Migration (41 page)

As daunting settings went, Mac decided, the consulate’s “greeting arena” wasn’t as bad as say, the busy loading docks of an orbiting way station.

The noise level and utter confusion to the unfamiliar was, however, even worse.

“Where do we go from here?” Mudge shouted in her ear.

Mac pointed helplessly at Fourteen, who was pushing his way though the throng clogging the ramp. “Follow him.”

“I still haven’t agreed to all this, Norcoast,” another shout.

She nodded. Mudge had been predictably reluctant to commit himself. This was, after all, the man who routinely took six long months to renew a research proposal he’d approved for the previous three years’ running. Accepting an invitation to leave his work and join an alien conference? She’d allow him a little time for that decision, even if the outcome was, as far as she was concerned, never in doubt. With Oversight, a push always produced the opposite reaction.

That he was willing to come along this morning without being dragged was, Mac judged, a significant accomplishment for their first day. Given the Ministry somehow had him under surveillance, probably a device in his clothing, she only hoped Mudge would watch his tongue.

Suggesting he do so?
She shuddered at the likely consequences.

The consulate’s greeting arena wasn’t a room or hall. They’d followed Fourteen outside to where a sequence of gardens connected the protected east side of the complex to the true wilderness of the mountains behind, manicured slopes merging into the massive upward steps of the rising hills. The plantings had the tired, proud look of fall, more seed heads than buds, those leaves intending to drop rattling and loose on the trees. The air was warmer than crisp, but not by much. The building itself protected them from the rising wind, but if the sun hadn’t been shining, they’d all need coats.

Those without a natural version, anyway. “This,” Mac decided after her first incredulous look at the host of beings spread over the patio below them, “is a caterer’s nightmare.”

There were so many different aliens milling in front of them, and so many different types of the same aliens, Mac didn’t attempt to dredge up the names of any she might have studied.
It’s a masquerade ball, Em
. With her and Mudge the only ones not in costume, from their viewpoint anyway.

Although she was well-dressed
. Mac smoothed the front of the jacket that had been one of the choices hanging on the rack she’d found in the sitting room. Midnight blue, knee-length, tailored to perfection. With, she was delighted to discover, pockets. There’d been pants to match, flat shoes, and everything else, including a comb, to make her comfortable—and ready for inspection.

Her clothes from the cabin lay clean and folded on a counter in the washroom itself. She’d found the invitation from the IU in her shirt where she’d stuffed it, no worse for whatever laundry technique the consulate staff used. Or they’d taken the envelope out and replaced it. The owl pellet was gone.
Just as well.

Mac patted her left jacket pocket. Both envelope and the imp from Fourteen were there.

An elbow dug into her back. “He’s getting ahead of us,” Mudge fussed. Mac barely avoided stepping on someone’s flipper but stayed in place.

“Don’t worry. I still see him. Hang on,” she ordered.

The central consular building, itself a mammoth warren of halls and varied internal environments, sprawled behind them. Where they stood, at the top of the ramp leading to the gardens, was high enough to afford a good view of the grounds.

Although it had seemed a kaleidoscope of moving, fragmented colors, Mac gradually made sense of what she was seeing. The main arena was a sunken patio, irregular in shape and bordered by stately trees to the left and right. Several shaded paths led off to either side. Farthest from them was a set of broad terraces cut from the granite, rising like giant stairs to another garden above this one. The result was a bowllike space, capable of holding, barely, what appeared to be far more than four hundred and something delegates.

Within that space were three main clusters of activity. The first, to the left, focused around a series of clear bubblelike structures.
Ah,
Mac decided, intrigued.
Non-oxy-breathers
. Clever.

The next was in the center, around a series of curved, elaborate fountains. Mac took a closer look. The fountains themselves overflowed with delegates.

Made sense.
There were several aquatic species in the IU.
First group she wanted to meet,
Mac decided.

Last and the most popular area, judging by the sea of heads, was near the first terrace, to the right. Mac didn’t need to glimpse the long tables in the shade of the trees to know this was where food and beverages were being provided. She smiled.
Never met an academic who couldn’t find the bar, Em.

The noise—and the smell—at close range? Mac began to suspect at least one reason the Sinzi held these mass meetings outside.

“There he is, Norcoast. He’s waving to us. Can we go now?”

Looking ahead at the crowd, Mac put her arm through Mudge’s. “Lead on.”

After making their way through a bewildering mixture of body forms, they reached Fourteen, who was standing under the first of the great trees. Mac noticed Mudge sneaking looks into its branches, despite the truly fascinating aliens to every side, muttering to himself: “Silver beech. Southern species . . . bigger than the ones I saw in Argentina. More podocarps—rimu, I’d say—aha!” Mudge tugged at her arm and exclaimed. “Tui!”

Mac guessed this wasn’t a sneeze. “Pardon?”

“Look, up there.”

Obediently, she craned her neck back. The lowermost branch, just above a group of intensely debating delegates, contained a fairly large, albeit nondescript bird, with white feathers at its throat. “Tui?” she guessed.

“Shhh. Listen.”

As that seemed improbable, given the volume from all sides, Mac shook her head, but tried anyway. Nothing. Then, she noticed delegates under the bird suddenly looking up as well, which in their case, being Frow, meant unfolding their neck ridges and leaning left.

Then she heard it and grinned. The bird was mimicking Frow laughter, something like rattling coins in a bucket. The delegates were not impressed.

Welcome to Earth
.

“Trees. Birds. Idiots. Wasting time,” Fourteen said impatiently. “Come. The first of those you should meet is over there.”

At that moment, a large group of brown-cloaked furry somethings stampeded by everyone else, as if it had been announced the bar was about to close for the day. Doing her best not to be swept along, trampled, or pushed into the already testy Frow, Mac dodged to one side.

When she looked for her companions, both Mudge and Fourteen had managed to get themselves lost in the crowd.

When opportunity walks in the door, Em,
Mac grinned. It wasn’t that far to the fountains, which were roughly in the direction the Myg had indicated anyway. Winding her way between beings whose reaction to her varied from polite acknowledgment to oblivious, she moved as quickly as seemed inoffensive. With luck, she’d meet some of the aquatics.

As if to thwart her, the crowd thickened until Mac had to slow down to avoid stepping on anything attached to someone who’d be offended. Finally forced to stop, she stretched to her full height, trying to see a better way. Hats, fleece, antennae, feathers, lumps. The few Human heads looked out of place.

One of those heads turned with familiar grace.

For an instant, a heartbeat, it was as if the world went silent, the pushing of others against her meant nothing, and Mac saw only dark eyes set against smooth olive skin.

“Emily?”

A tall, shaggy Sthlynii stepped in front of Mac, blocking her view. She tried to move around him, but he grabbed her arm. “Sooooo,” the vowels extended in emphasis. “Yooouuu aaaareeee heeereeee!”

“Excuse me,” Mac said, twisting frantically, but somehow resisting the urge to kick a fellow delegate. “Please. Let go. I have to see someone! I have to go!”

“Aaaas beeffoorreee yooouuuu weeent, leeaaaviiiing ooonlyy thee deeaad.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let go of me!” This time, Mac did kick, with force enough to hurt her toes, if not to impress the larger alien. Around them, the crowd suddenly fell still.
Not the first impression she’d hoped to make.
Somehow, she composed herself. “Do I know you, sir?”

“You should, Connor.”

Mac turned to face a short, no longer chubby Human, his skin and hair pigment-free. The name and context snapped into place. “Lyle. Lyle Kanaci.” The ruined Dhryn home world. The archaeological team who had sheltered her—and Brymn—during the sandstorm.
Of course, they’d be here
. She had so many questions for them—but first, Emily! She pulled at her arm. “Tell him to let go!”

“Therin. Be civil. Remember our host.”

Rubbing her arm, Mac realized she recognized every face, or equivalent, surrounding her. Two Cey, their expressions impossible to read. Therin, now flanked by three more of his kind, their tentacled mouths disturbing to watch. The rest of the circle, Humans, including Lyle.

In contrast to the aliens, the Human faces expressed their feelings a little too well. Mac had never seen such disgust and anger, never had loathing directed at her before. Her mouth went dry.

This was what it felt like, to be the target of a mob.
She knew better than to move. She couldn’t imagine what to say that wouldn’t ignite the violence in their eyes.

Why was the one thing Mac did understand.

For she had brought a Dhryn into their camp and he had killed one of their own, digesting her alive as she’d lain helpless and injured. They’d all heard her screams.

“Mac. There you are.” Those around her fell back, giving way to the tall, graceful form of the Sinzi. “I see you’ve found the Human-ra I told you about, including these, their research companions,” Anchen said, fingers rising to encompass them all. “Excellent. I know your group will produce fine results.”

She was wrong.

Mac sipped the drink she’d been handed without tasting it, eyes hunting through the crowd, seeing only what wasn’t there.

There were dozens of other Humans, not to mention humanoidlike aliens. Consular staff, diplomats, other delegates. Tall women with dark eyes and olive skin weren’t uncommon.

These morning outdoor gatherings were designed to attract the Ro. There’d been no sign of them.

Every security guard and staff member, likely most of the delegates, would know Emily Mamani’s face.

“Had enough?”

“Of what, Oversight?” she answered wearily. “This—” a lift of her water glass, “—or them?” The archaeologists had remained in their tight defensive huddle since Anchen’s poorly timed announcement. Mac had only to look their way to be seared by glares from everyone capable of glaring.

“Of pretending your head doesn’t hurt.”

She didn’t bother lying to him. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t leave.”
Not when there was any chance Emily really had been here, had looked at her, was waiting.

Fourteen poured two glasses of wine into his mouth simultaneously, then belched.
Apparently,
Mac thought,
clothes weren’t everything.
“You will have to—all delegates are to report to their assigned research areas this afternoon. Charlie is right, you need a rest. And they—” the Myg deliberately didn’t look around, “—promise to be a challenge.”

“Charlie?” Mac glanced at Oversight.

“Please don’t,” that worthy said with a shudder. “It wouldn’t sound right coming from you, Norcoast.” An expert in glaring himself, Mudge had been trading a few with the archaeologists. “As far as I’m concerned,” indignantly and not for the first time, “you can’t work with those people.”

“I can,” Mac disagreed, quietly, but firmly. “And I will. If they know anything of use to me, I want it. If they have anything to offer, I want it. Everything else—anything else—I’ll deal with my own way.”

He harrumphed, giving her that look. “Well, I’m staying to help you. Someone has to—you can’t expect Fourteen here to know the depths of academic depravity our kind is capable of.”

A second bright spot on a very dark morning,
Mac thought. She raised her glass in a toast to both of her supporters. “I appreciate that.”

A low hum vibrated through the air and underfoot. Fourteen caught Mac’s eye before she could ask. “A request for attention. The Sinzi-ra is going to make an announcement.”

The sounds of conversation and movement dropped away like magic, leaving only the wind in the treetops. “Thank you, Delegates.” Anchen’s voice came from everywhere, not loud, but impossible to miss. “As we have done each day since the Gathering began, let us give the Myrokynay the chance to join us and share their knowledge of our common peril that all may survive it. A moment of silence, please.”