Migration (49 page)

There has?
Mac wisely kept her mouth shut. If anyone knew the Sinzi-ra, it should be the liaison she’d requested most often. She hoped.

“Elaborate.”

“Between Kanaci, Mac’s team, and Mac herself, their work weaves into the goals of the IU and their member species, while involving an additional circularity of accomplishment from the present with that of the past, in order to resolve mutual debts, a resolution, I might add, which may well produce future gain for all.”
Nik sounded confident,
Mac acknowledged, even if what he said made no sense to her at all.

What mattered was that it made sense to the Sinzi, whose shoulders rose as she pointed a white-clawed fingertip at Mac. “I am corrected. My thanks, Nikolai. You may begin on the basis you wish, Mac, to fully take advantage of these opportunities afforded us by your combinations. Be aware,” she added, “failure to produce meaningful insights swiftly will require modifications.”

Mac nodded, then caught the eyes of Mr. Brown Suit with her own. “We’re here to prevent more tragedies,” she said quietly, the words for him. “That’s all that matters. You’ll have your answers as soon as possible. I give you my word.”

His scowl faded, replaced by something akin to respect. “Dr. Connor,” he said, then turned to leave with Anchen and the other aliens.

Their departure roused Parymn. “Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol . . . what has happened?”

She’d wait till he was better to stop that full-name business.
Try to, anyway. This wasn’t amiable Brymn . . . . . .
who’d consumed Lyle’s wife and her arm
. Mac shivered, just slightly.

Nik noticed. “Concussions are nothing to fool with,” he said, frowning down at her. His eyes explored the wound. “If you need to rest—”

Mac raised her hand to stop him, answering Parymn first. “They’ve gone to bring what we need to help you recover your strength.”

“
Nie rugorath sa nie a nai.
” A Dhryn is robust or a Dhryn is not.

“You don’t have the luxury of that belief here, Parymn Ne Sa Las,” Mac snapped. “The Progenitor has given you a task and you must not fail. You will accept care.”

He lay back.
She’d take that as agreement
.

“He’s not in good shape,” she told the others—
who knew how many others, Em,
Mac corrected, remembering the room was monitored.

“We’re here to help, Mac,” Nik assured her.

“You’ll stay?” She closed her mouth too late, hearing the relief in her voice.
So what?
Anyone listening would assume she was pleased to have a familiar face—and species—to help. Nik?

Oh, he knew
. A flash of warmth from those hazel eyes, the hint of a dimple. Nothing more, but that was enough.
It wasn’t as though a weight had lifted,
Mac decided,
but more as though someone else had taken a share from her shoulders
.

“What do we do first?” This from Cinder.

Mac felt herself coming back to normal, as normal as possible under the circumstances, but she’d take it. She swept the Trisulian with a critical look, seeing what she hadn’t before. He—
she,
Mac corrected,
since no male symbionts were present
—was taller than Kay by a considerable amount, closer to Mac’s own height, though shorter than Nik. Instead of Kay’s caftan, a clothing choice perhaps for his work when not concealing unattached weasels, Cinder’s limbs were wrapped in tight ribbons of black, while her stocky torso was covered by a brown-red shift, belted at both waists. The lower belt was festooned with gadgets, some of which were probably weapons, if she was in Nik’s line of work. The upper belt simply held the fabric together over the opening to her
douscent
. The hair cascading over Cinder’s entire head was a fine shiny brown, almost Human, and matched the skin showing on her hands.

Nik’s partner.
She’d like to know about that
.

First things first. “We do something about his living conditions, starting with this cage,” Mac decided. “Where’s the door?”

Cinder pointed to the ceiling.

Mac snorted. “That’s ridiculous—how am I supposed to get in?”

“You don’t.” Nik’s voice had such an edge that Cinder bent an eyestalk his way.

“Not until it’s clean, I’m not,” Mac agreed. She didn’t give him time to argue the point. “What are the options? For this room,” she added quickly.

“We can make any modifications you require, Dr. Connor,” said one of the staff.

Mac considered the two of them. One male, one female.
Maybe
. With some discreet padding, they could pass as Human on a dark night, doubtless the reason they were the species chosen to work at the IU’s Earth consulate.

She spared an instant to wonder about that. Were they chosen to provide “familiar” faces to visiting Humans? Hands suited to the local technology? Or were they to help acclimate other, less humanoid species to the body plan before leaving the consulate to visit Earth.
Probably all three
. She respected the Sinzi’s thorough dedication to hospitality.

Meanwhile, those faces looking back at her bore identical expressions of what would be bright, willing attention, if they’d really been Human faces. “What are your names?” Mac asked.

Bright and willing changed to guarded and stubborn. “We are consular staff,” one said, as if Mac were confused. The male.

“I know that. I want to know what to call you.”

They exchanged quick looks. “Staff,” the female said.

Nik made a muffled sound. Mac didn’t bother glaring at him. “I have no wish to offend, but I need to be able to refer to you as individuals.”

Another exchange of looks. “Call me One,” said the male.

“Two,” said the female. Then both gave her pleased smiles.

Whatever worked, Em . . .
Mac nodded. “Thank you. Now, please change into something that isn’t yellow. It alarms Dhryn.”

“Yellow?” Two repeated, sounding puzzled.

Cinder volunteered: “Xiphodians are polychromatic. They do not see color as Humans do. Or Trisulians, for that matter.”

So they likely saw ultraviolet.
Made sense
. Mac was entranced by the notion of the all-white Sinzi decor covered in staff memos.
Or rude comments about guests with fewer visual receptors.
She focused on business. “Cinder, would you look after this please?”

“Of course, Mac. Staff?” The three left the room.

A room empty but for the Dhryn in his misery, herself, and Nik.

Watching Parymn, Mac stole a look at the spy, and caught him watching her, by his expression finding something amusing in all this. “What is it?” she asked.

“You do realize this is the second time I’ve brought you a Dhryn?”

Mac grinned. “Some guys bring pizza.” That drew a smile. She savored it for a moment, then nodded at Parymn, who had opened his eyes to study them. “I had to persuade him it was all right for me to talk to you—to any of you. Home world Dhryn like Parymn don’t view other species as civilized. No. Nik, that’s not the right word. I’m not sure what is,” she finished, frustrated.

“It’s a starting point.” To Nik’s credit, he didn’t appear to take offense at Parymn’s opinion—a reminder she was in the presence of someone with far more experience comprehending the non-Human.

Not just a comfort—an asset
. One Mac suddenly appreciated. “He’s here because the Progenitor sent him to talk to me,” she explained. “That’s exactly how he put it: to talk to me. I’ve convinced him that She would also want me to talk to you, to not-Dhryn.”

“About what?”

“We hadn’t got to that part yet.” She tightened her lips, then nodded. In Dhryn: “Parymn Ne Sa Las, what does the Progenitor want you to say to me?”

“We . . . are to talk, Mackenzie Winifred . . . Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol.”

She crouched down, pitched her voice lower in hopes it made it easier for him to hear. “I know. But about what?”

“The Progenitor . . . searches for . . .” His voice disappeared into vibration.

“Searches for what?” Mac urged. “Please try, Parymn Ne Sa Las.”

With abrupt clarity:

“The truth—the truth about ourselves.”

As if that last effort had been too much, Parymn’s eyes closed.

“The Honored Delegate Brymn did not ask for such treatment.”

“Brymn Las,” Mac corrected automatically. “And he was trying to fit in, so of course he didn’t ask for special treatment. Trust me. A sonic shower. Will that clean the floor as well?” There were dried and drying smears of Dhryn blood everywhere.

“At the requested setting, yes. But Brymn Las did not—”

“You can do it, can’t you?” she challenged the pair. Nik, watching the exchange, rubbed a hand over his chin as if to hide a smile.

One and Two traded offended looks. They stood side by side, a matched set in Dhryn-neutral pink.
Not the time to ask if they liked whatever color that appeared to their eyes.
“We will make all of the arrangements you’ve requested, Mac,” answered Two stiffly. “We suggest you occupy yourselves elsewhere for an hour.”

“Or be crisped,” Mac said jovially. She reassured herself with a last look at Parymn’s thick, rubbery hide and a memory of the hazards of Dhryn “bathing.” “Good. Then I’m off to check on my team.”

Nik nodded at the door. “There’s fresh coffee—and a com link. You’ll want to be here when he’s ready for questioning.” She scowled and he gave her that too-innocent look. “Or not.”

Coffee and a few moments’ peace and quiet,
versus retracing her steps and plunging—for too brief a time—back into the turmoil she’d deliberately stirred behind her.

Coffee with
Nik
and a few moments’ peace and quiet,
versus confronting a host of testy archaeologists who’d doubtless noticed Fourteen’s predilection for acquiring small objects by now. She winced.
Forgot the memo
.

Mac noticed the dimple deepening in Nik’s cheek and scowled again.
Just enough to let him know it was her idea.

“Coffee works.”

“
I
ADMIT I WAS EXPECTING something—smaller. And damp.” Mac gave the subject of basements another moment’s serious consideration. “Maybe a troll,” she said finally.

To be truthful, while she’d assumed there was something beneath the consular complex, Mac had leaned toward wine cellars and seasonal storage, with perhaps accommodations suited to those aliens who liked it small, damp, and dark. A vault or two seemed reasonable to protect whatever precious goods might be moving on or off Earth with guests.

Basements were good for such things.

There was,
she acknowledged with an inward shudder,
a dungeon of sorts.

But the reality, behind door number three, was—
like walking into one of Emily’s favorite thriller vids.

Having been in the Progenitor’s vast cavern, Mac would have scoffed at the suggestion she’d ever again be impressed by a large room in a basement, even a very large room in a very odd basement.

Until Nik opened the third and final door at the corridor’s end, the one beside Parymn’s cell, the one she blithely assumed would simply lead to another corridor or room, and, as promised, coffee.

It didn’t.
And she was
.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Nik said into her ear.

Mac grunted, too busy struggling to grasp it all.

Straight ahead was easy, almost ordinary: a floor, although it widened to the right like a great fan until ending at the far curve of a wall. It was bounded by one other wall, this Mac touched with her right hand. She looked up, captivated by how this wall rose not to a ceiling, but to meet another floor, set back from the first; above it, another, and another, stretching up and away like a staircase.

To her left, the floor dropped away. Mac walked to the unprotected edge and looked down.
Another floor below this one, and another
.