Survival (14 page)

With that, she stood and walked away, skirt whirling around her long legs.

Mac froze, torn between following Emily and demanding an explanation, and the patent need to explain to the now silent man beside her on the stairs that this wasn't what Emily was like.

Until this minute, anyway.
What was going on?

Mac decided she didn't want to know. “Mr. Trojanowski. Let me apologize for Emily. Dr. Mamani. She's usually more—”
tactful wasn't really the word,
“—considerate.”

The railing light caught the lenses of his glasses, the curls in his hair. Nothing more. “Was she right about you?”

Did it matter what he thought?
Mac hesitated, then again decided on honesty. She wasn't ashamed of her way of life. “I frustrate her because I made a choice long ago. You talked about having more to learn. Well, there's more to learn, right here, about this world, than I could fit into a dozen lifetimes. So I chose to focus. That's all. But Emily believes I'm deliberately ignoring what she considers important.”

Another quiet question. “Are you?”

“Maybe. To some extent, yes.” Mac patted the mem-wood stair by her foot. “What happens here is my business. If I believed it mattered to what I do here, I'd pay attention to other sentients. I tend to treat politics and—social situations—the same way.” Mac sighed. “Come to think of it, that gets Emily angry, too.”

“Yet you're good friends.”

“The best!” Mac shook her head. “But stubborn. Em tries to improve me. I'm the way I am.” Nervously, she unknotted her braid and began to undo it.
She had to know.
“Are you sorry you brought your Honored Delegate to someone with her head stuck in a river?”

“Not when I consider that in less than a day, Dr. Connor, you've learned his name and gained his confidence, all while sacrificing your own work to help investigate a possible threat to our species. Dr. Mamani would be impressed by that, don't you think?”

For an instant, Mac thought he somehow knew she'd shown Emily the message, then she realized Trojanowski was simply being kind. “Emily will be fine,” she said confidently. “Ten minutes from now you'll never know she'd been angry.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Mac watched a spider starting to spin her web under the railing, taking advantage of the light. Were personal questions part of his job?
Probably
. “I can hold a grudge a while,” Mac said lightly. Permanently was more like it.

“I'd never have guessed.”

She laughed. “You?”

Trojanowski put one hand over his heart. “They set civil servants to run on neutral—didn't you know?”

Like a signal, the bar of light marking the door dimmed and brightened as people walked through it. Mac could see small groups heading to Pods Four and Five. “Tie's putting them in with the students,” she observed. “I wish them luck getting any sleep.”

“I'd better grab a few for interviews now. Brymn's eager, at any rate.”

They walked around the curve to the entrance, finally deserted. Before she opened the door, Mac stopped to look up at him. “I'll read his publications over tonight,” she said. “Maybe I'll find something there.”

“Here's hoping. Good night, Dr. Connor.”

“Good night. And thank you. For the meal and your company.” Mac reached out her hand. “I enjoyed both.”

Maybe it was the growing darkness that dislocated time. Maybe it was lapping of waves and distance-muted voices that created a bubble of stillness around them. Maybe that's what made it seem they'd known each other much longer than a day. Whatever the reason, Mac somehow wasn't at all surprised when Trojanowski not only took her hand in his, but lifted it to his lips.

“As did I, Dr. Connor,” he said quietly, his breath warm on her fingers.

6

 

 

 

“A
ND...?”

“That's all of it.”

Emily's eyebrows disappeared under her bangs. “You've got to be kidding. A doom like the Chasm spreading through known space, and all Brymn told you was how ashamed he was at his kind's lack of scientists? Nothing more?”

“I told you, Em,” Mac said, digging the knuckles of two fingers into a tight spot on her neck. “We were interrupted. Brymn shut up tighter than a drum when Trojanowski reached us. After that—well, we took him to my quarters to temporarily protect the Honorable Delegate from the less than honorable intentions of the world media. Reasonable, I suppose.”

“Considering what it's been like dealing with seventeen of them covered in tigger spots, three claiming we tried to drown them, and one locking himself to the nearest vidphone?” Emily grinned suddenly. “I'd want to be protected, too.”

“As if you'd need it. Brymn will come here when he can. Which may not be until tomorrow. Till then . . .” Mac dropped her imp into its slot, then put her bare feet up on her desk and leaned back her chair. She toggled off her deskside privacy mode and the workscreen formed in the air before her eyes. The 'screen adjusted its distance and brightness according to the level of eye fatigue it detected. It compensated for ambient light as well, tilting to avoid competing with any beams of sunlight coming into Mac's office—not a problem at this hour. All well and good, Mac decided, except that the optimum distance grew slightly every year, as the 'screen tactfully compensated for the aging of human eyes. At the rate it was traveling down her legs, it would be hovering over her toes before she retired.

The Admin office had been surprisingly peaceful, under the circumstances; Mudge as well, apparently uninformed about the kayak invasion. Mac saw no reason to enlighten him, since none had approached shore. On returning to her office, Mac hadn't been surprised to find Emily already waiting, eager to talk about Brymn. Back to her normal, cheerful self as if nothing had happened.

If there was an explanation to come, Mac wasn't going to hold her breath waiting for it.

She began calling up data, then asked absently: “Is he unlocked yet? The reporter?”

“No one was rushing, let's put it that way. Let me see.” As Emily was peering over her shoulder, Mac sent a duplicate 'screen to hover over the other chair in her office.

Her friend took the hint and the seat, body passing through the 'screen while her head swiveled to keep reading its display. “Dhryn physiology. Why? Planning to poison him? A little drastic over missing the salmon run.”

Mac ignored her, busy scanning down what turned out to be a disappointingly brief list of references. She called each up in turn.

Emily read along. “Great. Now we know they pay their dues to the IU on time, have colonies on forty-eight intensely dreary planets, and prefer their privacy. No other species says bad things about them. No one says good things about them. How boring can a race be?”

“Surely not this boring.” Mac was keying in other parameters without success, her curiosity engaged. “Odd. We seem to have found out more for ourselves than has been recorded about the Dhryn. You know what little that is. You'd think there'd at least be dietary info . . .”

“Well, Brymn's supper was wonderful. Shame you missed it.”

“Didn't,” Mac said absently. “ 'Cept the dessert.”

“Maybe there's something in the stas-unit?”

“I cleaned it out before we left for the field. You do remember what happened last year . . .”

Em wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I still say you should have made that a project for one of the pathology postdocs. Maybe I should send to the kitchen? Can't have you starve, Mac.”

“Emily. I'm not hungry.” At the knowing smile greeting this, Mac rolled her eyes and sat back, knowing Em would persist until satisfied. “Fine. For your information, Dr. Mamani, Mr. Trojanowski grabbed what he could of supper before following us onshore. We sat on the terrace and he kindly shared it with me before you showed up. That's all.”

“Oh-ho. That's not all by a long shot, Mac.” Emily perched on Mac's desk. “I want details.”

“Asparagus, duck, little puffy things—”

“Not those details.”

Mac felt herself flush. “We just sat and ate cold leftovers. There are no ‘details.' ”

“
Ai!
You're blushing!” Emily planted her hands on the desktop and leaned forward, her face pushing through Mac's 'screen. The image retreated in self-defense. “C'mon, Mac. Spill it.”

Avoiding Emily in this mood was like jumping out of the way of a crashing t-lev.
You might survive, but there'd be a wreck to clean up.
Mac sighed her surrender. “It was nice. He was nice. I enjoyed his company—when we weren't talking shop.”

“Not to mention those pants.”

“I didn't notice,” Mac insisted.

Emily laughed and sat up. “You are hopeless, girl.”

“I am not. In fact—” She closed her mouth in time. Emily arched one eyebrow interrogatively, but Mac shook her head. “Okay, I'm hopeless,” she agreed.
She didn't want Emily's opinion of how the evening had ended.

Then, something about that evening, or that afternoon, niggled at Mac. She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Emily, Brymn didn't eat supper.”

“
Ai
. Changing the subject?” With a wave of her hand, Emily gave up the chase and returned to her seat. “You think Brymn avoided eating deliberately? Interesting. I'd love a skin sample.”

“And you accuse me of trying to start an interspecies' incident?”

Emily chuckled. “I said I'd love a sample—not that I'd attack the Honorable Delegate with a scalpel. Sentients tend to be sensitive about their inner workings. I worked with a Sythian once who cremated her mandible trimmings in a ceramic pot every night, just in case—”

“Spare me.” The moment the words were out, Mac regretted them. The last thing she wanted was to set Emily off again tonight.

Sure enough, a disapproving finger wagged in her direction. “Tsk, tsk. You see? You stick yourself to one planet and one biosystem, and this is the price. Do you know why you shouldn't put a Nerban and a Frow in the same taxi?” Em didn't bother to wait for Mac's reply, saying triumphantly: “Such ignorance of our fellow beings.”

“I'm a salmon researcher, not a taxi driver,” Mac muttered to herself.

“Seung could help, you know. He taught an intro xeno-sentient course on the mainland last winter.”

Mac shook her head. “I don't need a course—”

“You need something, Mackenzie Connor.” Emily's eyes were flashing again.

“Okay, Emily. I'll bite. Why is this suddenly more of an issue with you than usual? Why now?” Deliberately calm, Mac steepled her fingertips in front of her, studying her friend's angry face over that barrier. “What aren't you telling me?”

“You're the one with the Ministry envelope in her pocket. You're the one an alien traveled through three systems to meet. And you ask me why I think you should be paying attention!”

“I'm paying attention now,” Mac said reasonably. “How did you know Brymn went through three systems?”

“Unlike you, Mac, I know what it takes to travel to and from this ball of dirt. I know the questions to ask and where to get answers. So while you were getting dewy-eyed with your bureaucrat, I was checking on them both.”

Mac refused to take the bait, or offense. Emily on the warpath was a person who got results. “What did you find out?”

Emily's smile was wicked. “Your supper thief isn't in any Earth-bound birth record. From his accent, slight as it is, I'd put him as no more local than a Jovian moon. I've a query out with the Ministry for details, but I wouldn't hold out hope for any answers. A man of mystery still, your Nikolai.” She slowly licked her full lower lip. “Adds a certain spice, doesn't it?”

“Is that all you learned?”

“About Trojanowski.” Emily's left hand made a fist. Her right opened, palm up. “Our Dhryn archaeologist, on the other hand, is anything but a mystery. Departed his colony to hunt relics from other species—a pastime I suspect was of no particular interest to his own kind, since Brymn hasn't been home since. It has gained him some acclaim from other pot-hunters. He's sought after for lecture tours by a variety of system universities—one of which he canceled to come here. He's an accomplished linguist—shaming those of us who only learn Instella.” Emily paused and her face turned serious. “Nothing I found says he's a crackpot.”

“I never said he was.” Mac refocused on her 'screen. “Here. Trojanowski sent me Brymn's publications.”