Migration: Species Imperative #2 Page 13

  Mac lay on her back and studied the beams meeting overhead. The moon was up and full, bright enough to pull color from the old quilts on the walls. The racket had probably cleared the nearby woods of anything that could run, including moose and bear. The idea had its appeal.

  Then a particularly piercing whistle, followed by a moist sputter and rising moan, made her giggle.

  Mac covered her mouth with her hands, hoping their hearing wasn’t as good as hers. But it was no use. She gave in, laughing so hard at each new improbable snore that tears poured from her eyes and her heels drummed the mattress.

  Finally able to stop, though she still snickered helplessly every so often, Mac got up and sat on the bench under the small window.

  What were they? She’d done her best to learn more nonterrestrial biology, but the number of intelligent species, let alone their spread beyond their original planets, made it impossible to know them all. If only she’d brought her imp, she could have accessed the considerable library she’d amassed.

  And if wishes were horses, Mac nodded to herself. “I’ll ask,” she said aloud, wiping a last tear from one eye. “If it offends them, Em, they can leave. If not . . .” Oh, she knew that itch—her curiosity was fully engaged. Mac could no more ignore it than stop aliens snoring.

  Then another thought widened her eyes. Mac hugged her knees to her chest and considered it.

  She kept her promises. But was it her fault that no one, Ministry agent or otherwise, had ever asked her to not question a couple of alien campers about what was happening beyond this system? Casual questions, of course.

  Seen any Dhryn lately?

  There was no humor left in Mac’s smile.

  For some reason, falling asleep took no more than a return to bed and snuggling under the covers.

  When Mac next awoke, it was to the drumming of rain on the roof. A reprieve, of sorts. She knew perfectly well Russell hoped she’d show Kay and Fourteen, as she’d come to think of the other alien, how to paddle a canoe. It wouldn’t be this morning, unless the sky cleared.

  She listened as she dressed. No snores, but a promising clatter from the kitchen. Mac pulled an old sweater over her head and fluffed her hair into a semblance of order—as much as the short, curly stuff ever had these days. Times like these she missed her obedient braid, sacrificed in grathnu to a Dhryn Progenitor. She’d been so proud of herself that day. Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor Sol.

  She’d believed she was close to understanding the Dhryn.

  Fool.

  And now, when she least expected it—and hadn’t asked for it—she had a new batch of aliens to attempt to understand. When was the universe going to remember her field was salmon?

  “They’d better not want any hair,” Mac grumbled as she went downstairs in search of her guests.

  The aliens were, as she’d surmised, busy producing breakfast. The long table, with its top of scarred maple, was set for three at the near end. Fourteen was pouring coffee while Kay stood in front of the stove, stirring something. Mac sniffed cautiously. Despite the condition of the path to the cabin, they’d brought up a considerable amount of baggage, including a crate of ‘their’ food packed in unidentifiable round packages, most of which had gone in the chiller. She’d learned to be wary of extraterrestrial diets.

  Another, bolder sniff. Bacon?

  An upper eyestalk bent backward, aiming its purple eye her way. “Good morning, Mac!” Kay greeted without leaving his task. “How are you?” He might not have a visible face, but his voice conveyed friendliness. Always assuming, Mac thought as she entered the kitchen, a concept like friendliness meant the same to them both.

  “Fine, thanks. I hope you both slept well?” If there was a certain irony in the question, Mac felt it was deserved.

  Fourteen looked up, his small eyes bright. “I hate sleep.” Without his Little Misty River cap, she could see he possessed a fine down of reddish hair in a ring on the top of his head. It made him look more Human, one of those who chose to go bald with maturity. Yesterday, Mac had assumed these were young beings, perhaps adventurous students or wealthy offspring after an Earthly thrill. Now, she wasn’t sure. “Sleep wastes time,” Fourteen informed her. “Coffee?” As Mac nodded, bemused, he snapped at the other alien. “This cooking of yours wastes time, too. I told you to use something ready-to-eat if there wasn’t any poodle to be had.”

  Mac blinked, then realized it must be a word without an equivalent in Instella. Still, good thing her Great Aunt Roxy, whose house swarmed with dog-type poodles, wasn’t in earshot.

  Kay seemed unperturbed by Fourteen’s complaints. He turned with a large skillet in one hand, a spatula in the other. “It’s ready.”

  Mac was about to protest she’d make her own, thank you, “poodle” or otherwise, when she saw what was in the pan. Scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, golden-brown potato slices, strips of bacon. They’d all been in the supplies Cat had sent for her, the store owner foolishly optimistic in thinking Mac had finally learned to cook for herself. “Wonderful,” she said weakly, sinking into a chair.

  Fourteen finished pouring her coffee, then grabbed a basket of toast from the counter and placed it on the table between them. “Eating wastes time,” he announced firmly, but sat as well.

  Mac’s mouth watered as Kay filled her plate. If it wasn’t for the elongated, many-knuckled fingers gripping the spatula, light pink out of their gloves, and the faint, not-unpleasant dried hay smell of the being leaning to serve her, she might have been sitting down to one of her father’s meals. That and the hair, which at this range proved to have fine strands like very tightly wound springs, more metallic than gray in color. It moved more stiffly than Human hair, too, and Mac wondered how it felt.

  Without thinking, she lifted her hand to find out, then realized that might not be particularly tactful and reached for toast instead. “Looks great,” she said truthfully.

  Dividing the rest between himself and Fourteen, Kay joined them at the table, sitting to Mac’s right. “Please, Mac. Enjoy your breakfast. We don’t wait on ceremony,” he assured her.

  “I’d guessed that,” she replied, glancing across the table at Fourteen, who was using a fork in each hand to deliver huge mouthfuls one after the other. Despite having front teeth, he wasn’t, Mac concluded, chewing. Just shoveling and swallowing.

  Kay’s lower two eyes remained closed. Now the lids wrapping his upper ones did the same for a brief second, as if in exasperation. “You must forgive my companion, Mac,” he said. “He does know table manners, I assure you.” This last forceful and directed at Fourteen.

  “Waste of time,” came the reply, between rapid forkfuls of potato and egg. “Irrelevant.”

  Kay, on the other hand, waited courteously for her to start, so Mac took a bite of the egg. It was hot, fluffy, and flavorful. Perfect, in fact. She smiled and nodded at him. “Great,” she repeated, having no problem being emphatic.

  “Just wait until you taste supper,” he assured her, seeming pleased by her reaction.

  Trying not to be obvious, Mac kept glancing at him. How would Kay deal with the hair in front of his face?

  He didn’t have to, she discovered. The alien drew open the front of the caftan he wore, the same or identical to last night’s garment. The fabric draped as though heavy and stiff but moved as easily as silk. His chest, below the hair hanging down from his head, was hairless and smooth, cream-colored except for a blue-tinged tattoo of what appeared to be a pair of eyestalks staring longingly at one another with lettering between, and a horizontal crease of skin marking a second waist, halfway up his torso from the first.

  The crease opened by itself, like the mouth of a recycle bin. Mac’s fork, with its delectable morsel of fried tomato, paused in the air a few centimeters from her mouth.

  Kay picked up his plate and, using his knife, scraped its contents into the cavity in one tidy swoop. Next, he poured in his mug of coffee. Almost like an afterthought, he took a spoonful of honey from
the jar on the table, and carefully dripped the sweet after the coffee.

  The crease closed, Kay retied his caftan, then sat back. “Tasty. I do enjoy Human food.”

  “Just don’t forget your supplements,” Fourteen reminded the other. His own plate was empty, exhausted forks lying across the middle. “Ready? Let’s not waste time.”

  Both aliens looked at Mac.

  She finished putting her fork into her mouth, drew the now-cold piece of tomato from it with her lips, and chewed very deliberately, enjoying the flexibility of her tongue. She swallowed.

  “You might want to play some cards,” Mac suggested.

  “Go fish.”

  “You ‘go fish’ yourself.”

  “You are withholding information.”

  “Never said I had the—” pause, “—purple spotted fat one with a hat. Go fish.”

  “I will not. I have counted the numbers! You have the card I need!”

  “Do not!”

  “CHEAT!!”

  Mac shook her head and dried her hands. The argument in the next room was growing louder by the minute. She was sorry she’d even suggested they play. Aliens. Hadn’t even helped with dishes.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked, standing in the door of the kitchen. “Oh.”

  There were cards everywhere, including two stuck in Kay’s hair.

  And that smell again. Mac wrinkled her nose.

  “Trisulians always cheat,” Fourteen informed her in a tone of vastly offended dignity. “It is their nature.” Since he was the one balancing on a table, hands paused in midair, Mac didn’t have to guess who’d flung the deck.

  “We pride ourselves on flexible strategy,” Kay rebutted, feeling for the cards stuck to his face. “That is not cheating. You, on the other hand, are a fine example of Myg predictability. I could tell your every move from the beginning. Boring. Boring.”

  “CHEAT!”

  “BORE!”

  “The rain’s stopped,” Mac announced, walking between the two glowering beings to open the door to the porch. “We could—” she winced inwardly, “—canoe.”

  The ensuing silence could only be described as shocked.

  Mac turned back around. “You did come here to go tripping,” she commented. “A little practice now will help.”

  Fourteen scrambled from the table. His center of gravity appeared more to the rear than a Human’s, Mac observed. “But there was a storm!”

  She glanced outside again. Beams of sunlight were beginning to slice downhill through the trees. The trees were dripping, but beyond that, she could see the water of the lake. Sparkling and peaceful. “Weather’s fine now.”

  “We’re not ready.” This from Kay, who moved to stand beside Fourteen almost protectively. Almost, since the top of Kay’s upstretched eyestalks barely reached the height of Fourteen’s humanish ears. “And there must be preparations to make first. Many preparations.”

  “All taken care of,” Mac assured him, starting to enjoy herself. “You two can easily fit into a regular canoe and we’ve several under the porch. Russell left personal repellers, on the off chance you end up in the lake. Just be in clothing you don’t mind getting wet—”

  They spoke in unison. “Have none.” “Left mine in the lev.”

  Mac’s eyebrow rose. Any of her former students would have recognized the look, the one that meant they’d better formulate a new approach now, or she’d do it for them.

  “Then strip,” she said firmly.

  Stripping hadn’t been necessary after all. In the face of Mac’s determination, Kay had admitted his garment could withstand immersion if necessary. Fourteen had rummaged through the spare clothes Mac’s father kept in a trunk until he found some that fit. They were a little musty, but the alien didn’t seem to mind—or perhaps couldn’t tell.

  Oh, for a recorder, Mac wished. Between Kay’s mane of overgrown hair and brown-bronze flowing caftan, and Fourteen’s proud donning of a faded orange Ti-cats’ football jersey and paisley shorts—which revealed rather too much of his lumpy calves—her eyes hurt.

  But finally the two stood, albeit with obvious reluctance, beside their canoe. Mac’s was nearby. She planned to go out with them, neither having been very reassuring about their ability to swim.

  If she didn’t know better, Mac wondered, having shown each how to hold and use a paddle, she’d think canoeing was the last thing they wanted to do. But they’d paid to go wilderness tripping with Russell. He wasn’t going to give them time to adjust to life on the water. It would be heigh-ho, a full day of paddling to go. The least she could do was provide a few pointers.

  “Fourteen, you get in the stern—that end,” Mac told him after floating the canoe into the cove. She stood in water over her knees and held the craft in the middle, bow just touching the beach. The rain had eliminated the warm surface layer, so the sunshine was very welcome. “Climb down, keep yourself low, hold the sides. That’s it. Easy. One step at a time.”

  Once the alien was turned and seated, he gripped the gunnels of the canoe as if it would tip any second. “Did you call me ‘Fourteen’?”

  Oops. “Sorry—” Mac tried to remember all the syllables of his name.

  “Efficient. I shall be ‘Fourteen,’ on your world.”

  “Glad you like it,” she said, relieved, and handed him a paddle. “Hold this across the canoe. Don’t move till I say so. Kay, your turn.”

  The second alien, the Trisulian, took a quick step back. “The boat appears unsteady. It is dangerous.”

  “Idiot.” Fourteen gave a loud belch and brandished his paddle in the air. Mac grabbed the canoe just in time. “I—the boring one—am already in position. What danger is there? Are you not ‘flexible’?”

  “Kay, you have to eventually,” Mac coaxed, trying not to shiver as her blood lost heat to the water’s chill. Think hot, humid July, she told herself sternly. “It’s the only way to travel these lakes. You came a long way to do this. C’mon. I’m here. Take it slow. You’ll enjoy it. Trust me.”

  Kay kept shaking his head. Hard to say if that meant no, or if he was trying to dislodge the black flies that clung to his every hair. Knowing the morning would involve passing through clouds of the wee things, Mac had hung a camouflage disk around her neck, and clipped one on the repeller belts each alien wore. The small devices emitted a compound that confused the sense organs of the insects so they couldn’t decide where to land. The disks worked almost as well as Cat Palmer’s legendary ability to sit outside all day without a bite.

  Well, except on poor Kay. He’d continued to attract black flies as if exuding sex pheromones. The insects were particularly enamored of his eyestalks. All four were coated in tiny black specks, as if dipped in mobile pepper. No sign they impaired his vision, but that had to be annoying.

  “No black flies out on the lake,” she offered. “They prefer land.”

  Ah, Mac thought triumphantly. That did it. Kay went toward the canoe. He moved like a timid deer, arms up and back as if to keep as far as possible from the craft until the last possible moment, each footstep a painfully slow edge forward.

  Fourteen began bouncing up and down with impatience, almost dumping himself and splashing Mac up to her chin.

  “Stop that!” she snapped, teeth chattering in earnest now. Calming her voice, she continued: “Hold the sides and step into the middle, Kay.”

  For a wonder, both aliens did as they were told. Mac made sure Kay was turned and securely seated, with a paddle in his hands, before she pulled the canoe around to point out into the cove. She gave it a gentle push into deeper water. “Remember what I showed you about paddling. Try it now. Gently. At the same time, if you can.”

  Their first strokes weren’t bad for amateurs, Mac decided. No flailing about or splashing. Not too much power. Reasonably straight. “Very good,” she complimented, then added: “Just don’t argue.”

  Mac hurried to shore to launch her own, smaller canoe. She didn’t bother to dry off before jumping
in to follow. The sun would do that.

  As they left the cove, a curious loon took one look at the canoeful of nonterrestrials and submerged.

  They may have hesitated and fussed, but the two of them worked together well. Their canoe left a zigzag wake, but was heading in a more-or-less consistent direction. Mac studied the movement of their arms and shoulders, comparing them with her own. Similar body parts, able to perform similar functions. Perhaps there was more muscle layering Fourteen’s shoulders, but Kay, though shorter in height, had reach on him, and what appeared to be a more flexible elbow.

  Mac called out some instructions; they listened and began moving in a straighter line. Quick learners. She had to dig into her paddling to keep up.

  She was sure Kay and Fourteen had never canoed before, Mac mused as she eased into the soothing rhythm of reach, pull, twist, and hold, but judging by their ability and the way they carried themselves in general? She might not know the norm for their respective species, but she’d bet both were active individuals among their kind, able to use their bodies well—perhaps exceptionally so. Hardly unexpected in anyone who would travel light-years to camp in an alien wilderness.

  Why make such a trip? she wondered. Didn’t their worlds have wilderness?

  Mac had only experienced two alien planets, both Dhryn. The first had been Haven itself, the world where the Dhryn Progenitors, mothers of their species, lay deep underground. Haven’s surface had been totally urbanized, every square centimeter containing only the Dhryn and their buildings. The second? She had no name for it. The planet had been the Dhryn home world, before a cataclysm stripped it of all life, leaving wind to carve its haunted, dust-coated ruins. A cataclysm repeated throughout the hundreds of worlds of the Chasm.

  The Ro claimed the Chasm had been caused by the Dhryn. That they’d destroyed their own world. That unless found and destroyed first, the Dhryn would wreak the same havoc throughout known space.