Migration (12 page)

“You tried hard enough to stop us as it was.”

“The travel ban?” ’Sephe raised her hands. “Don’t blame me. That came straight from the head office when the sensors detected Ro activity. We didn’t want to spook them.”

“To not ‘spook’ them, you disrupted normal routine here and sent in storm troopers?” Mac shook her head. “Excuse me for missing the logic.”

“Our people only moved in after the Ro launched, to preserve the site and look for clues or messages.” ’Sephe made an exasperated noise. “Which they had to do, because you and your friend chased the Ro away! Thanks for nothing.”

“Ah.” Mac stretched forward to snag her imp with one hand, then brought her feet flat on the floor with a triumphant thump. “Thanks for everything, you mean.”

’Sephe’s eyes narrowed. “What haven’t you told me, Mac?”

Ignoring the slot on her desk, where she’d normally insert her imp in order to use the desk, Mac activated her imp’s workscreen. With a flick of her fingers through the display, she brought up the Ro’s message.

The glyphs scrolled to the end.

Emily’s face flickered in and out of view.

“Dr. Mamani’s alive,” ’Sephe whispered.

“It’s only an image,” Mac said, resisting the temptation to replay the message, stare at that face, hope . . .
Hope was reckless
. “The message—that should tell us more. You can decipher it, can’t you?”

“We’ve resources,” the other said noncommittally. “I’ve certainly never seen anything like it before.” ’Sephe drew out her own imp, identical to Mac’s but doubtless more sophisticated.

Probably comes with a stunner, bomb, and ropes as well as self-destruct,
Mac told herself, only half kidding.

’Sephe set her display beside Mac’s. Without needing to be told, Mac stroked through the control portion of her display and pointed to its neighbor, sending the message to ’Sephe’s device.

“Thanks. Did you copy it?” ’Sephe asked.

Mac gave another snort. “I’m not about to dump Ro coding into Norcoast’s vital systems.”

“Good.” ’Sephe touched one end of her imp to Mac’s where it lay on the desk. Mac’s workscreen winked out of existence.

With a wordless cry, Mac picked up her imp and tried to reactivate it. Nothing. “You’ve wiped it,” she accused, leaping to her feet.

“Just the message.” ’Sephe put away her imp. “What did you expect?”

She’d hoped otherwise.
Mac didn’t bother to scowl. “I expect to be told what that says.”

“I’ll relay your request. That’s all I can do.”

Not enough
. “Promise you’ll tell me if it’s really from Emily. If she’s asking for help.”

’Sephe frowned. “Why would she need help?” she demanded, her tone sharp. “The Ro aren’t the enemy.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t see her,” Mac countered. “You didn’t see what they’d done—how it was affecting her—”

She might have struck a nerve. “Your Emily isn’t the only one making sacrifices for the good of all,” ’Sephe interrupted passionately. “At least she might be alive. At least she hasn’t been sucked into one of their—” The full lips pressed into a thin line, but it was too late.

“So,” Mac dropped the word into the ringing silence their shouts had left. She felt numb, having the truth arrive like this. “What happened in the Chasm—it’s begun again. The Dhryn have attacked a world, haven’t they? Which one?”

’Sephe sat on the couch as if she’d lost the strength to stand, her hands cupping her imp and Emily’s message. “Ascendis.” Just the name.

It was enough
. “They went back for more,” Mac said tonelessly.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. The letter I received from the Secretary General of the Ministry—”
The one that had started it all,
Mac thought, remembering her name in mauve crawling over the envelope’s blue and green. The colors of a threat to the Human species itself. “It listed a series of mysterious disappearances. One of them concerned an eco-patrol that went missing on Ascendis.” She glared at ’Sephe. “Why isn’t this on the news? People need to know the threat is real—and that there’s evidence the Dhryn have been—” Mac paused to think of a word and rejected
tasting,
“—scouting.”

“We’re aware. So is the IU. So are the worlds who may have suffered previous Dhryn attacks. What would a more public news release say, Mac? That the Dhryn were able to enter a populated system without warning, pass any defense, consume what they wanted, and leave? No one wants panic.” ’Sephe hesitated, then went on: “The IU wouldn’t have informed us about Ascendis—not yet—but a Human ship was there. Her captain sent home every bit of information he could before—”

“Before what?”

’Sephe’s dark eyes were haunted. “Before his crew was consumed—and he crashed his ship into the planet in a futile attempt to stop the Dhryn. Would you like to know his name, Dr. Connor? It was Captain Frank Wu.” Her voice rose, became husky with emotion. “Would you like the crew list? Would you like population stats for the Eelings? Biomass data? A complete list of the devastation?”

“Yes.” Mac held up her imp, her voice sounding cold and set to her own ears. “I want all of it.”

’Sephe blinked. “What did you say?”

“I said yes. If we are going to understand the Dhryn, we need to know what they do, the impact they have, every scrap of data. Thanks to this Captain Wu’s quick thinking, there’s finally something other than rumor and legend. Can you get it for me?”

“To do what? You study salmon—isn’t that what you’re always saying? What good could you do?”

The words were like a slap.
Mac gritted her teeth. “Can you get me the data from Ascendis or do I have to ask someone else?”

’Sephe’s laugh wasn’t amused. “You want to be locked up with Mudge?”

“No,” Mac snapped back. “No. And I don’t want him locked up either.” She held her breath, then said more calmly: “I want to help.”

“Then listen to me, Mac. Keep doing what you’ve been doing. Run this place. Study your fish. Forget last year and let us do our job. The message from Dr. Mamani? That’s crucial. Thank you. But even that—” a dark look, “—you shouldn’t have waited to give it to me, Mac. You can’t make decisions like that.”

Em, she’s definitely not read the right files
. Mac sat down in her chair and propped her bare feet on her desk, wiggling her toes thoughtfully. “I understand. But what about Oversight?”

“The Ministry is putting together an explanation for him, something to cover what he’s seen. It may not satisfy him, but it should keep him from convincing anyone else.”

“You’re good at that.”

“I—” whatever ’Sephe started to say, she decided against it. She got to her feet, the movement awkward. “I have to go—get the message to those who can make sense out of it. Mac, I promise to ask if you can know what it says. That’s all I can do.”

“Help Oversight. He can be too stubborn for his own good.”

’Sephe’s dry: “So can you,” made Mac smile.

“We’re on the same side,” she reminded ’Sephe. “You, me, even Mudge.”

The Ministry agent’s lips twisted. “It’s never that simple, Mac.”

After she left, and the door closed, Mac leaned as far back as she could, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyelids. “It is for me,” she said, not caring who overheard.

T
HE MINISTRY’S NEED to explain anything to Charles Mudge III expired at 6:01:34, Pacific Time. The earthquake lasted one minute and twenty-three seconds, with a recorded epicenter 2.34 kilometers below sea level, directly under Castle Inlet’s protecting arm.

The coast knew earthquakes. After all, something had to give—and often did—when three immense tectonic plates met to argue about who’d reshape the ocean floor and resculpt the edge of the continent on any given day. Seismic warnings from the network of waiting sensors set off alarms. Signals sped up and down the coastline, out to sea and inland, sent via every means of transmission available. The birds, of course, hadn’t required one. They’d launched themselves from trees and rocky shoreline as the first tremors began deep underground. But people needed time, time to shut down systems at risk, time to seek shelter, time—

They had barely moments. As the tremors intensified, the sharp shifts of the ocean floor moved up Pod Three’s anchoring pylons to jiggle its infrastructure. Mac’s hanging salmon clashed against one another, setting off the independent motion sensors. Adding to the cacophony, the curtain reeds on the door clanged in warning.

Base’s internal alarm system, a varying shriek of light and sound penetrating every nook and cranny, was something of an anticlimax.

Mac couldn’t tell what woke her, too torn by the dual assault of sensation and memory to think straight. Haven, the Dhryn home world, had shaken like this under attack by the Ro. It had split in every direction as the great buried ships of the Progenitors tore themselves free of the planet, seeking the safety of space.
Brymn had held her in his arms to keep her safe
—

Brymn?
Mind suddenly, terribly clear, Mac pressed her hands over her ears as she ran outside. “Damn you, Emily!” she cursed, unable to hear herself past the din. “Don’t do this again!”

The outside terraces on each pod were filling with staff and students. Mac sagged with relief at shouts of “earthquake!” among steadier voices, hearing those taking charge, giving orders.
When had a natural disaster become less threatening?
she wondered inanely, gripping the rail with numb hands even as the world stopped trying to shrug them loose.

Then she roused herself to follow the procedures she’d practiced with the rest. The gates would have opened to release anything captive in Pod Six. What remained was to make sure everyone was safe and inside, ready for what would follow.

For the mere heave of earth and stone wasn’t what threatened Base.

It was water.

Imagine lying in a bathtub, legs out before you. Imagine lifting and dropping your legs, not too high but very quickly, to make your own small quake. Watch the water as it hurries to fill the void, then is pushed aside again as your legs settle. The quake is over.

Now watch how the water surges to crash over your knees and threatens to spill over the sides of the tub.

The bathtubs used by the designers of Norcoast Salmon Research Facility were larger, and featured immense paddles instead of legs, but the principle was the same. They knew there would be earthquakes. And when there were earthquakes near water, that water would move.
Tsunami.
The giant waves that raced away from the disturbance faster than a skim, traveling entire oceans as a line of shadow, a mere ruffling of the surface, until cresting to a hideous destructive height against any shoreline, a threat to all who lived in sight of the sea.

Enclosed areas, like bathtubs, like Castle Inlet, faced their own maelstrom. Here, confined by cliffs, the water shoved aside would surge back, racing from side to side, tumbling up slopes and down again, over and over until it built into huge tortured piles that would slam against anything in their way with inescapable force.

The designers knew this and planned for it, as much as technology could plan for nature. If an earthquake of sufficient force was detected by the pod anchors, they would loosen their grip and become tethers. Walkways would disconnect. Shielding meant for ice and storm would wrap around the walls of the pods and doors to the ocean would close. The pods would rise and fall with the water. A bumpy ride at best, but survivable. Hopefully.

While inside
. . .

“I’m just saying—I hate this part.”

Mac leaned shoulder to shoulder with Kammie Noyo, and couldn’t disagree.

Leaned wasn’t exactly the word. Like everyone else in this pod and all the others, she was pinned where she’d last stood in the corridor by the protective foam hardening around them. It had erupted from orifices throughout the interior of the structure the moment the pod’s sensors had detected the terraces were clear of people and the storm shields were in place, filling labs and rooms, holding objects in place as well as people.