Migration (61 page)

“Sit down, Oversight.” Mac did the same, but perched close to the edge of the jelly-chair. If she sank into it, she’d likely spend what was left of the night here. “I wanted to be the one to tell you. Emily Mamani’s back. She’s here, at the consulate.”

Mudge knew her face a little too well. “Something’s wrong with her.”

“Yes. She’s been altered by the Ro again. Much more. Physically. Maybe mentally. I don’t know the extent of it. She’s—” Mac looked up and said in a shaky voice: “—I don’t think she’s Emily anymore, Oversight.”

He harrumphed. Twice. Then: “She’s been living with something stranger than any of us can imagine. Give her time to remember herself, her friends.”

“That’s the rub. There isn’t time.” Mac waved Sing-li to the other seat. He obeyed, lifting off his helmet. “Oversight, this is Sing-li Jones, from Base. Sing-li, who can hear us right now?” she asked him.

Sing-li raised an eyebrow, but didn’t bother with denials. He pulled out his imp. “The transmitter on Mr. Mudge feeds directly to this—nowhere else. Unless something warrants an immediate report, I bundle the recordings and send them to main for analysis and file when I go off shift.”

Before Oversight could do more than turn red and begin to sputter, Mac nodded. “Good. Stop recording, on my authority.”

Sing-li didn’t hesitate. He stood and went to Mudge, who twisted around in alarm. “Oh, hold still,” Mac told him.

“This might sting a bit, sir.” Sing-li peeled a fingernail-sized patch of what had seemed skin from the back of Mudge’s neck. “There.”

The look on Mudge’s face promised an abundance of pithy memos, once the situation permitted such ordinary means of retribution.

Mac resisted the temptation to feel her own neck. “Do I have one?”

“Not to my knowledge. You’re aware of the bioamplifier in your tissues.” Mac nodded. “It’s concentrated enough of your DNA signature to let us pinpoint your location with reasonable accuracy.” Sing-li paused thoughtfully. “Unless you’re in a null gravity field.”

“Not planning on it,” Mac assured him, waving him back to his seat. Then she leaned forward to put her elbows on her knees, studying both men. “I’ve reached certain conclusions about our situation here,” she said. “If I’m wrong? At worst, I’ll be sent home as a nuisance. If I’m right?” She pressed her lips together then continued. “If I’m right, and we do nothing about it, the next blow to strike the IU will fall here, at this Gathering, at Earth. And soon.”

Sing-li tensed. “So that’s why Nik wants me to stick like glue. In that case, you’re the logical first target, Mac. We should get you out of here.” He started to rise.

“Relax.” She gave him a faint smile. “I appreciate your concern and his, Sing-li, but I’m not what’s important. It’s what I know and what I suspect. I have things to tell you both. I won’t risk being the only one who knows outside the Sinzi-ra’s inner circle. I can’t, for all our sakes.”

The two men exchanged grim looks. They understood what she was asking. “Get to it, Norcoast,” Mudge grumbled.

“First. There’s a Dhryn in the basement of this building, sent by the Progenitor I met on Haven to talk to me.”

“About what?” asked Mudge.

“What’s happened to their species. They don’t understand any more than we do. Oh, there’s no doubt the Dhryn are attacking planets. That they’re a horrific threat to other living things. But what’s the advantage to the Dhryn? I haven’t found one—not to the Dhryn. Which made me ask my own question. Are the Dhryn the hands or—” Mac indicated the weapon strapped to Sing-li’s leg, “—the tools in someone else’s hands?”

“You can’t be serious,” Mudge said, eyes wide. “An entire sentient species?”

Sing-li’s lips thinned. “You think the Dhryn are being used as a weapon.”

“I think they were made to be one. I think they’ve been used before, to annihilate the civilizations in the Chasm, then put away in a bottle until needed again.”

“By the Ro?”

“By the Ro,” Mac nodded. “And who shows up when we finally have our own source of information about the Dhryn? The Ro’s puppet: Emily Mamani. Just like she did before, when Brymn came to us.” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “You’d think I’d have figured it out sooner, having had practice.”

“Guesswork, Norcoast,” Mudge pointed out. “Even if you had hard evidence—which you don’t, I might add—your feelings about the Ro are no secret. Who here will believe you? They’re doing everything they can to welcome the Ro, not defend against them.” He brought out his own imp. “I’ve gone over the messages and daily summaries. Teams are working feverishly on new weapons—mining the transect gates was thankfully abandoned. Dhryn detectors; predictions of where they’ll attack next; three groups working on the Dhryn acids and how to create shields—none going well, by the way. Four others preparing defensive simulations. Ten spending their time on evacuation logistics and worst case scenarios—most productive of the lot, if you ask me. And a significant investment in Ro psychology—most of their work,” he sighed, “makes the ravings of your ghoul chasers sound sane.”

“The Origins Team, Oversight,” Mac told him. “We’re close. I can feel it. Unensela has findings about the vegetation and ecology that may prove a Dhryn migratory pattern. Others have discovered evidence of outside tampering with Dhryn technological development. All we need is the missing piece—what, if anything, happened to the Dhryn themselves, their physiology.” Mac’s enthusiasm faded. “And time. Emily helped get the Ro signaling device up and running ahead of schedule. It’s on right now, begging for their help with the Dhryn.” She paused to rub her eyes with the back of one hand, then was startled by the feel of glove instead of skin. “Believe me, I’d give anything to be wrong. I keep hoping I am. But the Dhryn—everything I know tells me they couldn’t have come to exist on their own. And if that’s true? The rest makes too much sense to dare ignore.”

“What do you want us to do?” This from Sing-li.

Mac looked to Mudge. “You have the room assignments for the members of the team, right?” He nodded. “Wake everyone up. Start with Lyle Kanaci—he can help with the rest. We have work to do.”

A familiar scowl. “And where will you be?”

“I’ll join you as soon as I can,” Mac promised. “We’ll wake up Fourteen on the way—I want to talk to him first.” She turned to Sing-li. “We should—”

“I don’t think so,” interrupted Mudge, giving the larger, younger man a disdainful look. “You need protection. I should go with you.”

Snooping was one thing; risking himself was another.
“You’re a fearsome administrator, Oversight,” she said gratefully but firmly. “Unusually deft with a paddle, I’ll grant you. But I’d better stick with the professional with the large weapon, don’t you think?”

He harrumphed. “A P917-multiphasic pulse pistol—pardon, P915, I’d thought it was the newer model—is no substitute for experience.”

Sing-li raised his eyebrow again, but didn’t say anything; Mac, less tactful, grinned. “Experience?”
He had to be kidding.

Mudge put on outraged dignity the way anyone else put on a coat. “Experience with you, Norcoast. And your propensity for dashing off on a whim to find trouble.”

“I do not—” Mac reconsidered. “I don’t try to find trouble,” she temporized.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Mudge,” Sing-li reassured him. “I lived with her at Base for six months. We all know the signs.”

Mac’s head snapped around. “What signs? Signs of wh—” She stopped, startled.

Mac held up her hand for silence, listening, her mouth dry.
There
. She lunged forward and swept the covering from the table.

Clear water and fish exploded into a writhing mass of sediments and broken coral, as whatever had been closest to the glass fled into the depths.

Sing-li had surged to his feet with her and now stood, his pistol drawn and ready, although somewhat nonplussed to be aiming it at a piece of furniture. Mudge, who’d managed to jump right over his jelly-chair, peered over the top of its dubious shelter. “What—what was that?” he gasped.

Heart still hammering in her ears, Mac said fiercely: “That, my dear Oversight, is what happens when guesswork meets evidence. The Ro.”
Were they aquatic?
she caught herself wondering for the first time.
Did they rejoice in the seawater tank, or was the liquid inimical to them? Did they prefer the same mixture of gases she breathed?

What could you breathe in no-space?

You know, Emily,
Mac thought grimly. She’d like to believe her friend would answer questions.
She’d also like to be standing beside the Tannu River right now
.

“There are tables like this everywhere,” began Sing-li, worry creasing his forehead. “Can the Ro exit into rooms through them?”

Staring at the table, Mac resisted the impulse to duck behind her own chair. “Let’s not wait and find out. Can you reach Nik, discreetly, without using the consulate’s system?”

“Who’s Nik? Mudge demanded. Mac silenced him with a look.

“Sure.” Sing-li pulled out something like an imp. “What do you want me to tell him?”

“Have him meet us in the Origins Room as soon as he can.” She looked from Mudge to Sing-li. “Let’s move, gentlemen.”

At this hour, the residential corridors of the IU consulate were deserted, lights dimmed to night levels, everyone asleep or at least quiet. Mac was reminded of the times Emily had talked her into staying out late, late enough they’d have to sneak back into the Pods to avoid waking other researchers. Of course, then, the consequence of discovery had been a continuation of festivities till dawn in someone’s quarters, with Mac doing her best to excuse herself and Emily all for it.

Tonight, she was with Sing-li, who managed to turn walking into something ominous and silent. Tonight, Emily was the one person Mac didn’t want to encounter, hard as that was to admit.

Technically, Fourteen’s quarters were the floor above hers, but the Sinzi’s ramplike corridor wound its way from level to level steeply here, making it faster to walk than take the lift. Mac found herself moving quicker as well, stretching her strides to match Sing-li’s longer legs, almost breaking into a run.

Running out of time,
she fussed to herself and hoped Fourteen wasn’t a sound sleeper.

“Here,” Sing-li said quietly, stopping in front of the next set of double doors. “We shouldn’t wake the neighbors.”

“Wait a moment.” Mac leaned her head against the door. “He snores,” she explained. “Loudly.”
Nothing
. She reached for the door handle. The consulate didn’t lock doors, presumably to allow staff discreet access at any time.
Or to encourage clandestine activity?
Mac thought inanely. Who knew what went on after-hours here?

A large hand got to the handle first and the Ministry agent gave her a gentle nudge to one side with his shoulder. “My job,” he informed her.

“Go ahead,” she agreed, but stayed close by.

Sing-li opened the door. No lights, as expected. “Fourteen?” Mac called out as they stepped inside.

Nothing
.

“Something’s wrong,” her companion said abruptly. At that instant Mac realized her feet weren’t walking on sand, but through jelly. “Stay back.”

Sing-li hit the lights.

The room before them was in ruins. The Sinzi’s jelly furnishings, both bed and chair, were slashed apart, their contents—
light blue,
Mac observed numbly—staining the sand. Glistening trails of slime crisscrossed everywhere she looked: walls, ceiling, and floor. Where the slime touched sand, that material was already hardening into a crust.

“Fourteen!” Mac shouted, bolting for the other room.

Sing-li made a grab for her but missed. “Mac! Wait!” He pounded after her through the arch, cursing under his breath, only catching up when she staggered to a stop before a pile of ripped clothing.

“It isn’t—him,” she managed to say.
No body
. Just the pile beside the table, the only intact furnishing left in the Myg’s quarters. Sing-li, weapon drawn, quickly checked the closet and washroom, then came back to her, shaking his head. “The terrace,” she whispered, and he went into the other room, coming back a moment later.

“Clear,” he told her. “No evidence of a struggle—no blood.”

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t take him,” she ground out. Just then, something about the pile of clothing caught Mac’s eye. It seemed different, somehow.

“Sing-li,” she hissed as she bent and teased the top layer free, wincing at the cold stickiness of slime on her fingers. Most of the material was Fourteen’s fine leather, ripped to ribbons, every edge jagged as if the damage had been caused by serrated knives.

The pile beneath
shifted
. Just a bit, but enough to make Mac drop to her knees and pull more urgently at the mass. Sing-li, muttering various dark things under his breath, loomed at her shoulder, weapon ready.