"But they weren't," Mark reassured the alien. "And I have a feeling you needed to dance the Mortenwol very badly. For yourself, not for the hijacker,"
he clarified.
Amazement colored the Elpind's tone. "Mark knew that?"
"Not at the time. I didn't stop to think about the hell you'd been through and the fact that you probably hadn't had the chance to dance it in several days, not since the Wospind boarded. But even before I went into hibernation, the Mortenwol was something I wanted to talk to you about."
"Hin thought that Mark did not enjoy discussing the death dance, or the reasons for it."
"Well ... I didn't," Mark confessed. "But I was wrong not to be more accepting.
The Mortenwol is an important part of your culture ... and I'm trying to understand it, I really am. Death just isn't something I'm handling very well these days." He took a deep breath. "The only way I got through the hijacking and the events of today was concentrating on saving those who stil lived--and not thinking about the ones who died."
"Today was difficult for all, including hin," the Elpind said gently. "Mark must believe that hin's people do not rejoice in death. But Elspind try to be ready, more so than Mark's people ... that is the largest difference between us."
"It's certainly a big one," Mark admitted.
"But it is not death that Mark is having a difficult time accepting," Eerin added quietly. "It is life. Mark cannot celebrate life when heen is running from it.
Running from everything, even StarBridge."
Mark gaped at the Elpind, speechless. Damn! Rob Gable
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couldn't have put it any more plainly! "I didn't think you knew that I was leaving the Academy," he said finally.
"Hin knew. But that decision is only the most visible sign of Mark's running, is it not?"
The human studied the Elpind thoughtfully. The huge eyes shone back at him in the bright moonlight, steady, full of faith. "I hadn't really thought about it like that," he said at last.
They walked together in silence for a while.
"Eerin?"
"Yes?"
"Is it my trouble accepting your beliefs that's bothering you, making you so quiet?"
"No. That is not it."
"Then what's wrong? Can you tell me?"
The Elpind hesitated, obviously distressed, then finally blurted, "Hin is sorrowful and angry that hin's own people would intentionally harm others, kill others. It is shameful!"
"There are twisted criminal people on every world," Mark told the Elpind.
"I've even heard legends that the person who controls Sorrow Sector, the big boss, is a Mizari, so even they aren't perfect--though most of them I've met seem to come damn close. But Orim's and the other Wospind's actions don't mean that off-worlders are going to judge the Elspind by them."
The Elpind gave a very human-sounding sigh of relief. "That is comforting to hear. Tell hin, Mark ..."
"Yes?"
"During the meeting after the crash, Mark told of how Orim's decision to kill two passengers ahead of the deadline brought about hin's downfall, and the crash of the ship. But what caused the Wopind's sudden anger, hin's decision? Mark did not say."
"I guess I can tell you in private," the human said, lapsing into English. "I'm afraid your WirElspind really made a mess of things, Eerin."
"Explain, please."
Mark did. Eerin shook hin's downy head sorrowfully. "Hin has no difficulty seeing how it must have been. Hin has known Alanor for years. Now hin must also feel shame for the stupidity of hin's people. The First Speaker has never been what
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hin would call ... insightful." Eerin's voice was dry.
"Well, stupidity was certainly not Orim's problem. It's a shame that hin was so radical," Mark said. "Hin was obviously extremely intelligent, organizing the Wospind the way hin did, plotting to steal the shuttle and figuring out how to lure in the Asimov ... I suppose Orim made the Heeyoon pilot tell hin everything about how the weapons worked."
"Orim had obviously practiced," Eerin agreed bitterly.
"Yes ..." Mark was still thinking. "I wonder where the guns they used to hijack the ship initially came from? A couple of those weapons were Heeyoon, but most of them were of human manufacture. Stolen from the Asimov's arms locker, I guess."
"Perhaps the Heeyoon shuttle also had an arms locker."
"I guess it's possible, though CLS-sponsored missions to a world aren't supposed to," Mark said. "I guess we'll never know. Orim is dead. It's too bad ... I talked hin into letting the Asimov go, you know." I really did, he thought, suddenly remembering all those hours of negotiation that had finally begun to pay off--until Alanor's words had destroyed his efforts.
"Hin has no difficulty believing that," Eerin said. "Mark Kenner is a StarBridge interrelator."
"Soon to be a StarBridge dropout," Mark reminded the Elpind lightly. "But thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Hin has always believed, contrary to the opinions of most of the WirElspind, that giving the Wospind a voice in the Great Council is the right path to take,"
Eerin said regretfully. "Perhaps now the WirElspind will listen."
"Not if Alanor is any example, they won't." Mark's voice was grim. "But you're right in saying that if the Wospind and the Elspind don't start talking, compromising, then this Elhanin issue is only going to get worse before it gets better."
Eerin nodded. "Hin will do what hin can to bring about such talking," the Elpind promised. "Hin believes that the question of whether to take Elhanin should be every Elpind's own choice."
"I agree. You said your sibling Lieor wanted to take it. Would you take it, Eerin?" Mark asked, gazing intently at the Elpind in the moons' light.
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The Elpind's gaze was equally level as Eerin shook hin's head. "No. Hin will not. Hin wishes to experience hin's life- cycle as nature intends hin to live it."
Mark swallowed a dozen protests. He didn't have the right to try to change the Elpind's mind. But oh, how he wanted to!
He was stil groping for words when he felt a vigorous wiggling and squirming against his chest. Mark looked under his shirt flap. A pair of round, alert eyes looked back.
Terris made an expectant sound, plucking at Mark's sweater with surprising force for such a small creature. The high- pitched sound was repeated, this time louder.
"Hinsi feels hunger," Eerin observed.
"No kidding! I'm glad it's this sweater and not the hair on my chest that hinsi's yanking," Mark said, and stopped. "Feeding break," he announced to Cara when she caught up. He changed the baby's diaper, then dug one of the straws out of the knapsack.
There was no hesitation this time. Mark was barely able to get his fingers out of the way after breaking off the tip before the infant's jaws clamped the straw and began to suck mightily.
Mark
stroked the baby's head affectionately, but he couldn't help glancing at the bundle in Cara's arms. No sound or movement yet from Misir. Something was seriously wrong with hinsi, and he hoped Cara was steeling herself to face the little Elpind's death. The thought made his own throat tighten painfully.
"Let's go," he said abruptly. "I'll feed hinsi as I walk."
Hrrakk' had not paused with the others, and now he was substantially ahead. Mark contemplated the Simiu's four-footed amble that was
surprisingly rapid, though Hrrakk' didn't seem to be pushing. If he gets much farther ahead, he'll be out of sight, he thought.
Maybe he'd been wrong in thinking Hrrakk' would stay with them as long as the Apis did. R'Thessra had stayed beside Cara, and the Simiu had paid her no attention at all. If he gets out of sight, it may be that that's the last we'll see of him.
Mark wasn't sure how he felt about that. If Hrrakk' chose to stay with and become part of the group, however, there was one thing he did know. The question of "who's in charge"
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would, inevitably, come up, in spite of the fact that Reyvinik had giv
en Mark the designation of team leader. He dreaded the thought of such a
confrontation.
Against his chest, Terris squirmed again and exhaled gustily. The straw was limp.
"Hey, good work, Terris," said Mark softly. The baby regarded him with a bright, penetrating gaze, then reached up to brush hinsi's fingers against his chin, almost as if hinsi were patting him. Touched, Mark stroked the infant's back, took a deep, cleansing breath, and quickened his step just a little.
Three of the four moons were already gone. The last one floated low in the sky, about to sink out of sight behind the mountains.
Mark had kept his eyes on it for a while now, watching it dim, using it as a beacon, and trying not to notice the growing ache in his legs. Finally, though, he looked behind him to check on Cara and the Apis. That was how he caught the first ray of the rising sun in his eyes.
There was nothing to soften the impact as the glaring curve of Elseemar's star leaned up over the flat desert horizon. Mark narrowed his eyes with an involuntary wince, and when he looked again, carefully shading his eyes, the whole burning disk had popped up into view.
"Don't slow up," called Mark, more to himself than to the group. His throat felt dry and sore, but he didn't suggest another water break yet. Their five canteens weren't large, and their one water break in the night had emptied one, and most of another. "It won't get hot for a while. Let's keep going just a little longer."
Three of the longest hours of Mark's life crawled by. The ache spread from his legs to his whole body. Sweat slicked his skin and made his clothes clammy. He was exhausted and thirsty to the point of pain.
Halting, he pulled out the almost-empty canteen and the third, still-full one and waited for Cara to catch up. She was plodding doggedly, not looking up, concentrating on not breaking stride. Her Apis shadow looked bedraggled.
Even Eerin drooped.
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When the canteen came back to him, Mark held it up in the Simiu's direction.
Hrrakk' had not, after all, pulled completely out of sight. In fact, he seemed to be drifting closer, though they were still too far apart for Mark to see the Simiu's face. He hoped Hrrakk' could make out the canteen; his throat hurt too much to yell this time.
But once again there was no response.
Mark sighed and repacked the now half-full third canteen.
"Can we stop now?" Cara's voice had a pleading note.
He nodded. "We've done better than I'd hoped." Wiping his burning eyes, he added frankly, "And I'm beat."
Cara looked relieved. She studied the immediate area. "Over there," she said, pointing. "Those rocks are high enough to give us a decent lean-to if we angle our sheeting off them."
Mark nodded and pawed through his knapsack for the dual- purpose
sheeting that was standard survival gear.
"Mark can make shade," said Eerin, "but even so, the temperature will be too hot in the middle of the day."
Mark looked sharply at the Elpind, wondering if he'd just imagined a strange note, like dread, in his pair partner's voice. He saw nothing in the golden eyes, however, but the Elpind's normal curiosity and eagerness to solve a problem.
"The silver side of the sheeting reflects sun. It will make shade that's cooler than natural shade," Mark explained. "But you've got a point. Survival courses say not to rest on the surface of desert ground if you can help it. If we could dig a meter-deep east-west trench, the sand at the bottom would be as much as thirty or forty degrees cooler. Trouble is"--he frowned--"digging a trench big enough for all of us would take a lot of time.
Especially with only one digging tool."
"It would take more than time and tools," Cara said. "It would take a hell of a lot of energy. Which I don't have at the moment."
"We'll compromise," Mark said with a smile at Eerin. "We'll dig a shallow trench, and hope that will be at least ten degrees cooler, okay?"
Mark, Cara, and Eerin rigged two lean-to shelters, then took turns scooping up the soil in their shade to a depth of about thirty centimeters. It was worth the extra effort--under the reflective sheeting, in the trench, it seemed almost comfortable. While
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they worked, the Simiu squatted on his haunches some distance away, watching.
"Here's an invitation he can't refuse," Mark muttered as they finished. Then he called out in Mizari for Hrrakk' to join the group in the newly made shelters.
The huge alien slowly rose and moved toward them, but he stopped again about thirty meters away from where Mark stood. Cara and the others had already crawled under the sheeting; they watched from the shade.
"What's he doing?" asked Cara.
Hrrakk' had taken a two-handed hold near the bottom of the smooth trunk of a large plant. He heaved upward, trying to yank it out of the ground. The plant quivered and lurched under his assault, but remained firmly embedded in the ground.
"Rarely are Elspind caught in the desert; we avoid it if at all possible. But there are some old Tellings that mention these plants can make a shelter,"
Eerin offered. "Elspind cannot pull them out of the ground, however. We must dig."
"Shelter?"
"Actually, it is the hole that is left that provides the shelter. The roots of the tasrel plant go very deep."
"This one may have to be dug up, too," Mark said, watching the Simiu struggle. "Dammit! Why can't he get under the sheeting with the rest of us?"
Then he sighed and added, "Oh, well, maybe this is a chance to build some goodwill." Grabbing the multitool, he trudged over to the Simiu, who ignored his approach. Hrrakk' was still heaving mightily with no sign of progress.
"I'll help you," Mark said, loosening the soil around the plant with the tool.
"Maybe if both of us pull ..."
The Simiu didn't reply, but he paused while Mark knelt and grabbed the trunk just below the spot where Hrrakk' had it in a death grip. The plant's stem was as big around as the human's forearm, and it bushed out roundly with pale, tubular shoots from its top all the way down to the ground.
Hrrakk' gathered breath and timed his next powerful heave to coordinate with the human's effort. Together they pulled and strained and tugged and panted ... then heaved again.
The bushy growth began to rock loose and then came up so suddenly that Mark sat unexpectedly on his backside. Terris
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yelped indignantly at the jolt. Chuckling weakly, Mark released the trowel attachment on the multitool and, still sitting, began to dig at the hole.
The alien plant's root system had grown both deep and wide, deep to tap into the cool moisture that lingered far below the hot sand, widespread to trap the maximum amount of scant evening dew. The depression that the pulled-up roots left was a good one, but not large enough to hold an adult Simiu. The sandy ground was well loosened, however. Mark, with the digging tool, and Hrrakk', with his powerful muscles, were able to enlarge the hole to the required size in a few minutes of concentrated labor.
Still, the Simiu had not spoken.
The sand infiltrated Mark's clothes and stuck to his sweaty flesh. He hurt all over, and he was trembling now with exhaustion. With a painful grunt he pushed to his feet as soon as the Simiu stopped scooping sand.
Hrrakk' didn't even look at him. He was already clambering into the hole and pulling the bushy stalk over it as a cover.
Mark shrugged and turned away. So much for goodwill.
"Mark!" Cara's yell carried surprise and unmistakable joy. "Look! Misir's awake!"
It was true. The infant's eyes, golden like Eerin's, were open. Cara was ecstatic. "I knew it! I knew this baby would wake up!"
Cara loosened the blue jersey wrapped around the baby. Four little limbs waved feebly in the air, and four people-- two humans, an Elpind, and an Apis--shared delighted looks with one another. After so much death, there was incredible triumph in the stirring of this tiny spark into flame; it lent them energy.
"Terris, buddy, are you ready for some compa
ny?" Mark asked. "I'll bet little Misir is hungry."
Eerin had the straw out already. Cara dropped a gentle kiss on the baby's fuzzy head. "I'm going to miss carrying you," she said softly, "but it's time for Mark to take you."
The young man scooped up the fragile creature carefully.
A terrible screech and a wild scrabbling at his chest nearly caused him to drop Misir. Then a spitting fury of honey-brown fur landed right on the sick baby.
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"Terris! Stop! Stop it, Terris!"
Mark tried to pull the frantic child off Misir with one hand. Cara reached under the struggle and slid the infant to safety as soon as Terns' grip loosened. She clutched it to her chest as it began to whimper weakly.
"What the hell was that all about?" Mark demanded, trying to soothe Terris, who was still screaming indignantly.
Eerin shook hin's head worriedly. "Hin has seen this happen only once before. Usually a nursing heen adopts the hinsi of a dead father with no difficulty; both infants thrive. That particular time, however, the child born to the nursing heen rejected the new infant so violently that the adoption had to be canceled. A different heen had to be found for the orphan."
"You said you've only seen this once. But have you heard of it happening to other people?"
Eerin nodded reluctantly. "It is rare, but hin has heard others speak of it."
"What causes it?"
"No one knows; it is a thing that cannot be predicted. Perhaps, in this case, by accepting Mark's different body chemistry, Terris has already made all the adjustment hinsi can handle."
"Let's try again," Cara suggested. "Maybe we just caught Terris by surprise."
Mark nodded. "Look, Terris," he crooned softly, leaning over to gradually close the distance between the two children. "A sibling for you. See the baby. We're going to ..."
Terris squalled in renewed frenzy, twisting and clawing at Mark. Cara pulled Misir back hurriedly. Mark stared at the babies, frustrated and exhausted.
"Shit! What now?"
"Mark will not be able to care for both hinsi," Eerin stated the obvious.
"But ... we have to feed Misir!" Cara's eyes filled.
"There's only one other heen available, and that's Hrrakk," Mark said slowly.
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