By that time, Ha’anala’s daughter had worked out what was going on, and Suukmel turned her attention to reassuring the child and greeting the guests who began to gather, alerted by Sofi’ala’s anxious wail. Though the Jana’ata considerately withdrew after conveying their good wishes, the house was soon crowded with Runa, who brought enthusiasm and encouragement and food for the assemblage, along with the warmth of their bodies and of their affection. Like the Runa, Ha’anala believed a birth was an occasion for festivity and seemed happy for the distraction, so Suukmel did not drive the visitors off.
If the contractions did not quicken, they did at least increase in intensity and Ha’anala welcomed that, despite the pain. In the midst of an endless discussion of what might hurry the labor along, a boy ran in with news of the lander and soon they all heard its horrifying noise, the room emptying abruptly as the crowd moved off to witness this astonishing arrival.
"Go on—see what it’s like!" Ha’anala told Suukmel. "Tell me about it when you come back! I’ll be fine, but send Shetri!"
"Orders, orders, orders," Suukmel teased as she left for the landing site at the edge of the valley. "You sound like Sofi’ala!
Alone at last, Ha’anala rested as best she could, surprised by how tired she was so early in this labor. She listened as the roar of the engines abruptly ceased, heard the buzz of conversation indistinct in the distance. Days seemed to pass before Shetri came to her; despite all she wanted to ask him, the only words she spoke aloud were, "Someone is cold."
Shetri went to the door and shouted for help. Soon Ha’anala was lifted to her feet and, though she stopped and squatted now and then, hit by another contraction, she was able to walk slowly to a place where game in miraculous quantity was spitted and roasting over smoky fires. Smiling at the spontaneous carnival that had erupted, her eyes sought out the foreigners in the crowd. One was close in size to Sofia, the others as tall as Isaac, but with none of his wandlike slenderness. Dark and light; bearded and hairless and maned. And the languages! High K’San and peasant Ruanja and H’inglish—as hilariously mixed in the confusion of the cooking and greetings and stories as Ha’anala’s own speech had been when she’d first met Shetri.
"They are so different!" she cried, to no one in particular. "This is wonderful. Wonderful!"
Cheered by warmth and the prospect of rapprochement with the south, Ha’anala knelt heavily, bearing down with a will, certain that this was the moment when the new child should be brought into light and laughter. She felt instead a tearing pain that made her scream and silenced the others, so that only the hiss of fire and the distant warbling of a p’rkra could be heard. When she could breathe again, she laughed a little and assured everyone wryly, "I won’t try that again!"
Slowly the merriment and conversation resumed, but she could smell Shetri’s anxiety and this worried her. "Tell me about your journey!" she commanded affectionately, but he was frightened and made an excuse to help the foreigners distribute meat, sending Rukuei to sit behind her like a Runa husband. Suukmel came as well, and Tiyat, with her youngest riding her back. Content to have her cousin’s arms around her shoulders, Ha’anala leaned back against his belly, his legs drawn up around her own, his cheek resting near hers, and listened as Rukuei sang of his adventure in a spontaneous poem with the rocking rhythm of a steady walk. She was genuinely interested in the story, and drifted along, buoyed by the tale, laughing when Rukuei made comedy out of the fright he had been given by the little foreigner Sandoz.
"Small individuals can be surprisingly powerful," Ha’anala observed breathlessly, leaning over to press her lively belly between her chest and legs, glad that she could summon up a little humor even now.
Hearing his name, Sandoz had joined them, making an obeisance rather than offering his hands..When the introductions were over, he sat where he too could watch the party: silent, hunched and rocking slightly, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture very nearly mimicked her own during a contraction, and Ha’anala’s first words to him were, "Funny, you don’t look pregnant."
He stared and then hooted, startled by the remark but apparently amused. "If I am, we’re definitely going to have to start a new religion," he replied, and if she didn’t understand all of his words, she liked his smile. He had eyes like Sola’s—brown and small—but warm, not stony. "My lady, what language best pleases you?" he asked.
"Ruanja for affection. English for science—"
"And jokes," he observed.
"K’San for politics and poetry," Ha’anala continued, pausing as the wave crested and then receded. "Hebrew for prayer."
For a time, the five of them watched Runa tending fires and roasting sticks of root vegetables now that the Jana’ata had been able to eat their fill. "We have dreamed of this," Suukmel said, smiling at Tiyat and then reaching out to grasp first Rukuei’s ankle and then Ha’anala’s.
"Dreamed of what?" Sandoz asked. "Eating well?"
Suukmel considered him for a time and decided he was being ironic. "Yes," she agreed easily, then swept an arm across the panorama. "But also of this: all of us together."
"Someone’s eyes feel good to see it," said Tiyat. She looked down at her sleeping son, and then at the people surrounding Ha’anala. "Three kinds are better than one!"
"Sandoz, tell me about each of your companions," Ha’anala said, in the language of politics.
He motioned toward the one with the bare skull first and answered her in the language of affection. "Djon has clever hands, like a Runa, and a generous heart. Look now at his face, and you will learn how a human appears when he enjoys something. Someone thinks: to help others is Djon’s greatest pleasure. He has a talent for friendship." He paused, and switched to K’San. "I believe he is incapable of lying."
"The one next to him?" Ha’anala asked, glancing at Suukmel, who was also listening carefully.
The answer was in Hebrew. "He is called Shaan. He sees very clearly, without sentiment." Sandoz paused, looking at the others, and realized that only Ha’anala spoke Hebrew. In K’San he said, "Sometimes it is necessary to hear hard truths. Shaan is fierce, like a Jana’ata, and unsparing. But what he says is important." He gestured then toward Joseba, and simplified the name. "Hozei also sees clearly, but he is subtle. When Hozei speaks, I listen carefully."
"And the black-haired one?" Suukmel asked, when Ha’anala was silenced by another contraction.
Sandoz drew in a chestful of air and let it out slowly. "Dani," he said, and they waited to hear which language he selected. "He may be of use to you," he said in K’San. "He knows from his own people’s experience what the Jana’ata face, and he wants very much to be of aid to you. But he is a man of ideals, and has sometimes chosen them over ethics."
"Which makes him dangerous," Suukmel remarked.
"Yes," Sandoz agreed.
"The one who is singing?" Ha’anala asked. "He, too, is like a Jana’ata, I think. Is he a poet?"
Sandoz smiled and continued in Ruanja. "No, not a poet, but Nico appreciates the work of poets, and his voice graces it." He glanced at Tiyat and chose his words carefully. "Nico is more like a village Runao, who can be led easily by anyone who is forceful." He paused as the three Jana’ata exchanged looks. "Nico can be a danger, but I trust him now. In any case, he won’t stay with you," Sandoz told them. "He is a member of a trading party that will only be here long enough to do business in the south. The others wish to remain here, to be of use and to learn from you, if you will permit it."
"And you, Sandoz?" Rukuei asked. "Will you stay or go?"
He did not answer because Ha’anala closed her eyes, folding over her belly, and this time, gave a strangled cry that brought Shetri to her side. When her breath returned, she said, "It will be well. I am not afraid."