House of Reeds

alcove where a bastion of potted plants protected a side door.

'Sorry, boss. But look at this place – we're so far down the totem pole we can't even get something to eat. Drink, sure…the Embassy lays on some nice locally produced vodka but we'll have to wait hours just to say hello to the hostess.' He took a long drag from a fresh tabac and let the smoke curl out of his nostrils. 'You saw the prince and his posse. He's going to suck up every featherhead within ten klicks to kiss his radiant ass. Doc SГє, the Legate's wife, everyone.'

'Parker!' Gretchen made a shushing motion. It is crowded, she silently acknowledged. He's probably right. And finding Professor SГє in this madhouse isn't terribly likely. I don't even know what he looks like.

Then she grew still, realizing she could probably tell what the senior xenoarchaeologist from the University of Tetzcoco felt like. And if I can feel him, then I could probably find him…if I wanted.

Gretchen looked sidelong at Parker, who was staring moodily at two attractive young women passing by. The pilot looked entirely out of place amid all the finery on display. His going-out shirt, pants and shoes were only the best a junior Company employee could afford. She could see him comparing his appearance to the young bravos circulating in the crowd, and falling short. We're out of place here. As usual.

Anderssen looked down at herself. The kimono-style dress was the best the Shimanjin colony had to offer – impeccably tailored, luscious native silk, dark radiant colors – and in comparison to the extravagance of feathers, gold and jade adorning the Prince's companions, about four years out of style. Field crews rarely spent any time far enough in-Empire to be fashionable. Dust and sweat and the minute personal cargo allowances provided by economy spaceliner tickets precluded anything but the necessities. She spread a scarred, muscular hand, frowning. Not very elegant.

Gretchen breathed in slowly. If you find Professor SГє, what then? Will you ask him for permission to root about in the ruins of the ancient Jehanan cities, unsupervised? Looking for something the Company can't even describe or identify? Being polite, she realized, hating the nagging, pragmatic voice in her head, would only make her job more difficult. I am supposed to follow the rules, she thought, but knew the Company really didn't care at all. They just want me to steal something. Again. Rules are something I'm supposed to follow, she thought sourly, when I'm filling out expense reports.

'You're right, Parker. There's no point to finding him. Let's see if we can swing by the dessert table on our way out…'

Standing quietly in the corner of the huge, busy room, a thing in the shape of a man was watching the flood of ‹cattle|breeding stock|meat› eddy past, stinking of toxin-saturated cooling fluid. It stood quietly in dark, carefully tailored human clothing, presenting a tray of inefficiently constituted raw protein to anyone who passed by. A group of Imperial military officers paused, snatched up handfuls of baked crackers coated with imported soft cheese and caviar, and then moved on.

The Lengian expressed no overt interest in them, and following the strict social conventions of this primitive society, they ignored it in turn. The sower of ‹disorder|fear|wisdom› was not surprised. It had watched and waited among the humans for many cycles. They were random and filled with the heedless, careless energy of a young, immature species – one which had not yet been culled and set on the straight path – and as such they believed themselves to be favored by the hand of the ‹breeder|devourer›. But they will be tested in the fullness, it thought coldly, without either remorse or antipathy. Then they will likely perish, for they are a weak, ill-fitting species.

Another human moved into its field of perception – a tall man with slick blond hair, dressed in the costume of a broker associated with one of the Imperial merchant houses active on Jagan – and the Lengian's attention sharpened. The man – a sub-brain identified him as being Finnish in origin, which meant he was from one of the outworld colonies like Vainamoinen – nodded in passing to some other human merchants and struck up a conversation with a cluster of lesser Jehanan nobility who were nervously eyeing the asuchau offworlders swarming around them.

Inside the Lengian's human-shaped ears, a cluster of leaf-shaped fronds oriented themselves, swelling the primitive organ's capacity to capture sound, and two of the fingernail-sized sub-brains strung along the creature's spine asserted themselves, capturing the resulting flow of aural data and sorting out dialect, language, intent and meaning.

This one is an Imperial Flower Priest in disguise, the sub-brains submitted to the decision-making cortices. He is presenting himself as an agent of the exiled Swedish government, probing for possible allies among the native princes. But in truth he serves the Mirror Which Reveals.

As a whole, the Lengian was aware of the myriad Imperial security organizations, but it was also quite confident in its ability to continue avoiding their notice. Sixty human years had already passed without even the faintest evidence of suspicion on the part of its unknowing hosts. It had been in close proximity to more than one Mirror agent dozens of times without drawing the least attention. Three hundred human years remain in life-cycle, one of the sub-brains handling motile-form biological functions reported, eager to show its worth to the whole, before this form degrades beyond usefulness.

The Lengian did not think it would need to remain among the humans for so long. They will be culled soon, even as they measure time. The ‹guides|executioners› will be affronted by their unregulated breeding.

The blond human passed close by, eyeing the canapйs, but shook its head, smiling, when the Lengian lifted the tray. A faint cloud of pheromones, skin-flakes and exhaled breath washed over the creature and – unseen by human eyes – thousands of pores opened on its simulated human skin and captured the wealth of information so haphazardly scattered to the winds. Dozens of sub-brains immediately set to work dissecting the breakdown of the human's DNA and metabolism.

This shape will be useful, the decision cortices had already resolved. We will add it to our collection.

'Timonen!' Another human male approached the blond man, skin oozing poorly metabolized alcohol. 'How's the medband business?'

The Lengian remained impassive, watching and waiting. In a day or two, when this shape's normal duties allowed it to leave the Legation, it would find the Finn and make the human useful, for a change, and in an orderly and efficient way.

The two human males were now joined by two females and they all moved away together, chattering mindlessly, looking for more protein and alcohol to metabolize. The Lengian's watery blue eyes followed them for a time, nostrils flared to let threadlike filaments hiding in the dark recesses of the nose practice separating Timonen's smell from that of the herd.

'What a delightful surprise!' A bronzed face appeared between the potted plants. Gretchen felt mildly alarmed to see a group of young Mйxica men emerge from the crowd. 'Our freshly arrived colleagues! Of whom we've heard so many exciting rumors.'

'Hello.' Gretchen took them in with a glance and there was a sour taste in her mouth. They were well dressed, for graduate students, and all of them were sporting the University of Tetzcoco mon. Despite being freshly shaved, showered and perfumed, she was sure their fingernails were as dirty as hers. Honorable Doctor SГє's post-docs. Drunk as rabbits under a full moon. 'How do you do?'

'We're doing just fine…you're the famously unknown Anderssen?'

'I am.' Gretchen felt Parker stiffen behind her. 'Doctor Gretchen Anderssen, University of New Aberdeen, forensic xenoarchaeologist…'

'A Company pit-rat, you mean.' The tall one in front's skin was flushed with sweat. 'Come sniffing around our work…looking to steal enough for a publication, Anderssen? They don't let you do much real work, do they? Shouldn't you be carrying jade for your husband?'

'I think you'd better just step back,' Parker said, pushing past Gretchen, who had been struck speechless. 'And apologize.'