion here the bill.”

  “But he said to send it to you,” Russell protested, giving Mac an anxious look. Fourteen seemed oblivious, busy rearranging cards.

  “You don’t need to send anything, Russell,” Mac said firmly, glowering at her guests. “They will each pay you double the cost of the original trips before you leave here. And you—” she pointed at Fourteen, who froze with a handful of cards in midair to stare up at her, “—will pay for your own shirts before they are shipped.”

  “Sounds fair to me, Mac,” Russell said with a huge smile.

  Since no one from another world seemed inclined to comment, Mac went on: “Coffee anyone?”

  “Something cold, please, if you have it,” Wendy answered. She’d been studying the card game. “What are you playing?” she asked Kay.

  “Something he made up,” the Trisulian answered morosely.

  Fourteen grinned. “Involving more numbers and less cheating!”

  Wendy looked entranced. “Would you show me? Please?”

  “Be my guest,” Kay stood, offering her his seat.

  Russell dropped into the swing and put his head back on the cushions, closing his eyes. “Take your time, Wendy. We’re in no rush. Oh, I take three sugars these days, Mac. Thanks.”

  Kay accompanied Mac to the kitchen, holding the doors for her courteously each time. “Should we prepare a beverage for Sam?” he asked.

  “Got my own, thanks.” Back in his shirt, sawdust frosting his hair, Nik leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping a glass of water. His eyes laughed at her.

  She was going to put a tracer on him, Mac thought, exasperated. She went to a cupboard and snooped through Cat’s gifts until she found a bag of cookies. “So Fourteen invented his own card game—just like that?”

  “He lives for numbers,” Kay said, putting on the coffee. One eyestalk watched what his hands were doing, its partner swiveled between her and Nik, while the remaining two stayed asleep. Mac was fascinated.

  “What does he do with them—when he isn’t playing games?” Nik asked, stealing a cookie as Mac put them on a plate.

  “Do? I’ve no idea.” The aroma of coffee began filling the kitchen. “He is paid ridiculous sums for whatever it is and considers himself very clever. Numbers,” Kay put out mugs, “bore me.”

  “What do you do?” Mac asked. “When not vacationing on Earth, that is,” she added quickly. Remembering who was supposed to know what about whom was the worst of it. Or was that who knew which who knew what?

  Mac’s head threatened to throb. Salmon, she promised it, were much simpler than spies.

  “I’m a—I believe the Human equivalent is civil servant. I obtain information, prepare meeting summaries, that sort of thing.”

  How—normal. Mac spooned sugar into Russell’s mug, at a loss for what to ask next. This, she said to herself, from the woman with a spy in her kitchen.

  Said spy was presently using his skills to sneak another cookie. Mac passed him the bag with the rest. “Help yourself.”

  “Thanks. By the way, I’ll be gone a couple of hours. Need to get some setting posts from my shop.”

  Gone? She gave him a sharp look, but the Ministry agent seemed more interested in eating than clandestine signals.

  “We have ample poodle. I will save you a sandwich,” Kay promised.

  Nik looked startled, then worried. Was either expression real? “It’s okay, Sam,” she said, playing along. “I had some last night. Delicious.”

  “If you say so, Mac. Till later, then.” Nik gave her that half salute, then ducked out the back door.

  “You’re sure he’s too old,” Kay ventured. “Seems fit.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.” She hesitated. How did one casually ask about eyestalks? Was there etiquette?

  “True for all species, Mac. Shall we serve our guests?”

  Opportunity lost, for now, Mac followed Kay back to the porch.

  Leftover “poodle” did make excellent sandwiches. Mac had Kay leave a plateful in the kitchen for “Sam,” so he wouldn’t mention the name during lunch on the porch. Wendy and Russell helped finish off the rest, both operating on what Mac’s father had called “cottage time.” In other words, lingering whenever politely possible until the next meal showed up.

  Mac went down to the cove to help launch their canoes, just to be sure it didn’t occur to Russell or Wendy to linger for supper.

  Russell still had his doubts. “You’re sure you want to stay alone with these guys, Mac?” he asked, standing beside his canoe. Wendy was pushing hers out. “They seem nice enough, but you never know.”

  “If I detect the slightest hint of evil intentions, you’ll be the first one I call,” Mac promised, then grinned. “I plan to wear them out anyway. A good long hike, probably a few days’ worth into the bush,” she improvised, “then I’ll get a ride back with them to Base. Time for me to return to work by then. Tell Cat I appreciate the supplies and I’ll visit more next trip.” Then she beckoned Russell close to whisper: “We paddled a bit yesterday. Kay gets terribly seasick. Don’t tell anyone—I think it’s a pride th
ing with his species.”

  Russell drew back with a knowing look. “Ah. Thanks, Mac. Good to know.”

  And if their supposed itinerary wasn’t all over the lake by midday tomorrow, Mac thought with satisfaction as she watched the twin canoes head out into the lake, nothing would be.

  Just then, a v-shaped flock of seven huge birds appeared over the trees on the far shore, their powerful wings beating in synchrony, flying toward her and north. Swans. Mac smiled as she hooded her eyes to watch them pass overhead. The pelicans would arrive next, with their unwelcome nesting companions, the gulls. Cormorants were here already, competing for space with early arriving geese. Herons would push them both out soon, reclaiming their colonies.

  It was like welcoming old friends home.

  There was no sign of Nik as she walked through his construction site to the cabin. Mac didn’t bother wondering where he’d gone—or how, since there’d been no sign of an additional canoe along the cove. The sun was blazing down now, bringing that heady scent out of the pines and adding a pulsing heat even in the shade. Late May.

  Some years, that meant snow, Mac thought with a grin.

  Kay and Fourteen were waiting for her, the latter curled into a ball on his chair, lumpy knees in front of his nose. Mac resolutely avoided looking at the expanse of strained paisley this offered. “We have been discussing the Dhryn life cycle and wish your thoughts, Mac,” Kay informed her as she joined them.

  “I’m not a xenobiologist,” she cautioned. “I told you yesterday. My field is salmon.”

  “Nonsense. You are a trained observer, with a relevant background. Your insights would be most valuable.”

  No one at the Ministry had wanted them. Mac couldn’t help but feel a little glow of satisfaction. Then she quelled it. “Valuable? Not without more data.”

  “At the Gathering, you should find the data you lack,” Fourteen said. He seemed strangely subdued.

  Mac took a closer look at him. “Are you feeling all right?”