Migration (25 page)

“Trust me, you aren’t alone. There are lists like this on most worlds,” Kay told her. “But I will admit an obsession with alien sex ranks uniquely higher on yours. Care to explain why that is?” His eyestalks gave a suggestive waggle.

Fourteen belched. “She didn’t fall for that one either. Don’t waste your effort, Kay. Or your poultry-poodle.”

The serious, albeit momentary, business of eating “poodle” began. As Mac expected, Kay was finished in the time it took him to fill and scrape his plate into his waiting
douscent,
with Fourteen a close second. As they stood, she pointed her fork at each in turn. “No cards. Dishes.”

“But you aren’t finished yet, Mac,” Fourteen protested, his tone implying this was some adorable silliness on her part.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep eating while you tidy up.” As they looked to one another, then back at her, Mac firmed her voice. “Cabin rule. No one leaves this kitchen until it’s clean.”

Efficient when they want to be,
Mac thought moments later, helping herself to more mushrooms after checking them carefully for otherworldly origin. Kay and Fourteen were making quick work of their task, despite the quantity of dishes and implements Kay had used. The subject of almost constant complaint from Fourteen, of course. Whatever Mac hadn’t wanted to eat had gone in the chiller. The grill outside had been sprayed with enzymes to digest any attractive poodle bits before a bear came to explore.

Mac yawned and realized she was not only full, but tired. Standing, she collected her things and added them to the pile beside Kay. “This is the last of it. Thanks,” she said, grabbing another towel from the drawer to help Fourteen dry.

The three of them doing dishes might almost be Mac, her father, and Sam. She smiled at the memory. Sam would be talking about space; her father, his owls; and she—she’d listen to both and dream her own dreams.

“This is a waste. You should install a recycler,” Fourteen commented.

Kay nodded, shaking both head and hair. “Not that this isn’t charmingly archaic, Mac.”

“A recycler requires power,” Mac explained serenely, taking the next dish. “We enjoy sharing a task. Sometimes, anyway.” She nudged Fourteen. “On vacation—a different pace and way of doing routine things.”
Although this wasn’t what Kammie et al had had in mind,
she thought happily.

“Idiot. Better things than dishes.”

Mac smiled and took a stack of dried plates to the cupboard. “We’ll need them tomorrow morning at least.” Fourteen had sent his signal; the answer about the lev’s arrival to pick them up had been the predicted “as soon as we know, you’ll know.” “Probably for lunch.”

“You are more than kind, Mac, to keep us in your home,” Kay replied, his voice warm.

“Least I can do,” she said. “If it’s going to be another day, are you sure you have everything you need? If not, we can canoe over to the store.”

Kay shuddered, his mass of hair adding to the effect. Fourteen laughed. “A most excellent notion, Mac,” the Myg proclaimed. “We shall obtain more card games! Numbers! Numbers!”

Mac didn’t ask her guests how much sleep they needed, sure that if they roamed around the cabin in the wee hours, it could hardly be any noisier than their snoring. They seemed content to bid her good night when she was ready for bed, both going to their respective rooms. Perhaps fresh forest air made aliens groggy, too.

After checking that lights were off and window screens were secure, Mac walked through the darkened main room to the stairs, knowing the way. She put her foot on the lowermost step and stopped cold.

She’d done so well, managing not to think of Nik until now.

Mac considered knocking on one of her guest’s doors, then could almost hear Emily’s voice in her ear:
Coward
.

Be that as it may, she wasn’t doing much good standing paralyzed at the base of the stairs, her heart pounding in her ears so loudly she’d never hear a door opening anyway.

With a sigh, Mac brought her foot down. With this much adrenaline in her system, she’d never fall asleep. She tiptoed across the common room floor and out to the porch. There, she snatched her towel from the line by the swing and headed for the lake.
A cold swim should solve this.

The walk didn’t. A
rustle rustle
seemed to follow her all the way down. Mac knew it was most likely a raccoon hoping she’d brought a midnight snack, but it made the hairs on her neck stand on end.

When she reached the cove, she breathed a sigh of relief. The lake seemed waiting for her, its water calm, dark, and inviting. Mac checked the stars, although she was reasonably sure there wasn’t another stealth t-lev full of aliens about to land. And for a wonder, the mosquitoes were cooperating, showing a distinct lack of interest in her skin—which would likely change by tomorrow, given the way the evening air was growing warmer.

She stripped and headed for the water, then froze.
Rustle. Rustle
. Without a second’s hesitation, she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her middle, tight as a corset, then sat on the cold sand.

Mac picked up and threw a stone.
Plop
. The water even sounded welcoming.

Not tonight,
she told it.
Not with Sir Nikolai possibly wandering the woods
.

“Never liked those movies, Em,” she muttered aloud. The ones where the heroine, regardless of anything else happening around her, would plunge naked into the first pond she could find and stay put until her prince arrived.

Usually to plunge as well, given the seemingly irresistible allure of soaking wet heroine. Pushy, presumptuous, desperate heroines. Wet, pushy, presumptuous, desperate . . .

Not that Mac didn’t fully appreciate the underlying rationale.
Gods, her breath caught at the mere thought . . .

“Official business.” She threw another rock and managed to miss the entire lake with it, hearing it thud against a log. “Stopping me from finding answers, from doing what I can. Keeping me locked away at Base while the universe moves on. He’s here to do his job. That’s it.”

All of which was true,
Mac thought.
So why not take advantage . . . why not enjoy the night?

“Because I don’t want just one,” she whispered to the rising moon. “I don’t know how to want that. I always want tomorrow. Nights without end. Endless tomorrows.” Emily had understood. She’d given up trying to talk Mac out of her grief for Sam. The dates she’d arranged, when Mac couldn’t avoid them, had been with men who were fun and forgettable. Her type, not Mac’s.

Emily had teased her about having a heart with two settings: don’t care and forever.

Which would be more helpful,
Mac sighed,
if hearts came with a switch.

Without another look at the cove, she climbed to her feet and trudged back uphill to the cabin.

“Mac. Mac. Wake up!”

She’d slept through the alien snore-a-thon?
Mac rubbed her eyes and fought to pay attention.
Who?

“C’mon. Wake up!”

That voice—it was like a plunge in the cold lake. Mac found herself on her knees, staring at the figure sitting at the end of her bed. “Emily! What? How?”

“I can’t stay, Mac. They’re calling me back already.”

Was it the moonlight that made Emily’s face thinner, sharper, turned her eyes into black gulfs?

Choking on a sob, Mac scrambled to reach her friend, but Emily stood and moved away. “I can’t stay, Mac. Not until you read my message. Why haven’t you read it yet?”

The mem-sheet under her mattress
. Mac froze. “I’ve tried, Em. We’ve all tried. Just tell me what it says! Let me help you!”

Emily pointed to the window. “See what you’ve done?”

Mac swiveled to put her bare feet on the floor. “What is it?” she whispered.

“See?” Emily pointed again.

Humor her,
something in Mac said. The woman’s been living with the Ro for most of a year now, or however time passed for them. Another part of her whimpered in protest even as Mac pulled a sheet around herself and walked to the window.

And looked outside.

Whisper
: “You should have read it, Mac.”

She should have seen the forest, the moon. Instead, Mac found herself standing on a rocky path, under a morning sky. The wind was sharp and she clutched the sheet to her body.
Where—?

The air splintered.

At first, Mac couldn’t make sense of it. Overhead, on both sides, silver objects were flashing by. They were part of the wind, or its cause, a mass moving together until, in the distance, so many met they obscured what should have been skyline. Lines of smoke curled up, there were explosions . . .

Mac squinted then gasped. She knew that shape. Those buildings. That curve of shoreline. This wasn’t some alien landscape. This was Vancouver. The university was right there—Kammie and the students—

Then the rain began to fall. Green and hungry rain. It fell in great sheets and torrents that would have hidden what was happening from her . . .

Except that it fell here, too.

The flower buds on the scrubs beside her dissolved and washed away, leaves following, branches bending then gone.

Something slowed above her; it cast a shadow. Mac lifted her head and saw the arms dangling, coated in silver except for their mouths.

Whisper:
“Why have you failed me, Mac?”

Then green rain struck her face and washed away her screams . . .

“Mac! Mac, wake up!”

“No,” Mac begged, “not again! I’m sorry, so sorry.

Emily, please not again—”

“Mac!”

That
voice?

Mac opened her eyes, finding herself soaked with sweat and supported half sitting by a grip on each of her arms. “Nik,” she greeted the latest apparition on her bed. “I’ve dreamed you before, too. It never ends well.”

She couldn’t remember a dream where he stroked the side of her face, or pushed her hair back from one ear with a shaking hand. “I can’t understand what you’re saying, Mac,” Nik said. “It’s Dhryn, isn’t it?” He swore under his breath as he released her arms, only to wrap his around her and hold her tight.
That was new, too.

Shuddering, Mac burrowed against a chest she hoped was real and not illusion, listened to a heartbeat she hoped could drown out the screaming. As both stayed strong and steady, her shudders stopped and she began to cry. No mere tears, but deep, heaving sobs that burst from her lungs and tore her throat.

The arms stayed around her, held her close. “They told me you still had nightmares,” a low, uneven murmur into her hair. “Shhh. It’s okay, Mac. You’re awake. I’m here. Really here.” He rocked her back and forth, very gently. “Shhh.” She felt a blanket adding its warmth to his. “I won’t leave, Mac. Rest. Shhh. Just rest, now.”