Regeneration (Czerneda) (11 page)

While Mudge’s attempt to be clandestine was entertaining, in a bizarre sort of way, Mac refused to be distracted. “Yes, I know who you mean. And I know about the message. The Sinzi-ra mentioned a com packet arrived today. It’s being decoded.”

“Done.”

Mac stopped trying to escape and snatched at the mem-sheet in Mudge’s hand.

He pulled it away. “Not this,” he
harrumphed,
crumpling the mem-sheet into a ball. “I’ll have you know I had to go in person to get a copy. Security reasons.”

Mac nodded impatiently, barely restraining the impulse to search his pockets. “Where’s the message?”

“I had to get it from that Myg.” He waited.

Oh.
Mac reined in her temper. “I trust he cooperated.”

“I didn’t take the chance.” Stiffly. “I brought a Ministry agent with me. The one with no sense of humor. Selkirk.”

She’d have to find a way to deal with this.
Unfortunately, Fourteen’s intellect either soared with brilliance or hung around bathrooms looking for entertainment. Which meant Mudge.

Give the alien credit,
Mac thought with reluctant admiration.
He applied his genius.
The “mirror image” switch had involved not only every item on Mudge’s desk but also each and every file accessed by his imp. Then there was the time Fourteen replaced the backside of Mudge’s pants with a material that could be rendered transparent by remote.

The trick was to keep Fourteen busy, or the two of them apart.
Easier said than done.

“You can’t keep avoiding him,” Mac insisted aloud, despite her utter lack of success on this point with Mudge to date. “It only makes him worse.”

She couldn’t very well explain that what made Mudge such an irresistible target for the Myg wasn’t the Human’s gullibility or his tendency to bluster.
Although they helped.
It was Mudge’s constant, steady usefulness to her.

Not jealousy.
She’d worried at the situation, observed their interaction long enough to believe she had it right. In their own species-specific and personally idiosyncratic ways, Fourteen and Mudge competed for the opportunity to serve her.

Mac frequently wanted to strangle them both.

Later.
“Just give me the message, Oversight. Please.”

His eyes widened dramatically. “Here?”

“Why not here?”

Mudge lowered his voice. “Someone could be listening.”

On the verge of exasperation—
the man had vidbots on the brain
—Mac reconsidered. Mudge had a point. Given the open structure of this hall, and the variety of aural capabilities possessed by those roaming it, there was no way to know if someone could overhear them.
And there were idiots.

“Fine. We’ll go—What time is it anyway?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve missed breakfast again.”

“When I want someone fussing over my eating habits,” Mac countered absently, “I’ll call my dad.”
That late?
She shoved the hand with its ring into a pocket. “Let’s take a walk.”

Mudge kept pace, even when Mac lengthened her stride. They were of a height, though he outmassed her by a few kilos. Less now—there wasn’t much time behind a desk for either of them, especially with the Sinzi’s predilection for distance between meeting places. Being needed had agreed with Mudge, put a sparkle in his eyes.

Being under threat of species annihilation had deepened the worry lines beside those eyes, and added gray to his already peppered hair.

Mac had some herself.

“What’s Lyle after now?” she asked once they reached the lift and sent it heading down.

Mudge gave the ball of mem-sheet in his hand a surprised look, as if it should have filed itself, then scowled at her. “Same as always. He wants to know when they can get back to that rock of his—claims the IU station on Myriam isn’t cooperating. This time he tried to go over your head to Director Hollans, whose secretary promptly sent everything back to me.” He grew smug. “Protocol has its purpose.”

Protocols. Politics.
Mac was grateful to have someone who actually relished both on her side. “Use your power for good,” she advised as the doors opened on the main floor.

Mac didn’t say anything more until they stood outside on the terrace, overlooking the grounds of the consulate. Winter was losing the battle here, helped along by the eager efforts of a small army of gardeners. There were swathes of green beside the patio stones, color peeking shyly from the mulch. But in the distance, upslope, snow clung to ridge and treetop.

It wasn’t raining, but the feel was in the air. The sky sported flags of cloud, torn loose by the westerlies that raced straight from the Antarctic to this shore. They were protected by the consular building and by the shoulders of ridges higher than this, but the wind tossed debris around below them—to the frustration of the staff sweeping the stones.

The vast research complex called the Atrium lay deep beneath those same stones, quiescent now save for a cluster of irritable archaeologists and the usual groups studying the market impact of technology alien to Human and vice versa. The most active area was the Telematics section, where the Sinzi—and Earthgov—monitored comings and goings through the transects.

Rooted above the bustle of science, giant graceful trees lined the sides of the patio, a tame forest laced with secluded paths and inviting entrances. Beyond them and the buildings, the cliff face plunged into the sound, where life usually found in mid-ocean depths came within reach of land.

No time left for exploring.
Mac laid her hands on the cold, wide stone that topped the rail edging the terrace. “I’ll be back,” she vowed.

“Back from where?”

“The message, Oversight,” she reminded him.

He unfastened the upper of the two pockets that bulged at his waist, fumbling inside. Before he pulled whatever it was out, Mudge gave her a wary look. She knew that expression, very well. He was bracing for her reaction.

“What is it?”
Nik had been discreet, hadn’t he?

Instead of answering, he finished the motion, passing her the result between two fingers. “Don’t blame me,” he said grimly. “It was that Myg.”

Mac pressed her lips firmly together, determined not to smile, and took the folded piece of glittery pink paper. She sniffed appreciatively.
Lily of the Valley.
Her favorite.

She opened the folds. It was real paper, not a mem-sheet, inscribed in block letters. Fourteen remained convinced she found large type easier to read. At the moment, Mac didn’t care. She scanned the message three times to be sure, then stared at Mudge. “That’s it?” she protested, her voice rising. “ ‘Continuing as planned; situation nominal?’ What kind of a message is that?”

He gave a faint
harrumph
. “Succinct?”

Unable to say another word, Mac crumpled the fragrant pink paper in her hand and glared at Mudge, seriously considering where to put it.

Mudge threw up his hands. “See? This is exactly why I didn’t want to give it to you indoors. You do better with—space—to calm down. A great deal of space. I knew you’d be upset.”

“Upset!” Realizing she’d shouted, Mac took a deep shuddering breath. Then another.
Fine.
She had the
lamnas
on her finger, with Anchen’s promise it contained a private message from Nik.
This?
Mac straightened out the paper. “Why would I be upset?” she asked more calmly. “It does get the point across. But surely there was more than this in the com-packet.”

“Nothing I thought you’d want. Language modules for the translation project. Private mail from the others.” Mudge snorted. “Knowing Fourteen, he’s tucked away a copy of anything embarrassing for later use.”

Mac shocked herself by immediately wondering how she could gain access to any mail from Cinder, Nik’s partner, and what it might reveal.
Not that she expected anything to have changed for the better.
Cinder had admitted she wanted nothing more than a chance to kill Dhryn. Any Dhryn. Including the Vessel, on whom everything depended.

When she hesitated, Mudge frowned. “Was I wrong, Norcoast? Did you want the rest?”

Mac noticed he didn’t ask why she might.
Gods, the spy mentality was contagious.
She shook her head. “Let’s leave snooping to the pros. We have enough to do.”

Mudge gave her one of those too-keen looks. Mac thought her expression nicely neutral, but he
harrumphed
anyway. “Do? What’s going on?”

Moving offworld?
Mac found herself not quite ready to say the words. Instead, she began: “It’s Emily—”

“I knew it!” Mudge pounced. “You shouldn’t have gone out alone last night. What were you thinking?”

Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Mac’s lips twisted, but aloud she said: “It’s not about last night, Oversight.” Once she told him, there’d be no turning back. Mudge with a mission was a force of nature.
So be it.
“We’re leaving for Myriam. As soon as Anchen makes the arrangements.”

“Who’s ‘we?’ ” he demanded, unwittingly echoing the Sinzi.

Mac reached out to tap the ball of mem-sheet clutched in his hand. “Everyone. The entire team. You, me, Fourteen, the archaeologists. We’ll—”

“And when were you going to ask me, Norcoast?” Mudge drew himself up. “I don’t recall agreeing to this.”

She blinked.
Go without him?
The mere notion sat like a stone in her empty stomach. “You have to come,” she blurted.

“I have to do no such thing.” He wagged his pudgy finger at her. “And neither do you.”

For a heartbeat, Mac believed she had that choice. She imagined returning to Base with Emily to stay, back to work, back to her life.

Then she imagined, all too easily, what the Dhryn could do.

Mac shook her head. “I’m not finished, Oversight. I’ve too many questions, questions only that planet can answer. But if you want to stay here,” she added evenly, “that’s fine.”

“You wouldn’t last a week without me,” he huffed.

She wasn’t sure if he meant her, or the Origins Team, or both.
Probably right on all counts,
Mac told herself.
Didn’t matter.
She shrugged. “I’ll manage. Fourteen can help me.”

Mudge frowned at her. “Don’t try to manipulate me, Norcoast.”

“I know better,” Mac assured him. She rested her elbows on the cool stone and turned her head to study him. “What do you want me to say, Oversight?” she asked quietly. “Admit I’m afraid? That returning to that world will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done? I’m still going.” She considered his face, cheeks blotched with angry red. “It would be easier with someone I trust along. To watch my back.”

A living friend when she faced the dead,
she added to herself.

His
harrumph
sounded mollified, although his eyebrows still glowered at her. “Well, it doesn’t have to be me. The Ministry will send its lunkheads with you.”

“It’s IU jurisdiction. I don’t know if they can come.”

“What about Dr. Mamani?”

Mac ran her artificial fingers over the stone, finding some moss to poke. “Emily,” she said carefully, “will be returning to Base. To work on her Tracer device.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Whose stupid idea was that?” Mudge’s voice rose to a regrettable volume. A gardener glanced up.

“Shhh,” Mac hushed him, not bothering to be offended.
He could be right.
“Mine—and the Sinzi-ra’s. And it’s—Emily needs to be away from here, Oversight. It was the only way I could think of that would keep her safe.”

“It’s where you belong. You know it. You’re out of your league here, Norcoast. Offworld? The Chasm? It’s ridiculous. You can’t go. I certainly won’t.”

Mac pressed her lips together and returned glare for glare, willing to wait all day if necessary.

It took three and a half minutes. Then Mudge
harrumphed
. Twice. “I’ll have to round up some proper packing crates. The toss to orbit will wreak havoc with the equipment. You know who’ll complain about that,” he added, growing almost cheerful, a bundle of daunting efficiency about to be unleashed on his victims.

“Oversight—” Mac began, her voice unsteady. She straightened and turned to face him.

Mudge edged back, as if suspecting intent to hug. “I’ll confer with Anchen’s staff and book a meeting within the hour about the details—don’t miss it,” he warned. “We’ll keep things close to the chest until the schedule’s set.”

She had to be sure.
“You’ll come with me?”

He feigned surprise. “Of course I’m coming, Norcoast. Who else could spot when you were about to fly off on some idiotic tangent? Or just wrong,” he added magnanimously.

Mac grinned. “I’m so comforted.”

“As you should be. Now. About the meeting. We should hold it—”

“Wait. Give me a chance to tell Emily before she hears the news from anyone else.”

Mudge’s mouth dropped open. “You mean—you went to the Sinzi—arranged this—without asking Dr. Mamani first?” He shook his head dolefully. “Norcoast. What were you thinking?”

“There was nothing to ask her about until I’d talked to Anchen,” Mac snapped.

He stared at her, then heaved a distinctly theatrical sigh as if the entire matter was beyond him. “I’ll go and get started with the rest, including Fourteen. It’ll be easier than what you’ll be doing.”

As Mudge walked away, Mac threw up her hands. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”