Regeneration (Czerneda) (40 page)

“Tell the Ministry I’m behaving.” She flashed a grin. “They worry.”

“I’m beginning to see why,” said Townee.

With nods to collect Fourteen and Mudge, Mac turned and left the room.

“Well, Norcoast,” Mudge allowed once the door whooshed closed behind them. “That was impressive.”

Mac sighed and shook her head. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Idiot.”

“And this would be your fault,” she accused the happy Myg. “I was hoping for a nice, quiet, oh-who-cares-about-Mac, inconspicuous trip, but no.” She poked him in the muscle of his arm with one finger. “Someone had to show off.”

“Inconspicuous,” he informed her, “is boring.”

Boring was so much simpler,
Mac thought wistfully as they followed their crew escort back to the transit system.

As well as holds full of gear, Lyle had brought himself, the original twenty-six from Myriam who’d come with him to the Gathering—Human except the five Sthlynii and two Cey—and two Mygs, Fourteen and Unensela (plus the offspring). He’d been flummoxed into adding the three Frow and five Grimnoii.

Mudge had provided Sam Schrant.

But even if the Sinzi were her fault,
Mac decided, hands on her hips and glaring,
she wasn’t responsible for—this
.

“How long has it been going on?” she asked finally.

Doug Court shrugged. “Since I got here, at least. You’ll have to ask them.”

“Them” being the Grimnoii, currently on all fours. From what she could see, their backsides tending to vast, they had their faces pressed to the base of the closed door to their—or rather the Sinzi’s—quarters. As many as could. Since only two and a half Grimnoii could successfully press-face at a time, there was a slow-motion struggle underway involving far too much heaving and collision of weapon-based apparel for Mac’s peace of mind.

“Might not be the best time for a question,” she ventured.

The individual closest to her toes, and farthest from the desired door crack, chose that moment to burrow his way past the others. His huge padded feet worked frantically against the smooth floor until finding purchase against someone else. He disappeared beneath his fellows.

There was a great deal of moaning and one heavy thud, but, to Mac’s fascination, he surfaced at the door, promptly plunging his face to the crack.

While it was all well and good for aliens to be, well, alien, this was the only corridor through the section allotted the Origins Team. Mac traded waves with those stranded on the far side of the scrum, and considered the problem.

“It’s always about sex,” Unensela offered, coming up beside her. She was dressed in a lab coat, open to let the offspring clinging to her chest see what was going on. They stretched their long necks and echoed, “Sexsexsexsexsex!”

Someone behind Mac snickered.

“That’s not how—” Mac thought she’d best forgo the lecture and finished with, “that’s not what they’re doing.”

“Irrelevant! The most glorious female ever to breathe must be right, Mac!” This from Fourteen as he joined them, while admiring Unensela from head-to-toe and back again.
Apparently his present celibacy was of the look, don’t touch, variety.
The female Myg preened. “This is not the act,” he continued, “which is highly improbable even for large mammals and must hurt—but its essential precursor. Romance!”

The Grimnoii happened to groan loudly at that moment. Mac was reasonably sure she smelled fresh vomit.

“Ship’s corridors have to be kept clear, folks.” Court backed a step as if to let her know he wasn’t volunteering more than the regulation.

“Romance,” Mac repeated. “You’re kidding.”

With a last longing look at Unensela, who stuck out her forked tongue, Fourteen took Mac’s arm and led her a short distance from the mass of struggling fur. “The Grimnoii admire the Sinzi,” he whispered.

“You don’t mean—” Mac gave the pulsing mass against the door a shocked look. “They aren’t trying to—With the Sinzi!”

“Idiot. You read too many brochures. Get a mate. The Grimnoii are a passionate, physical species. They suffer from—I believe the Human equivalent is an inferiority complex. A little too much passion. A little too physical. They break things,” Fourteen summed up neatly. “They have come to admire the Sinzi above all other species. Since part of a Grimnoii’s education is to observe the social behavior of accomplished adults, many Grimnoii instead send their unbred males to observe Sinzi.” Fourteen shrugged and gave Mac his sly look. “Like Humans at this stage, they tend to be hopeless romantics.”

More thudding, accompanied by cheers from the Humans on the other side.
At least one Grimnoii had acquired fans.

“How is this romantic?” She held up her hand. “Wait. Wrong question. What do they accomplish by wallowing at the door?”

“They demonstrate their admiration for the Sinzi by doing their utmost to capture their scent.” Fourteen smiled widely. “Stimulating display, isn’t it? I’ve only seen discreet sniffing of footprints—pretend to drop something, quick nose to pavement, that sort of thing. Until now. Well, I’ve heard of attempts to bribe staff for used laundry, but they say that about any species.”

She wasn’t going to ask who
“they”
were
. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

“Idiot! They’re quite fixated. And large. Wait, Mac. What could you do?”

Ignoring the sputtering Myg, Mac searched for and found their chemist on this side of the Grimnoii clot, just leaving the dining area. “Henri! A word please?” she called, walking over to him.

“Yes, Mac?”

After she told him what she wanted, his eyes gleamed. “I’ll be right back,” he promised and took off at a near run.

Court noticed his departure and raised his eyebrows in question. Mac grinned and gestured to him to follow the chemist. “He’ll need your help.”

“Idiots.” Fourteen had watched all this. “Help with what? They cannot be distracted by tricks. Trust me. I know.”

Mac merely smiled and went back to where she could see the Grimnoii. She found a convenient bit of wall and leaned on it.

All five appeared near exhaustion, still except for the occasional deep shuddering breath or hopeful wriggle of a shoulder. Some of the bandoliers had snapped; others were snagged together.

The audience was getting bored.
Not to mention the air in the corridor was growing reminiscent of
The Feisty Weka’s
bathroom.
The lucky ones on this side could go back to the workrooms or dining area. On the other, the choice was limited, since the Frow had the last two rooms to the left, the Mygs two of the five on the right.

Mac wondered what the Sinzi thought of the ruckus outside their quarters. Was it a familiar downside of working with Grimnoii—or did they put it down to something Human? Something to ask when she finally talked to them alone.

She hadn’t asked the captain to send her message to Anchen. Considering she’d made one miscalculation with the Sinzi-ra already, it didn’t seem the right time to stick her neck out.
Atta girl,
she praised herself.
Retroactive caution.

“Got just what you ordered, Mac.” Henri and Doug Court looked inordinately proud of themselves as they returned. Henri held up a pressurized vial, about the size of his little finger. “Ethyl mercaptan. Our little low-tech trick to locate surface openings in ruins.”

Mac considered the Grimnoii, still locked in their slow struggle to stick their fleshy nostrils into the door crack and sniff Sinzi. “It won’t hurt them?”

“I checked. Cleared for all species presently on board. No one’s going to like it,” Court’s wide grin was wicked, “but it’s safe. Should dissipate almost immediately, but I’ve advised environmental to mop up the air through here.”

She held out her hand. Henri looked crestfallen and Mac chuckled. “Do you want them to blame you?”

“Point taken.” He put the vial in her hand. “It’s potent, even dilute. One pump.” He and Court covered their noses and mouths with medmasks. Unensela, who’d been hovering beside Fourteen, squealed something Myg and dashed down the corridor, the offspring squealing an octave higher. Fourteen followed at a more dignified pace.

“I thought you said it was safe,” Mac protested. “And where’s mine?”

Henri laughed, the mask muffling the sound.

Chemists,
she muttered to herself.

This little byplay hadn’t gone unnoticed. By the time she turned to face the clump of aliens on the floor, vial outstretched and ready, the corridor had emptied of all save Mac, the five Grimnoii, and the two men with masks.
Who could have brought her one.

“One pump.”

“I heard you the first time,” she snapped, and pressed.
Once.

The spray might have been next to invisible, but its result was immediate. Mac gagged as the world became one giant rotten egg. The odor lodged in her sinuses and coated the inside of her mouth. She thrust the vial back at Henri and blinked at the Grimnoii.

Who were peacefully blinking back at her. All five had sat up, their large noses—a couple scraped and bleeding—busy twitching in her direction.

“I thought Humans couldn’t cook,” said one mournfully.

“Someone can,” sighed the next, as all began rising to their feet, loosened pointy objects clanging to the floor around them. Where they didn’t land with a
splot
. As bodies uncovered the floor, it became clear there were a large number of deposits in which to
splot
.

Too much romance.
Mac kept breathing through her mouth, hoping the Sinzi stayed in their rooms a while longer.

“Dr. Connor’s here.” “Dr. Connor.”

To Mac’s horror, the Grimnoii started walking toward her, arms out, nostrils working.

Feet
splotting
.

To limit the spread of the mess, she stepped to meet them, wishing she had a hose.As she got closer, she could smell the cider on their breath. Among other things.

“It isn’t even Saturday,” she began in disgust.

“Dr. Connor! You’re here!” Before she could evade him, Rumnor grabbed her in a pungent, sticky hug.

Argh.
Mac pushed free. “Glad to see you, too. Now, I want you back in your quarters.”

A chorus of doleful voices: “Have supper with us first.” “Come.” “Smell that?” “Yum!”

“No!” she ordered firmly. “Wait! Stay where you are!”

Too late.
The romantic five, apparently now famished, turned as one and shuffled into the dining area, their feet leaving prints no one would want to sniff.

Those already in the dining room rushed out, complaining noisily as they encountered deposits.

Mac sighed and turned to Court. “We’ll need another cleanup in there, please.”

Court and Henri kept their masks on, although the rotten egg smell had faded to a hint of decay. Henri, mute, pointed at her torso.

She didn’t need to look. The damp was soaking through in several spots. “I’ll be right back,” Mac said. “Keep an eye on them. Please?”

When it was time for a strategic retreat at Base, Mac would take out a skim and drift for a while, listening to the restless ocean. At a field station, she’d hike just far enough along the river to be out of earshot, should anyone decide to call her, and wade in the shallows to turn over rocks. Even the consulate had offered her a terrace, with its view of the deep sound and possibility of whale.

Water made everything simpler.

On the
Annapolis Joy
? Grateful to see Unensela back at work, Mac fled to their shared quarters, left the offspring pouting on the beds, and locked herself in the shower.