"What will yo.... ?"
"I'll be back when I've finished with this lot. The...." He leered at her, old yellow teeth. "Maybe a baby. You see? I'm a poet, too. Maybe you'll like me now."
Waela felt the old snake of fear wriggle up her spine.
Another burn victim staggered into the emergency area, a spidery young female with elongated neck and head, gigantic eyes. Ferry helped her onto the emergency table, signaled a clone from secondary treatment to come in and help. A stump-legged figure clumped in, held the wounded woman's shoulders.
Waela turned away, unable to look at the pain in the woman's eyes. How silent she was!
"I'll be in soon," Ferry called as Waela left.
She stopped at the fabric closure to the rear of the shelter. "I can tend to myself. Hali taught me t...."
Ferry laughed. "Hali, sweet bloom of youth, taught you nothing! You're not a young woman, TaoLini, and this is your first baby. Like it or not, you'll need me. You'll see."
Another contraction seized her as she stumbled into her alcove. She doubled over until it passed, then made her way through the gloom to the cot, threw herself on it. Another long, hard cramp rippled the length of her abdomen, followed immediately by an even harder one. She inhaled a deep breath, then a third constriction began. Suddenly, the cot was drenched with amniotic fluid.
Oh, Ship! The baby's coming now. She's comin....
Waela clenched her eyes tightly closed, her entire body taken up in the elemental force moving within her. She had no memory of calling out, but when she opened her eyes, Ferry was there with the long-fingered dwarf she had seen in the outer area of the medical shelter.
The dwarf bent over her face. "I'm Milo Kurz." His eyes were overlarge and protruding. "What do you want me to do?"
Ferry stood behind the dwarf, wringing his hands. Perspiration stood out on his forehead and all the hysterical bravado she had seen in the emergency area was gone.
"The baby's not coming now," he said.
"It's coming," she gasped.
"But the med-tech's not back. The Natal...."
"You said you could help me."
"But I've neve...."
Another contraction rippled through her. "Don't just stand there! Help me! Damn you, help me!"
Kurz stroked her forehead.
Twice, Ferry reached toward her, and twice pulled back.
"Please!" Waela screamed it between gasps. "The baby must be turned! Please turn her!"
"I can't!" Ferry backed away from the cot.
Waela glared up at the dwarf. "Kur.... please. The baby has to be turned. Could yo.... ?" Another gasping contraction silenced her.
When it passed, she heard the dwarf's voice, low and calm. "Tell me what to do, sister."
"Try to slip your hands around the baby and turn her. She has one arm up and keeping her head fro.... ohhhhhh!"
Waela tasted blood where she had bitten her own lip, but the pain cleared her head. She opened her eyes, saw the dwarf kneeling between her legs, felt his hands - gentle, sure.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh," he said.
"Wha.... wha.... ?" It was Ferry, standing at the exit from the alcove, ready to flee.
"The baby tells me what to do," Kurz said. His eyes closed, his breathing slowed. "This infant has a name," he said. "She is called Vata."
Out, out.
Waela heard the voice in her head. She saw darkness, smelled blood, felt her nose stuffed wit.... wit....
"Am I being born here?" Kurz asked. He leaned back in a rapturous movement, held up a glistening infant wriggling in his hands.
"How did you do that?" Ferry demanded.
Waela threw her arms wide, felt the baby delivered to her breast. She felt the dwarf touching her, touching the infant - Vata, Vata, Vat.... Visions of her own life mingled with scenes which she knew had occurred to Kurz. What a sweet and gentle man! She saw the battle at the Redoubt, felt Kurz being wounded. Other scenes unreeled before her closed eyes like a speeded holo. She felt Panille's presence. She heard Panille's voice in her head! Terrifying. She could not shut it out.
The touch of the infant teaches birth, and our hands are witness to the lesson. That was Panille, but he was not here in the medical shelter.
She sensed the people they had left aboard Ship then - the hydroponics workers, the crew going about their business along the myriad passage.... even the dormant ones in hyb: All were one with her mind for an instant. She felt them pause in their shared awareness. She felt the questions in their minds. Their terror became her terror.
What is happening to me? Please, what is happening?
We live! We live!
All the other people vanished from her awareness as she heard/felt those words. Only the speaker of those words remained with he...tiny voice, a chant, an enormous relief. We live! Waela opened her eyes, looked up into the eyes of the dwarf.
"I have seen everything," he whispered. "The infan...."
"Yes," she whispered. "Vat.... our Vat...."
"Something's happening," Ferry said. "What is it?" He put his hands to his temples. "Get out of there! Get out, I say!" He collapsed, writhing.
Waela looked at Kurz. "Help him."
Kurz stood up. "Yes, of course. The worst of the wounded first."
***
In that hour when the Egyptians died in the Red Sea the ministers wished to sing the song of praise before the Holy One, but he rebuked them saying: My handiwork is drowning in the sea; would you utter a song before me in honor of that?
OAKES FELT his heart pumping too fast. Perspiration drenched his green singlesuit. His feet hurt. Still, he staggered away from the Redoubt.
Legata, how could you?
When he could move no farther, he sank to the sand, venturing his first look back. They were not pursuing.
They might've killed me!
Black char fringed the distant hole in the web where the mob had burned a passage to eject him. He stared at the hole. His chest pained him with each breath. Slowly he grew conscious of sounds other than his own gasping. The ground under his hand was trembling with some distant thunder. Waves!
Oakes looked toward the sea. The tide was higher than he had ever seen it. A white line marked the entire sea horizon. Gigantic waves crashed against the headland where they had built the shuttle facility. Even as he watched, a great wedge of headland slid into the waves, opening a jagged gap in the shuttle hangar. He staggered to his feet, stared. Black objects moved in the white foam of the crashing sea. Rocks! There were rocks larger than a man in that surf. Even as he watched, the garden - his precious garden - sloughed away.
Mewling cries like near-forgotten seabirds insinuated themselves across the spume. He looked up and turned around once, completely. Hylighters? Gone. Not one orange bag danced in the sky or hovered above the cliffs.
The cries continued.
Oakes looked toward the cliffs where Thomas had begun the attack. Bodies. The battleground lay there with pieces of people twitching in the harsh glare of the suns. Figures moved among the wounded, lifting some on litters and carrying them toward the cliffs.
Once more, Oakes stared back at the Redoubt. Certain death lay there. He turned toward the battleground and for the first time, saw the demons. A shudder convulsed him. The demons were a silent mob sitting in a wide arc beyond the battleground. A single human in a white garment stood in their midst. Oakes recognized the poet, Kerro Panille.
Those cries! It was the wounded and the dying.
Oakes staggered toward Panille. What did it matter? Send your demons against me, poet!