Echo

THIRTY-SEVEN

The world was moving in slow motion. The hatch slid open while I coughed and tried to suck in air. I saw a pair of light brown oversized sandals and thick yellow trousers. A heavy and soiled white shirt hung down to the knees. Two large gray hands dangled from sleeves rolled back onto hairy forearms. Then a face appeared, bearded, lined, with thick lips muttering something. He was bending down, looking at me, looking past me, straightening as the hatch opened. He immediately took my arm and tried to pull me forward. Come on. Get out. I looked back toward Alex. The man’s forehead creased. He motioned frantically. Out. He grabbed my arm, literally lifted me out, and pointed at the ground. Then he pushed past me into the airlock.

The lander was belching black smoke. Alex’s restraints had given way, or he’d gotten out of his seat on his own. In any case, he was crumpled in the rear of the cabin against the storage unit. The man went to him and threw an arm around him. I followed him back in. He did not exactly look like a tower of strength. But he lifted Alex and began dragging him toward the airlock. I tried to help, but I wasn’t able to do much more than get in the way. He got him through the hatch and lowered him to the ground. Alex’s left leg was bent in an awkward fashion. Not good.

We paused at the foot of the ladder, and he asked me something. It had to be whether anyone else was inside. He looked ready to go back in. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away. “No. Nobody else.” Then I pointed at the vehicle. “Boom.” Accent on the vowels. He got the message, and we hauled Alex and ourselves off to a safe distance and got behind a hill.

“Thanks,” I said.

He nodded. Smiled. Asked another question. The language, or at least this guy’s pronunciation, was rhythmic. Almost lyrical, with a tendency to draw out the vowels. I replied with a smile. “I’m okay.”

He was about my height, with sallow skin and unkempt gray hair. His lips were thick, and his nose looked as if it had been broken. And he could have used some dental work. But he raised a hand in greeting, and those thick lips parted in a broad smile. “Faloon,” he said.

It was either his name or hello, so I said it back, stretching the o’s as he had. Then I was kneeling over a reviving Alex. “How you doing, boss?”

His eyes opened, and his mouth twisted with pain. “I’ve been better.” He just lay there breathing for a minute or two. Then: “What happened?”

“We lost the lander.”

“Oh,” he said. “Okay.” As if we’d go down to the store and pick up a new one in the morning. Then he was gone again.

The guy took a long look at me. Rubbed his cheeks. Put a hand on Alex’s forehead. Then he said something in a soft, reassuring tone.

At that moment, the lander blew. Alex’s eyes came open again. “I hope,” he said, “there’s nothing in it that we need.”

Our rescuer pointed at the ground and said something. I shook my head. Don’t understand a word. He nodded. Held up his right hand in a kind of wave. Wait. Then he hurried off into the trees.

I tried contacting the Belle-Marie. But the ship was out of range. “Alex,” I said, “how you doing?”

He moved. Nodded. I’m okay.

“Alex—”

“I’m all right. What happened?”

“We crashed. How’s your leg?”

“I think it’s broken.”

“Let me look.” He was right; but at least there was no bone sticking out anywhere. “Don’t move,” I said. “We’ll need a splint.”

“How about you, Chase?”

“I’m fine.”

“Where’s the lander?”

I pointed at a cloud of smoke drifting past.

“That’s us?”

“Yes.”

“We got anything left?”

I walked out where I could see. There was a blackened hull, and pieces of wreckage scattered around. “It isn’t going to fly again.”

“Okay. We’ll manage. How’d you get me out here?”

“We had some help. One of the locals.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t try to shoot us?”

“No. Fortunately not.”

He was quiet for a minute. The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning plastene. “Where’d he go?”

“For help, I think.”

“I hope so.” Alex shook his head. Then he remembered something. “Chase—?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me we didn’t forget the scramblers? That we didn’t leave them in the lander?”

I ran my hands along my belt. No weapon. I didn’t customarily wear it while on board, but I recalled grabbing it when our visitor began pounding on the hatch. I had no idea where Alex’s scrambler was, but I could see he wasn’t wearing it, either, although he still had the holster. “Wait,” I said.

I went back toward the wreckage, searching the ground. One of them, mine, was lying in the grass.

Gradually, the chirp and buzz of insects penetrated the late afternoon. Despite the vast differences between living worlds, the harmony of the forest never changes. Woodlands may differ in the tone of howls and snorts and screeches, but there are always insects, and they always sound the same.

We waited. I used my jacket to make a pillow for Alex, and he commented that he’d enjoyed the ride. “One of your smoother landings.” Then: “What’s he like?” He meant our rescuer.

“He seems reasonable enough.”

“He is coming back?”

“I hope so.”

Almost an hour later, he walked out of the trees, accompanied by two others. At about the same moment, my link sounded. It was Belle. The ship. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Alex has a broken leg. Otherwise, we’re okay.”

“Are you in any immediate danger?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you got out of the lander safely. You pushed it too far, Chase. I warned you.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” said Alex. “How long before we can expect help?”

“Twelve days, at the earliest.”

Alex traded smiles with Faloon. “We’ve been rescued by locals,” he said.

“They are not a threat?”

“No. We’ll keep the links active. I want you to listen in and try to pick up the language. Can you do that?”

“I can try, Alex.”

Our rescuers had brought a pallet, consisting of a couple of blankets stretched across two tree limbs. They talked among themselves and delivered reassuring sounds to us. One carried a gun in his belt. It was like the ones used against us at the fishing camp. Primitive but effective. We kept the links on, but the receivers were in our ears so that Belle’s voice wouldn’t be overheard. “By the way,” she said, “be aware that I’ll be out of range again in a few minutes.”

“How much time will we get?” Alex asked.

“About eleven minutes on each pass. I’ll let you know,” Belle said, “when I’m in the zone, and I’ll warn you when you are about to lose contact.”

They all wore animal-skin leggings and jackets. And they had straggly beards. One of them had brought the makings of a splint. Another carried a flagon. I approached the one who’d rescued us and pointed at myself. “Chase,” I said.

He nodded. “Turam.” (I found out later that “faloon” was indeed the standard greeting.) We shook hands. The others were Dex and Seepah.

They looked at Alex’s leg, talked to one another, and they knelt around him. Seepah, the tallest of the three, applied ointment, then said something to Alex. We didn’t have to speak the language to translate: This will hurt a little bit. They held the flagon out for him and signified he should drink.

He tried it. Looked at me like a trapped animal. You think these guys know what they’re doing?

When he attempted to return the flagon, Dex shook his head, and said one word. There was no mistaking the meaning: More.

Belle notified me she was losing the signal. “Good luck,” she added.

They handed the flagon to me. It was lemon-colored, and it smelled all right, so I tried it. “That’s not bad,” I said. A couple of minutes later, I was out.

When I recovered, they’d finished setting Alex’s leg and were lifting him carefully onto the pallet. Two of them picked him up and started for the woods. Turam came back to me, smiled, and asked something. Was I all right? I nodded. He helped me up, and we followed the others.

A boat was waiting for the river crossing. The group of structures I’d seen from the air occupied the opposite bank. We got in and pushed off. Dex and Turam rowed while Seepah stayed close to Alex.

I hadn’t been aware how wide the river was. It was peaceful and quiet, but we needed twenty minutes of furious rowing to get to the other side.

Several people were waiting when we docked. They looked at us curiously, asked questions of everyone, including Alex and me, and relieved those who’d been carrying the pallet. I recorded the conversations for analysis by Belle.

At the center of the cluster lay a two-story building that might have been a hotel in another era. It was a three-sided structure, U-shaped, with the open end in the rear. It had a covered deck, which was liberally supplied with chairs, tables, and potted plants. Houses, sheds, and barns surrounded it. I thought I heard animals somewhere. And two other, smaller, buildings, which appeared to be greenhouses, stood off by themselves. Except for a narrow open space that ran from the front doors of the long building to the river, the entire compound was sealed off by forest.

By the time we arrived, dusk was settling in. Lights burned in a number of windows, both in the houses and in the long building. A few front doors opened as we approached, and more people, including a few children, came out and looked.

“I guess,” I told Alex, “they don’t get many visitors.”

“Maybe,” he said, “but I’ll bet the real issue is that they saw us pass overhead in the lander. I doubt they’ve seen much antigrav technology.”

Seepah took us inside, where still more people waited. He led us down a hallway into a room illuminated by a half dozen oil lamps. A long table stood in the center. There were a couple of cabinets, a desk, and a scattering of chairs. They cleared the chairs out of the way, threw a sheet over the table, and transferred Alex to it.

Seepah checked him again. Removed a windup clock from a bag and took Alex’s pulse. The result brought a frown. He said something to Alex. Then to Turam. It looked like bad news, but there was no sign of a bullet wound anywhere. “You okay?” I asked Alex. “Other than the leg?”

“I’m a little out of it. But yeah, I’m fine.”

Seepah pointed at his wrist. Feel the pulse. I tried his forehead first. I’m not a medic, but he didn’t seem warm. I checked his pulse against the timer in the link, and it was normal. I shrugged. Told Alex he was fine.

They apparently assumed we were a couple and assigned us to quarters near the far end of the building. There were two rooms, one with a sofa and three chairs. The other was a bedroom with a double bed. They got Alex into it, his leg wrapped and immobilized. He didn’t wake up during any part of the process. Then, I’m pretty sure, they told us to let them know if we needed anything.

One of the women showed me where the ladies’ washroom was located. The men’s was immediately next door.

When it was over, and they’d left, I collapsed on the sofa. I’m not sure how long I was out. Eventually, I was awakened by a knock at the door. Someone delivering crutches.

I thanked him and put them in the bedroom.

The apartment, if you could call it that, was spare. But it beat living in the woods. We had thick curtains to maintain some privacy. Carpets in both rooms. The walls could have used a restorative, but they were okay. There was a sketch near the door, of an angel, or a goddess, a woman with spreading wings, clothed in a flowing garment, one breast exposed.

Turam came by to see how we were doing. He brought with him a tall, thin, scholarly woman with intense eyes. Her name was Viscenda, and it was fairly clear that she was the person in charge. The director or mayor of the community. Or maybe the queen. I could also see that she wasn’t excited about having people from outside interrupting the routine. She went through the motions of making us feel welcome. Then she left.

Turam stayed behind to try to determine how we were doing. He asked about Alex’s leg. Alex was explaining it was coming along nicely when Belle became active. “I need direct interaction with these people,” she said, “if you expect me to become conversant.”

“Not right now, Belle,” Alex said. “Let’s give it a little time.”

We indicated to Turam, as best we could, that we wanted to learn the names of things. I pointed at the river. What do you call it? And what were those that hung on the windows and kept the sun out?

He understood, and seemed anxious to help. He pointed out objects in the room, the windows and curtains and books. We figured out how to ask for a book, how to describe the act of either opening or reading it (we couldn’t be sure which), and how to ask for a pen. The only writing instruments they had were long, metal-tipped instruments that had to be dipped into a bottle of ink. But that gave us translations for “ink” and “bottle.” When Belle passed out of range, it didn’t matter. We kept going.

In the midst of the conversation, a woman arrived, carrying a tray with cups and bowls, something that looked like bread, a pitcher filled with a cherry-colored liquid, and a covered tureen trailing a wisp of steam.

There were utensils for each of us, a spoon, a knife, and something I can only describe as a set of needles.

Alex’s eyes caught mine. Was the food safe?

It smelled good. Like beef stew. With lots of onions.

“It’s probably okay,” I said. Turam looked at us, trying to figure out why we were hesitating. “Let’s not offend the host,” I added.

The woman filled two bowls with the stew and showed us the accompanying condiments. I nodded. This one, please. It looked like pepper.

She set Alex’s food on a tray, and Turam helped him sit up. Alex tried his before mine arrived. “Only thinking of your safety,” he said with a smile.

There were several types of meat in the mix. I had to assume it was real off-the-bone animal meat, but I put that out of my mind. Alex was thinking the same thing, and we exchanged shrugs. Any port in a storm.

I tried the gravy first. It didn’t taste like anything I’d had before. Closest I could come would be pork with maybe a twist of lemon brewed in. It was good. The liquid in the cup was brewed, but it also had a unique flavor. A tea with some sort of fruit additive? And the bread had a rye flavoring.

It was good.

“Chase.” Belle was overhead again. “How are you doing?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” I said.

“I’m glad to hear it. Can we conduct some conversations with the natives?”

“There’s no one here at the moment except Alex.”

“Okay. May I suggest that, on the next pass, you arrange to be out in some public area? I’ll be content just to listen, if you prefer. But the more exposure I have, the quicker I’ll be able to grasp the language.”