Migration: Species Imperative #2

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “Hopefully making a fool of myself.”

  “Well, you’ve got company,” he said, shaking his head. “Remind me not to station anyone on Base again. The place corrupts.”

  She couldn’t smile. “Nik, we’ve found evidence the Dhryn were taken into space, that their present state isn’t their natural one—implying they were modified. My team’s now hunting anything that ties in the Ro. When we find that—”

  “If.”

  “When,” she countered defiantly. “It’s them, Nik.”

  He lowered his head a moment, then looked up at her over his glasses. His eyes might have been chipped from ice. “You can’t be wrong on this, Mac.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You know what’s at stake.”

  Mac looked at him, but saw a raindrop pausing on a leaf, the surge of salmon against a current, the curious tilt of a duck’s head. Heard the cry of an eagle hidden in cloud. Felt the silky coolness of a slug resting in her hand. And that was just Field Station Six. A mere speck on this world. This world a mere speck among the uncounted number like it.

  “Everything is at stake,” she said, her voice hard and sure. “That’s why I won’t let the Ro get away with this. Please, Nik. Come and see the evidence we have. Decide for yourself.”

  “I did,” Nik snorted. “Come now, Mac. Surely you didn’t believe Sing-li could redeploy the Ministry’s assets within the consulate on his own? You had to know it would be my name on those orders—my head on the block.” His grin took on that dangerous edge, dimple showing. “Though you were late. I’d moved them into position around the Dhryn and launch pad an hour before.”

  “Then why—” Mac flung her hand at their surroundings.

  “Call it one chance for you to pull the plug. To tell me it had been a mistake; the Ro were going to save us after all; that you and I should head back to your cabin. It needs some work, you know. The cabin.”

  The last almost made her smile.

  Almost.

  “Were you similarly ahead in dealing with the signal?”

  His lower lip went between his teeth for a second. “That’s trickier. Anchen, Hollans, the rest? They’re hovering around the consoles, to be there when the Ro answer back. Hardly a group to take kindly to our request they turn it off. What’s Fourteen up to?”

  “He’s to let me know if there is a response. I don’t imagine I’ll be informed otherwise. And—if I ask him, he’ll try to stop the signal going out, somehow.”

  “Somehow.” Nik filled the word with doubt.

  Mac blushed. “Neither of us are spies. I know that. But it was the best I could do. I couldn’t very well call and ask you. No one else would listen.”

  “Don’t count on that. The Sinzi-ra, Hollans? They heard my concerns—our concerns. Emily Mamani’s arrival, her appearance, shook them badly. They aren’t sure about the Ro, not anymore.”

  “Not sure as in stopping the signal?”

  “Not sure as in waiting to see what comes of it.”

  Mac shook her head. “Risky.”

  “Present situation to the contrary, they aren’t fools, Mac.”

  “Comforting.” She found a smile. “We’d better get out of here before anyone starts to notice. Especially—” she added with a wince, “Sing-li.”

  “One more thing, Mac.” He hesitated.

  No need to guess what drew down the sides of his mouth like that. “Emily.”

  “I wasn’t able to talk to her. She’s—it’s as if she’s detached from those around her, paying attention only to certain words, certain tasks. The Sinzi-ra has promised every assistance. But until we know more of Emily’s state—”

  “I’m aware of the priorities!” Mac interrupted, her voice sharper than she’d intended. She closed her eyes, sighed once, then opened them again. More gently. “Thank you, Nik. As you said. She’s here. She’s alive.

  That’s infinitely better than yesterday.”

  He nodded, but Mac understood the pity in his eyes.

  They left the tent, its closed-in warmth making Mac feel as sweaty as any ghoul seeker. The air of the open room felt like a reprieve. Nik, as usual, appeared able to wear a suit and remain immaculate under any circumstances.

  From the activity everywhere, no one had paid attention to their sojourn communing with the departed. Well, almost no one. Sing-li, obviously waiting for them to emerge, gestured impatiently for Nik to join him. He looked upset.

  That couldn’t be good.

  “I’ll be right back,” Nik told her, heading toward the door with long strides. “Check on your people.”

  Mac took only her first steps across the room before: “Mac? A moment?” She nodded automatically and turned toward the voice, only to have all six Myg offspring hurtle up her jacket, at least one finding its way inside the collar. “What the—Unensela!”

  Then Mac paused, feeling how the tiny things were quivering. Putting a protective hand over as many as she could, she looked around for what had frightened them. Her heart hammered in her chest. Everything seemed as before, normal, busy. People moving in all directions or leaning over equipment. It wasn’t enough to reassure her.

  Not the Ro.

  Please not the Ro.

  It wasn’t, Mac realized as Unensela came hurrying up to her, prying loose her now-hysterical little ones with a running commentary about the inconvenient unavailability of a certain male Myg and whose fault was that she’d like to point out.

  It was Emily.

  Where she stood opened like an eddy within a river: researchers gave her space, moving past with sidelong looks of dismay, none willing to risk curiosity.

  “Hello, Em,” Mac heard herself say, as if this was a normal day at the lab, and they were meeting over coffee.

  The eyes. They were the worst. Flat, dull, the whites so bloodshot they made Mac’s own eyes burn in sympathy.

  Emily hadn’t come alone. Two consular staff flanked her to either side, discreetly behind. They met Mac’s inquiring look with that impassive, attentive expression. Watchers.

  Not the only ones. They had Nik and Sing-li’s attention as well—explaining Sing-li’s urgent summons. Nik caught her eye.

  Mac shook her head, very slightly.

  “Need some help?” The words were Emily-normal; the voice anything but. It could have been a recording. And what would Emily say to you, Mac? What sequence of syllables would make you believe she still existed within that frame?

  Play along, Mac thought, sick to her soul. “Always. You could help me with the—” not near the Mygs, “—cartographers. That group there.”

  The body turned in the direction Mac indicated, graceless yet with coordination and strength. Not starved—emaciated from something else, she judged, giving a frantic hand signal to Mirabelle as they headed her way. How did you warn someone about your best friend? Emily’s bizarre appearance would likely do it for her.

  Her being here, now, couldn’t be coincidence, Mac decided.

  It could be opportunity. How much of you is left, Emily?

  “Welcome to the Origins Team, Em,” Mac began. Her voice sounded strained even to her and she coughed to clear it. She could do this. She had to do this. “We’re working on where the Dhryn came from—had some breakthroughs already this—morning.” The word was appropriate, Mac told herself, even if dawn was still some hours away. “I think you’ll be impressed by our findings.”

  Emily might have been a walking plague, the way silence spread ahead of their little procession and murmuring followed it. Mac scowled at everyone in general, to no avail, then her eyes found Mudge. She beckoned him with a curt nod.

  He came, eyes filled with the horror Mac felt. “Dr. M-Mamani,” he managed. “Good of you to join us.”

  “This is Oversight—Charles Mudge III—Emily. I’m sure you remember all my stories about him.” Mac shot Mudge a warning look.

  He gave a miserable excuse for an offended harrumph, but gamely offered his hand. No lack of guts, Mac thought gr
atefully.

  Forced to stop walking or run over him, Emily looked down at his hand for a few seconds, then turned to stare at Mac.

  She was frowning.

  No, not frowning, Mac thought with sudden hope. She knew that thoughtful crease between Em’s dark eyebrows, had seen it every time the other scientist focused on a problem. “What is it, Em?” she asked gently.

  “Where is this place?”

  Hadn’t anyone told her? Mac felt a rush of sympathy. “On Earth,” she offered. “You’re home.”

  “Earth isn’t safe.” The crease eased away. “It will be, when the Myrokynay are made welcome.”

  Over my dead body, Mac said, but kept her expression as close to neutral as she could.

  “Perhaps you could help us understand the Ro better, Em,” she suggested, changing her mind about the cartography. “We’ve questions.”

  “Always glad to be of help, Mac.” Cold. By rote.

  Mac felt the sting of tears in her eyes and fought them back. “Great. Let’s get a spot out of everyone’s way, shall we? Oversight? Will you get Lyle and—Stefan—to join us please?”

  She started walking, too abruptly, and bumped into one of Emily’s shadows. The collision was startling enough, given how adept the consular staff were at avoiding contact, but even more was the feel of a small object being thrust into her hand. Mac didn’t look down, she just pushed the thing into her pocket.

  No telling what it was. From the feel, a cold metal cylinder of some kind. Perhaps the Sinzi-ra had sent her a message. Some kind of imp. If it was a weapon—Mac jerked her hand from her pocket. New rule, she told herself. Don’t fondle unknown alien objects.

  A moment later, the four of them sat at one end of the conference table, the staff standing their precise distance behind Emily. The rest of the room’s inhabitants were too carefully uninterested. Unensela’s offspring, now mute, had taken refuge under her lab coat. Excellent survival response, Mac thought. She avoided thinking against what.

  Nik showed no expression beyond polite attention, although Mac had learned the signs. He wasn’t pleased—whether because Emily was here at all, or because Mac was preparing to discuss their work with her, she couldn’t tell.

  So long as he was there. He’d warn her if the discussion went in dangerous directions. He’d act, along with Sing-li, and hopefully the two staff, if Emily herself became the threat.

  Then why, Mac thought, dry-mouthed as she looked into her friend’s eyes, did she feel alone?

  “What are your questions about the Myrokynay?”

  Lyle leaned forward eagerly. Mac presumed Mudge had given him some idea who Emily was, though she’d no idea what. An expert on the Ro? Their spy? “Do they live on planets now?” he demanded.

  “This is—” Mac began.

  “Dr. Lyle Emerson Kanaci,” Emily interrupted. “Administrator for Chasm Studies Site 157, financed by Sencor Research Group, a company owned by a consortium of Sthlynii, Cey, and Human corporate and governmental interests.”

  Nik raised a brow at Mac. Lyle flushed in blotches of pink, but didn’t deny any of it. “What about his question, Emily?” Mac prompted. “Are there Ro worlds?”

  Emily’s immaculately manicured hands, even in the field, had been a source of bewilderment to Mac, who couldn’t keep a nail intact in her office, let alone on a granite ledge. Now, the fingers crawling restlessly over the tabletop, back and forth, were dirty, with split, fractured nails at their ends. “The Myrokynay moved beyond the limitations of a planetary biosphere before the Sinzi knew what one was.”

  “Harding was convinced they hadn’t originated in the Hift System. Too young for one thing,” the archaeologist muttered, as if to himself. Louder, “If they have no planets to risk, why do they fear the Dhryn?”

  “The Myrokynay fear nothing.” The fingers were drumming now, distracting all of them. “They wish to help those of us at risk.”

  “Did they help the Trisulians?” Mac asked. Nik shot her a look of caution she ignored. “Emily?”

  The fingers stopped. “Where is this place?” An air of confusion.

  “Home,” Mac told her, wishing her voice wouldn’t shake. “You’re home, with me, Emily. The Trisulians. They had your instructions on how to signal the Ro. Did they use them? Did the Ro—the Myrokynay—come?”

  “You read my message, Mac.” Emily’s smile exposed yellowed teeth and swollen gums. “I told the Myrokynay you would. You’re stubborn that way.”

  “The Trisulians. Did they send the signal?”

  Emily’s gaze wandered to the ceiling, to the far wall where Sing-li stood watch, brooding and focused on them, to the alcove, to the windows.

  Mac half stood. “Emily?”

  “Mac,” Nik said quietly.

  Okay, new subject. Sinking back into her chair, Mac made herself take a couple of breaths. “Emily.” The dead eyes shifted back to her. “You told me the Myrokynay had been watching for the Dhryn to reappear since the destruction of the Chasm. Once the Ro found Haven, they took some of the immature Dhryn from their Progenitors—you said it was to test them. For what, Emily?”

  “For signs the Dhryn were producing another migratory generation. Your own work uncovered this. I told them you were clever.”

  “The oomlings who were taken,” Mac pressed. “What happened to them?”

  The fingers started to crawl again. “Where is this place?”

  Oh, Em. Mac hardened her heart, rejected pity. “They underwent metamorphosis into the feeder form, didn’t they, Emily? Even though they weren’t supposed to—like Brymn! The Ro can somehow induce that change, can’t they?”

  “Where—is this place?”

  Mac couldn’t stop. She didn’t dare. “Then the Ro took them to different worlds and set them loose. That’s how they aim the Dhryn, isn’t it? By taking advantage of their instinct to seek more of the tastes returned by scouts. They returned those feeders to Haven, so they’d give those tastes to the Progenitors. Bait.”

  Emily’s body rose from the table as if tugged by competing strings, arms and legs out of proper sequence. The rest stood as well, everyone but Nik focused on Emily. Mac met his eyes, seeing the warning there. Careful, he all but said aloud. Don’t lose her.

  The signal was being sent. There wasn’t time for care.

  She’d spend them all if she had to. “Emily,” Mac urged, going around the table to where her friend stood, eyes wide and staring. “You used to think for yourself. Please. Listen to me.”

  Emily hesitated. Something almost sane looked out at Mac. “Mac?”

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  A shudder. Every rip in Emily’s clothing glowed for an instant, as if the space held within her flesh had tried to accommodate a sun. “Mac,” more sure. Her hand wrapped itself around Mac’s wrist, fingers strong as they were cold.

  “That’s right, Emily,” Mac whispered, her voice husky. “I’m Mac, your friend. We need your help. I need it. We have proof—”

  “I found you,” Emily said as if she hadn’t spoken. Her grip tightened until Mac couldn’t help but wince. “I’m to bring you. Now.”

  It seemed fitting that Nik’s shouted “Mac!” coincided perfectly with the universe turning itself inside out.

  - Encounter -

  “WE HAVE INCOMING ships, sir,” the transect technician re ported, calmly, professionally. Only someone standing close by could have seen her hands tremble. “Sending to your station.”

  “Got it.” One look at the display and her supervisor smacked his hand on the emergency com control.

  “To all of Sol System. This is Venus Orbital,” he announced. “We’ve incoming Dhryn. Two ships through—three—My God, how many are there?”

  The technician assumed she should answer. “Fifteen Progenitor ships have now arrived through the Naralax, sir. There are more coming behind.” She turned to look at him. “Should I keep count, sir?”

  He shook his head, reaching for the control again. “This is Venus Orbit
al. If you’re going to do something . . . do it now.”

  - 20 -

  DANGER AND DISMAY

  TIME SAT on a shelf. Rolled off.

  Dropped her on a hard surface, in the dark.

  No, not dark. Light splintered over impossible shapes. She closed her eyes but couldn’t escape it.

  Not alone. Words. The sound was elongated, wrong. She tried to cover her ears, but couldn’t find them.

  “Here is Mac.”

  The disorientation, the pain, were all too familiar sensations. No-space.

  Mac opened her eyes slowly. It didn’t help. She turned her head and retched helplessly.

  “The Myrokynay will be here soon, Mac.”

  Emily.

  Explaining the how and the why, but not the where. Mac wiped her mouth and squinted at her surroundings.

  A sand shark looked back at her, then curved its sinuous body in a disdainful arc to swim away.

  Mac blinked and found herself staring at the scuffed toe of a boot, a once-expensive hand-tooled black leather boot. She rose on her elbow and looked up the leg. “This is the tank room,” she said, unutterably relieved to be still within the consulate.

  Where Nik could find her. Would find her.

  “The Sinzi have been clever.” Emily flattened her hand against the wall separating them from the night-lit water and its life. “It is disconcerting for the Myrokynay to perceive our world directly from theirs. They had to rely on allies such as myself to be observers. This novel interface?” She drew her fingers along the surface in a caress. “It permits the Myrokynay to witness our doings with new clarity, to be heard.”

  “So they’re in the tank.”

  Emily started, as if she’d forgotten Mac was there. “In here? No more than they are in any one place,” she said. “Only Tactiles ever limit themselves to our dimensions.”

  “ ‘Tactiles,’ ” Mac repeated, managing to sit. Sitting was enough for now, she assured her unhappy stomach. “Are Tactiles a kind of Ro?”

  The illumination was dim, a mottled glow reflected by the coral within the tank itself. It played tricks with the dark floor and walls, hid the ceiling. Still, by it Mac thought she saw a flash of fear cross Emily’s face. If so, it was the first true emotion she’d seen.