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"No, nothing like that."
And Waela heard her old inner voice, Honesty, marking time: The baby will be
born soon. Soon.
Waela stared at Hali.
"What has you so worried?"
Hali looked at Waela's mounded abdomen. "If the hylighters hadn't brought us
that supply of burst from Colony . . ."
"Colony didn't need it anymore. They're all dead."
"That's not what I . . ."
"You're afraid my baby would've been robbing you of your years, your life and
.
. ."
"I don't think your baby would take from me."
"Then what is it?"
"Waela, what are we doing here?"
"Trying to survive."
"You sound like Thomas."
"Thomas makes a great deal of sense sometimes."
Three E-clones intruded, staggering into the shelter, two of them helping a
third who had lost an arm. All of them had been burned. One held the severed
arm against the stump, bloody sand all around the wound.
"Who's the med-tech here?" one of them demanded. He was a dwarf with long,
flexible fingers.
Ferry started to step forward, but Hali motioned him back. "Stay with Waela.
Let me know when she needs me."
"I'm a doctor, you know." There was hurt in the old voice.
"I know. Stay with Waela."
Hali led the injured trio to the emergency alcove partly sheltered by the
black rocks of the cliff. She worked quickly, closing up the severed stump
with celltape after powdering it with septalc.
"Can't you save his arm?" the dwarf demanded.
"No. What's happening out there?"
The dwarf spat on the floor. "Hell and damn folly."
She finished with his companions, looked at the dwarf. His comment surprised
her and he saw it. "Oh, we can think well enough," he said.
"Come here and let me tend to you," she said. His right arm was badly burned.
She spoke to distract him from his pain. "How did you come to be with the
hylighters?"
"Lewis pushed us out. Like garbage. You know what that means. There were
Runners. Most of us didn't get away. I hope the Runners get in there." He
gestured with his good arm at the Redoubt across the plain. "Eat every one of
those shiptit bastards!"
The dwarf slid off the treatment table as she finished. He headed toward the
exit.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to help where I can." He stood with the fabric flap held back and she
stared out the opening at the Redoubt. Blue flashes filled the air there.
She could hear distant shouts and screams.
"You're in no condition to . . ."
"I'm well enough to carry the wounded."
"There are more?"
"Lots of 'em." He lurched out the opening, the fabric falling closed behind
him.
Hali closed her eyes. In her mind she could see a mill of people. It changed
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to a crowd and the crowd became a mob. Foul-breath and the salty stink of
blood were on the wind. The tiny lips of cuts and the great smears of burn
wounds filled her imagination. A pair of broken knees blurred through her
memory --
the men on the crosses.
"That's not the way," she muttered. She took up her pribox and an emergency
medical kit, stepped to the opening, flung it back. The dwarf already was a
small figure in the distance. She strode after him.
"Where are you going?" It was Ferry's voice calling after her.
She did not turn. "They need me out there."
"But what about Waela?"
"You're a doctor." She shouted it without taking her gaze off the smoke
billowing in the distance.
When humans act as spokesmen for the gods, mortality becomes more important
than morality. Martyrdom corrects this discrepancy but only for a brief
interval.
The sorry thing about martyrs is that they are not around to explain what it
all meant. Nor do they stay to see the terrible consequences of martyrdom.
-- You Are Spokesmen for Martyrs, Raja Thomas, Shiprecords
LEGATA SWITCHED the big screen from sensor to sensor, trying to make sense of
what the instruments reported. Images blurred, re-formed in different
perspective. Cutter beams slashed across the plain, she could see bodies, odd
movements. Alarm buzzers signaled damage to a section of the Redoubt's
perimeter. She heard Lewis dispatch repair and defense teams. Defense
cutters beamed into action, directed by key people in the Center. She kept
her attention on the mystery in the screens. In the split-screen images an
occasional blur slipped past -- as though some outside force were confusing
the instruments.
She wiped a sleeve across her forehead. The two suns had climbed high while
the confused battle went on, and the Redoubt's life-support had been reduced
to minimum, shunting energy to weapons. It was hot in the Command Center and
the nervous movements of Oakes at her elbow irritated her. In contrast, Lewis
appeared unaccountably calm, even secretly amused.
It was carnage on the plain, no doubt of that. The clones in the Command
Center affected extreme diligence at their duties, obviously fearful that they
might be sent outside into the battle.
Legata hit replay. Something blurred across the big screen.
"What was that?" Oakes demanded.
Legata hit fix, but the sensors failed to resolve an image. Once more, she
hit replay and zoomed in close to the blur. Nothing sensible. She touched
replay again and slowed the projection, asking the Redoubt's computer system
for image enhancement. A slow shape writhed across the screen, vaguely
humanoid. It moved between two rocks, struggled with some heavy object, then
moved away.
A harsh blue beam snaked from somewhere within the blurred area, alarm signals
were indicated by flashing blinkers at the corners of the screen. She ignored
them -- that was past, and Lewis had met the emergency. Something more
important was indicated on the screen: a slow blossom of red-orange which had
not revealed itself there before.
"What are you doing?" Oakes demanded. "What caused that?"
"I think they're influencing our sensor system," she said. And she heard the
disbelief in her own voice.
Oakes stared at the screen for several blinks, then: "The ship! The damned
ship's interfering."
Sweat droplets glistened on his upper lip and jowls. She could smell him
beginning to crack.
"Why would the ship do that?" Lewis asked.
"Because of Thomas. You saw him out there." Oakes' voice was breaking.
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Legata switched sensors, keyed for the broad view of the cliffside staging
area where the attack had originated. The demons were gone, not visible
anywhere.
The poet no longer sat his perch atop the pinnacle. The arc of watching
hylighters had diminished to a thin rim atop the cliffs. The whole scene
stood out in the glare of double sunlight.
"Where are the hylighters?" she asked. "I didn't see them go."
"None in close," Lewis said. "Maybe they've gone off somewhere to . . ." He
broke off at a commotion near the open passage hatch.
Legata turned to see a dark-haired Natural, a crew supervisor, slip into the
Command Center. Sweaty and nervous, he hurried across to Lewis. There was
celltape covering a gory burn on the man's bare left shoulder and his eyes
showed the glazing of a painkiller.
So there are Naturals outside, too, she thought.
"We're getting lots of wounded clones, Jesus," the man said. His voice was
hoarse, tense. "What do we do with 'em?"
Lewis looked at Oakes, fielding the question.
"Set up an infirmary," Oakes said. "Clones' quarters. Let 'em treat their
own."
"Not many of them understand medical care," Lewis said. "Some are pretty
young, remember."
"I know," Oakes said.
Lewis nodded. "I see." He glanced at the crew supervisor. "You heard it.
Get busy."
The man glared at Oakes, then at Lewis, but obeyed.
"The ship's interfering with us," Oakes said. "We can't spare medical people
or any others right now. We have to devise a plan for . . ."
"What is going on out there?" Legata asked.
Oakes turned, saw that once more she was running through the sensors, showing
several at once. He glanced up at the screen and, at first, did not see what
had attracted her attention. Then he saw it -- a rectangle high up on the
right showed a silvery something creeping over the Redoubt's walls. It moved
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