Survival (16 page)

Mac took it, surprised by the weight.

“I regret you did not get to enjoy the supper provided by the Consulate,” the alien explained. “So I obtained for you the food item which received the most praise.”

“Thank you.” Touched, Mac opened the bag and looked inside. At first, she couldn't guess what the gooey brown mass could be, then she sniffed. Chocolate. Rum. She stuck her finger in and brought out a trace to put on her tongue. “Soufflé?” she hazarded.
What remained of one, anyway
. Emily stifled a giggle.

“Yes! It is a masterpiece, I'm told.”

Was.
Mac closed the bag and gently put it on her desk. “You are very kind. I'll save it for later.” Either Dhryn weren't concerned about microorganisms in their food or—given the lack of life science—this one didn't know what several hours at room temperature could produce.

Her stomach expressed its interest in chocolate, regardless. She ignored it. “How did the interviews go?”

“Interviews?” Brymn crisscrossed six of his arms. “Torture. Oh, not torture for me.” Another series of hoots. “For them! I have discovered a skill of being utterly boring on any topic.”

Emily laughed. “I like you, Brymn.”

The Dhryn gave one of his tilting upward bows. “I am most gratified, Emily Mamani Sarmiento.”

Mac frowned. “I thought Mr. Trojanowski was going to help you with the interviews.”

“As did I. But he said he had to attend to other urgent business, leaving me surrounded in my own quarters.” My
quarters,
Mac couldn't help but think. Brymn lifted his topmost elbows in what appeared an approximation of a Human shrug. “Perhaps the Consulate set these media persons to punish me. I believe they are still upset about the supper. Don't worry. I've attended many a lecture that put me to sleep. All I did was emulate the worst of those. Several individuals stopped recording after the first hour.” He seemed pleased with himself.

Would he be as pleased to learn she'd shared his secrets with Emily?
Time to find out,
Mac decided. The two biologists had discussed how to handle the situation. They'd found no better approach than honesty, no matter its consequences. “Brymn. Emily is my closest colleague and friend. I trust her with my work.” Emily's eyebrow lifted and Mac hurried on before her friend's irrepressible nature asserted itself. “Please accept her as your
lamisah,
as you did me.”

The alien's arms unfolded and he sat rather abruptly. It didn't seem to bother him that he sat on the gravel of Mac's pseudo-spawning bed. “Why would I not?” he replied, sounding puzzled.

“Good,” Emily said much too cheerfully. “Because Mac's already told me everything.”

Before Brymn could respond to that, Mac stepped closer to the alien, hoping the earnestness of her words and expression translated into something comparable within his ridged blue forehead. “I can't work alone on this, Brymn,” she told him. “I'll need Emily to cover for me if I have to take time away from my duties at Norcoast. More than that. I need her to talk to—to bounce ideas against. I can't know how you think. I don't know Trojanowski well enough. If you want my best, that includes her.”

Brymn didn't stand, but he did reach one pale blue hand toward each of them. He'd found time to repaint his fingernails lime-green. “Then we three shall be
lamisah
.” When the two women put their hands in his, he gave a heavy sigh. “I suppose this means Mac will insist I call you ‘Em' in private.
Amisch a nai
.” There was, however, an upturn to his lips, as if the Dhryn was attempting humor.

Brymn's hand was warmer than Mac had expected, softer in the palm than it had looked. There were three digits, equally opposed so the hand would spread like a flower. Each digit was flattened, with a faint ridging along its sides, knuckled in three locations like Mac's own. A nail, manicured, smooth, and presently green, covered the end portion.

His grip was gentle. She squeezed more firmly, assessing the bone and muscle beneath the skin. A powerful hand.

Under careful control
. Brymn tightened his own grip only slightly before releasing her hand. His eyes blinked. This time Mac confirmed her impression that the right blinked a fraction of a second earlier than the left. “We don't have much time, my
lamisah,
to speak in private,” Brymn said. “Is this place secure from eavesdropping?”

Emily perched on Mac's desk, swinging one long leg. “Who'd want to listen to Mac whistle to herself?” she asked. “You do,” when Mac opened her mouth to object. “Off-key. Gets worse when you're happy.”

Which she wasn't at the moment.
Eavesdropping?
“There are no vidbots or recorders running in my office, if that's what you mean.”

Brymn looked around the room, his arms gesticulating nervously. “Then we must take the chance. There is little time.”

“Little time? You've just arrived—” Mac paused. “Something's happened.”

“Another incident. I received the news before the first interview.”

“Along the Naralax?” Emily asked, eyes intent. “Closer to Human systems?”

The Dhryn nodded. “Yes. You have observed the pattern of the raiding parties, then.”

“Raiding parties?” Mac put one hand on her desk, assuring herself it was nearby in case the room seemed to shift underfoot again. “No one's said anything about raiding parties.”

Another one-two blink. “What else could the attacks be but the advance assaults of an invading species?”

Mac glanced at Emily and received that patented “let him run till he chokes” look. It usually applied to one of the grad students spouting a hypothesis, or a prospective date spouting a better-than-average line.

In this case, Mac understood the message.
They needed to know more before deciding if Brymn was to be believed.
“Who do you think is involved?” she asked.

“Who destroyed the worlds within the Chasm?” Brymn countered. The salmon hanging above their heads vibrated. The Dhryn's voice must have included another of the infrasound tones. Mac wondered what information it would have conveyed to those who could hear it. She had to bring an infrasound detector to their next conversation.

Emily looked skeptical. “There's no consistent evidence to prove the destruction wasn't a natural disaster—a plague or some unknown type of cosmic event.”

“No?” Brymn looked around, the conspiratorial movement exaggerated by his ponderous body. Any other time Mac might have smiled. “I have that evidence. That is why They pursue me. That is why They pursue all Dhryn.”

They?
Smile gone, Mac felt the hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Who pursues—” A loud chime interrupted her question and startled Brymn to his feet.

“It's my dad,” Mac said hastily, glancing at the clock on her desk. “I had no idea it was so late—excuse me.”

Emily moved out of Mac's way as she went around her desk and activated the vid 'screen. “Hi, Dad,” she said somewhat lamely.

“Hi, Princess.” Her father, Norman Connor, had been smiling. He looked past her, and his smile faded. “Aren't you supposed to be camped along the river by now? What's wrong?”

Mac narrowed the field of view she was transmitting, in case the Dhryn became curious. “A little delay involving Emily's Tracer,” she told him, ignoring Emily's sniff. “Nothing we can't resolve, but it means we're stuck at Base a while longer. How's everything with you?”

“Oh, the usual. Your uncle and I had to watch those knuckleheads blow an early lead again. You'd think they'd pick up some better pitchers. He says hello, by the way. The geraniums are filling up the balcony. My neighbor brought over some rainbow trout this morning. Next time you visit I'll have to cook you some.”

“You're on.” Mac's stomach voiced its opinion. “Pardon,” she muttered.

“You could eat more than once in a while,” her father noted, the twinkle back in his eyes. “That's what you tell me.”

“We've had a busy day.”

“Your visitor?” Mac's shock must have shown on her face, because her father laughed. “I do watch the news, Kitten. A Dhryn on Earth? It was the second lead, right after that freighter disaster over the Arctic this morning. What's he like?”

Numbly, Mac widened the transmitted field to include her entire office. “Dad, meet Brymn.”

The alien opened his arms, keeping the seventh safely tucked away, and gave one of his bows. “I am honored to be introduced to the Progenitor of Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor.”

Norman Connor widened his own field, so they could see his slight form stand and bow. Geraniums in every color imaginable filled the background.
Calling from his balcony, then.
“The honor is mine, sir. I trust my daughter is treating you well. Lovely place she has there.”

“Indeed. I have been most impressed. She must have already performed several fine and unforgettable acts to serve in
grathnu
so often for your betterment and pride.”

Mac and Emily exchanged blank looks, but Norman Connor didn't hesitate. Parenting three very different if talented offspring easily took the place of diplomatic training. “Thank you. Yes, she's been a treasure.”

“I, alas, have yet to so honor my Progenitors.” The Dhryn's nostrils oozed yellow fluid. “I yearn for the opportunity, but it has eluded me.”

Mac's father smiled reassuringly. “Don't worry, Brymn. I'm sure your time will come. You are the first of your kind to visit Earth—surely an accomplishment.”

“Unfortunately, I come under a cloud, Progenitor of Mackenzie Winifred Elizabeth Wright Connor. A dreadful cloud of foreboding and doom.”

Mac wasn't sure what was more alarming: Brymn bonding with her father or what the alien was saying over a completely unsecured transmission. Before either could go further, she spoke up. “We have to get back to our meeting, Dad. I'll call you tomorrow, if that's okay?”

Her father nodded. “Any time after four, dear. The pool tournament's underway this week.” He hesitated. Mac understood—he was alarmed by what Brymn had said, but didn't want to ask without privacy.

“Don't worry,” she said. “Emily and I are looking after things.”

Emily waved from the background. “She means I'm doing the work, as usual.”

“Good for you, Em. Keep her out of trouble.”

If there was more to the words than usual, if there was worry in his eyes, Mac could do nothing about it now. “I'll call,” she promised. “Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, Princess.”

The 'screen disappeared. Mac couldn't take her eyes from where it had been.

“Thank you.”

“What?” She dragged her attention back to Brymn.

His lips were trembling. “Thank you. I had no doubts of you before, Mackenzie—Mac. But to share the regard of your Progenitor with another is the highest courtesy among Dhryn. I am truly touched.” Yellow fluid dripped to the floor and his eyes blinked repeatedly.

Congruence or coincidence?
Mac had no guideline but her own reactions. The alien seemed sincerely moved. Gingerly, she patted one of Brymn's arms, feeling warm, rubbery skin. “Dad was pleased to meet you, too, Brymn.”
Except for the “doom” part,
she added to herself, with a stern reminder to call her father.

Now,
Mac thought.
Down to business
. She opened her mouth to ask Brymn more about his conjecture when Emily asked in an alarmed whisper: “What was that?”

“What was what?” Mac snarled, beginning to feel as though she was in a badly written spy thriller.

Emily was staring out the window into the dark. “That.”

This time, Mac felt the tiny series of jolts through her feet. Relieved, she grinned at Emily. “ ‘That' was Hector. You should know the feel of him by now.” The nightly routine of the elderly humpback whale who visited the inlet included a good belly rub along the pod floats.

“I do,” Emily said softly, before Mac could explain to Brymn. “It's not him.” She pressed her face against the window. “It's
him
.” This with triumph and a slap on the control that opened the door to the outside terrace.

The night air rushing into the room sent salmon careening into one another, their wooden bodies meeting in a cacophony of musical notes. With a protest of her own, Mac followed Emily as she ran outside. “What do you think you're doing?”

Emily stopped, her hands gripping the rail, her head swinging from left to right and back again. “He was right here,” she insisted.

“Who?” Mac fought to keep her voice down, uncomfortably aware of passersby on the walkway below.

“I saw a man, standing on the terrace, looking in. I swear it was him. Trojanowski.”

“You saw his face?” There was no moon, and the only lighting was that which spilled from occupied rooms and traced the undersides of the railing. Mac could barely see Emily's silhouette against the glow from her office.

“Since when did I need a face to recognize someone?” Emily countered.

“Even if you saw someone—and it was him—this is public space. Anyone can walk here. It's a nice night for a stroll, Em.”

It was, too. Warm and still, fragrant with forest and ocean. The sound of conversation and laughter drifted from somewhere nearby. Farther, but no less clear across the placid water, the unmistakable
chuff
of a whale blowing out air. Mac took a deep, calming breath. “We're all tired,” she began.

“And you think I'm imagining things.” There was real hurt in Emily's voice.