Migration (7 page)

Tie had been elsewhere during the partial sinking of the pod.
How guilt had stained that joy, to have an old friend safe when so many others . . .

An assortment of craft bobbed at anchor or hung from cabling. Mac headed for the gate itself, running along the dock that floated down the center of the expanse. Without a wasted move, she keyed open the inset access port within the gate, then dropped into the antique but always-ready skim Tie kept berthed next to it. The combination of grad students, fickle ocean, and Saturday parties made a quick retrieval craft an essential resource.

Mac ducked as she sent the skim beneath the half raised port, swinging it in a tight turn toward shore the instant she cleared the pod wall. Her hair somehow found its way into her eyes, despite its shorter length, and she shook her head impatiently. The skim, true to its name, paralleled the water’s surface once in motion. She kept it low, needing to slip under the walkways between the pods to find Mudge. It meant a teeth-jarring ride as the repellers—at this intimate distance—faithfully copied every tiny rise, shudder, and fall of the waves beneath.

He would pick the middle of the damned night,
Mac growled to herself. There was barely enough glow from the walkways to pick out the pods on either side. That wasn’t a problem; Mac could have piloted through any part of Base with her eyes closed. But she wouldn’t find Mudge that way. Fortunately, Tie had rigged this skim with searchlights. Mac aimed two over the bow as she slowed, sparing an instant to hope everyone else was in bed sleeping.

The fool should be right there
.

And he was. Mac let out the breath she’d unconsciously held as the light passed over the sweep of an arm against the black water. She brought the skim down in front of the swimming figure and leaned over the side, steadying herself as the craft rocked from end to end with each swell. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as quietly as she could given her mood and the water.

Goggled eyes aimed up at her. Mudge had come prepared; she gave him that, noting the wet suit and hand flippers. One of those flippers waved at her. “Get—out of my—way.” Gasping, but not out of breath. Mac was impressed. Not always behind a desk, then.

It didn’t change anything
. She glanced over her shoulder, checking for any sign they’d been noticed. All quiet, but Mac knew it couldn’t last. “Get in the skim, Oversight.”

His answer was to put his head down and start swimming around her.

Mac muttered a few choice words and restarted her engine.

It was worse than arguing with him face-to-face. They played a game in the dark, under the dips of walkways and around the massive curves of pods. Mac would circle ahead; Mudge would have to stop. Then he’d duck beneath the night-black water, swimming under or past the skim, and Mac would have to circle again to get ahead of him.

After her third try, sorely tempted to use the boat hook to knock some sense into the man, Mac admitted defeat, along with a grudging respect. “Get in,” she told him, “and I’ll take you to shore tomorrow.”

Mudge bobbed in the water like a dubious cod from some myth. “Your—word—Nor—coast.”

The boat hook had such potential
. Mac sighed. “Yes, yes. I promise. Just get in. Please?”

With an effort that had them out of breath by its end, Mac managed to get Mudge onto the skim’s bench. For all of his bravado and wet suit, he was shaking and alarmingly cold to the touch. She wrapped a self-warming blanket from the skim’s emergency chest around his shoulders, laying another over his lap. “Damn you, Oversight, you could have drowned,” she accused, rubbing his back as hard as she could.

“Ther-rre—ther-re’s worse—things,” he sputtered.

Mac’s hands stilled for an instant on the blanket.

“Yes,” she agreed numbly. “There are.”

Either Mudge had believed her, or he’d swallowed enough ocean for one night. Mac didn’t particularly care which, so long as he stayed in his room. She yawned her way down the night-dimmed corridor to her office. With luck, she’d get a few hours’ sleep before having to deal with what she’d promised.

It wasn’t going to be easy
. They’d somehow avoided being noticed tonight, but tomorrow, with all of Base awake and moving, it would be a different story. Not to mention the tiggers, the automated pseudo-gulls which reacted to any unauthorized intruder with an arsenal ranging from ear-piercing alarms to adhesive droppings containing any of a variety of unpleasant and increasingly debilitating substances. Mac didn’t put faith in Mudge’s assurance the tiggers should still be programmed to let him pass into the Trust lands. She’d have to find some way to circumvent them.

“I study salmon,” Mac protested out loud as she let herself into her office. She didn’t bother with lights, aiming straight for her couch after closing and locking the door behind her. The night was going to be short enough.

The lights came on anyway.

Somehow beyond surprise, Mac squinted at the figure seated all too comfortably behind her desk, chin resting on her hands, brown eyes fixed on her: ’Sephe.

“It is the middle of the night,” Mac observed.

“So it is. Where have you been, Dr. Connor?”

Mac straightened from her tired slouch, enjoying a welcome surge of adrenaline-rich anger. “Is that why you’re here?” she snapped. “To check on where and when I sleep? There’s no—”

“Answer the question, please.”

“I took a walk.” Mac marched to the couch, where she thumped her pillow into submission and threw it to one end. “Now about that sleep.”

Rapier-sharp. “This isn’t a game, Dr. Connor.”

Mac yanked her oversized sweater from the screen and laid it on the couch, adequate blanket for a warm spring evening. “If you say so.”

“You can’t take Mudge ashore tomorrow.”

Her back to ’Sephe, Mac squeezed her eyes shut, her heart giving a heavy, hopeless thud, anger draining away.
They’d promised her privacy, at least here, where she lived.
Like a fool, she’d believed.

Mac unfolded the fists she’d unconsciously made and turned. “If you heard that much, you know I gave him my word.”

Dark fingers flicked the air.
Dismissal
. “Tell him you lied again.”

At the somber look in the other woman’s eyes, Mac choked down what she wanted to say, settling for the blunt truth: “That won’t stop him. He’s determined to check on the Trust lands. He’ll do it by himself if he has to.”

“Unfortunate.”

A pronouncement of doom?
With the bizarre feeling of having switched places with one of her students called to task, Mac went and stood before her own desk. “Oversight isn’t part of this, ’Sephe,” she insisted. “Leave him alone.”

The Ministry agent stood as well, her full lips thinned with disapproval. “That’s not your—”

“Leave him alone,” Mac repeated, forced to look up.
Had she shrunk since this morning?
“We’ll go onshore tomorrow. I’ll show him the bare minimum, trust me. Oversight will go home and write a scathing report about our mistreatment of his hillside that your people can bury however deep they want.”

“Inadequate.” ’Sephe’s expression didn’t change. “Stick to your fish, Dr. Connor. On-site risk assessment and management are my responsibility, not yours.”

“At least use what I know!” Mac retorted. She shook her head, then leveled her tone to something if not completely civil, then hopefully persuasive. “I’ve handled Oversight for fourteen years. Believe me—the best way to deal with him, the only way, is to let him see what’s there with his own eyes and file his own report. Anything else will simply raise more and louder questions than your Ministry is willing to answer.” She hesitated, worrying she’d gone too far—
or not far enough?
“Don’t underestimate him,” Mac continued. “He has connections at every level of Earthgov.” She spared a moment to be grateful Mudge wasn’t one of those eavesdropping.
Pleading his case was something she’d never live down.

A long, more considering look. Mac kept quiet under it. Whatever orders ’Sephe had to follow, surely she had some discretion in how.

“Fine,” ’Sephe said abruptly. “Take him. Give him the tour. But not first thing in the morning. I’ll need time to manage the ramifications.”

Mac guessed those “ramifications” would include briefing those who watched over Base.
Sensible
. “That works,” she replied, relieved and willing to show it. “It’ll probably take me till noon to find a way to get Mudge past the tiggers anyway.”

The magic smile, the one that pretended they were old, dear friends. “Leave that to me.” The smile disappeared. “But keep your friend away from the Ro landing site.”

Mac’s nod was heartfelt. She’d no desire to return there herself. “Thanks,” she said.

Another dismissive gesture. “Next time, don’t make promises you shouldn’t.” Her face softened. “It’s good to see you again, Mac. Even if you have tamed your hair.”

“Easier to keep bugs out,” Mac said, giving the curls a deprecating yank.

’Sephe chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it. Good night, Mac.” The Ministry agent walked to the door.

She knew better
. Mac couldn’t stop herself. “Wait. Please.”

’Sephe paused, eyes never blinking. She had a way of becoming still that went deeper than not moving, as if she disengaged everything but her attention.
Her students,
Mac decided,
were going to find that ability disconcerting
.

“Have you—is there—”
She sounded like a blithering idiot.
Mac took a steadying breath. “It’s been over four months. I’m not asking you to breach protocols or orders,” she hastened before the other could say a word. “I—it hasn’t been easy, not knowing what’s happened, who might be . . .” her voice failed and Mac coughed to cover it. “If there’s anything you can tell me, anything at all, I’d be grateful.”

Maybe ’Sephe had listened to her nightmares. For the briefest of instants, Mac saw sympathy in the other’s eyes and felt a rush of hope. Then ’Sephe shook her head. “Mac, I can’t. News is locked up tight, these days. Even if I had any myself, it would be classified by the Interspecies Union. It’s not just the Ministry, or Earth, in this. You, of all people, know that. We aren’t alone—or even the ones most at risk right now. We can’t think in terms of one species, let alone one person.”

Aliens.
Had there really been a time, Mac wondered, when they didn’t matter to her? When she’d truly believed that what took place outside this one world’s thin coat of atmosphere was insignificant, without meaning to her life? She wouldn’t go back to that ignorance, would never again accept so small and inaccurate a view of reality. No matter the cost.

As well think salmon didn’t need trees
.

“I understand.” She lifted and dropped one shoulder.

“I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t apologize,” ’Sephe told her, shaking her head in emphasis. “You didn’t ask to be involved. Hell, none of us did.”

Mac surprised herself by smiling at this.

’Sephe took a step closer and lowered her voice. “I can tell you one thing, for what good it does. He checks on you, Mac. As often as he can. There’s a breach of protocol for you.” A flicker of a grin. “Drives the deputy minister bats.”

He?
Nikolai Trojanowski.
If it were true
. . . Mac locked her reaction away so quickly even she wasn’t sure how she felt. It didn’t matter. ’Sephe was trying to distract her, deflect her curiosity in a safer direction.

You need lessons from Emily
.

Mac had learned the hard way to ignore outrageous claims about men. She’d have never lasted one Saturday night out with Em otherwise. “I appreciate everyone’s efforts, whether security or on staff,” she said blandly, refusing to ask anything else.
It revealed too much, at no gain.
“Speaking of staff, ’Sephe, I hope you enjoy being busy. At Norcoast, we keep our people on the run.”

Chuckling at the in-joke, poor as it was, ’Sephe’s eyes brightened. “I’m looking forward to it. In case you had doubts, I am an excellent statistician.”

She hadn’t, actually.
No matter what references or threats backed an applicant’s claim, to get past Kammie in an interview, ’Sephe would have to be exceptional and prove it. “A skill useful at the Ministry, no doubt.”

“Extra-Sol Human Affairs. That wretched hive of bookkeepers and actuaries.” Mac must have looked skeptical, for ’Sephe gave a short laugh. “I’m not joking. When the alert came from the IU, the Ministry had to scour the ranks to find anyone with the right clearances who qualified for fieldwork.”