In Compartment One, Tarleton showed signs of strain.

Holding constant tension for any length of time. Barton realized, was a fast way to get tired. "Want me to take over for a while," he asked, "until Dr. Cummings has it under wraps?"

"No. A little longer won't kill me."

"Okay-then I'll get on the control-room problem."

"Try the screen from the galley. Barton. It's usually left on 'Open' from the control end."

"Okay. Hey, fill Slowboat in, will you, when you get a.

hand free? I got sore there, and forgot. Besides being-in a hurry to answer the door."

"Right." With a motion of the head, Tarleton waved him off. As Cummings began inspection of Helaise's arm, Barton left. He decided he could do without the next few minutes in Compartment One, anyway.

In the galley he first poured a cup of coffee. It was old, strong, and rank-it tasted like Barton felt. He flipped the switch that put the control room on the screen. Tarle- ton's hunch paid off; the screen lit.

Eesbta was there, all right-he could see her, slumped in the copilot's seat-hat off, head down, hands over her earholes-unmoving. But sitting up like that, she couldn't be dead, or unconscious. In shock, he thought- but why, and how?

"Eeshta," he said. "Eeshta-this is Barton. Eeshta, it's Barton. Are you all right?" Dumb question-obvi- ously she wasn't all right. "What's wrong, Eesbta? It's Barton-let me in. Get up and open the door, Eeshta.

Whatever's wrong, open the door-let me in to help you.

It's all right, Eeshta-nobody blames you for anything.

It's all right-let me help you."

Over and over, repeating and varying, Barton pleaded with the young Demu. But except for an occasional flinch- ing movement, Eeshta made no response. Barton kept trying, but he felt he was running out of steam. Finally he paused, silent-and saw Eeshta begin to tremble, a tremor that built until it shook the small form.

"Whnee?" Without thought he said if the first sound Eeshta had ever uttered to him in communication. Shrill and plaintive, he made it. And suddenly the small Demu was on its feet, facing him.

225.

"He cursed my eggs," Eeshta said, one slow syllable after another. "Hishtoo cursed my eggsl"

Not immediately, but soon, Eeshta unlocked the door.

Disregarding the question of whether his action suited the exoskeletal Demu instincts. Barton gave way to his own and cuddled the small, unhappy creature. Sounds of Demu distress mingled with his "there, there" .and "It's all right" and "Okay now-nothing to worry about."

Barton began to feel a little foolish, but gradually the kid was calming down.

When Eeshta was quiet, he asked, "Can you tell me about it?"

"Barton-Hishtoo cursed my eggs. My own egg- parent!"

"Well, how did it happen? Mind you-I don't think it really counts."

"It does! I defied him-and all of Demu pride. So he cursed me . . ."

"First, he broke loose-right? And grabbed He- laise?"

"Yes, Barton. He said we take this ship, and Helaise as prisoner, to Sisshain. There we copy your new weapon that we do not have-and wipe you from our sight."

"I see. And then, Eeshta?"

"I find that although I am Demu, I must not let him do what he says. I try to turn" Helaise free; Hishtoo with ter- rible force throws me to a wall. But I am not dead-bleed- ^S, yes, but living. I win to here and lock him away from me. But his curse follows-as the door closes, I hear it.

"Barton, that curse can kill. Why am I not dead? Hear- ing it, I want to be dead-I belong dead. So why do I still live?"

The idea required careful handling-witch doctors, Barton knew, could kill by the victim's faith in their powers.

"Eeshta," he said, "do you believe all the things that Hishtoo believes?"

"Barton, you know I do not-did I so, there would be no disagreement . . . and no curse. I would be whole, not filled with the death that is soon to come."

"You're missing the point, youngster. Curses-and believe me, I'm an expert on curses-only work between people who believe the same things."

"Can such a thing be true?"

226.

"It's a fact. Really-it's been proven, on Earth. Now, you no longer believe as Hishtoo does-right?"

"That is right. Barton-yes."

"So Hishtoo, any more, can't put a curse on you and make it work." Barton had a touch of inspiration. "And of course you can't put a curse on Hishtoo, either. You see?-it wouldn't work at all."

After a long silence, Eeshta nodded. "I see, now.

Thank you for explaining-I could have died of my own ignorance, could I not?" Her tongue lifted in the Demu smile. "Barton, you are good to me."

"Then, is everything okay now?"

"Almost, I think-though it will take time for me to know fully, what you say. But there is still one thing."

"What is that?"

"I am very hungry."

"Hell, so am I. Let's go!"

In the galley, after washing Eeshta's face. Barton de- cided to try a little culinary bluffing. Ordinarily he limited his "cooking" to the heating of Frozen Freddies, but he felt like taking a flyer. As a boy, on camping trips, he'd scrambled a few eggs without disaster-the Tilaran soft- shelled variety couldn't be too different . . .

He did not say "eggs" out loud-not to Eeshta-he merely scrambled them, threw in bits of green pepper and a dollop of Worcestershire sauce, and hoped for the best. As they ate, he thought: Barton, actually you are one hell of a good cook. On your better days . ..

"Still hungry, Eeshta?"

"No, Barton. I am satisfied."

"Good. Me, too. A little coffee?-I made a fresh pot."

"I would like that." Barton poured for two. No side- arms-they both drank it black. And now he set out the star map he had brought from the control room.

"Eeshta-can you find Sisshain on this map?"

"What is it, that you would do?"