Regeneration (Czerneda) (19 page)

He pressed his lips together in an unhappy line. “I should be going with you.”

Pinching an errant grape between her fingers, Mac gave his shirt a tug. “If you aren’t, you really should change.”

“You know what I mean, Mac.” The agent shook his head at her. “Some on the IU committee aren’t pleased with Dr. Mamani leaving the consulate. They’re resisting Hollans’ efforts to negotiate clearance for more Humans on Myriam—doubt he’ll get a straight answer before you clear the gate. Don’t like it, Mac.”

She wasn’t thrilled either.
“Don’t worry,” Mac told him. “The planet’s going to be crowded enough as it is. And I’ll have Oversight.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring,” Sing-li said darkly.

“Be fair. He can be scary.”

“You don’t know what you might face.”

“I’m minding a bunch of archaeologists on a lifeless world—what can happen?” Mac stopped and laughed without humor. “Don’t answer that.”

Before Sing-li could try, they rounded the last corner and saw who was waiting.

“Idiot!” Fourteen called cheerfully, his arm around Unensela, the Myg xenopaleoecologist.

Unensela’s six offspring were seated at their feet, looking as angelic as hairless lumps with long necks and big brown eyes could. On seeing Mac, they immediately squealed and scampered at full speed to run up her legs before she could fend them away with her free hand.

Once they were firmly attached by clawholds on her chest and shoulders, a struggle since each had doubled in mass over the past few weeks, Mac recovered sufficient balance to glare at Sing-li. He gave a helpless shrug and appeared to be trying not to grin. “Wasn’t me,” he vowed, taking her bag.

She’d left orders with everyone imaginable that Fourteen was not to know about her little detour before Myriam.
It had been worth a try.
“He’s not coming to Base,” Mac muttered under her breath. Four of the Myg offspring excitedly demonstrated their recently acquired ability to mimic sounds, babbling “basebasebasebase” in their high-pitched voices. The remaining two merely howled along.

“You won’t believe this, Mac,” Fourteen announced as she staggered closer. “We almost missed the flight!”

Mac lurched to a stop by Unensela and waited. The female Myg gave her a sly look—an expression which came naturally, given the sunken Myg eyes and wide expressive lips. She was wearing one of Fourteen’s shirts and apparently nothing else. Fortunately, the shirt went down to her knobby knees. Unfortunately, the shirt was a vile orange and turquoise patterned in juggling hamsters.

“Get them off me,” Mac said as calmly as she could, given one offspring was gumming her left ear for all it was worth. “Now.”

“You should be proud,” the Myg insisted. “You’re the only Human they like.”

“I’m honored. Off.”

Unensela pouted, another typical Myg expression in Mac’s experience with the species.

Mac took a deep breath.

“Idiot!” Fourteen said hastily, pulling offspring from Mac with both hands and tossing them at his—
what,
Mac wondered,
did you call someone who appeared to dislike you but would have sex with you anywhere, anytime?
She settled for fellow alien. The offspring didn’t mind the treatment, each making a “whee” sound as they flew through the air. Unensela didn’t try to catch them, letting the small beings latch onto her shirt with their claws wherever they struck. They dropped to the floor at once, cooing contentedly by her feet.

Sing-li was making that strangled noise again. Mac rolled her eyes at him.

Once free of hitchhikers, she pulled her clothing back into some order, ignoring the myriad small holes left by affectionate Myg claws until her fingers found skin through a long tear in previously intact silk. At this, she growled something safely wordless in her throat.

“Hurry, Mac. We’ll be late.” Fourteen, she noted grimly, was bouncing in place, his favorite, and now-faded, paisley shorts threatening to slip loose.

“Late for—”

“Arslithissiangee Yip the Fourteenth!” A thunderous Mudge came striding up the corridor from the direction of the hangar. “What are you doing here?” He counted Mygs as he approached and amended, “What are all of you doing here?”

“Idiot,” Fourteen proclaimed. “The glorious Unensela is here to warm me with her presence as long as possible. I am waiting to board the lev with Mac.” The overlooked offspring, following all this intently, burbled “macmacmac.”

Mac’s “Oh, no you aren’t,” collided with Mudge’s “I think not!” and Sing-li’s alarmed “You don’t have clearance.” Unensela’s “But you promised to take them with you!” came afterward, prompting everyone else to stare at her.

“Well, he did,” she finished.

“Irrelevant,” Mac told her, then looked at Fourteen. “You aren’t coming.”

The Myg covered his face with his hands. Distress, real or feigned.
Likely real.
She didn’t doubt Fourteen’s desire to accompany her, or his zeal to be of help.
Strobis
, the Myg version of obligation and promise. She seemed to be collecting a few of those lately.

Mac sighed and pulled his hands down. He peered at her, moisture dotting his fleshy eyelids. “I need you here,” she said earnestly. “To find out who else is heading for Myriam—what they want there.” She’d left him a message about the Frow and Grimnoii. If there was anything Fourteen relished, it was obliterating the secrecy of others.

“Irrelevant! Why must you go to Base?” he countered. “Charlie can take Emily. They can have sex.” He stuck out his white forked tongue and Unensela giggled.

Mudge’s face was a study in various hues of red. Mac silenced him with a look. Fourteen knew how to push his rival’s buttons, not difficult at the best of times.

“He has abundant external genitalia,” Fourteen persisted. “We all saw—”

“I’ll see you in orbit,” Mac interrupted. She let her tone imply she wasn’t worried if Fourteen was inside a ship when she did or not. “Gentlemen?”

She grabbed her bag from Sing-li, who wisely surrendered it, and headed for the hangar doors, pausing only to make sure Mudge was coming, too.

“My apologies, Norcoast,” that worthy panted. “He got past me.”

Mac glanced at him without slowing. His face glistened with sweat and at least some of its ruddiness looked to be from exertion. The rest, she blamed on Fourteen. “Did you run the entire length of the consulate?”

“A bit more, actually.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then took a couple of deeper breaths. “Damn Myg cheated and took a skim.”

“I should be the one to apologize,” Sing-li offered glumly. “I told Selkirk to keep an eye on him—trickiest being I’ve ever met. I swear you could hide something at the bottom of the ocean and he’d have it copied and on display by noon.”

Mac snorted. “Good thing he’s on our side. More or less,” this last to mollify Mudge.

“Of course I’m on your side,” Fourteen said in her ear.

Mac jumped and swung her bag. Sing-li swore and Mudge simply stopped where he was, throwing up his arms.

Fourteen, having dodged Mac’s swing, smiled unrepentantly as he rose from his crouch. “See? I sent Unensela away. It’s me now. I was never bringing the offspring.”

“Go away,” Mac growled.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“You won’t win, Fourteen,” Emily said lazily.

Mac turned to see her friend leaning against one side of the now-open door to the consulate hangar, arms folded across her chest. Beyond, through the opening, was a line of levs and other transports, beings of various species moving around them at their work. The wide doors to the outside were mere shadows in the distance. The Sinzi built on a generous scale. There were a couple of larger service corridors, as well as this one, leading into the hangar. Not to mention a small, hidden entrance from the surface, for those who preferred even more stealth.

“Can you hurry it up, Mac? Pilot’s getting antsy.”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “I’ve no doubt.” The outfit was remarkable, even for Emily. For her triumphant return, she’d donned a white dress of the Sinzi’s favorite fabric that might have been painted over her curved torso, flaring in randomly transparent panels from thigh to ankle. Ropes of black pearls hung from her throat, almost reaching her waist; black satin gloves and sandals completed what was, to Mac, most definitely armor.

She gave her Myg-torn shirt a self-conscious tug and winced as she heard it rip further.
Hopefully she could change on the lev.

“If he’s going,” Fourteen pointed at Mudge, “I’m going.”

“Oversight’s just seeing us off,” Mac began. Which hadn’t been part of the scheme of things, but she did appreciate Mudge’s efforts to intercept the determined Myg—however futile. “Now you both can,” she finished brightly. “Good-bye. See you on the transport to Myriam.”

A
harrumph
. “Ah. Norcoast. I am coming with you.”

At this, Mac’s head whipped around so quickly she felt a strain in her neck. “Pardon?”

“Staff’s done an excellent job,” Mudge explained. “Stellar. No one needs me.”

It was like some comedy routine, Mac thought with disgust, with her playing the the innocent victim from the audience.
Had everyone forgotten who was in charge here?
“No, Oversight.” This firm and calm. “Emily and I are going. Sing-li is coming with us because I can’t stop him without arcane paperwork or a sledgehammer. You are waiting for us in orbit, making sure everything is ready.”

“Everything is ready.”

So much for calm
. “Then make up a bloody crisis!” Her shout echoed down the corridor and back again, drawing attention from those within the hangar. “I don’t care!”

“It’s okay, Mac,” Emily said smoothly. “I invited Charlie along. Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Mac looked from one to the other and back again. Mudge’s expression was an interesting blend of not-my-fault and uncertainty.
He didn’t know why,
she judged. Emily’s was pure mischief, her gleaming eyes and wide smile daring Mac to challenge her on this. She might have bought it, but Emily’s gloved fingers were locked on her arms, as if to hide their trembling.

The look, like the dress, was designed to misdirect, to make everyone around Emily believe bringing Mudge was some playful whim.

To where the Ro had destroyed part of the Wilderness Trust?

Mac gave a nod, more to herself than anyone else, but Mudge visibly relaxed—and Emily? Maybe no one else would notice the slight release of tension in the shoulders, the softening of the smile.

It wasn’t, Mac knew, a favor she’d granted.

Meanwhile, someone else had watched this Human byplay with great impatience. “Idiots,” Fourteen declared. “Charlie has no reason for going. While I-I-I’ve—there could be a threat. A risk! Yes. I’m sure of it! There’s danger. You need me.”

She might ignore Fourteen’s protests—and the smell of distraught Myg now filling the corridor—but Sing-li felt otherwise. Mac sighed as the agent loomed over the smaller alien. Who, truth be told, didn’t look the least intimidated.

Might be the shirt,
Mac judged. “Sing-li,” she said. “Sing-li!” sharper when he failed to acknowledge her. “He’s making it up.”

His voice was threatening despite the shirt. “If there’s a potential problem, I need to know what it is.”

Mac and Emily traded looks. “Stay here then,” Mac suggested.

Sing-li’s shocked “Mac!” gave her a twinge of guilt, but only a small one. She was almost dancing with impatience to be gone. By the glow in Emily’s eyes, she felt it too.

Home.

“
W
E SHOULDN’T BE HERE.” Inric didn’t let his attention stray from the scanner readout. “No one will know.”

His partner, an as yet unblooded Ehztif and thus certified for space travel with other life-forms, continued to pace. She’d taken the usename Bob for its supposed calming effect on Humans, obligate predators being uncomfortable company. Not that Bob was such a predator—not until that first ritual hunt, years in her future, when her digestive system would switch into its mature phase. For now, she drank packaged secretions like everyone else, and expressed a fondness for salted crackers.

Inric pursed his lips and tried to ignore the unsettling click of Bob’s talons on the floor plate. It had seemed a good idea at the time to choose an Ehztif partner. No Human-centric games. Enough daring for any escapade but reliably steady.

He would have to find the one Ehztif with an imagination. “Relax,” Inric said, leaning back to demonstrate. “Get the data. Get paid. There’s nothing here.”

Bob stalked—there was no other word for it—to the platform’s edge and stared out over the waves. “Nothing. You don’t know what that means, do you, Human. But I—I can taste it on the wind.” The Ehztif released her prehensile tongue, flipping it through the air before she brought it back into her mouth. She appeared to chew for a few seconds, then sharply expanded her cheek pouches in disgust. “Nothing lives here.”