Migration: Species Imperative #2

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Mac’s eyes widened as she saw the black velvetlike lining of the drawer before it closed again, then gave the rest of the white wall a suspicious look. Had that lining been of the fabric the Dhryn used to hide from the Ro? She wouldn’t be surprised.

  The Sinzi opened the bag, passing its contents to Mac.

  Mac took what at first glance seemed a plain disk of some gray metallic substance, cool at first, then warming to the touch. She lifted it within the curve of her thumb and forefinger. Held in better light, there was a dense spiral marking one side. No, Mac realized, rubbing her thumb over it lightly, the spiral was formed by something inlaid into the metal. At what could be compass points were small raised areas, three intact, the fourth hollowed as if something had been removed from it.

  As “artifacts” went, this one was neither old nor beautiful. Mac looked at Nik, who gave a tiny shrug, then back to the Sinzi. “What is it?”

  “A biological sample, Dr. Connor. A sample of you, in fact.” A finger reached over Mac’s shoulder, the pointed tip of its nail tracing the spiral. Another feathered one of Mac’s curls. “If removed, you would recognize this part by its pigmentation, perhaps. Or its length might be sufficient.”

  “A hair,” Mac breathed, eyes wide. “Mine.” From the braid she’d given in grathnu to the Progenitor on Haven. She’d thought it would have been digested or discarded long before now.

  The nail tip touched one of the raised dots. “Beneath each of these, a single intact epithelial cell. One was removed for analysis. Your genetic code was, of course, in the report sent to all IU consulates and officials.”

  “Of course,” Mac said faintly. The cells would have come from the skin of her scalp or hands; probably thousands had been lodged in the braid, given how she’d habitually fussed with it.

  “Make no mistake. This was prepared by someone who not only knew exactly which biological materials would bring you and this Parymn Ne Sa Las into contact, but that we would be capable of interpreting and acting on this—message. Succinct, practical. It speaks the language of science rather than species, yet acknowledges shared individual experience.” The Sinzi took the disk from Mac. “I remain impressed.”

  “You promised we wouldn’t waste time, Anchen, time we don’t have.” This, predictably, from the man Mac had now dubbed “Mr. Brown Suit.” “It doesn’t matter how he came here! What we need to know is why! What does he want?”

  As the latter part of this appeared directed at Mac, she chose to answer. “Access to a sonic shower,” she informed him, “though we’ll have to take off the safeties and set it to cook pie. Several bands of silk this wide.” She held out her arms. “About four meters long. Any solid color but yellow. Jellied mushrooms. Lipstick and eye liner. Assorted shades.” She fastened her best “don’t mess with me” glare on him. “He can barely talk in this condition, let alone think to answer questions.”

  Mr. Brown Suit took an abrupt step toward Mac, his face red and mouth working. The consular staff followed, as if alarmed, but Nik put himself in front of Mac first. “Sir. This is why Dr. Connor is here,” he told the other in a low urgent voice that nonetheless carried perfectly. I’m right here! Mac frowned at Nik’s back, quite willing to scrap on her own behalf. “She’s our only chance to make use of this resource; the IU has graciously granted us access to her expertise. Let her work.”

  The other shoved Nik aside—that Nik allowed it told Mac a great deal about who Mr. Brown Suit probably was—but didn’t come any closer to where Mac stood, barefoot and still. “Do it,” he told her, pale eyes drilling into hers. “But do it knowing Humans joined the list of confirmed Dhryn targets last night. A helpless refining station. Families—” His voice broke on the word. “Do it knowing the Secretary General of the Ministry has declared humanity under imminent threat. From them.” He didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to point to the Dhryn.

  Threat to the species, Mac said to herself, ashamed she’d taken offense.Where on that scale do any of us fall, Em?

  “Whatever Parymn Ne Sa Las requires will be arranged immediately,” Anchen promised; Mac didn’t doubt her in the least. She gestured to the ceiling and Mac paid attention to the clusters of vidbots for the first time. Too used to them everywhere else on Earth, she realized with some irony, to notice. “There are monitoring devices throughout this room; staff will await your needs. Simply ask. We will prepare our questions.” She began to leave, her long fingers sweeping the other Human, Imrya, and beaked alien with her, leaving Nik and the two staff.

  “Oh, no. Wait! Anchen, please.” Mac stopped short of lunging for one of those fingers. “I can’t stay here. I’ve work to do with my team.” She glanced at the huddled Dhryn. “Now more than ever.”

  “Now, this is your work.”

  “Yes. No. Not all of it. The Dhryn don’t understand themselves. Don’t you see—no matter what he can tell us, we’ll have to learn more.” Mac took a deep breath and said firmly: “Your word I’ll be allowed to spend part of every day working on the origins problem.”

  “Nonsense.” Mr. Brown Suit again. “Questioning him is the only priority.”

  And she thought a righteous Mudge could set her blood boiling. “I’ll be free to come and go,” Mac added, forcing the words between her teeth. “Four hours a day with my research team, when I choose.”

  “Absolutely not!” “Three and you sleep here.”

  The words overlapped, but it was Anchen’s counteroffer that silenced the Human’s protest.

  Outranked and knows it. Mac ignored him, sure she was right, that what she wanted was important. “Three, I sleep in my own room, and I can consult with my people at any time no matter where I am.” She took a gamble and quoted the alien’s own words about her work with the Myg. “There is deep significance within our combination.”

  “How so?”

  How? Mac hadn’t actually expected to explain. Note to self, Em. Never gamble with alien terminology. Her lack of answer stretched toward awkward.

  “Clearly, Anchen, there has developed an interwoven circularity of purpose,” Nik stated.

  There has? Mac wisely kept her mouth shut. If anyone knew the Sinzi-ra, it should be the liaison she’d requested most often. She hoped.

  “Elaborate.”

  “Between Kanaci, Mac’s team, and Mac herself, their work weaves into the goals of the IU and their member species, while involving an additional circularity of accomplishment from the present with that of the past, in order to resolve mutual debts, a resolution, I might add, which may well produce future gain for all.” Nik sounded confident, Mac acknowledged, even if what he said made no sense to her at all.

  What mattered was that it made sense to the Sinzi, whose shoulders rose as she pointed a white-clawed fingertip at Mac. “I am corrected. My thanks, Nikolai. You may begin on the basis you wish, Mac, to fully take advantage of these opportunities afforded us by your combinations. Be aware,” she added, “failure to produce meaningful insights swiftly will require modifications.”

  Mac nodded, then caught the eyes of Mr. Brown Suit with her own. “We’re here to prevent more tragedies,” she said quietly, the words for him. “That’s all that matters. You’ll have your answers as soon as possible. I give you my word.”

  His scowl faded, replaced by something akin to respect. “Dr. Connor,” he said, then turned to leave with Anchen and the other aliens.

  Their departure roused Parymn. “Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol . . . what has happened?”

  She’d wait till he was better to stop that full-name business. Try to, anyway. This wasn’t amiable Brymn . . . . . . who’d consumed Lyle’s wife and her arm. Mac shivered, just slightly.

  Nik noticed. “Concussions are nothing to fool with,” he said, frowning down at her. His eyes explored the wound. “If you need to rest—”

  Mac raised her hand to stop him, answering Parymn first. “They’ve gone to bring what we need to help you recover your strength.”

&n
bsp; “Nie rugorath sa nie a nai.” A Dhryn is robust or a Dhryn is not.

  “You don’t have the luxury of that belief here, Parymn Ne Sa Las,” Mac snapped. “The Progenitor has given you a task and you must not fail. You will accept care.”

  He lay back. She’d take that as agreement.

  “He’s not in good shape,” she told the others—who knew how many others, Em, Mac corrected, remembering the room was monitored.

  “We’re here to help, Mac,” Nik assured her.

  “You’ll stay?” She closed her mouth too late, hearing the relief in her voice. So what? Anyone listening would assume she was pleased to have a familiar face—and species—to help. Nik?

  Oh, he knew. A flash of warmth from those hazel eyes, the hint of a dimple. Nothing more, but that was enough. It wasn’t as though a weight had lifted, Mac decided, but more as though someone else had taken a share from her shoulders.

  “What do we do first?” This from Cinder.

  Mac felt herself coming back to normal, as normal as possible under the circumstances, but she’d take it. She swept the Trisulian with a critical look, seeing what she hadn’t before. He—she, Mac corrected, since no male symbionts were present—was taller than Kay by a considerable amount, closer to Mac’s own height, though shorter than Nik. Instead of Kay’s caftan, a clothing choice perhaps for his work when not concealing unattached weasels, Cinder’s limbs were wrapped in tight ribbons of black, while her stocky torso was covered by a brown-red shift, belted at both waists. The lower belt was festooned with gadgets, some of which were probably weapons, if she was in Nik’s line of work. The upper belt simply held the fabric together over the opening to her douscent. The hair cascading over Cinder’s entire head was a fine shiny brown, almost Human, and matched the skin showing on her hands.

  Nik’s partner. She’d like to know about that.

  First things first. “We do something about his living conditions, starting with this cage,” Mac decided. “Where’s the door?”

  Cinder pointed to the ceiling.

  Mac snorted. “That’s ridiculous—how am I supposed to get in?”

  “You don’t.” Nik’s voice had such an edge that Cinder bent an eyestalk his way.

  “Not until it’s clean, I’m not,” Mac agreed. She didn’t give him time to argue the point. “What are the options? For this room,” she added quickly.

  “We can make any modifications you require, Dr. Connor,” said one of the staff.

  Mac considered the two of them. One male, one female. Maybe. With some discreet padding, they could pass as Human on a dark night, doubtless the reason they were the species chosen to work at the IU’s Earth consulate.

  She spared an instant to wonder about that. Were they chosen to provide “familiar” faces to visiting Humans? Hands suited to the local technology? Or were they to help acclimate other, less humanoid species to the body plan before leaving the consulate to visit Earth. Probably all three. She respected the Sinzi’s thorough dedication to hospitality.

  Meanwhile, those faces looking back at her bore identical expressions of what would be bright, willing attention, if they’d really been Human faces. “What are your names?” Mac asked.

  Bright and willing changed to guarded and stubborn. “We are consular staff,” one said, as if Mac were confused. The male.

  “I know that. I want to know what to call you.”

  They exchanged quick looks. “Staff,” the female said.

  Nik made a muffled sound. Mac didn’t bother glaring at him. “I have no wish to offend, but I need to be able to refer to you as individuals.”

  Another exchange of looks. “Call me One,” said the male.

  “Two,” said the female. Then both gave her pleased smiles.

  Whatever worked, Em . . . Mac nodded. “Thank you. Now, please change into something that isn’t yellow. It alarms Dhryn.”

  “Yellow?” Two repeated, sounding puzzled.

  Cinder volunteered: “Xiphodians are polychromatic. They do not see color as Humans do. Or Trisulians, for that matter.”

  So they likely saw ultraviolet. Made sense. Mac was entranced by the notion of the all-white Sinzi decor covered in staff memos. Or rude comments about guests with fewer visual receptors. She focused on business. “Cinder, would you look after this please?”

  “Of course, Mac. Staff?” The three left the room.

  A room empty but for the Dhryn in his misery, herself, and Nik.

  Watching Parymn, Mac stole a look at the spy, and caught him watching her, by his expression finding something amusing in all this. “What is it?” she asked.

  “You do realize this is the second time I’ve brought you a Dhryn?”

  Mac grinned. “Some guys bring pizza.” That drew a smile. She savored it for a moment, then nodded at Parymn, who had opened his eyes to study them. “I had to persuade him it was all right for me to talk to you—to any of you. Home world Dhryn like Parymn don’t view other species as civilized. No. Nik, that’s not the right word. I’m not sure what is,” she finished, frustrated.

  “It’s a starting point.” To Nik’s credit, he didn’t appear to take offense at Parymn’s opinion—a reminder she was in the presence of someone with far more experience comprehending the non-Human.

  Not just a comfort—an asset. One Mac suddenly appreciated. “He’s here because the Progenitor sent him to talk to me,” she explained. “That’s exactly how he put it: to talk to me. I’ve convinced him that She would also want me to talk to you, to not-Dhryn.”

  “About what?”

  “We hadn’t got to that part yet.” She tightened her lips, then nodded. In Dhryn: “Parymn Ne Sa Las, what does the Progenitor want you to say to me?”

  “We . . . are to talk, Mackenzie Winifred . . . Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol.”

  She crouched down, pitched her voice lower in hopes it made it easier for him to hear. “I know. But about what?”

  “The Progenitor . . . searches for . . .” His voice disappeared into vibration.

  “Searches for what?” Mac urged. “Please try, Parymn Ne Sa Las.”

  With abrupt clarity:

  “The truth—the truth about ourselves.”

  As if that last effort had been too much, Parymn’s eyes closed.

  “The Honored Delegate Brymn did not ask for such treatment.”

  “Brymn Las,” Mac corrected automatically. “And he was trying to fit in, so of course he didn’t ask for special treatment. Trust me. A sonic shower. Will that clean the floor as well?” There were dried and drying smears of Dhryn blood everywhere.

  “At the requested setting, yes. But Brymn Las did not—”

  “You can do it, can’t you?” she challenged the pair. Nik, watching the exchange, rubbed a hand over his chin as if to hide a smile.

  One and Two traded offended looks. They stood side by side, a matched set in Dhryn-neutral pink. Not the time to ask if they liked whatever color that appeared to their eyes. “We will make all of the arrangements you’ve requested, Mac,” answered Two stiffly. “We suggest you occupy yourselves elsewhere for an hour.”

  “Or be crisped,” Mac said jovially. She reassured herself with a last look at Parymn’s thick, rubbery hide and a memory of the hazards of Dhryn “bathing.” “Good. Then I’m off to check on my team.”

  Nik nodded at the door. “There’s fresh coffee—and a com link. You’ll want to be here when he’s ready for questioning.” She scowled and he gave her that too-innocent look. “Or not.”

  Coffee and a few moments’ peace and quiet, versus retracing her steps and plunging—for too brief a time—back into the turmoil she’d deliberately stirred behind her.

  Coffee with Nik and a few moments’ peace and quiet, versus confronting a host of testy archaeologists who’d doubtless noticed Fourteen’s predilection for acquiring small objects by now. She winced. Forgot the memo.

  Mac noticed the dimple deepening in Nik’s cheek and scowled again. Just enough to let him know it was
her idea.

  “Coffee works.”

  - 15 -

  DISCLOSURES AND DILEMMA

  “I ADMIT I WAS EXPECTING something—smaller. And damp.” Mac gave the subject of basements another moment’s serious consideration. “Maybe a troll,” she said finally.

  To be truthful, while she’d assumed there was something beneath the consular complex, Mac had leaned toward wine cellars and seasonal storage, with perhaps accommodations suited to those aliens who liked it small, damp, and dark. A vault or two seemed reasonable to protect whatever precious goods might be moving on or off Earth with guests.

  Basements were good for such things.

  There was, she acknowledged with an inward shudder, a dungeon of sorts.

  But the reality, behind door number three, was—like walking into one of Emily’s favorite thriller vids.

  Having been in the Progenitor’s vast cavern, Mac would have scoffed at the suggestion she’d ever again be impressed by a large room in a basement, even a very large room in a very odd basement.

  Until Nik opened the third and final door at the corridor’s end, the one beside Parymn’s cell, the one she blithely assumed would simply lead to another corridor or room, and, as promised, coffee.

  It didn’t. And she was.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Nik said into her ear.

  Mac grunted, too busy struggling to grasp it all.

  Straight ahead was easy, almost ordinary: a floor, although it widened to the right like a great fan until ending at the far curve of a wall. It was bounded by one other wall, this Mac touched with her right hand. She looked up, captivated by how this wall rose not to a ceiling, but to meet another floor, set back from the first; above it, another, and another, stretching up and away like a staircase.

  To her left, the floor dropped away. Mac walked to the unprotected edge and looked down. Another floor below this one, and another.