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."
"Parker…we're guests here." Anderssen felt her heart start to race and her fingers found the comfortably smooth surface of her medband. Adrenaline churned through her bloodstream. She triggered a calmedown. "I won't disappoint our hostess by starting a brawl. Good evening, gentlemen."
The Mйxica spread his arms, blocking their path. He smiled, showing fine white teeth. "We're curious, Doctor. I'm sure you've seen wonders on the Rim, while you were scurrying here and there, stealing crumbs to take back to Old Mars. Why don't you…"
Gretchen felt her breath slow and the room faded a little.
Crepuscular gray light vomited from an ancient doorway, hurling her backwards. She hit sand, tumbled and staggered up. The Sif shockgun was still smoking in her hand, making elaborate curlicues of smoke in the terribly thin air. Someone was shouting, but a howling roar of static filled her ears. Monstrous shapes boiled out of the tunnel, striding forward on countless joined legs, a forest of spike-like tendrils dancing above translucent, half-invisible bodies.
"…share them with us?" The post-doc jammed his elbow sharply into Parker's chest. Gretchen stepped aside, her face tight and composed, giving Parker room to catch his balance.
"I am here on vacation," she snapped, voice very cold. "A personal guest of Legate Petrel's wife, Greta. If you wish to discuss your work at Fehrupurй with a professional, I advise you to contact the local Company offices." She stepped forward and the tall Mйxica, surprised, gave ground. Gretchen swept the rest of them with a scathing look. "Tend to your trenches and alluvial assays, children. Drink less and think about your work more."
Without waiting for them to react, she pushed between two of them on the left. Even as she started to move, Gretchen felt them give way. She'd known they would back down. Known just these two were too timid to seize her arm, too drunk throw a punch. Reaching behind her, she seized Parker's arm and dragged him through the opening.
She heard a confused shout from behind, but did not look back. An avenue opened in the crowd and she was striding effortlessly through a gyrating, constantly moving throng of brightly dressed people. A path opened before her with the movement of their bodies, a random, confused dance without pattern or form. Parker was trying to say something, but the words felt slow. They failed to reach her attention, which was focused on moving without thought, reacting without contemplation.
Gretchen was in the vestibule, feeling the rain-cooled night wind on their face, when the sharp feeling collapsed, some unimaginable equilibrium disturbed. She felt sweat spring out all over her body and nearly tripped on the step. Her fingers cramped painfully and she released Parker's arm. The pilot was staring at her, eyes wide.
"Mother of Christ…damn, boss, that hurts!" The pilot rubbed his arm, wincing. "How…how did we get out of there?"
"Never mind. Let's go." Anderssen ducked her head, embarrassed, and hurried out. Oh, Sister, where did that come from? Her stomach turned over, knowing too well what had happened. I thought I'd forgotten all about…those things. "I'm very tired."
"Sure…" Parker followed, looking over his shoulder. The gay, cheerful mob filling the hall seemed impenetrable from this vantage. Hundreds of people engaged in drinking furiously, talking nonstop, filling the entire chamber from wall to wall. "How did we…?"