They were cleanly, proud folk, and they kept their ship well ordered; human or not, they were a better crew than some lots of homo sapienshe had managed.
Fed and beginning to be warmed by the daylight, Kurt had only begun to achieve a certain calm in his situation, when the young officer approached him and had the chain removed. Kurt rose carefully, avoiding any appearance of hostility, and the man nodded toward the low cabin aft.
He let himself be directed below, where the officer opened a door for him and gestured him through.
Another young man was seated at a low writing table, on a chair so low he must cross his ankles on the floor. He spoke and Kurt’s escort left him and closed the door after; then he gestured, offering Kurt to sit too. There was no chair, only the woven reed mat on which he stood. With ill grace Kurt settled cross-legged on the mat.
“I am captain of this ship,” said the man, and Kurt’s heart froze within him, for the language was Hanan. “I am Kta t’Elas u Nym. The person who brought you in is my second, Bel t’Osanef.” The accent was heavy, the forms archaic; as Endymion’s communications officer, Kurt knew enough to make sense of it, although he could not identify the dialect.
“What is your name, please?” asked Kta.
“Kurt. Kurt Morgan. What areyou?” he asked quickly, before Kta could lead the questions where he would. “What do you want?”
“I am nemet,” said Kta, who sat with hands folded in his lap,—he had a habit of glancing down when beginning to speak. His eyes met Kurt’s only on the emphasis of questions. “Did you want that we find you? Was the fire a signal asking help?”
Kurt remembered, and cursed himself.
“No,” he said.
“Tamurlin are human like you. You camp in their land like a man in his own house,—careless.”
“I know nothing of that.” Hope surged wildly in him. Kta’s command of human speech found explanation—a Hanan base onworld, but something in the way Kta spoke the word Tamurlindid not indicate friendship between that base and the nemet.
“Where are your friends?” Kta asked, and took him by surprise.
“Dead,—dead. I came alone.”
“From what place?”
Kurt feared to answer and did not know how to lie, but Kta shrugged, and from a decanter on the table beside his desk he poured drink into two tiny porcelain cups.
Kurt was not anxious to drink, for he did not trust the sudden hospitality; but Kta sipped at his delicately and Kurt followed his example. It was thin and fruity-tasting, and settled in the head like fire.
“It is telise,” said Kta. “I offer to you tea, but teliseis more warming.”
“Thank you,” said Kurt. “Would you mind telling me where we’re going?” But Kta only lifted his small cup slightly as if to say they would talk when they were finished; and Kta took his patient time finishing.
“Where are we going?” Kurt repeated the instant Kta set his cup aside. The nemet’s short brows contracted slightly.
“My port. But you mean—what is there for you in my port? We nemet are civilized. “You are civilized too, not like the Tamurlin. I see this. Please do not have fear. But I ask: why came you?”
“My ship—was destroyed. I found safety on that shore.”
“From the sky, this ship. I am aware of such things. We have all seen human things.”
“Do you fight the Tamurlin?”
“Always. It is an old war, this. They came,—long ago. We drove them from their machines and they became like beasts.”
“Long ago.”
“Three hundreds of years.”
Kurt kept his joy from his face. “I assure you,” he said, “I did-n’t come here to harm anyone.”
“Then we will not harm you,” said Kta.
“Am I free, then?”
“In day, yes. But at night—I am sorry. My men need secure rest. Please accept this necessity.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Kurt. “I understand.”
“ Hei yth,” said Kta, and joined his fingertips together before him in what seemed a gesture of gratitude. “It makes me to think well of you, Kurt Morgan.”
And with that, Kta turned him out on the deck at liberty. No one offered him unpleasantness, even when his ignorance put him in the way of busy men. Someone would then gesture for him to move—they never touched him—or politely call to him: “ Umanu, o-eh,” which he thought was his species and a request to move. And after a part of the day had passed and he decided to imitate the crew’s manner of bows and courteous downcast looks, his status improved, for he received bows in return, and was called “ umanu-ifhan” in a tone of respect.
But at night the young officer Bel t’Osanef came and indicated he must take his place again at the mast. The seaman who performed Bel’s order was most gentle in applying the chain, and came back afterward to provide him a blanket and a large mug of hot tea. It was ludicrous. Kurt found the courage to laugh, and the nemet seemed also to understand the humor of the situation, and grinned and said, “ Tosa, umanu-ifhan,” in a tone which seemed kindly meant.
His hands left free, he sipped his tea at leisure and finally stretched out at such an angle that he did not think anyone would trip over him in the dark. His mind was much easier this night, though he shuddered to think what might have become of him if not for the nemet. If Kta’s Tamurlin were indeed fallen Hanan, then he had had an escape close enough to last a lifetime.
He would accept any conditions of the nemet rather than fall to the Hanan: and if Kta spoke the truth and the Hanan were powerless and declined to barbarism, then he was free. There was no more war. For the first time in his imagination, there was no more war.
Only one doubt still gnawed at the edges of his mind: the question of why a modern Hanan starship had run from the destroyed world of Aeolus to this world of fallen humans.
He did not want to think on that. He did not want to believe Kta had lied, or that the gentleness of these people hid deception. There was another explanation. His hopes, his reason for living insisted upon it.
In the next two days he walked the deck and scanned the whole of the ship for some sign of Hanan technology, and concluded that there was none. She was wooden from stem to stern, hand-hewn, completely reliant on wind and oars for her propulsion.
The skills by which these men managed their complex vessel intrigued him. Bel t’Osanef could explain nothing, knowing only a handful of human words. But when Kta was on deck, Kurt questioned him earnestly; when the nemet captain seemed finally to accept that his interest was unfeigned, he tried to explain, often groping for words for objects long-vanished from human language. They developed between them their own patois of Hanan-Nechai, Nechai being Kta’s own language.
And Kta asked about human things, which Kurt could not always answer in terms Kta could understand. Sometimes Kta looked puzzled at human science and sometimes shocked, until at last Kurt began to perceive the disturbance his explanations caused. Then he decided he had explained enough. The nemet was earthbound; he did not truly conceive of things extraterrestrial, and it troubled his religion. Kurt wanted least of all for the nemet to develop some apprehension of his origins.
A third day passed in such discussions, and at the dawn of the fourth, Kta summoned Kurt to his side as he stood on the deck. He had the look of a man with something definite on his mind. Kurt approached him soberly and gave a little bow of deference.
“Kurt,” said Kta, “between us is trust, yes?”
“Yes,” Kurt agreed, and wondered uneasily where this was tending.
“Today we go into port. I don’t want shame for you, bringing you with chains. But if I bring you in free, if then you do hurt to innocent people, then I have responsibility for this. What must I do, Kurt Morgan?”
“I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. And what about your people? How will they treat me? Tell me that before I agree to anything.”
Kta opened his hands, a gesture of entreaty. “You think I lie to you these things?”