“Gorshun dingat toruka,” he said and headed for the door, tugging on her leash.
“Yes!” Maybe she was getting through to him. She followed Spike back to the cart and started to climb into the front. He looked at her, aghast, and she realized a slave was not supposed to act this way. Reluctantly, she let him lead her to the back where he tied her into place like a dog.
Clucking at the donkey-beast, the man snapped the reins. The cart jerked forward. In minutes, they passed the main square, then turned down a side street. The man stopped near a nondescript hut. Untying her, he led her inside without knocking. Beth recognized Lumpy immediately. A slave woman was in one corner, cooking something over a small fire that was vented by a hole in the ceiling.
“What do you do if it rains,” she wondered aloud. No one paid her any attention.
The slave trader and Spike talked for a few minutes. Beth listened carefully, trying to pick up some words. The man said the word “rushnak” a couple of times when he was indicating the size of the device that Beth had referred to.
The trader went to this pouch and pulled out the Ute. “Yes!” Beth said loudly, startling both men. She pointed at it. “Rushnak.” She hoped she was using the word correctly. She reached out for it. Just let me have it long enough to turn it on!
Lumpy shook his head. He spoke to the man, then pulled one of the phase pistols from his bag. He pointed, indicating something coming out of the end, then slapped his chest and said a few words, including what sounded like “Darmsek.” Did that mean pain? Or danger?
Beth shook her head and pointed to it again. “Just turn the switch on the side, you dolts!” She tried to show it to them. Spike and Lumpy huddled together, turning the Ute over and over, trying to understand its mysteries. By accident, Lumpy hit the switch that caused a red light to glow on it. They pulled away. Lumpy held it at arm’s length.
“Yes, that’s it,” Beth tried to keep the excitement out of her voice, so she wouldn’t startle the big men. “That’s all there is to it. Now just speak normally. It will take about an hour before we have a minimal translation. When the light turns to yellow, that’s when you’ll know. And when it switches to green, we can talk normally with it.” Beth knew they didn’t understand a word.
There was more discussion between the two men. Spike wanted to take it with him, but Lumpy was reluctant to part with it. Some money exchanged hands and Lumpy handed it over.
“Now, what about my medical kit?” Beth was pushing her luck. She again showed the size of the kit.
The man’s brow furrowed. He spoke a few words to Lumpy. The slave trader shook his head. More words were exchanged. Beth held her breath. Lumpy dug through his bag and found the case. He held it up.
“Yes, that’s it,” Beth said quietly. She looked at Spike and pantomimed the cut on Greta’s forehead. “Please. I could use it to help my friend. And your valuable property.” She didn’t believe that, but she hoped her tone might convey her concern.
Lumpy opened the kit and examined the bottles, syringes, pills and bandages within. He looked up at the man and apparently named his price. Spike laughed and shook his head. They went back and forth. Clearly, Lumpy wanted too much for it.
“Wait.” Beth stepped forward, pantomiming being allowed to touch it. Lumpy pushed her away. She turned to the man, and pointed to her forehead again, making a small slashing move with her finger, then held up her thumb and forefinger, an inch apart. “I just need a little something to help Greta’s wound.”
Spike spoke again. Lumpy went to a table and picked up a crudely sharpened knife. He returned, then nodded slowly at Beth. His meaning was clear—don’t try anything funny. Beth sidled closer to the kit, keeping her eyes on Lumpy, trying to act submissive.
He allowed her to select some bandaging, adhesive tape, alcohol and a few headache tablets. When she tried to take a syringe and a sedative, he balked and waved the knife threateningly at her. She retreated. She opened her hands to show the meager items she had taken.
More words were exchanged. Spike gave him a few more coins. Lumpy was getting angry, so it was time for a quick retreat. In minutes, they were back in the cart, heading for home. The man held the Ute. Beth gripped the medicines to her chest and prayed that Greta would be able to recover from the concussion mostly on her own.
Greta hadn’t moved while they were gone. “Hi, Greta. I’ve got something for that gash on your head.” She bent down, examining the wound on her forehead. She wished she had a needle and thread. Greta would end up with a nasty little scar.
She turned to Spike. “Water? Do you have some water?”
The man stared at her. Beth looked around and spotted a wooden bucket with a cover on a table near the corner. She strode over to it and lifted the lid. Aha! “Water,” she said, splashing the liquid with her fingers.
“Vama,” the man replied.
Beth held out her hand for the Ute. He hesitated, then handed it to her. He was afraid it might be a weapon, she realized. “Vama,” she said into the machine, then pressed a button on the front. “Water.” The machine repeated the words. Spike’s eyes widened when it spoke for the first time. He stepped back.
She knew she was scaring the man, but it was important to jump-start the U.T. by giving it equivalencies. She would do many more in the hours to come. She handed the U.T. back to the startled man to show that it was harmless.
Taking a coarsely woven cloth from the tabletop, the doctor dipped half of it into the water, then returned to clean Greta’s wound. She put alcohol on a section of the dry cloth and disinfected the area. In a few more minutes, she had a bandage over the wound. Greta seemed to come to. She smiled at the doctor. “Thanks.”
The old man just watched her, fascinated. Don’t they have doctors on this planet? What if someone breaks a leg?
Returning to the water, Beth dipped a cup into it and gave Greta the headache pills, letting her swallow a little water. “I wish I had my scanner. I could see how that concussion is doing,” she remarked.
“It’s OK. I think I’m feeling a little better,” Greta said. “Where are we?”
“This man bought us at the auction, remember?
“Bought us?” Her memory was spotty.
“Yes. I think that means we’re his property,” she said. “But he seems harmless. Best of all, I convinced him to get us a Ute!”
Greta sat up. “We’ve got a Ute?”
Beth nodded. “It’s processing. With the Spike’s help, I hope to accelerate its learning curve.”
“Spike?” She giggled, seeing his hair. “God, yes. I’d love to be able to talk to these guys.” She grimaced.
“Hey, don’t overdo it. You should rest. You might feel better tomorrow.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. In minutes, she fell asleep again.
Beth looked around the room and identified several items that would have English equivalents. She motioned the man over. “Table,” she said.
“Lukita.”
She showed him how to press the button to tell the machine of a direct counterpart. Over the next half-hour, Beth programmed three dozen words. She checked the light on the device—it still glowed red. It needed more time.
“So, tell me about yourself,” she told the old man. “Why did you buy us? You don’t seem like the slave-owning type.”
The man shook his head.
“I know you don’t know what I’m saying, just talk to me,” she insisted, pointing to the device.
The man spoke a few words, then fell silent. Just like a man, he wasn’t much of a talker. Beth got another idea. She approached him. Taking one of his hands into hers, she brought it to her breast. “Breast,” she said.