Read Online Regeneration (Czerneda) by Julie E Czerneda - Free Book Online
Authors: Julie E Czerneda
Ads: Link
had always come to her, or to where she worked. More formal meetings were in the Atrium or the larger room down the hall. “Then where is she? Right now.”
“The Sinzi-ra is in her quarters, Dr. Connor.”
Good. She knew where those were. “Thanks,” said Mac, heading for the door.
The staff’s eyes widened in an alarm response they shared. “Dr. Connor—where are you going? There are protocols.”
Mac smiled over her shoulder. “I’m sure there are. Remind me on the way.”
The consular staff knew Mac by now, well enough the other being didn’t attempt to argue.
Her sigh, however, was almost Human.
The Sinzi-ra occupied a suite of rooms almost identical to Mac’s. Glazed French doors from the hall opened into a large bedroom. There was a similar set of doors, clear this time, to a terrace overlooking the sound and ocean beyond. To the left, as Mac entered, was the archway leading into what she thought of as a sitting room. Mac’s version was now distinctly her office, complete with anything that could be carried from Pod Three—her friends were literal sorts. The Sinzi’s was white on white, simplicity itself, four jelly-chairs facing a white stone table, deep creamy sand on the floor, white walls windowed to the sky beyond.
The perfect frame for complexity. Mac stopped so quickly the unhappy staff behind her almost ran into her back.
The Sinzi-ra was busy.
Her left hand—or rather the trio of meter-long fingers that constituted the Sinzi equivalent—was adding blue and clear gems to a circular mosaic on an easel, the result scintillating like cold fire. Her right hand, meanwhile, worked some type of keypad. The faint outlines of three workscreens flickered in front of her face, each angled to favor a different segment of her eyes. Not that Mac’s Human eyes could make out details. The Sinzi—and their servants—had a broader spectrum available to their sight.
To top it off, Anchen was humming in a minor key.
Normally, Mac would have been fascinated. The alien rarely gave any indication of the distinct individual minds, six in number, inhabiting her willowy form. Only the changing attention of her complex, compound eyes hinted at how many were participating in a conversation. Anchen: Atcho, the precise and careful administrator for the consulate; Noad, the curious physician, interested in all things alien, particularly the mind; Casmii, who preferred the background, not least on the IU Judicial Council; Hone, youngest or most recent, as such minds went, but already a notable transect engineer; Econa and Nifa, scientists who currently shared a passion for Earth, the former a gemologist, the latter a cultural historian, studying, to Mac’s dismay when she’d heard, the incidence of familial homicide among Humans, with a side interest in cannibalism between neighbors.
You tidy the house for company, and they trip over the dirty laundry every time.
“The Sinzi-ra must compose her selves,” said a quiet voice from behind. “Please do not speak, Dr. Connor, until she addresses you by name.”
Mac nodded. She could use some composure. It was one thing to charge forward, sure she was right.
Quite another to be reminded who she had to convince.
“Feel free to enjoy the Sinzi-ra’s collection while you wait, Dr. Connor.” With this, the staff touched a portion of the plain white wall.
“What col—” Mac started to ask, then closed her mouth as every wall turned dark blue, honeycombed with small, bright openings. She stepped closer.
The openings were cubbyholes, each containing one object suspended in its midst, gently lit from every side. As Mac looked into the nearest cubby, the object inside seemed to jump at her. In reflex, she stumbled back a step, shoe filling with sand, then realized it was an illusion.
Entranced, Mac experimented. She found if she looked directly at any one object, it would become enlarged until she looked elsewhere. A technology well-suited to the Sinzi’s
“The Sinzi-ra is in her quarters, Dr. Connor.”
Good. She knew where those were. “Thanks,” said Mac, heading for the door.
The staff’s eyes widened in an alarm response they shared. “Dr. Connor—where are you going? There are protocols.”
Mac smiled over her shoulder. “I’m sure there are. Remind me on the way.”
The consular staff knew Mac by now, well enough the other being didn’t attempt to argue.
Her sigh, however, was almost Human.
The Sinzi-ra occupied a suite of rooms almost identical to Mac’s. Glazed French doors from the hall opened into a large bedroom. There was a similar set of doors, clear this time, to a terrace overlooking the sound and ocean beyond. To the left, as Mac entered, was the archway leading into what she thought of as a sitting room. Mac’s version was now distinctly her office, complete with anything that could be carried from Pod Three—her friends were literal sorts. The Sinzi’s was white on white, simplicity itself, four jelly-chairs facing a white stone table, deep creamy sand on the floor, white walls windowed to the sky beyond.
The perfect frame for complexity. Mac stopped so quickly the unhappy staff behind her almost ran into her back.
The Sinzi-ra was busy.
Her left hand—or rather the trio of meter-long fingers that constituted the Sinzi equivalent—was adding blue and clear gems to a circular mosaic on an easel, the result scintillating like cold fire. Her right hand, meanwhile, worked some type of keypad. The faint outlines of three workscreens flickered in front of her face, each angled to favor a different segment of her eyes. Not that Mac’s Human eyes could make out details. The Sinzi—and their servants—had a broader spectrum available to their sight.
To top it off, Anchen was humming in a minor key.
Normally, Mac would have been fascinated. The alien rarely gave any indication of the distinct individual minds, six in number, inhabiting her willowy form. Only the changing attention of her complex, compound eyes hinted at how many were participating in a conversation. Anchen: Atcho, the precise and careful administrator for the consulate; Noad, the curious physician, interested in all things alien, particularly the mind; Casmii, who preferred the background, not least on the IU Judicial Council; Hone, youngest or most recent, as such minds went, but already a notable transect engineer; Econa and Nifa, scientists who currently shared a passion for Earth, the former a gemologist, the latter a cultural historian, studying, to Mac’s dismay when she’d heard, the incidence of familial homicide among Humans, with a side interest in cannibalism between neighbors.
You tidy the house for company, and they trip over the dirty laundry every time.
“The Sinzi-ra must compose her selves,” said a quiet voice from behind. “Please do not speak, Dr. Connor, until she addresses you by name.”
Mac nodded. She could use some composure. It was one thing to charge forward, sure she was right.
Quite another to be reminded who she had to convince.
“Feel free to enjoy the Sinzi-ra’s collection while you wait, Dr. Connor.” With this, the staff touched a portion of the plain white wall.
“What col—” Mac started to ask, then closed her mouth as every wall turned dark blue, honeycombed with small, bright openings. She stepped closer.
The openings were cubbyholes, each containing one object suspended in its midst, gently lit from every side. As Mac looked into the nearest cubby, the object inside seemed to jump at her. In reflex, she stumbled back a step, shoe filling with sand, then realized it was an illusion.
Entranced, Mac experimented. She found if she looked directly at any one object, it would become enlarged until she looked elsewhere. A technology well-suited to the Sinzi’s
Similar Books
