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We figured the Wospind must have forced Swifthunter to pilot them off-world.
Is he aboard? Is he unharmed?"
"I'll ask."
Mark looked back at Orim, switched to Elspindlor, and asked the question.
"Yes, he's here," he replied a moment later. "He's being held in the starboard lounge, which is why I haven't seen him. They say that as long as he pilots them home safely, he'll be released unharmed."
"Thank the Spirits of the Sands for that, at least. I have sent messages to the WirElspind, and Shassiszss, explaining what has happened. Are you ready to relay the terrorists' demands?"
"I am," Mark said. "This is what they want ..."
Minutes later he had faithfully related all of Orim's words as precisely as he could translate them. "Do you understand?" he asked. "Did you get all that on record, uh ... what's your name?"
"Zahssez," the other said. "Affirmative, to both questions."
"Remember," Mark warned, "that unless you and the WirElspind act immediately, Orim intends to kill another passenger six hours from now"--he glanced at his watch--"uh, actually, five hours and twenty-three minutes from now. There are over a hundred and fifty passengers aboard, many of them children. Please, tell them to hurry!"
Zahssez's voice sounded heavy. "Mark, you have to make them realize that our field researchers are scattered all over the main continent. We fully intend to comply with Orim's demands, believe me, no matter what the WirElspind decides, but retrieving all those people will take time! More than six hours." He hesitated. "Can you talk them into extending that deadline? Or releasing the Asimov and taking only a few hostages aboard the shuttle, in return for our promise to begin evacuation immediately?"
"I don't know," Mark said dully. "I'll try."
"May the Spirits be with you," Zahssez said. "Our invocations certainly will be. We'll be standing by for your next transmission."
"Understood," Mark said. "Asimov out."
As StarBridge Academy's Counselor, Rob Gable had received calls in the night before. Since any transmissions that
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could wait until business hours were automatically delayed until then, anything that came through at night always meant bad news.
Sometimes it was a student in trouble (Rob still had nightmares about the call he'd gotten from Mark Kenner in the wee hours of the morning, when he'd discovered Jon's body), sometimes it was notification of death or disaster on somebody's home world.
Consequently, middle-of-the-night calls always brought him wide awake in a heartbeat, and this time was no exception. His terminal beeped twice, and then he was up and jamming his feet into ancient sweatpants, almost before his eyes were fully open. "Rob Gable here," he said, yanking the pants up, then activating the unit's visual channel, "who is it?"
"Rob, I've just received a very distressing message." The holo-vid screen on his wall resolved into the school's Chhhhkk-tu Administrator. "I'm afraid it's bad news."
"What is it?" He braced himself to hear that something terrible had happened to Mahree, or Claire, their daughter. Or was it Mom, or one of his sisters?
Fear gripped him so tightly he could hardly breathe. He found himself bargaining with God. Just don't let it be Mahree or Claire. I can stand anything else ...
"It's about Mark and Cara and Eerin," she began. Rob's knees sagged with relief, even as guilt washed over him for feeling it.
"What happened to them?" he demanded hoarsely.
"The Asimov was hijacked by some kind of radical Elpind group. They've apparently pressed Mark into service as their spokesperson, because he knows Elspindlor. Rob,"--Kkintha's furry face, with her Siamese-cat mask, was full of apprehension--"the hijackers have already killed two people.
They forced Cara to film one of the executions."
"Oh, God, how terrible!" he whispered. "Those poor kids!"
"Here's the transmission from the Asimov, plus the subsequent recording of Mark's conversation with the CLS Liaison on Elseemar," Kkintha said. Rob sank slowly back onto his bed as he watched, eyes widening with horror.
Then the sound of Mark's strained young voice as he spoke to Zahssez made him bite his lip hard. Dammit, this is my fault. I made him go 113
out there ... if it hadn't been for me and my bright ideas--
He ran a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair, his habitual gesture when thinking hard. "We've got to do something. How much more time is left on that deadline? We've got to have experts working on this. Hostage
negotiations are too delicate to be trusted to a bunch of scientists and sociologists, no matter how well intentioned!" Frustrated, he slammed his fist into his palm as he paced.
"Rob ..." The Administrator held up a small paw while she looked at the chronometer. Obviously she was doing some quick calculations. "Rob, more than five of their hours were up before I got the message relay from StarBridge Station. There's no time for us to do anything before that next deadline."
"Dammit, Kkintha, I can't just sit here." He looked at her gravely. "We've got to try and help. After all, we're the ones who made the decision that put Mark and Eerin on that ship."
"I should have known that a psychologist would be an expert at uncovering inner guilt," the Administrator said sourly.
"Maybe Mahree can help," Rob said hopeful y.
"Perhaps she can," Kkintha said, brightening a little. "I shall have a call put through to her. Where is she?"
That was a good question, and Rob had to think about it for a moment, mentally adding up dates and travel times. "She should be back on Shassiszss by now. There was a big trade conference coming up, then she has a review of colonization activities by Earth and the Heeyoon."
Rob paced impatiently while she put her assistant to work on the frequently frustrating job of tracking down the former Secretary-General of the CLS.
Kkintha's people did not pace, but her little clawed fingers groomed her chest ruff until it stood up in tufted disorder. "Do you think she will handle this personally?"
"I doubt it," Rob said. "Mahree isn't experienced in hostage situations. But she'll be able to make sure the best people are put to work on this crisis." But he spoke distractedly, his mind far away. The psychologist was
remembering Mark's face when he'd agreed to be the Elpind's pair partner.
Kkintha doesn't know the half of it when she talks about guilt, he thought.
When I think about Mark's expression the day he told me that he never again wanted to run the risk
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of making a mistake that could hurt someone ... The doctor shuddered. What if his recommendation to Kkintha ch'aait that Mark Kenner be paired with Eerin turned out to be the young man's death sentence?
Or what if he breaks under the strain? he thought, resisting the urge to lash out and smash one of the knickknacks resting on his bookshelf. Other people ... a whole shipload of people ... are depending on Mark. But what if he can't prevent more tragedy from happening? Another failure could destroy him ...
"Rob?"
He whirled around to face the screen. Kkintha was back. "I just spoke to the Council Secretary for the Cooperative League of Systems. The Council's in session," (it was midmorning on Shassiszss) "but he's paging Mahree. She should be available in a few minutes."
As Rob waited tensely, suddenly the screen rippled, then Kkintha's anxious features were replaced by a woman wearing an embroidered blue shirt and dark blue trousers. Long brown hair hung in a thick braid over one shoulder.
Her face was strong-boned, with features that just missed being handsome, rather than pretty, and brown eyes that were too old for her apparent age.
Motherhood had softened her angular frame, rounding her slightly from the coltish girl Rob had first met fifteen years ago, though she was still small-breasted and slender. "Hello, Rob," she said, and smiled.
"Mahree ..." He smiled back, feeling his throat tighten. "It's so good to see you. How is Claire?"
"She's fine.
She's staying with Shirazz during this trade conference." Her eyes narrowed as she took in his bare chest and disheveled hair.
"Something's wrong. What?"
Briefly, Rob explained the problem. "From the way Mark translated Orim's requirements, there's no way those researchers can get off-planet in time to prevent this deadline--and even if they take off in time to prevent a fourth casualty, there's no way they can survive in a tiny shuttle with limited fuel long enough for rescue ships to reach Elseemar. Their orbit will deteriorate and they'll burn up in the atmosphere. Can you find out if there are ships in the area that could be diverted
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to Eerin's world and arrive soon enough? Passenger ships, League ships ...
whatever?"
"I'll get my staff on it immediately," she promised. "And I'll personally speak to this WirElspind Council, if the researchers can put me in touch with them.
Perhaps something can be worked out with them ... some kind of hidden landing place for the CLS people to hide out until the rescue ships arrive ..."
"I'm sure they can use any help you can offer," Rob said. "Those hostages and the researchers planetside are going to need every scrap of CLS
support you can dig up, sweetheart."
"If you've got a fourth-year student there, he's had a lot of crisis negotiation training," she pointed out, trying to comfort him. "He ought to be able to handle it."
"He can handle it," Rob said grimly, "but he doesn't know he can. He might not be able to take the pressure, Mahree. Mark wasn't in good shape when he left here."
"I see ..." Her expression was grave. "I'll do everything I can, Rob."
"I know you will." He smiled faintly. "I wish you were here."
"If I were there, I'd be as powerless as you are," she pointed out, practically, but then her mouth softened. "I'd better get started," she said, and her hand moved toward the controls of the computer link. "I'll call you when I know something concrete, darling. I love you ..."
Rob had to clear his throat. "And I love you," he returned, but she'd already cut the connection.
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Chapter 9 CHAPTER 9
Tightropes and Thumbscrews
Four hours later, Mark was so exhausted that he could barely sit upright in his chair, and so frustrated that he could barely keep from screaming. He looked across the table in the Captain's staff room at Captain Loachin, studying the woman's sallow face, seeing the dark shadows of exhaustion ringing her good eye and the livid coloration of the bruised one.
I'm worn out after three hours of trying to deal with the Wospind, he thought, and they've never touched me. How has she made it through five days of this?
Negotiations with Orim were not going well. The Wopind obviously didn't trust Eerin, though hin had allowed the Elpind to sit beside Mark and assist the human with Elspindlor vocabulary, as the human struggled to negotiate in a language that was still (despite the total immersion he'd had since he'd been awakened) awkward for him.
Lee Loachin, recognizing that Mark had more training in negotiations than she did, had let him take the lead in their discussion with Orim. Together they had managed to secure a few concessions--such as food, water, and supervised lavatory
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visits for the hostages. But the Wopind leader still hadn't budged on the important issues.
"Let's go over this one more time," Mark said. He was getting hoarse, despite the water he'd been sipping. "Please, RiEl Orim"--he was careful to use the Elpind honorific--"remember that the CLS officials will be asking me whether you are willing to make concessions in return for what you want to accomplish, and I want to be able to tell them yes, because then you'll stand a much better chance of getting everything you want."
The Wopind leader glared at Mark, then hin blinked and sat back in the padded armchair that was usually the Captain's seat. After a moment's silent consideration, Orim said, "Hin will listen, but hin promises nothing."
Well, that's more than hin has agreed to so far, Mark thought, slightly encouraged. "Ri-El Orim, you need to keep in mind that the CLS will be far more likely to listen and obey your demands if you present them with a show of good faith on your part." (He had to ask Eerin for a translation of "good faith.") "If you do that, I can practically ..." Glancing at Eerin, he asked for a translation of "guarantee," and the Elpind provided one. "I can practically guarantee that they'll be willing to do as you wish and leave Elseemar forever."
Especially since they already told me they would, Mark thought dryly. He took a sip of water from the glass before him. "So, if you would agree to let most of the passengers go, then you, I, your people, and several of the other hostages could take your shuttle down to Elseemar. That would really impress the CLS as a gesture of good faith on your part."
"How many other hostages?" Orim asked after a long minute.
Mark tried to stifle the surge of excitement he felt. Hin really is listening this time! "The fewer you keep, the better it will appear to the CLS," he said carefully.
"Hin must have her"--Orim indicated Loachin--"and the member of the WirElspind, and the journalist, to record that hin is keeping hin's agreements." The Wopind fell silent, obviously considering. "Hin will require at least ten more."
That's better than I'd hoped for! Mark thought, keeping his 118
expression carefully neutral as he nodded slowly. "May I translate for the Captain?" he asked.
Orim nodded.
Quickly Mark related the Wopind's terms in English. The woman's tired eyes brightened slightly. "You're finally getting someplace!"
"Gently, Captain," Mark cautioned her with a quick, noncommittal glance at Orim. "We don't want Orim to know that we're pleased with the number."
She nodded. "Of course I'll volunteer to remain a hostage," she said. "The First Mate can take the Asimov on to Berytin. Ask Orim if the Wospind will accept members of my crew, rather than passengers, for the ten hostages. I know my people will volunteer. Under the circumstances, it's their duty."
Mark quickly translated the Captain's request. The Wopind considered for a moment, then snapped, "Three crew only. Seven passengers."
"How about half crew, half passengers?" the human counter- offered. "Five each."
Orim's brassy eyes held his for so long that Mark thought that he might have wrecked it all, but finally, hin nodded. "Five and five," hin agreed.
Mark wanted to shout with relief, but forced himself to nod impassively. "So if the CLS team agrees to leave Elseemar immediately, you will allow me, Eerin, the Captain, and Cara, plus ten other hostages, consisting of five crew and five passengers, to accompany you to the surface of Elseemar, where we will remain as your guests until you are satisfied that your demands have been met," he summarized.
The Wopind leader shook hin's head. "In addition to the CLS representatives leaving, hin must have the WirElspind's promise to end the research forever," hin said.
Shit, Mark thought. For a second I thought I might get away with it.
"We have been informed that the WirElspind is currently in session," he said.
(He had to ask for a translation of "in session.") "Perhaps they will have such an agreement for you. But I would like to give the CLS your guarantee that if the off-worlders leave Elseemar by the time of your six-hour deadline," he repressed the urge to look at his watch--"then you will
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extend that deadline to allow us time to hear from the WirElspind. It is not fair to make my people suffer if your people cannot reach agreement," he concluded, pushing a little, greatly daring.
"Hin will consider extending the deadline," the Wopind said after a long pause.
All right! Now we're getting somewhere! Mark thought.
"Ri-El Orim," he began, "if you--"
The soft chime of the intercom interrupted Mark. Captain Loachin, after a glance at Orim for permission, said, "Yes?"
"Captain, this is Rogers." It was the voice of the Communications Chief. "We have
a call coming in from the WirElspind."
Without being told, Mark translated the man's message.
Orim climbed to hin's feet, the gun once more prominently displayed, then gestured them brusquely out the door. "Go back to the lounge," hin ordered Eerin. "The heen and han only will come to the bridge."
The Elpind hesitated, then went, accompanied by the guard who had been posted outside the door. Mark and the Captain preceded Orim through the corridor and onto the bridge.
As they passed by on their way to the communications console, the young communications tech on duty glared at Orim, hatred in his blue eyes. The other two Wospind on the bridge raised their guns meaningfully; the man slowly subsided.
Quickly the Wopind leader motioned for Mark to take one seat before the communications console, while hin took the other. The Heeyoon
communications operator nodded to them. "Stand by, Asimov."
As they waited, the holo-tank rippled, then an Elpind neuter's image appeared. "Hin is Ri-El Alanor," the Elpind said. "First Speaker of the WirElspind."
"Greetings, First Speaker Alanor," Mark said. "This is Mark Kenner. You have a message for us from the WirElspind?" he asked hopefully. Maybe they've agreed to meet Orim's demands, he thought. Maybe this nightmare will be over soon. Even if I have to spend time on Elseemar as a hostage, knowing that the Asimov is safe and that rescue ships are on the way, I could stand that.
"Hin has no message for Mark Kenner," the Elpind official said sternly. "Hin has instead a warning for Orim!" Hin leaned forward, fury evident in every line of hin's body. "Orim, the
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Wospind are a disgrace to our people, a weed that must be wrenched up, allowed to wither without mercy! The WirElspind knows the names of those who have followed you aboard that ship. Their families, as well as Orim's family in Lalcipind, are at the moment being taken captive! We intend to give back to the Wospind what they have done to our CLS friends--tenfold, Orim!
Does hin listen and hear the words of Alanor?"
As the First Speaker's tirade had begun, Mark had sat frozen, stunned to hear an Elpind speaking so threateningly. Before the WirElspind
representative was half through, the young man was shaking his head and looking at the board before him for the "end transmission" control. No! he wanted to scream. Don't! I was finally getting someplace with hin, and you're ruining it! Dammit, the thumbscrew approach doesn't work with fanatics, anyone will tell you that!
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