Regeneration (Czerneda) (27 page)

Mac made her way to Pod Four, where two first-floor student rooms had been upgraded to house visitors to Base. The upgrading, from what she could tell, consisted of temporarily moving out the students and most, though not all, of their gear. There was the charming addition of a clear vase filled with pebbles and a dead twig. Since she’d only wanted the room to change from her Mygripped blouse and store her bag, she hadn’t bothered to ask for a live one.

Striding along the walkway, fingers trailing over the rope rail, she was aware of Sing-li following in the background. He’d more than kept his distance while she sat with Emily. Now, when she could have used the company, it didn’t feel right to change the order of things.

The party in and around Pod Three continued without her, a blaze of light and sound that made its own bubble within the surrounding night.
Just as well.
It had taken hours to say hello to everyone; doing farewells, especially after the shock of this afternoon, could take days. Not to mention the beer . . . and arguments . . . possibly maudlin behavior.

Zimmerman, his large head tucked deep into the collar of an orchid-print shirt, stood at the door of Pod Four. Shirt aside, he looked about as casual as the levs continuing to pass overhead. Mac smiled a greeting. “Hope my bag’s been behaving itself.”

“Hi, Mac.” Almost a whisper—but that was Zimmerman’s normal voice. “All quiet.” He looked wistfully at Pod Three. “Here, anyway.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him. “The students will be rolling home in a few hours and someone always falls in.”

“I don’t swim.” As if fearing this sounded less than professional, he added: “Tie has his skim ready. I’ll watch.”

“Did you get any ribs?”

His teeth flashed. “Did you leave any?”

“Lies. All lies,” she complained, but gestured back at Sing-li, standing in the shadows. “You can grab some while he’s here, I’m sure.”

“I’ll survive. You—some of us should be going with you, Mac,” he said glumly. “This isn’t right.”

Mac smiled. “I’m happier knowing you’ll be here, looking after my people—and yourselves, okay? You know Sing-li. He’s a troublemaker.”

“Sure, Mac.” Zimmerman heaved a melancholy sigh that strained the buttons of his shirt.
He’d make a good Grimnoii,
Mac thought. “You’d better get ready. The lev’s docked.” He opened the door for her.

The pod felt abandoned, as if ready to be lifted for winter storage. Only the posters lining the walls and a pile of rain boots, several large enough to be buckets, proved anyone currently lived here. Stepping around and over the boots, Mac pushed open the door to the guest quarters, so designated by a large “No Students” sign, and looked for the bag she’d dumped on the bed.

What she saw instead were large pale feet, with reddish hairs on their toes. The feet were at the end of equally pale legs, also hairy, which disappeared into a pair of dark blue baggy shorts. Case Wilson’s shorts, to be precise, Case himself snoring peacefully, using her bag as a pillow.

Mac walked to the head of the bed and tugged her bag free. Case’s head thumped down on the mattress and his eyes popped open, horror on his face the instant he saw her grinning down at him.

She’d never seen anyone scuttle from a bed quite that fast.

To give him time to recover, Mac took her bag to the desk, pushing aside the vase of pebbles with twig to make room for it. She rummaged inside for something intact and travel-suited. “Never let an alien do your packing, Case,” she advised, lifting out the hockey puck to show him. “Even the well-intentioned sort.”

“Mac. Dr. Connor. I’m really sorry—”

She found a serviceable pair of Base coveralls and forgave Two immediately. “Turn around.”

“I—what are you doing?” he blurted as she began undoing her shirt, then whirled to face the wall.

“Changing,” she explained, thinking it was obvious. Dropping her shorts and stepping into the coveralls, Mac added: “What I want to know is what you’re doing here instead of being at the party.”
Or attending the briefings already underway.
Taking her mind off what she’d started, Mac ran her finger up the coverall seam to fasten the front, then ran a hand through her hair. “Well?” she prompted.

He kept his back to her.
Even his ears were glowing red,
she noted, fascinated. “I . . . I . . .”

“You wanted to say good-bye?” she suggested.

This turned Case to face her, his expression nothing short of desperate. “No. Mac. I want to go with you. To the Dhryn planet.”

It had to be something in the air. Or a disease.
She shook her head. “Impossible. You can’t.”

“Why? Sam’s going.”

She blinked. “Sam who?”

“Sam Schrant. Marin’s postdoc.”

“Oh.” Mac gathered herself. “That Sam. The meteorologist.” And more. Schrant was a storm chaser, presently a leader in the field of catastrophic event modeling. She’d asked Mudge to grab Schrant for their group weeks before; the request had been mired in bureaucracy ever since. “I didn’t know his clearance had gone through. I’m surprised it has, really.” She put back the puck, added shirt and shorts, and closed her bag. “Good for Oversight. Though between us, the man’s a menace. In a good way.”

Case took a step toward her, his scarred hands open at his sides. “Mac. Listen. I’m good with machines. You don’t grow up on a trawler without being able to handle hard work and whatever nature throws at you. And you know I’ve a level head.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “All true.”

“Then I can come?” He edged closer, like some overeager puppy.

Mac edged back, trying not to be obvious about it. He was too tall for her to see his expression from this range without bending her neck an uncomfortable amount. She hit the desk and made it seem on purpose by hopping up on it, which put them at a more even height.
Bonus.
“No.”

“But . . .”

“Do you like dancing, Case?”

His sea-washed eyes stared down at her. “What?”

“Do you like dancing?” Mac repeated.

“No. Not really. Why?”

“Even better. I want you to be Dr. Mamani’s research assistant.”

She might have asked him to jump in the ocean.
With blood-aroused sharks.
“No!”

Mac frowned. “You don’t know what her research is—”

He put his hands palm-down on either side of the desk and leaned forward until his nose almost touched hers. “And I don’t care.”

Barbeque sauce breath.
She stifled a giggle, quite sure that reaction would thoroughly offend the earnest young man. Who was, she guessed, upset enough. This close, all she could see were freckles and some patchy stubble.

“What’s going on here?”

Mac ducked her head to peer under Case’s arm. He lunged back, all the color draining from his face this time. She didn’t blame him. Sing-li on his own was intimidating, despite the shirt. Add Zimmerman, nostrils flared and those improbable shoulders jamming the doorway?

“Do you mind?” she said acidly. “I’m briefing Mr. Wilson. He’s applied to be Dr. Mamani’s assistant.”

The expressions as her explanation registered—on all three—were vastly entertaining.
Had she time for it.

“Briefing,” echoed Sing-li, doubt in his voice and the searing look he gave Case.

“I don’t want to be Dr. Mamani’s assistant,” Case insisted.

Zimmerman, not to be left out, relaxed in the doorway and added with a sly grin, “Well, I’ve never had a briefing like that.”

“What are you implying?” The return of his fiery blush didn’t help Case’s outraged dignity one bit, but Mac gave him credit. He looked willing to take on both agents.

“I have a lev to catch,” she reminded all of them. “You three can bond later. Right now, I need another minute alone with Mr. Wilson. If you don’t mind?”

Zimmerman half bowed his way out, still smirking. Sing-li gave Mac his “I don’t like this” look but followed, saying only, “We’ll be outside.”

Once the door closed, Mac put her hands on her knees. “Sorry about that,” she told Case. “Where were we?”

“I was saying no to having anything to do with her.”

“Ah, yes.” She kept her face carefully neutral. “Not the best first impression?”

“I know you’ve worked together for years.” His honesty got the better of him. “But I don’t get how. She’s a—a—” he stopped there, probably viewing it as wise, and threw up his hands. “She doesn’t take anything seriously.”

Mac chewed her lower lip for a moment. “Emily Mamani,” she said at last, “is a brilliant scientist, an innovative engineer, and can drink someone twice her mass under the table, so don’t ever try. She’s also a fraud. Not take things seriously? She’s so serious—about everything imaginable—it’s almost killed her. Despite what I said to everyone today, it’s her device, the Tracer, that offers the best chance of finding whatever the Ro sent into Castle Inlet in time to make a difference.”

Case sat down on the bed and stared at her. “She’s a pretty good actor, then.”

“That, too.”

“Why does she need me?”

Because firm and energetic is easy.
Mac resolutely ignored that memory, focusing on the troubled young man in front of her. “Emily’s protected by the Ministry—Sing-li and his lot. Her recovery is being monitored by Dr. Stewart, also Ministry. She’s—”

“ ’Sephe the statistician? She jams with Sasha’s band in Pod Six most nights.” He looked incredulous, as if musicians couldn’t be spies. “You’re kidding—”

Although Mac sympathized, she raised her eyebrow and Case subsided. “Emily was authorized to spend what she must, to use any and all resources here short of disrupting the season. Now that I’ve done the disrupting, her work will take priority.”

“Sounds like she has enough help.”

“Help she has, Case,” Mac agreed. “All of it complicated. All of it with strings attached. Obligations, expectations. Fear. What Emily needs is someone who won’t lie to her, for any reason. Someone she can trust. Won’t be you, not at first. It’ll take work. And,” she finished with equal honesty, “incredible patience.”

His eyes held an odd expression. “You want me to take your place.”

“You could say that.” Mac slid from the desk, then straightened her coveralls. She absently patted the pocket where she’d put her imp, checking it was there. “Will you do it?”

Case had stood as well, more slowly, as if deep in thought. He gazed down at her and grimaced. “I’d rather go with you, Mac. But if this is what you want—I’ll do my best.”

Mac beamed at him. “There is a bright side, Case,” she promised. “You’ll be heading out to sea. Make sure Em knows your background on trawlers when you apply.”

By his look, she’d dismayed him again. “Apply?”

Her lips quirked sideways. “Next lesson about Emily: if she makes a decision, she’ll stand by the result. Just tell her the truth—I made you do it. She’ll take a closer look. And she’ll see what I do.”
Integrity, inner strength, and a nice dose of stubborn pragmatism that will annoy her constantly—and keep her sane.
Mac was satisfied.

“What do you see, Mac?” Case asked in a low voice, eyes intent on hers. “I’d like to know.”

She might not have Emily’s experience with men, young or otherwise, but Mac was reasonably sure Case wouldn’t appreciate the attributes she’d listed to herself as much as she did. Instead, she made a show of checking the time. “I see I’m going to be late.” She glanced around the room once more, then gave him a nod. “Whatever happens, thank you, Case. I appreciate this more than I can say. Good luck.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. For an instant, she thought he meant to reach for her, and she braced for a hug, but instead he opened the door. “Good luck to you, too, Dr. Connor.”

Relieved, Mac smiled at him and started through the door, already feeling the tug of impatience.
Time to move.
At the sight of her, Sing-li straightened from where he’d slouched against the wall in the corridor.

“Mac?”

She glanced back.

Case, who was much closer than she’d expected, ducked his head and kissed her on the mouth.

“ ’Bye,” he added, then walked away.

Sing-li snickered. Mac gave him a look and he stopped, but the smirk looked permanent.

“Can we go now?” she asked dryly.

He gestured her ahead with a gallant bow that didn’t quite work with the rows of happy-faced cookies on his shirt. “After you, Dr. Connor.”

She went out, giving Zimmerman a smile, then strode down the walkway toward the dock, her feet making reassuringly normal sounds on the mem-wood. The music from the party was still thumping. The cool night air smelled of salt and fish and growing things.

She could just make out Case, his long bare legs pale against the dark water as he headed for Pod Three, and quickly looked away.

As kisses went, it had been quick and almost clumsy. His lips had been cold.

What it hadn’t been,
Mac decided with some misgiving,
was the kiss of a friend
.