Shadow World (16 page)

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There was a hint of truly sick mockery under this last that made Mark's mouth twist as he relayed the information.

"Right now," the translation continued, "the Wospind hold the nonhibernating passengers and some of the crew in the two smaller lounges to the rear. Other passengers, as you know, we left in hibernation. But this group"--here the Wopind beamed upon the people in the common lounge fondly--"is special. This group has been selected, some from hibernation, some from the passengers already awake, for a special purpose."

The passengers did not dare cry out again, but several huddled together, clutching each other. Tears were streaming down many of the humans'

faces, Mark noted. He had to fight back the urge to leap at Orim, kill hin with his bare hands.

"Once the shuttle containing the CLS scientists has achieved orbit, this group will be ferried to Elseemar and held until we have verified that every alien has indeed left our world. Then, and only then, we will allow one more contact with the CLS. We will take this group to a prearranged location and leave. Then a rescue ship will be permitted to land so this group can also leave. On its way, it can pick up the orbiting CLS representatives and scientists."

The Wopind's gaze moved around the lounge slowly. "When the alien taint is finally removed from our world, even the Wospind will be no more, for we will no longer be needed; all of Elseemar will be Elspind once again, united at last!"

It's obvious that hin has very little conception of interstellar distances and
travel time,
Mark thought, biting his lip.
It will take weeks to get a big CLS

ship out here from Shassiszss to pick us all up. And that's too long for one of
the small shuttles to orbit without running out of fuel. Orim's condemning the
CLS scientists to death with hin's demand.
He wondered whether the Wopind leader knew that.

He began sifting and analyzing the speech, remembering that he would have to relate it to the CLS representatives. He imagined himself translating it into either of the two alien languages he spoke fluently: Mizari or Heeyoon.

Could he do it? Would he be able to convince the CLS reps and the

WirElspind that Orim was deadly, as well as serious? Should he try to negotiate with the Wopind himself on behalf of the hostages?

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A flurry of movement from the entrance to the lounge made him look up again. He saw a hijacker, another heen, gesturing the black and silver Mizari into the lounge.

Sarozz! Oh, God, no! Tell me this isn't what I think it is!
Frantically Mark glanced around him, caught Eerin's eye. Hin looked as sick as he felt. The human closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe evenly.
Please,
some portion of his mind was praying, imploring to anyone or anything that would listen,
please, no! Please!

"So that the CLS will be convinced when they hear hin's words from the mouth of Mark Kenner, hin has arranged a demonstration of sincerity," Orim announced. "The images made now will be transmitted to the CLS when the communications link is established."

"You bastards!" Captain Loachin growled, unable to restrain herself. She tensed, as if about to throw herself forward.

"Captain!" Mark warned, his voice quiet but carrying. She subsided, her mouth tight with agony. The passengers muttered, distressed, but didn't dare move.

"One other participant is required," Mark heard the Wopind announce over the noise. Automatically he translated. Then, "Call the journalist forward,"

Orim ordered.

Mark stiffened.
No! Not Cara!
He tried to get the protest out of his mouth, but he was too late, as if it would have mattered anyway what he said. Even as he struggled to speak, Orim impatiently took matters into hin's own hands.

"Cara Hendricks!" hin shouted.
"Laris mian,
Cara Hendricks!"

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Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8

People of Death

The silent han marched Cara back to the locker where her camera was stored, and all the way, she struggled to overcome a sense of surreal horror.

Film an execution? The idea was barbaric ... sick. By the time she returned to the lounge, sensor patch once more on her cheekbone and the autocam floating by her side, Cara was filled with such burning anger and outrage that she faced the Wopind leader unflinchingly.

"I will help as much as possible by filming your speeches and transmitting your demands to the CLS," she said as Eerin translated. "But I
won't
film Esteemed Sarozz's death! Don't you understand that you'll only be hurting your cause if you go through with this?"

Orim's eyes flashed at her refusal, and Mark frantically shook his head.

Cara's mouth tightened and she folded her arms across her chest, staring stubbornly at the bulkhead. She didn't care what they did to her, she wouldn't be a party to this. Her anger gave her strength, stiffened her resolve. Maybe, if she stood her ground, the Wopind would back down.

"Cara Hendricks," a voice cal ed. The journalist turned to 108

see the doomed Mizari, Sarozz, regarding her anxiously. "Ms. Hendricks, your stand, while honorable, is also extremely foolish." The scientist spoke slowly and distinctly, mindful of Cara's limited Mizari. Also, whenever she had obvious difficulty, Mark translated. "I beg you, please reconsider. You must not anger our captors. In doing so, you put your own life in peril-- as well as the lives of our fellow passengers. The thought of my own death I can bear, but the thought of other deaths on my behalf ..." The Mizari's tentacles atop his wedge-shaped head made an eloquent gesture of

despair. The movement sent silver ribbons of light dancing around his head.

"Esteemed Sarozz." Her Mizari was adequate to her thoughts, but not her voice; it broke. "I just ... can't."

Orim watched coldly as the Mizari and the human argued.

"If they kill you for refusing, that will not save me," Sarozz pointed out.

"Nothing can save me. I have known for days that my death is inevitable, and I am prepared. Please, Ms. Hendricks ... do not endanger yourself."

Tears welled up in Cara's eyes. "But if I refuse," she managed to say,

"perhaps they'll change their minds."

The Mizari shook his head, obviously familiar with the human negative. "My death is in Orim's eyes. It will be quick, and painless. I am ready. Please, Ms.

Hendricks ..."

"All right," somehow Cara managed, then slowly, formally, she bowed to the Mizari in the fashion of his people, bowed as deeply as she could, trying to convey her respect and admiration for his courage. Then she straightened back up, activated her camera, and braced herself.

Sarozz's lidless black eyes held Cara's; he did not look at his executioner.

But Cara did--she made sure this shot included both the scientist and the Wopind leader who, with hideous and sadistic deliberation, slowly aimed his weapon.

Esteemed Sarozz lifted his head proudly. Light glimmered in soft colors off his iridescent headscales and floated like a reflected halo about his head as the small tentacles moved.

The Wopind fired. A beam of sizzling energy seared the Mizari's head, instantaneously charring his brain.

Screams rang through the lounge. Sarozz, however, made not a sound.

There was only a horrendously delayed
thud
when his black and silver body seemed to give up waiting for the

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destroyed brain to send it a message to fall ... then fell anyway.

Silent tears rolled down Cara's face, but she wasn't aware of them. Numbly, she filmed the length of the Mizari's still body, his blackened head, then Orim's satisfied expression. Numbly, she prepared the camera to transmit the images she had just filmed.

"Cara."

She looked down, noting absently that Mark knelt by the body with one of the
Asimov's
blankets. Shaking out its blue and white folds, he let them settle gently over Sarozz's ruined head. Then he looked up and called her name again.

The journalist simply stared at him. Dimly, she wondered why she felt nothing.

Mark rose and gently put an arm around her, leading her back to where his hijacker guard gestured him to stand. Cara leaned against him as her knees began to shake. "Take it easy," he whispered. "You had to do it. He understood, Cara ..."

Now it's your turn, Mark,
she thought.
Now they're going to make you speak
for them, as they made me film for them.

Feeling returned in a rush as she realized that she was now experiencing the same compassion for Mark that Sarozz had felt for her. The terrible aching knot in her throat abruptly loosened, and she began to sob. Mark held her tightly, and the feel of his arms was all that kept her from collapsing.

"Shhhhhh," he whispered, muffling the sounds she was making against his shoulder. "Shhhhhh ..."

Orim took three of them to the bridge: Captain Loachin because she insisted so loudly, Cara to transmit the film of the Mizari's death, and Mark.

The bridge was guarded by two more Wospind with guns, a female and a neuter. That made eight hijackers Mark had seen so far, and he knew there were more in the two rear lounges, guarding the other passengers and crew.

The
Asimov's
navigator was dead, and the First Mate and the Engineer had been forcibly removed from the bridge during the takeover. Only the Communications Officer and a second-class engineering tech supervised the bridge as the ship orbited Elseemar on automatic.

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The Communications Officer established contact with the CLS main

transmitter on the planet below, and Captain Loachin stepped forward to verify the ship's identity.

"We're glad to hear from you, Captain." The speaker in the holo-tank was a Heeyoon. "Berytin reported that your schedule had changed. Is everything all right?"

"No, it is not. We've been hijacked and are being held hostage," Loachin said tersely. "The hijackers have conditions the CLS and the WirElspind must meet before we will be released. Communicating with these Wospind has been difficult, since they do not speak Mizari, but fortunately, one of our passengers, a StarBridge student named Mark Kenner, speaks Elspindlor.

He will relay their demands."

"Hold just a moment. I'm transferring you," the wolflike being directed. "This linkup will be audio only." The screen went dark, and a moment later, a new voice came on. "Go ahead,
Asimov."

Mark stepped forward under the watchful eyes of the Wopind leader. The moment was here. His hands shook, and all his desperately rehearsed words jumbled together in his mind.

"Go ahead, Asimov. We're receiving you."

The language was Mizari and the pure inflection of the vowels meant that the speaker was a Mizari. Thinking of Sarozz, Mark's throat tightened, but he resolutely drew courage from the scientist's bravery. He couldn't let Sarozz's death be in vain. "This is Mark Kenner," he said steadily. "I'm a StarBridge student who has been pressed into service as a temporary spokesperson for our Wopind captors."

He checked the chrono. "Fifteen minutes ago, one of your own people, a Mizari named Sarozz, was deliberately murdered aboard this ship. He died very bravely. Please prepare to receive visual transmission."

Cara handed the autocam to the Communications Officer, who made the transmission. In close orbit as the
Asimov
was, the message would be received immediately, but playback would take a minute or two. Mark waited.

"Asimov,
we have received and viewed your transmission." The voice was now heavy with restrained grief. "This development unfortunately comes as no surprise. Last week one of our shuttles, along with a Heeyoon pilot, took off unauthorized.

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We figured the Wospind must have forced Swifthunter to pilot them off-world.

Is he aboard? Is he unharmed?"

"I'll ask."

Mark looked back at Orim, switched to Elspindlor, and asked the question.

"Yes, he's here," he replied a moment later. "He's being held in the starboard lounge, which is why I haven't seen him. They say that as long as he pilots them home safely, he'll be released unharmed."

"Thank the Spirits of the Sands for that, at least. I have sent messages to the WirElspind, and Shassiszss, explaining what has happened. Are you ready to relay the terrorists' demands?"

"I am," Mark said. "This is what they want ..."

Minutes later he had faithfully related all of Orim's words as precisely as he could translate them. "Do you understand?" he asked. "Did you get all that on record, uh ... what's your name?"

"Zahssez," the other said. "Affirmative, to both questions."

"Remember," Mark warned, "that unless you and the WirElspind act
immediately,
Orim intends to kill another passenger six hours from now"--he glanced at his watch--"uh, actually, five hours and twenty-three minutes from now. There are over a hundred and fifty passengers aboard, many of them children. Please, tell them to hurry!"

Zahssez's voice sounded heavy. "Mark, you have to make them realize that our field researchers are scattered all over the main continent. We fully intend to comply with Orim's demands, believe me, no matter what the WirElspind decides, but retrieving all those people will take time! More than six hours." He hesitated. "Can you talk them into extending that deadline? Or releasing the
Asimov
and taking only a few hostages aboard the shuttle, in return for our promise to begin evacuation immediately?"

"I don't know," Mark said dully. "I'll try."

"May the Spirits be with you," Zahssez said. "Our invocations certainly will be. We'll be standing by for your next transmission."

"Understood," Mark said.
"Asimov
out."

As StarBridge Academy's Counselor, Rob Gable had received calls in the night before. Since any transmissions that

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could wait until business hours were automatically delayed until then, anything that came through at night always meant bad news.

Sometimes it was a student in trouble (Rob still had nightmares about the call he'd gotten from Mark Kenner in the wee hours of the morning, when he'd discovered Jon's body), sometimes it was notification of death or disaster on somebody's home world.