"What happened?" Cale asked as he forced himself to examine the crude splint.
"Talk about it outside," Ruth interrupted. "We have to get him out of here before anything else."
Cale nodded. "I'll find something we can use for a litter."
"Nah," the old man said. "Just gimme a hand up and let me lean on yer shoulder." Cale lifted the old man out of the chair and put his shoulder under Nabel's armpit. With Ruth stabilizing his left side, they made their way into the bright sunlight and out of the horrid stench. Cale found an old acceleration couch whose padding had not yet rotted away, and he jammed it into the ground. He hoisted Nabel into the improvised bed. "Okay, now what happened?"
Nabel grimaced. "Damned scaffold collapsed on me. M'right thigh's broken. I crawled over here to th' office. Lucky there was a survival water tin outside the hatch of that Epsilon tramp over there. I pushed it inta the office aheada me. Didn't get no food, though. I found the rod, stretched the thigh, an' splinted it. Been settin there ever since makin' bets with myself about whether you'd come back afore I starved."
Cale was puzzled. "Why us? I mean, you're on a planet. Why did no one come to find you? Why didn't you call for help?"
The old man chuckled. "Shit, Son, they ain't but about twenty folks left in Torlon City. They hate me an' I hate them. They pretty much leave me alone. An' the phone system ain't worked fer near ten years." He sobered as he shook his head. "Torlon's had it, boy. When I die, th' last spaceflight capability on Torlon will go away, and it'll go the way of Cutler's World."
Cale waved a hand. "What about those tramps over there on the field?"
"Hah! I put 'em there, boy. So's it'd look like Torlon was still an active port. But your ship was the first to ground here in half a year. Ain't been one here since you left, either. Did ya bring m'baby back to me?"
Cale nodded and started to speak, but Ruth interrupted. "Enough! This unfortunate man is injured and in pain. Noble sire," she asked Nabel, "Where might we find clean fresh water and a way to heat it?"
Nabel stared at Ruth as though seeing her for the first time. "Noble sire? I'd bet you'd be from… lessee… Ararat or Camelot, right? Damn if you ain't a purty thang."
Ruth winced inwardly at the old man’s swearing, but she smiled and nodded. "Ararat, noble sire."
Nabel looked at Cale. "I see why your mission was so urgent. Cain't blame ya none. I'da been in a hurry to get her, too!"
Both Cale and Ruth blushed and tried to stammer out denials at the same time, both trailing off as they heard the other speak.
Nabel just chuckled. "Then you're both damned fools. Th' water in the 'fresher in the office is good. The well goes through to bedrock. An' the galley works fer heatin'"
Cale nodded and set off. He found a bucket hanging from a rope outside the airlock of a DIN-class freighter hulk. He was still stiff from their high-G run, and yawning, but he got the water and heated it in the old corvette's tiny galley.
Between them they stripped off Nabel's filthy shipsuit and foul underwear, and Ruth calmly began cleaning the man up. She gave no indication that Nabel's nakedness bothered or offended her. She simply cleaned the dried urine and feces from the old man's skinny body in a calm and businesslike manner.
Then she turned her attention to his right thigh, gently touching and feeling the limits of the break. Finally, she sat back. "It is indeed broken, noble sire. May I offer my services? I am no healer, but I have set such for others in my village."
The hard lines of Nabel's face softened, as did his tone. "Yep. You're from Ararat, all right. Been there twice. The first time, by the time I figgered out their manners, I'd lost a deal. Second time was better." He paused, and a smile lit his face. "The manner of speech near drove me crazy, but I cain't say anyone ever tried to cheat me on Ararat. Thank ye, mistress. I'd be honored to accept your generous offer."
Cale gave the man a piece of thick leather to chew on, and then stretched the red, swollen leg. When Ruth felt the ends of the bone align, she replaced Nabel's makeshift splint with one from an emergency medical kit still aboard the DIN-class hulk. Cale rummaged through the med kit, hoping to find a nanobot kit, but he was disappointed.
Nabel shrugged. "They wouldn't have been any good by now, anyway. That ship's been here near twenty years." He brightened. "Say! If you can get me to th' orbital yard, I got an old Beta-class liner up there still powered up. I use it t'live in when I'm workin' up there. Which ain't often, any more. But she's got a real sickbay, with a regen tank. A few hours in there, an' I'll be right!"
L'rak was too small to transport the three of them, and Cale flatly refused to leave Ruth behind on Torlon, even for a few hours. However, Nabel assured him that one of the tramps on the port pad still flew. He used it to ferry ship parts down from the orbital yard. It was filthy and cluttered, but it did fly, and carried them to the liner. Cale matched orbits with the ships' airlocks only a few meters apart.
Ruth complained when told she would have to remain on the tramp while the two men went onto the liner. "You can't wear a suit with that long hair. Besides, it would be criminal to put you in a spacesuit without any training. There are too many ways a suit can kill you." Cale responded. Her pleadings failed miserably. Cale was adamant, and Nabel backed him up.
They helped Nabel into a suit and the two men simply jumped across the three meters between the airlocks. The liner was shabby, but her life support functioned flawlessly, as did her AI, which greeted them as they boarded.
Nabel explained their mission, and in moments, a robot floatchair appeared to carry the old man to the sick bay.
"I am activating the sick bay and the regen tank," the AI informed them. "I have run diagnostics, and the med comp is completely functional. Nanobot support is also available if needed, though the nanobots are nearing their expiration date." The AI's voice was female, a warm, cultured contralto befitting the fine liner she had once been.
Cale returned to the tramp and a frantic Ruth. Nabel joined them three hours later, walking effortlessly, as though he had not just had a broken thighbone. They returned to the planet.
Nabel was in an expansive, talkative mood. "While I was sittin' there in my own shit for a week, I had a lot of time to think," he began. “Torlon is done. I've tried for thirty years to find a younker I could teach to take over the business, or just to learn to pilot. But them as were interested was drove off by the book learning it took, an' once the port traffic slowed down, people started driftin' away from Torlon City. Ain't but about twenty left. Most of 'em went off farmin' or somethin'."
"What about the man over in the port building? The comm tech?"
"Him? Pah. It just makes him feel important to carry the comm alarm around. I figger he'll get tired of carryin' it someday, an' Torlon's last contact with the rest of the galaxy will be lost.
"Anyway," he continued, "I'm done here. I'll buy L'rak back, 'cause I said I would, an' 'cause I just hate to give her up. But I'm gittin' outta here. I figger I'll just load up that old tramp with the best stuff I got, take your gold, and head off fer greener pastures."
Cale grinned. "You'd abandon your scrap empire, here?"
Nabel's answering grin was accompanied by an enthusiastic bobbing of his head. "Truth is, I been bringin' in the only hard currencies on the planet, and the people here are goin' back to barter. No profit in that fer me. Oh, they's a good market out there fer used ship parts, what with the loss of manufacturin' since the Fall. But this fall showed me I'm too old t'be climbin' around on scaffolds in gravity fields."