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Authors: Julie E Czerneda
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multipart eye, she decided. Personally, she found it disconcerting to have item after item appear to launch itself toward her face.
It didn’t help that the items were hardly art. A mug advertising a pastry shop. A crumpled snakeskin. A nondescript coin. A purple alligator with a snow globe stomach. A pebble. A pink kazoo. The entire room was walled in an eclectic array of Human trinkets, souvenirs, and odd devices. There was no apparent order. A studded cat collar was displayed beside a vial of sand. A ticket stub from a museum accompanied a package of candy.
Mac winced involuntarily as a miniature Human head in a bottle—hopefully a replica—invaded her personal space. She quickly stared at a section of harmless dark blue wall.
“My dear Mac,” Anchen greeted her, coming to stand at Mac’s side. “I apologize for being preoccupied.” Her fingertips played with a sapphire and Mac spared an instant to wonder which personality might still be preoccupied. Her guess was Econa, the gemologist. “What do you think, Mac?”
She started. “About what?”
“About my collection.”
“I’ve never seen junk treated so well,” Mac admitted, then winced for the second time. Tact. She needed lessons.
“Junk?” Anchen’s fingers rippled in a laugh, their coating of silver rings tinkling against one another like rain. “One species’ junk, Mac, is another’s treasure.”
Really? Mac glanced into another cubby. Its contents, a tiny plastic fish bottle with a dark sauce inside and a bright red nose, obligingly enlarged itself to palm-sized for her inspection. “So long as no one charged you for them, Anchen,” she said fervently. “I’d hate to see you cheated.”
“Worry not, Mac. These—” Anchen spread her fingers out to their full length, as if to gather in her collection. “— were gifts. As for their value? To me, objects derived from a particular journey are beyond price.”
Mac imagined the regal, distinctive alien wandering a beachfront souvenir shop and grinned. “I didn’t think you left the consulate.”
“Too rarely,” Anchen told her. “These are from Nikolai. Whenever he travels on my behalf, he brings me a treasure. Thus.” A languid fingertip indicated a cubby on the next wall. Mac walked over to look inside. A salmon leered back at her. A cross-eyed lime-green rubber salmon, to be precise, with the name of a restaurant glowing down one side.
Probably where he’d taken Mudge to find out more about a certain salmon researcher. Forgetting the illusion, Mac reached out her hand, only to curl her fingers around empty air.
She found herself utterly distracted by the knowledge that Nik had selected each of these things. He’d carried it here, in a pocket, in a pack. He’d explained its place in his past as he gave it to the curious Sinzi.
There was more of Nikolai Piotr Trojanowski in this alien’s collection than Mac knew herself.
Not hard. Mac gave herself an inward shake. Spy, remember? Mysterious past, tendency to consider anything a secret until proved otherwise. Annoying as hell.
And she missed him, Mac realized with some astonishment, the way she missed her salmon.
The walls turned white again. “Forgive me, Mac,” the Sinzi-ra said as Mac blinked at the change. “I should not waste your time with indulgences. Please, let us sit and you can tell me why you needed to see me right away.” She led the way to the jelly-chairs.
Mac blushed at the polite reminder. “My fault,” she explained, taking the chair indicated by the elegant tilt of the Sinzi’s tall head. “I was in a hurry. Not that this is urgent.”
Anchen settled herself, the pleats of her white gown falling perfectly over her long toes. Her eyes blinked. “A contradiction.”
Score another for interspecies communication, Mac sighed inwardly. “Yes,” she said, then corrected herself: “No. What I mean is—I need to speak with you. It couldn’t wait. It’s about Emily.”
“You should feel no
It didn’t help that the items were hardly art. A mug advertising a pastry shop. A crumpled snakeskin. A nondescript coin. A purple alligator with a snow globe stomach. A pebble. A pink kazoo. The entire room was walled in an eclectic array of Human trinkets, souvenirs, and odd devices. There was no apparent order. A studded cat collar was displayed beside a vial of sand. A ticket stub from a museum accompanied a package of candy.
Mac winced involuntarily as a miniature Human head in a bottle—hopefully a replica—invaded her personal space. She quickly stared at a section of harmless dark blue wall.
“My dear Mac,” Anchen greeted her, coming to stand at Mac’s side. “I apologize for being preoccupied.” Her fingertips played with a sapphire and Mac spared an instant to wonder which personality might still be preoccupied. Her guess was Econa, the gemologist. “What do you think, Mac?”
She started. “About what?”
“About my collection.”
“I’ve never seen junk treated so well,” Mac admitted, then winced for the second time. Tact. She needed lessons.
“Junk?” Anchen’s fingers rippled in a laugh, their coating of silver rings tinkling against one another like rain. “One species’ junk, Mac, is another’s treasure.”
Really? Mac glanced into another cubby. Its contents, a tiny plastic fish bottle with a dark sauce inside and a bright red nose, obligingly enlarged itself to palm-sized for her inspection. “So long as no one charged you for them, Anchen,” she said fervently. “I’d hate to see you cheated.”
“Worry not, Mac. These—” Anchen spread her fingers out to their full length, as if to gather in her collection. “— were gifts. As for their value? To me, objects derived from a particular journey are beyond price.”
Mac imagined the regal, distinctive alien wandering a beachfront souvenir shop and grinned. “I didn’t think you left the consulate.”
“Too rarely,” Anchen told her. “These are from Nikolai. Whenever he travels on my behalf, he brings me a treasure. Thus.” A languid fingertip indicated a cubby on the next wall. Mac walked over to look inside. A salmon leered back at her. A cross-eyed lime-green rubber salmon, to be precise, with the name of a restaurant glowing down one side.
Probably where he’d taken Mudge to find out more about a certain salmon researcher. Forgetting the illusion, Mac reached out her hand, only to curl her fingers around empty air.
She found herself utterly distracted by the knowledge that Nik had selected each of these things. He’d carried it here, in a pocket, in a pack. He’d explained its place in his past as he gave it to the curious Sinzi.
There was more of Nikolai Piotr Trojanowski in this alien’s collection than Mac knew herself.
Not hard. Mac gave herself an inward shake. Spy, remember? Mysterious past, tendency to consider anything a secret until proved otherwise. Annoying as hell.
And she missed him, Mac realized with some astonishment, the way she missed her salmon.
The walls turned white again. “Forgive me, Mac,” the Sinzi-ra said as Mac blinked at the change. “I should not waste your time with indulgences. Please, let us sit and you can tell me why you needed to see me right away.” She led the way to the jelly-chairs.
Mac blushed at the polite reminder. “My fault,” she explained, taking the chair indicated by the elegant tilt of the Sinzi’s tall head. “I was in a hurry. Not that this is urgent.”
Anchen settled herself, the pleats of her white gown falling perfectly over her long toes. Her eyes blinked. “A contradiction.”
Score another for interspecies communication, Mac sighed inwardly. “Yes,” she said, then corrected herself: “No. What I mean is—I need to speak with you. It couldn’t wait. It’s about Emily.”
“You should feel no
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