Migration: Species Imperative #2 Page 5

  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.

  But how?

  “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.

  Was no one going to let her sleep?

  “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.

  Had they made charts of her sleepless nights? Recorded her cries when she did sleep and the nightmares woke her? Counted the times she’d called out their names? Emily. Nik.

  Brymn.

  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.”

  Like a certain someone who’d looked more at home skulking around in camouflage and armor than in suit and cravat. “Nik,” Mac suggested. “And you, of course.”

  “Me, qualified?” ’Sephe’s eyes turned bleak. “You could say that. Lasted three years in an orbital colony where revolution was the polite name for anarchy. Made me the logical choice to accompany you to the way station.” Her full lips twisted. “Make that the only choice, given the other three in the Earthside office at the time couldn’t find the arming mechanism of a hair dryer on a good day.”

  Which implied too much about ’Sephe’s current assignment, Mac realized, her mouth suddenly dry. “Is there going to be trouble here?” she demanded. “Is that why you’ve been sent?”

  “Gods, I hope not.”

  Mac blinked at the vehemence in the other woman’s voice. ’Sephe hesitated then lifted her hands in the air as if in surrender. “They didn’t exactly send me.”

  “Pardon?”

  “They didn’t send me. I asked to apply for the job.”

  There had to be something wrong with her hearing.

  “Job? What job?”

  “I found out you, I mean Dr. Ward, was looking for a new staff member. I took a peek at the listing, just out of curiosity, and—” Was that a blush warming ’Sephe’s ebony skin? “—it was perfect. I did my doctoral thesis on topographical analysis of multidimensional systems. Assessing failures in glassy metal moldings. My work has obvious application to the analysis of dissolved substance variances in tidal currents.”

  “Obvious . . .” Mac’s eyebrows rose as she stared at ’Sephe, becoming convinced despite herself. “You’re really here to work with John and his crew.” Her lips twitched, then curved up. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You had no trouble getting approval from your superiors at the Ministry, who have a vested interest in this place and in me. All so you can do topographical analysis.” She couldn’t help laughing. “Some spy you are. Anyone else know?”

  ’Sephe looked offended. “I keep secrets for a living.”

  Mac could picture Emily rolling her eyes at this.

  “It’s not that I don’t take my work for the Ministry seriously—”

  “But if you can serve and do what you love at the same time, why not?” Mac offered as the other woman appeared to hunt for words.

  Another smile. “Exactly. I knew you’d understand.”

  So now she had a reluctant spy—or was it an enthusiastic statistician—on staff? Mac sighed to herself. Still, it had to be an improvement to work with a spy who valued their research. She cheered. Maybe, with luck, ’Sephe would become so engrossed in her own work she’d ignore minor details such as who was swimming among the pods in the middle of the night. Or was it morning? Mac stifled a yawn.

  ’Sephe noticed. “I’ll let you get some sleep, Mac.” She paused, having almost made it to the door again. Mac, almost to the couch again, waited politely, if impatiently. “I’m glad you know,” the erstwhile agent confessed. “I’ll do my best for Dr. Ward and his team. But I’ll have to follow orders from—you know who—over his or yours.”

  “Just hope Kammie never finds out,” Mac said. At the other’s puzzled look, she smiled: “You’ll learn. Good night, ’Sephe. And thanks for your help with Oversight.”

  “It’s Nik I hope never finds out,” the other echoed back to her.

  “Mr. Career Spy,” Mac quipped before she could stop herself, then waited, curious how ’Sephe would react. It was late enough for them both to have lost a little mutual caution.

  Sure enough, ’Sephe actually winked at her. “I’d take that bet. Scuttlebutt says Nik’s posting Earthside was an early retirement, but no one knows from what. He must have traveled outsystem a fair amount, though.”

  Mac fluffed her pillow. “What makes you say that?”

  “From the day Nik arrived, he was the one the consulate would call to nursemaid the, well, call them ‘less familiar’ aliens visiting Earth. The weirder the better. Some of the stories he’d tell? Let’s leave it that if they weren’t in filed reports, I’d say he made them up.”

  Mac had no wish for ’Sephe to give an example of “weirder.” Her own studies into alien life-forms and their cultures had progressed sufficiently to realize her wildest imaginings probably brewed beer or its equivalent, gambled on a preplanned vacation at least once in a lifetime, and contemplated their existence in terms of joy, tedium, or despair, depending on the moment and substance involved. It didn’t help her feel capable of understanding an alien mind. It did help explain why the IU had picked Nikolai Trojanowski as Brymn’s guide while on Earth.

  Nik’s motivation? Nothing so simple. The Ministry had had its own agenda, which included maneuvering Mac herself offworld to learn more about the Dhryn.

  She’d learned too much.

  And not nearly enough.

  ’Sephe mistook her thoughtful silence. “Mac. He wants you safe. We all do. Don’t resent the precautions we’re taking, our presence here. But—”

  “What we want can’t always come first,” Mac finished calmly. “You don’t need to tell me, ’Sephe. Nik and I have had this conversation.”

  “Watch yourself. Okay? He can be a ruthless bastard.”

  Mac blinked. She considered taking the bait for no more than a heartbeat. Trust was earned, she told herself. And she’d prefer to learn about Nikolai Trojanowski on her own terms. “Isn’t that part of the job description?” she replied.

  “It’s recently been added.”

  Line
s drawn and acknowledged. The two women shared a moment of perfect understanding, then Mac yawned so widely her jaw cracked. “We’ve all summer,” she concluded. “You are planning to work the full season.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Unless the world ends.”

  “Not funny.”

  “No.”

  “Where on that scale . . .” Odd, how the reminder was a comfort. Exhaustion from chasing Mudge through the dark, Mac decided. Or maybe it was finally having someone else who knew, so she could believe she wasn’t the only one facing the truth.

  “Good night, Dr. Stewart. Welcome to Base.”

  “Good night, Dr. Connor. And thanks.”

  Later, as Mac lay sleepless in the clarity of the dark, she clutched the sweater covering her upper body with hands real and synthetic, and considered the truth.

  Had Nik, who doubtless knew ’Sephe very well indeed, made sure she heard about the opening in John Ward’s fledgling department, so suited to her true interests?

  Mac nodded to herself. Likely, she decided. Why? How better to get ’Sephe here, close to Mac, than to have the woman think it was her own idea? More importantly, how better to convince Mac herself that in ’Sephe she had a potential new friend, someone to let close?

  It would have worked, Em, before you.

  Mac shook her head. Too much left to chance. Nik made opportunities. He didn’t wait for them.

  So. Easy enough to orchestrate that opening on staff. Mac could have done it herself. Simply arrange a flood of applications for John’s proposed new courses. Applications weren’t students nodding in their seats Monday morning.

  Still too much chance.

  What if the request for a new staffer had been tailored to match ’Sephe’s own passions?

  An image of John Ward in Trojanowski’s trademark suit and cravat floated up behind Mac’s eyelids.

  Where had that come from? If there was one thing Mac could be sure of, it was that her transparent postdoc was incapable of anything more clandestine than his biweekly beer run for the Misses, a trip John somehow continued to believe was his deep, dark secret. No one had the heart to tell him his routine was so well known that Mac herself put in orders on occasion.