Eerin repeated the word, sounding upset. Moving quickly but carefully, hin unhooked the fastenings on the Wopind's loose tunic, then laid back the flap.
Cara stared incredulously.
"A
baby! Damn!" Mark exclaimed. "I never saw any of them with a baby!"
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Cara's heart lurched with pity. "It's so little," she breathed. The alien infant, softly fuzzy and the same light honey-brown color as its parent, was about the same size as a kitten, though longer and thinner. The baby clung to the wiry mat of its father's chest hair with its hands and feet just the way Cara's kitten back home had hung from her clothes by its sharp little claws.
And it was just as hard to get loose. At Eerin's touch it uttered a series of piercing wails and dug in deeper. Eerin hastily let go. The baby whimpered pitifully.
"Hin's afraid," said Mark.
Eerin looked up at them, speaking English for Cara's benefit. "This one is a hinsi, because it is so small it is still nourished by the father's feeding glands.
The child appears to be six or seven of your weeks in age."
Feeding glands? The males suckle the infants? Cara's eyes flicked to the hijacker's hairy chest. She didn't see anything that looked like nipples, but the tunic and the baby itself obscured part of her view.
The Wopind stroked his child, making soft, crooning sounds. Clearly the effort was costing him. He paused a moment to look up at Eerin with those huge, pain-filled eyes and uttered a few more gasping words.
Eerin reached across the injured hijacker and beneath the dead one's tunic, groping under the body between chest and floor. Cara realized immediately what hin was searching for.
There was no trouble plucking this baby off its parent. Eerin's hand emerged with a tiny, fuzzy white creature dangling from it, totally limp.
"Is hinsi ... dead?" She could hardly say the word.
"No. Hinsi breathes." But Eerin looked grave as hin examined the little creature, gently moving its limbs with a forefinger. "Hin believes hinsi is hurt."
"I'll hold hinsi," Cara offered, reaching down. Eerin hesitated a moment, then handed the baby to her.
Warm and silky soft, the infant felt incredibly fragile in Cara's hands. She could feel its rib cage and even its sharp little hipbones. Sudden tears stung her eyes. Carefully she eased it up to cuddle in the crook of her elbow.
The other child had quieted. Weakly, the father disentangled
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the fierce grip of its tiny orange hands and feet. Eerin reached to help, then lifted the baby away from the Wopind's chest. The child began wailing immediately.
The Wopind spoke in that low, weak voice again.
Eerin, trying vainly to soothe the sobbing baby, looked up. "The father says this one's name is Terris and the other is Misir. This one knows death is close, and heen begs us to take and care for the hinsi."
Mark sighed, edging around until he was able to kneel in the small space next to his pair partner. Absently, he reached out to run a gentle finger down the spine of Terris' narrow back. "Of course we'll look after them. We won't just leave them lying on the deck! We'll take care of them until help comes."
Cara was surprised by Terris' reaction to Mark's touch. Shivering all over, the baby swiveled hinsi's little head to regard him with big green eyes like its father's. Hinsi's crying ceased, until it was just a soft whimper. Mark didn't notice the infant's sudden fascination with him.
Eerin shook hin's head, looking dubious. "Heen wishes us to take them to a settlement," hin explained, "where we can find a nursing male to care for them."
"We happen to be in the middle of a desert, thanks to heen and heen's bunch." Sudden bitterness colored Mark's voice. "The babies are stuck here with us. All we can do is--"
He broke off, surprised, because the hijacker reached out a long-fingered, trembling hand to tug at his pants leg. The dying alien whispered a word, gasping with the small exertion.
"Pocket," translated Mark, leaning over to check the Wopind's tunic.
The baby began to cry again. Cara saw the father give it a worried look, but he made no move to take the child back.
"He's got a plotting map!" Mark drew forth a small, wafer- thin instrument and quickly activated it. "With the whole planet in memory! Let me see if the location sensor's working. Where'd he get this thing, anyway?"
"The CLS has placed satellites in orbit around Elseemar, and maps were made from the images they produced," Eerin explained over the baby's crying. "The researchers all have them."
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"Then I'll bet he took it off the kidnapped Heeyoon, the one the Wospind forced into piloting for them."
Terris' steady cries were bothering Cara. She reached around Mark with her free arm, intending to pet the child, as he had done, to quiet it, but at the approach of her hand, it went into a yelping fit.
"Eerin, are you sure that baby's not hurt, too?" Mark asked, giving Terris a concerned look. Then the tiny light he'd been waiting for blinked on, and his attention returned to the map.
"Hey, all right! The sensor's working. Here's where we are." He pointed.
"Thank God we're not in the middle of the desert; we're about fifty kilometers from its edge. There are mountains not too far away, and settlements all through them."
The young man glanced down at the injured hijacker. "Maybe there's one close enough to make your request possible-- and get us some help for the survivors. Eerin, look at this map and see if you recognize the names of any of the closest settlements." He held the instrument, since Eerin's hands were full with the squirming baby, where both hin and the hijacker could see the small square display.
Eerin began to question the Wopind.
Hin's questions, Cara decided, watching the exchange without
understanding a word, were designed to spare the fading alien as much as possible; the questions were long while the whispered answers from the hijacker were extremely short. Yes or no answers, thought Cara. Maybe a coordinate here and there.
Whatever they were, Eerin, and Mark, too, seemed satisfied each time.
Bright flickers leaped from point to point on the map's tiny grids as Mark's fingers carefully touched one programmed key after another.
After several questions they paused to let the injured Wopind rest a moment.
He was noticeably weaker. Mark looked up at Cara.
"There are three settlements within reasonable walking distance," he told her. "Two of them were founded by Wospind leaving the cities and moving deeper into the mountains. In fact, he says the group that took this ship was using the larger of the two for a base camp for a while. Then they moved closer to Lalcipind where they could take action against the WirElspind, 133
keep an eye on activities at the medical research lab--"
"You mean destroy it," Cara interrupted.
"Eventually, yes." Mark frowned. "We don't know what kind of communication Orim might have maintained with hin's former base camp.
Even if none, it would hardly be a good idea to walk into a Wopind settlement and ask for help."
"I agree. What about the third place you mentioned?"
"He called it a 'nahah.' That's the Elpind word for a very small, walled settlement. They cultivate sestel, wilbre vines, and mreto nuts. Sometimes the population is no more than one big extended family."
Eerin indicated hin had another question to ask, and Mark broke off to listen.
The hijacker started to answer, then his face twisted in a spasm of intense pain. He tried to speak, but choked instead. Then he began to cough in hard, painful spasms. By the time the attack ended, the Wopind was limp. His eyes were closed, and his breath came in wheezing gasps.
Oh, my God, he's going to die--right here, right now, Cara thought. The Mizari's death had been planned, and quick. She found that in some ways it was infinitely harder to watch this being struggle for life--and lose. "Isn't there anything we can do?" she pleaded softly.
Mark glanced from the
father to the crying child in Eerin's arms, then looked up at her and shook his head sorrowfully.
"There is something hin can do," Eerin said. "Hin has a duty to perform for anyone who is dying."
"What is that?" Cara asked, wondering if Eerin meant promising the hijacker a proper burial or something.
"Hin must dance the Mortenwol," Eerin told them, then rose decisively.
Mark looked down at the Wopind, who lay listening with a look of anxious hope on his face. "Dance the Mortenwol?" He gaped at Eerin. "You mean ...
right now?"
"Yes."
"Uh ... Eerin, that's not a good idea. The human survivors of the crash won't understand why you're trying to comfort one of our captors. They might think you're a Wopind, too. I don't think you'd better."
"Heen wishes to witness the Mortenwol that will attend
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heen's death," Eerin explained, obviously surprised by Mark's protest. "It is necessary that heen's last wish be fulfilled."
"Eerin, the Mortenwol right now could stir up trouble. Remember, humans reserve dancing for times of joy. If any of them see you dancing, they might also think you were mocking their sorrow. Do you understand 'mocking'?"
"Yes. And hin is sorry if any humans are upset. But if our positions were reversed, hin would expect this heen to dance the Mortenwol, and hin can do no less."
Mark glanced over his shoulder. The lounge was empty at the moment.
"Well, maybe you can do it quickly ... and quietly. Do you have to use the kareen?"
"It must be done properly," Eerin insisted.
"The music will draw people, Eerin. This could create bad feeling."
"Hin will dance the Mortenwol," Eerin said firmly.
Mark sighed. "Dammit, Eerin! We've got a lot to do, finding medical kits, searching for other survivors, and, now, caring for these babies." He glanced down at the Wopind, who appeared to have lapsed back into
unconsciousness. "This hijacker won't know whether you dance for heen, or not. He's too far gone to care."
"Heen will know. Heen will care." Eerin looked mulish. It was the first time Cara had seen the Elpind show strong emotion.
"Hin promises to hurry. It will not take long," Eerin declared, and, without further argument, handed Terris to Cara and bounded off.
"Can you manage?" Mark asked Cara, after a single resentful glare sent after the departing Elpind. "Can you handle both babies?"
"Sure," Cara said, settling the again-wailing Terris in her lap. "You go look for the medical kits. And something we can adapt for diapers. I'll stay here."
Mark frowned. "I hope to hell Eerin can get this over with quickly. I guess it's like last rites to hin. But I'm worried that there will be trouble over it."
"I'll explain," Cara said. "Anyone who protests fulfilling a dying person's last wish would have to have a heart of stone. Don't worry, Mark."
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He sighed reluctantly. "Okay. I'll check the forward cabins, find the kits, then be back as soon as I can."
After he was gone, Cara shifted the babies again, trying to get a better grip on the struggling Terris (whose thin, monotonous cries were beginning to get on her nerves), without disturbing the unconscious baby. She gazed around the lounge, her eyes avoiding the four other bodies, one Drnian, one Chhhh-kktu, one a human woman, and, almost buried beneath debris, a blue-and-white-wrapped form. The tip of Sarozz's black and silver tail was sticking out.
Cara closed her eyes, crying softly. After a few minutes, she resolutely wiped away the tears. She looked back down at Terris' father. The Wopind's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and uneven.
"Hurry, Eerin," Cara muttered. "Hurry."
Sorrow tugged at Eerin's mind, demanding attention even as hin rushed down the warped and broken corridor, but hin forced it down, concentrating only on fulfilling hin's duty. Mark did not understand, and Eerin regretted that, but Elpind tradition must be followed, even at a time like this. The Mortenwol took precedence over personal feelings.
Eerin was angry with the Wospind, angry over the disaster Orim had so maliciously caused, but personal antipathy did not matter when death approached. If Orim hinself had been lying out there dying, Eerin would have done the same for hin.
The Elpind used the manual control to get into hin's quarters. The small living area was relatively intact, and since the Elpind had had the foresight to secure the kareen in the storage webbing whenever it had to be left unattended, the sturdy little music board was unharmed. Gathering it up, hin grabbed the case of feathers and a cushion, then headed back for the lounge.
As Eerin went, hin tried to sort out hin's feelings, in preparation for the dance to come. Anger, guilt, and a great sense of shock were uppermost in hin's mind. These feelings had been present in Eerin since the moment the Wospind boarded the Asimov and pointed their guns. That hin's own people should threaten to hurt others, innocent others, and then should actually carry out that threat--!
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Hin was not on Elseemar to see the ruins of the lab, the bodies being carried out, Eerin thought. Perhaps seeing that would have prepared hin ...
And now hin also knew sorrow. Eerin knew instinctively that the crash had been very bad; from the moment the Asimov had halted, hin had felt the dark presence of Wo hanging over the ship. Death on Elseemar was an all-too-familiar presence, and not usually frightening. But so many deaths, and-all unprepared for! Eerin knew that hin would be dancing the Mortenwol for all the Asimov's dead, not just the hijacker. It was the only comfort, the only tribute, hin could render ... even if Mark Kenner could neither understand nor appreciate the gesture.
Eerin also felt sorrow for the impending deaths of the two infants. Why had the Wopind asked hin and the humans to take suckling children? Heen must know there was no chance the babies could survive without food long enough to reach a settlement. Hope, Eerin realized, must live very strongly in a parent's heart. But hin could not share the hijacker's hope; Eerin knew the babies were doomed.
Hin headed back toward the common lounge at a near run, hoping the hijacker still lived--yet part of the Elpind almost wished heen would be dead.
Mark is right, Eerin admitted to hinself. Dancing for a hijacker will be seen as an inappropriate thing to do by those passengers who suffer under a new and heavy burden of grief. Hin was learning firsthand how overwhelming sorrow could be when Wo came without warning.
Cara, with both infants in her arms, looked up as Eerin entered the lounge.
"Hurry," she urged. "He's still alive, but barely."
Eerin nodded and went straight to the dying male. "Hin has returned," said Eerin loudly in Elspindlor, kneeling to slip the cushion under the Wopind's head. "The last Mortenwol begins." But neither the words nor lifting his head for the cushion roused the failing Wopind.
"Journey-taker," Eerin said sharply, using the ritual words for the dying and shaking the red-clad shoulder, "behold your last Mortenwol!"
With a moan the Wopind slowly opened his sea-green eyes.
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Eerin sensed heen's gratitude, for the hijacker was beyond speech by now.
Eerin jumped up and, with a quick motion, wove hin's Elseewas feathers into a headband. Moving to the center of the wrecked lounge and checking to be sure of the Wopind's clear view around the fallen cabinet, Eerin nodded with satisfaction to see the hijacker's gaze still fixed on hin. The Elpind laid the kareen at hin's feet, wound it, then touched it into life.
The first note sounded. Elseemar ... it seemed to sing to Eerin. Despite the circumstances of this Mortenwol, hin rejoiced to be dancing it while breathing the air of home.
Hin sprang into the air, savoring the lighter gravity. Before leaving Elseemar, gravity had been a thing never noticed. Now, after the constant drag of the slightly heavier environment at the Academy at StarBridge and aboard ship, this normal gravity felt like flying itself.
Eerin began the first pattern. This is for the journey-takers, hin thought, lett
ing hin's meaning encompass all the others around the broken ship who were, like the Wopind, even now meeting death, letting it reach to those whose breath had already stopped, letting it touch even the babies, soon-to-be journey-takers.
El is life and Wo is death, and each completes the other. Hin slipped into the second pattern. In the quick flight of a Shadowbird, El becomes Wo. Let it be, let that knowledge grace the fullness of each moment ... let it ever be so. The words of the ancient Telling for journey-takers, their rhythm in harmony with the swooping movements of the second pattern, ran through Eerin's mind.
And it will ever be so! Eerin leaped up, relieved to feel hin's old gladness at the surety, freed by the total acceptance of that surety.
Eerin rejoiced.
This was only the second time Cara had seen the Mortenwol, and she marveled again at the lightness, the elegant delicacy of the movements.
Gone was the bouncy abruptness she associated with normal Elpind
movements. Gone was her awareness of Eerin's bony frame, each limb marked by knobby, protruding
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joints. Instead, as she watched, the girl felt she saw a long, creamy feather taken by the breeze.
"What's it doing?" demanded a voice. Cara started and looked behind her.
A big, heavy set man was peering through the rent in the Asimov's side. He had great smears of red blood on his shirt, but seemed unharmed himself.
As Cara watched, he clambered back in, glaring from the dancing Elpind to the babies in Cara's arms. A doll dangled from one hand, as if he'd forgotten he held it. It, too, was covered with blood. His dark eyes beneath thick brows glittered feverishly.
Cara swallowed, and quickly laid the two babies down on a nearby chair cushion. "Eerin's not one of the terrorists," she said, moving so that she was between the newcomer and the oblivious Elpind. "Hin is fulfilling the last request of that hijacker over there, who is dying. It's kind of like the Elspind version of last rites," she explained, but he ignored her.
"The goddamn bastard is dancing! Dancing, because that sonofabitch over there is still alive!" he snarled.
Involuntarily following the man's gaze, Cara glanced down at the Wopind.
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