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 to . . .”

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 coming . . .

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 Natali . . .”

“You said you could help me.”

“But I’ve never . . .”

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. “Kurz . . . please. The baby has to be turned. Could you . . .” 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 from . . . 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.

“What . . . what . . .” It was Ferry, standing at the exit from the alcove, ready to flee.