Migration by Julie E. Czerneda Read Free Book Online

light from the dimmed glows marking step and rail, catching on spiderwebs. The ocean was dimmed as well, its ceaseless movement damped to a complex murmur rather than a roar. That would change with the tides and the wind.
    Mac absorbed the calm of the world, breathed in its peace.
    It was only the chill dampness that raised gooseflesh on her arms, belly, and legs. It was only her supper, sitting uneasily on a day that put Charles Mudge III in guest quarters and a Ministry spy on her staff, that made her flinch at a splash in the distance.
    Mac refused to admit otherwise, for the same reason she came outside every night, to stand in the dark until it was clearly her choice to go inside and turn on lights.
    She would not be changed by them .
    The near shore of Castle Inlet was out of sight from here, even in daylight. “I should talk to Kammie,” she whispered aloud. And say what? That this year, approval for Norcoast’s research would have been granted for anything? That this year, they wouldn’t have to confess their missteps to Charles Mudge III? “And I’m sorry about it?” Mac asked the empty sky.
    Maybe that was why she was still awake, well past midnight.
    Patter patter patter. Thud.
    Heart pounding, Mac rushed to the railing and peered downward, trying to find the source of the sounds. There! A hunched silhouette passed in front of the lights on the walkway below, then ducked under the railing.
    A splash —followed by the rhythmic sound of someone beginning to swim, badly.
    “I don’t believe it,” Mac muttered, wheeling to run into her office. Give the security team some real work? After all, Mudge was hardly an athlete; he could drown. “Solving a few problems,” she spat, but ignored her imp, instead grabbing her coveralls from the floor. She didn’t bother trying to find shoes.
    A moment later, Mac was in the lift tapping the clearance code for the lowermost level of Pod Three. She paced back and forth during the seconds it took to reach her destination, then squeezed shoulder first through the opening doors.
    The smell of the ocean was intensified here, seasoned with the tang of protective oils and machinery. Like the others, this pod was open to the ocean underneath. Unlike the others, a third of that access was at wave height, through a gate wide enough to accommodate their largest t-lev, though with some admitted risk to paint and toes. Pod One held the fabrication and maintenance shops for the equipment and submersibles. This area was reserved for the repair and storage of Base’s well-used surface fleet—Tie McCauley’s domain, his meticulous nature clear in the gleaming order of tools and parts lining the curved wall. Woe betide the student—or staff—who disturbed a single item without permission. It was astonishing how unlikely timely repairs could become.
    Tie had been elsewhere during the partial sinking of the pod. How guilt had stained that joy, to have an old friend safe when so many others . . .
    An assortment of craft bobbed at anchor or hung from cabling. Mac headed for the gate itself, running along the dock that floated down the center of the expanse. Without a wasted move, she keyed open the inset access port within the gate, then dropped into the antique but always-ready skim Tie kept berthed next to it. The combination of grad students, fickle ocean, and Saturday parties made a quick retrieval craft an essential resource.
    Mac ducked as she sent the skim beneath the half raised port, swinging it in a tight turn toward shore the instant she cleared the pod wall. Her hair somehow found its way into her eyes, despite its shorter length, and she shook her head impatiently. The skim, true to its name, paralleled the water’s surface once in motion. She kept it low, needing to slip under the walkways between the pods to find Mudge. It meant a teeth-jarring ride as the repellers—at this intimate distance—faithfully copied every tiny rise, shudder, and fall of the waves