Migration (38 page)

Mudge muttered under his breath and then went inside for a moment, returning with his raincoat. “The blanket’s part of the bed,” he explained, putting the coat over Mac’s shoulders despite her protest.

It was heavy and somewhat redolent, but it did feel good on her bare arms.
Almost as good as the gesture itself
. Mac looked up at Mudge. “Thank you.”

He harrumphed again, but a fleeting smile escaped before he sat again himself. “There’s something going on here, Norcoast,” he insisted, earnest and determined. “Something other than normal consulate business. When we came in, you probably didn’t notice, the pilot hovered for some time—my guess is there was traffic landing ahead of us. I’ve kept watch most of the day and there was a steady flow of incoming levs with very few departures this morning.”

After their arrival? Not good, Em
. “They entertain,” Mac said, aware how flimsy it sounded. “Really big supper parties. Famous for it.” He didn’t need to respond; Mudge’s face, she’d often thought, might have been set on skeptical at birth.
Or else she brought that out in him.
“What else have you seen?”

Mudge’s expression went from skeptical to grim. “The security here. I’m no expert, but it’s as though they expect to be attacked at any minute. They even searched me. I will spare you the details, Norcoast, but I have,” this with the gusto of one truly offended, “written a memo.”

She didn’t doubt it.
Mac tucked herself more snugly in his raincoat. “It might have been better if you’d left when they gave you the chance. You still can.”
Maybe,
Mac added, honest with herself at least.

“Not without you.”
Stubborn as his trees.

Don’t make promises
. Mac made herself smile. “You make it sound as though I’m in some kind of danger here.” Light, confident. “Nothing could be farther from the truth. They’ve taken care of me, offered their hospitality. As for being here, meeting the Sinzi? What an amazing opportunity! I intend to take full advantage of it. It’s that, or fix the cabin door and wait for Base to be running again. I think there’s no—what?”

He’d puffed out his cheeks, now adding a frown just shy of thunderous. “Tell me it’s the concussion.”

“Too much?” Mac pulled a face herself. “The bit about the door, wasn’t it? A little over the top, I know.”

“This is no joking matter, Norcoast! They wouldn’t let me contact anyone outside the consulate. I’m sure they won’t let you either. That’s hardly benign.”

“No,” Mac sighed. “But since the Dhryn, it’s become business-as-usual, Oversight.”

He put both elbows on the table and leaned forward, eyes harder than Mac had ever seen before. “I’ll tell you what I think is going on, Norcoast. I think there’s some kind of secret meeting being held here, something the IU doesn’t want the rest of Earth to know about. I think those incoming levs are bringing others like you, who’ve had some experience with the Dhryn. You’ve been coerced—kidnapped—and you’re trying to protect me by not telling me the truth.”

Now he’d done it
.

Mac closed her eyes, unable to decide if she’d let anything slip or if Mudge had put his foot in it all alone, estimating how long it was going to take for someone in authority to show up on the terrace.
Not long
.

“Well?” he demanded hoarsely.

She looked at him. “What do you want me to say, Oversight? That your usual blend of mistrust and cleverness just cost you the chance to leave here anytime soon? That you should have stayed in Vancouver? That you should have repotted that damned aloe plant by now?”

Sure enough, over his shoulder Mac saw the doors to the bedroom open, helmeted figures in all-black uniforms following those in yellow. “I wasn’t kidnapped. I was invited,” she told Mudge in an urgent, low voice as the others approached. “Don’t you understand? Working with these people is the only way I can do anything, the only hope I have. It could be the only hope any of us have. Yes, I’ve tried to keep you out of it—for your own good—”

Too late
.

They’d lined up behind Mudge, four who appeared identical to the Ministry agents she’d seen before, visors down, plus three consular staff. Only now realizing he was essentially surrounded, Mudge lunged to his feet, his eyes wide.

“Would you come with us please, Mr. Mudge?” Respectful, proper.
Somehow looming over the poor man spoiled the effect,
Mac thought resentfully. “Dr. Connor needs her rest.”

“Dr. Connor,” she informed the one who’d spoken, “wants to know where you are taking her friend and colleague. And how to reach him there.”

One of the yellow-clad humanoids, consular staff, bowed so deeply Mac had an excellent view of how her short bristly hair was trimmed in tidy brown spirals from crown to the base of her neck.
Not that she cared at the moment
. “To his quarters, Dr. Connor. You will have ample opportunity to visit tomorrow, I assure you. But Noad, your physician, left firm instructions as to rest. Please. We must insist.”

“Noad?” Mac didn’t recall the name. Then again, she didn’t recall being seen by a physician either.

“It’s okay, Norcoast,” said Mudge, making a valiant effort to take this in stride.

“It is not okay.” Mac rose to her feet, taking off Mudge’s raincoat and folding it carefully as she spoke. Her voice was the one she reserved for negligent students and unreliable skim salespersons. Mudge probably recognized it too, given their history. “I will not let these—these people—push you around. You came to help me.” She put the raincoat on the table, her hands flat on top. The gesture nicely covered the need to hold on to the table in order to stay on her feet. “Oversight can stay right here. There’s plenty of room.”

The consular staff began whispering among themselves in another language, as if she’d proposed something scandalous. Three of the four in black turned their visor-covered faces toward the one who’d spoken to her. Their leader?
Good to know
. Mac kept her eyes on that one, standing as straight as she could. The cool sea breeze tugged at her hair and gown, but she ignored it. The pounding above her eye was another matter.
Any minute now, Em, she was going to throw something or throw up.

“Well?”

“Such an arrangement would not be acceptable to our hosts.” Before Mac could protest, the Ministry agent continued: “But there’s an apartment across the hall. Will that be close enough, Dr. Connor?”

She caught Mudge’s look of relief out the corner of her eye. She shared it, but waited for the rest. Concessions from such people always involved something in return. Sure enough, the agent held out his hand for Mudge’s raincoat. To pass it to him—or perhaps her, given the armor—Mac would have to lift her hands from the table.

Something she couldn’t do without falling on her face
.

Mr. Ministry Agent could wait forever before she’d ask for help on those terms.

He appeared prepared to do so.

Stalemate.
At least until she passed out.

Then Mac noticed his left forefinger tapping the side of his holster.

“Across the hall would be perfect. It’s good night, then, Oversight,” she said cheerfully, sitting down and shoving the raincoat across the table. “Talk to you in the morning.”

Mudge took his coat, giving her a puzzled look. “In the morning, Norcoast.”

“But I’ll talk to you now,” Mac said, pointing at the agent who’d tapped.

The cant of his helmet shifted and he gave a signal to the others. Without a word, the remaining agents and three consular staff escorted Mudge through her bedroom and out the door, although Mudge looked back at the last minute as if about to object. Mac waved reassuringly.

They were alone. Mac could see her reflection in his helmet. She looked rather smug. “ ’Sephe told me you were short-staffed, but this?” said Mac, shaking her head. “You can take that thing off, Sing-li Jones. I know it’s you.”

“Hi, Mac.” Jones tucked the now-pointless headgear under one arm, then took a seat, shifting to accommodate his weaponry. His expression was more rueful than embarrassed. “How are you doing? That’s—” he looked at her scalp, “nasty.”

“What I’m doing is wondering why all the hardware, the secrecy, here. I thought you cooperated with the consulate.”

He tipped his head toward the now-empty bedroom. “Your friend.”

“Oversight?” Mac said in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you suspect him of anything other than being difficult.”

“You know I can’t tell you things like that, Mac.” She waited.

Jones’ caramel skin blushed nicely. “I don’t know,” he qualified. “Our orders were to keep him under surveillance and intercede before he found out more than he should about the present situation. Which, by the way, he seems to have done without any help.”

“He’s annoying that way,” Mac agreed. “But the gear?”

“Just staying anonymous.” He grinned. “It works with most people, Mac. Trust me.”

“Trust him?”
The words were like cold water on her skin, but Mac made herself smile. “It’s nice to see a familiar face. Although I suppose I can’t ask you any questions.”

Jones’ forefinger tapped the table, then stopped. “Everything back at Base is as you left it,” he offered.

“Including, by the way, your fish heads and barnacles. Pretty slick, Mac. Zimmerman still can’t believe we fell for it.”

She tilted her head. “That’s okay. Neither can I.”

He smiled comfortably, but didn’t admit a thing.
She hadn’t expected he would
. “Last I heard, they were on schedule for the move. There hasn’t been much media attention.”

“You need bodies for that,” Mac said. She gathered herself with an effort Jones noticed.

“You look about to fall on your face, Mac.”

“Oh, not quite yet. First, help me out here.” She smiled at the sudden caution in his eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing compromising. I’m under the IU now, remember? Not your responsibility.”

“Maybe not the Ministry’s. We still watch your back.”

“We” implying she would recognize others without their helmets,
Mac realized, but didn’t press him. She acknowledged the words with a grateful nod, then said frankly: “I need my things.”

Jones’ eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What things this time?”

“My imp, clothes, records from my office. Anything else would be appreciated. No one knows how long this Gathering will take. I asked Anchen, about my stuff, but . . .” She gave an expressive shrug. “It didn’t sound promising.”

“Because Pod Three’s sealed and being towed,” he pointed out.

“I know. Not to forget security systems . . .” Mac let her voice trail off.

“Oh, let’s not forget those.”

She held his eyes with hers. “Sing-li, you know I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. I’ve files on my imp that aren’t in Norcoast’s main system: my research on the Dhryn, on what we’re here to accomplish. There are references, notes in my office I want here. I can’t wait weeks or more until Base is set up and running again.”

“I’ll have to consult, Mac.”

“Consult all you want,” she told him, then added with abrupt ferocity: “You asked me to trust you, Sing-li. I trust you to know if I find out Pod Three was capsized and ruined so your people could fetch my underwear—”

“Mac. Mercy. Please.” He held up both hands. “It won’t come to that, believe me. We’ve been keeping watch on the pods; we’ve people on the hauler. Give me a day.”

Mac drew a breath that shuddered and caught in her throat. She nodded, mute.

He put on his helmet, the man she knew disappearing behind the visor. But his voice was the same, warm with concern. “Now. Bed for you. And no arguments.”

She accepted his help, a strong arm, but when they were standing beside the bed, she squeezed it once and let go. “Good night, Sing-li. And thanks.”

Mac stayed standing until the door closed. Only then did she collapse on the most comfortable bed on the planet, not bothering to do more than close her eyes.

For once, she didn’t dream.

- Encounter -

T
he sacred caves were, as they had always been, ancient, hal lowed, and worn. They were, as they had always been, shelter to all who sought protection from the elements or war; source of gods’ comfort for those in need or grief.

Now, for the first time in recorded history, disaster had struck and the sacred caves were empty. Oh, they had sheltered the people. They had taken in the terrified flocks and foodstuffs, accommodated what belongings could be carried. They had even accepted the wild things, driven from the fields.

But shelter did not mean safety.

The green flood had greedily followed them inside, chased them deeper underground. It surged through every water-carved channel, licked away the life that dug its hopeless claws into wall and ledge, that clung to the stones called godstooth and howled for the pity of gods.