Panille directed a quizzical stare at Hali, then at Ferry. “Hali, this old man works for Oakes . . . and for himself. He’s an expert at the game of power politics and he knows that we’re a highly negotiable commodity.”

“That’s all past,” Ferry sputtered. The veins in his nose stood out like worms.

“Your guide’s waiting,” Thomas said.

“Her name’s Rue,” Panille said. “You might remember her better as Rachel Demarest’s cubbymate.”

Ferry swallowed, started to speak, swallowed again, then: “Rachel?”

Panille shook his head slowly from side to side.

A single tear formed at the corner of Ferry’s right eye, slid down his veined cheek. He took a deep, trembling breath, turned and shuffled toward the hatch. All the energy and urgency he had displayed earlier were drained from him.

“He really did save us,” Hali said. “I know he’s a spy but . . .”

“Who are you?” Thomas asked.

“This is Med-tech Hali Ekel,” Panille said.

Hali looked up at Thomas—so tall! His eyes held her. He appeared to be in some ageless ring of middle age, but when she took the hand he held out to her, it felt firm and youthful. A commanding hand, confident. She grew aware then that Waela and Kerro were touching. Kerro’s arm was around Waela’s shoulder, guiding her toward the hatchway.

“Med-tech,” Thomas said. “You’ll be a great help to us, Hali Ekel. Come this way.”

Hali resisted the pressure of his arm and watched Kerro reach out, inquisitive, to touch Waela’s abdomen with one finger.

Thomas saw the gesture and focused on Waela. “Something’s wrong with her. She should not be that big . . .”

Thomas loves her, Hali thought. The sound of concern was plain in his voice.

“My pribox says she’s only a few diurns from parturition,” Hali said.

“That can’t be!”

“But it is. Only a few diurns. Otherwise . . .” Hali shrugged. “. . . she appears to be healthy.”

“That’s impossible, I say. It takes much longer for a baby to develop into . . .”

“Lewis does it. You heard what the E-clones said.” That was Kerro returned from the hatchway, not concealing a faint amusement at Thomas’ confusion.

“Yes, but . . “ Thomas shook his head.

“Can you climb down to the beach by yourself, Hali?” Panille asked. “The rear of the freighter is already breaking up. And I think Waela . . .”

“Yes, of course.” She moved past him—the familiar face and familiar voice, his body much thinner than she remembered, though. It struck her then: He’s not the Kerro I knew! He’s changed . . . so different.

Behind her, she heard Thomas muttering: “I want to examine that woman myself.”

Chapter 64

Chapter 64

Man also knows not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil net and as the birds that are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falls suddenly upon them.