"What—what is that?" Her voice was suddenly shrill.
A doll, or an old dwarf, or a worn-out elf was sitting in the chair. Miss Tweedham pointed at this. The doll was relaxed and at ease. Its head had fallen forward across its chest. The doll was remarkably life-like. Every hair was visible on the head, each skin wrinkle was clear on the back of the neck. The clothing was ragged, holes showed in the bottoms of the shoes.
"What—what is that?" the woman repeated.
"That's Ed Early," Sanderson said.
"Uh—uh—"
"The esse." L'Sor breathed. "Malovel used the esse."
"Early's dead," Sanderson said. "Quite dead." He stepped forward in time to catch Miss Tweedham before she fell.
In trying to be calm, Sanderson found he needed all of his years of training to grasp even a semblance of what he sought. Behind him, in the bedroom, he could hear Big Marie moving again. The moaning in there had stopped. He tried to distract himself by looking through the window but the sight of the withered crops trying to grow added nothing to the calm he was seeking. He thought how precarious was the hold of this little group of humans on Mars—and on life itself.
Two men carrying a small box came into view. The box was small but the men carried it as if it were heavy. The esse shrunk the size but did not reduce the mass. In the box, Early weighed just as much as he had ever weighed but he would not take up as much room in the graveyard.