Migration (50 page)

It was as if they stood on the steps of a giant pyramid buried underground, only revealed here.

There was more. The pyramid’s partner, mirror image, rose across a gulf between the two. Mac could see figures moving about on a floor at the same height as this one—but so distant she couldn’t have shouted and been heard. There was, she realized belatedly, a third series of steps ahead. She turned. The tiny door they’d used came through a wall that was itself part of a step.

The pyramids re-formed in her imagination to a well, sunk deep underground, she and Nik mere droplets on bricks near the bottom. Like the building aboveground, she realized, hollow within, floors linked by a central spiral ramp as well as lifts.
As if the Sinzi valued open space above all.

Space filled with light. The white walls and floors almost glowed. Mac craned back her head to see the distant ceiling, squinting to make out a familiar pattern edged in brightness.
The patio!
The tiles were allowing sunlight through. She couldn’t find any tree roots hanging down.
Neat trick.

This space was filled with life. Everywhere she looked, Mac saw purposeful movement. Raftlike platforms laden with passengers and cargo sedately crossed the space between the steps, as many moving vertically as horizontally. Some hung in midair, overhead or below, grouped into workspaces or forming bridges from side to side.

The steps themselves, each forming immense “rooms” of their own filled with labyrinths of equipment, were connected by lifts along their walls. The nearest sighed to a stop beside Mac, as if in invitation. Along the wall itself were doors, implying a maze of rooms beyond all this.

And the space sang. Granted it was the drone of voices and machines, rising and falling, punctuated by the occasional metallic clang or whoop. But song nonetheless. There had to be hundreds of beings working here.
Answering one question, Em
. Mac drew a quick breath. “So this is where they’ve been hiding.”

“Who?”

“The other researchers from the Gathering. Mudge and I went over the consulate schematics Fourteen gave me. We couldn’t figure out where the Sinzi had put everyone.”

“Yes, but hardly hiding.” Nik chuckled. “Several teams are down here to make use of the equipment.”

“What equipment?” Mac gave him an uneasy look. “Why is all this here, Nik? What are these beings doing?”

He smiled. “Coffee first.”

“ ‘The truth.’ ” Nik handed Mac her coffee and took one himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect that from our visitor.”

They’d taken the lift to the next step up, Nik leading the way to what was, if not a lounge, a reasonable facsimile. Like the eye of a storm, benches made a circle of calm around a tall water-touched sculpture of—
well, she wasn’t sure, but if three Sinzi finger-wrestled, this could

be the result
. The sculpture’s base provided unobtrusive storage for beverages and snacks, watched over by another of the ubiquitous consular staff, only too eager to provide whatever they’d like.

The rest of the area was a bustle of activity. Doors opening and closing. Consoles and other equipment communing with their operators. Platforms docking and undocking all along the edge, so the floor space and those on it constantly morphed around her.
Like a termite mound,
Mac decided,
where everyone else knew what to do.

For her part, she’d asked for coffee, hoping to gather her thoughts.

Mac’s thoughts were another matter entirely. She had enough questions about this place and what was done here to set her head spinning.
But she did know one thing.
The Ministry of Extra-Sol Human Affairs was well aware of what the Sinzi-ra kept in her basement.

Nik knew this place.

More. He was at home here, the way she felt among the pods of Base and the rivers of Castle Inlet. His body posture had subtly altered, losing that tiny “ignore me” slouch, regaining his true height. His movements lost none of their suppleness, but gained confidence, as if here he finally shed a camouflage intended to make outsiders underestimate his abilities, misjudge his strength. This was the real Nikolai Trojanowski, the version she’d only caught in glimpses.

Albeit yummy ones
.

Scowling at her seemingly infinite ability to focus on the trivial, Mac raised her hand to their surroundings. “Speaking of truth—this is where you really work, isn’t it.”

He didn’t bother denying it. She was pleased—unless that meant she was so deeply into all this now it couldn’t matter what else she learned.
Not the most comforting thought
.

“This is the Atrium. The IU shares its facilities with us,” Nik informed her, one arm outstretched along the back of the bench. His eyes darted about, rarely still.
Checking on things,
Mac guessed, the same compulsion she always felt when walking into a lab or waking up at a field station. “There’s one in every consulate, with a Sinzi administrator. Some of what’s done here is to monitor the transects—the Sinzi are devoted to maintaining the flow of traffic. The upper levels are where any technology proposed for import or export is given a final assessment by their people and ours.”

Mac looked up with some alarm. “Is that safe?”

“Safety tests are done in orbit or on the Moon,” he assured her, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he tried not to smile at her reaction.
Wise man, Em
. “Here they look at other factors. Economics, appeal. As often as not what’s a good idea for one species simply won’t interact as hoped with the technology base or culture of another. You don’t know until you tinker with it.”

“But you,” Mac persisted, “do something else. When not escorting tourists or pestering innocent biologists, that is.”

“True enough. Most of my time is spent right there.” Nik pointed to the opposite side, indicating an area up a step from their level. Mac couldn’t see anything distinct about it, unless she counted the three platforms presently attached, and more lined up to do so. “Telematics center,” he explained. “Sends and receives information over long distances.”

Mac was quite sure the ‘long’ in this instance referred to very long distances indeed. She also guessed moving information was only one step. Every iota of data must be translated as necessary, then analyzed, compiled, and stored. Within the Interspecies Union, information would be the currency of value to all.

“Looks busy,” she observed.

“It is.”

Something in his voice caught her attention. “That’s where they’re working on Emily’s message, isn’t it? Doing whatever it is the Ro want them to do.” A chill fingered her spine.

Nik didn’t deny it. “Off-limits, Mac.” Clear warning.

She didn’t argue, busy looking for Fourteen.

“Mac.”

A few possibilities—none in paisley.
“Is it off-limits to you, too?” she wondered aloud.

“Why?”

Surprised, Mac glanced at Nik. “I like to know things.”

“That I’ve noticed.” Nik lowered his head, but she could see the curve of his lips as he lifted his mug and sipped. “Hollans and I have access,” he said finally. “I can’t take you there; he could. Want me to ask?”

“No, thanks.”
She could imagine
that
conversation
. Mac shifted around on the bench. “You work there—doing what?”

“Whatever needs to be done.” She frowned at him and Nik smiled. “It’s the truth. There’s no job description for what I do, Mac. I’m one of the links between the Sinzi-ra and the Ministry, between the IU and Human interests both on and off Earth. Most of my time I spend analyzing the information flow, what matters to whom, basically observing the workings of the IU for us. Every so often,” a chuckle, “I have to interpret us for the IU. Or escort aliens around the home planet.” A shadow crossed his face. “I’d retired from anything more intense until the Dhryn.”

A reminder of the topic at hand, Em.
“You said the Sinzi monitor the transects—watch traffic through the gates—” Mac swallowed, then went on. “They must have data on the Dhryn attacks.”

Nik’s face sobered. “Some. But system-to-system communication obeys real space physics. Even where there’s a facility like this, information has to be transmitted to a ship before it enters a transect gate—or someone has to have the presence of mind to prepare and launch a self-guiding com packet. When the Dhryn swarm through a gate, the result has been utter chaos. People trying to escape, defend themselves. They aren’t making observations. While on Ascendis?” He paused, eyes darkening. “The Dhryn penetrated and destroyed that consulate as easily as everything else.”

Mac hunched her shoulders. “You must have something,” she insisted.

“Data’s coming in—late and in pieces. Whatever we have is put together for the experts. So far, though, it looks as though the Dhryn attack at random, then leave the moment their target is devastated. What is it?” this as Mac began shaking her head.

“I don’t understand what the Dhryn are doing,” she said fiercely. “It makes no sense.”

“To us,” Nik corrected.

Mac shook her head again. “No. Not just to us. It doesn’t make sense for the Dhryn. I realize I don’t know as much as everyone here about aliens—okay, anyone here or most people on this planet,” she rushed to say before he could. “But grant me that I know a fair bit about living things and how they evolve. There’s something here we’re not seeing. Something besides the Ro.”

The hair rose on her arm and neck at the thought of them. She couldn’t help it.

Nik didn’t dismiss her. He didn’t agree either; Mac could see it in his slight frown. “Your old friend should be able to explain,” he suggested, pointing over her shoulder.

Mac turned. She hadn’t paid particular attention to any one area yet, too busy comprehending the overall scale of the place. Even so, there was no excuse not to have noticed they’d sat within meters of where One and Two were busy working on—“That’s the ceiling of Parymn’s cell,” she concluded, quickly estimating the distance from the small door they’d entered on the step below this.

The staff were directing the transfer of crates from a platform docked beside them through a pair of larger, open doors. Through those doors . . . more crates blocked Mac’s view of the section of floor where she presumed the access to Parymn’s cell was located.
A secret in plain sight,
she thought with wonder.
Why not? Everyone here was focused on their work, their problem to be solved.
She’d have missed it, and she knew.

The area Mac could see was two, possibly three times larger than that of the cell beneath it, bounded by a complex of what she presumed was monitoring equipment. An assortment of beings in lab coats paid rapt attention to their devices or each other.

While the two standing on either side of the open doors paid attention to everything else. Familiar black armor, engaged in very familiar looming. “Who’s here?” Mac asked, waving a greeting at them. Sure enough, one nodded back. By his height, she guessed Selkirk. She swung herself back around on the bench to face Nik. “Or is that a secret?”

Nik took a slow sip of his coffee, eyeing her over the rim of his cup. “I suppose if I don’t tell you, you’ll find out for yourself anyway.”

Mac grinned. “Exactly.”

“We’ve six in gear within the consulate itself. Four you know from Base. One, Tucker Cavendish, you met—briefly—at the way station. And Judy Rozzell. She was at the Ro landing site. I believe,” he added pensively, “Charlie dented her visor.”

“What about ’Sephe?”

“Busy teaching a course, I’m told. Corrupted by evil statisticians.”

“Which would be your fault,” Mac pointed out.
A relief, to know the capable agent was with Kammie, John, and the rest who’d gone to the university
.

She curled one leg under her, leaning back. The noise was loud but constant, reminding her of waves babbling their way through beach pebbles. Just as easy, after a while, to push to the background. Mac rolled her head, stretching the kinks from her neck, then sniffed at her coffee.
Still too hot.
The Sinzi mug must be self-warming.

“Want some ice?”

He surprised her into a laugh. “And here I’d hoped you’d missed something in my dossier.”
Which really wasn’t funny,
Mac decided, losing her smile.

“There’s a great deal about you that’s not in any record, Mac.” Nik’s raised brow and dimple dared her to ask.

Mac deliberately turned back to the subject at hand. “We can’t assume,” she cautioned, “that Parymn knows about the attacks committed by other Dhryn.”

“Agreed. But I believe his Progenitor knows. Why else contact you?”

Mac nodded as she blew steam from her coffee. She thought out loud: “Nik, the N’not’k were on the Ministry’s list of previous Dhryn attacks—a balloon ship lost, wasn’t it? But instead of a second, more devastating attack, the pattern everywhere else, the Progenitor sends in one ship—Parymn’s. Why?” Mac answered her own question. “She somehow knew they wouldn’t shoot first—and that they’d understand the message. Or realize it was a message. Which leads to another why. Bah.”