As he climbed down the ladder from Thunderbird One's belly, Scott started when a hand was laid against his leg. Not wanting to be trapped, he jumped down the remaining few feet, and spun as he hit the ground, immediately in defensive mode. He let out a relieved breath when he found the hand belonged to the woman, who had now gone to her knees, her hands lifted in entreaty.
The woman was of indeterminate age, with Slavic features, dressed in a long felt skirt and babushka. She was by turn wailing and begging, and to Scott's dismay, speaking in what could only be a local dialect. He pulled the woman to her feet, and led her out from underneath his ship.
As soon as he let go of her arm, she fell once again to her knees, then flat on the ground, prostrating herself before him. Scott wavered between annoyance and embarrassment. He had on occasion run into this kind of worshipful attitude, but it never became any easier to deal with.
Stepping back to keep the woman from actually kissing his boots, Scott reached to his belt and pulled out a device that looked like a microphone. It was actually a translation tool linked through Thunderbird One to the extensive language databases in Thunderbird Five's computers. The woman had shown no sign of letting up her wailing monologue, so Scott just held out the device to catch the language until a blue light came on.
Scott flicked a switch, and suddenly the device started delivering a tinny translation of the woman's words. "You have come. In your kindness you have come. You will save my babies. Allah will bless you a thousand-fold. Oh, you have come."
Increasingly uncomfortable, Scott reached down and once again pulled the woman to her feet. Despite this, the woman continued ducking her head in bows, keeping up a non-stop stream of thanks. Scott spoke sharply to get her attention. "Yes, madam, I am here. Please, I am here to help, but you must stop your crying. I can do nothing for your children if I do not have more information from you."
Scott knew his words were harsh, but his experience had taught him that he had to speak with authority to get through to some people. Sure enough, after a moment, the woman ran down. She peered up at Scott as if he were her only hope, and though her lower lip quivered, said nothing else.
Scott smiled his gratitude. "Thank you, madam. Now, I need to see the mine where your children at trapped."
The woman reached out, stopping just short of touching Scott's sleeve, then with more bowing and scraping, led the way to the yurt. As they approached, Scott could see that the big round tent was in poor shape, with the felt worn through in spots, and one side sagging almost to the ground. He had a sinking feeling when she lifted the tattered blanket that served as a door and gestured for him to enter.
Scott stepped in and paused, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When he could see, his heart plummeted. To one side of the single room were several woven baskets filled with dirt. In front of the baskets were strewn a few stone age-looking hoes and adzes. In the middle of the room there was a hole.
Scott swallowed hard as he stepped up to the hole. He pulled a flashlight from his belt, and directed the light down the hole. He swallowed hard. The hole went straight down for about four feet then angled off. There was no bracing of any kind, and the dry-looking earth appeared as if it would crumble at a mere touch.
Scott asked the woman what kind of supports were used, but she just stared back at him, obviously puzzled. He tried to clarify, and after some discussion, it became apparent that this 'mine' was literally just a hole in the ground. Her husband had lost his farm and had seized upon the idea of finding gold to restore the family's home.
Scott had to bite his lip to keep from commenting on the man's foolishness. As near as he could discover, the man had no mining background, no real indication of gold in the area, and absolutely no common sense.
He looked at the hole with some trepidation. Along with everything else, it appeared the man and his sons were much smaller than average. Going down would be a tight fit, and without any kind of support, it would likely collapse on top of the rescuers.
Scott pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his eyes. The day outside was pleasant enough, but the air inside the confining yurt was stifling. He glanced at the woman who was staring down the hole, wringing her hands. Feeling the beginnings of a headache, he left the fetid darkness of the tent, and stepped out into the sunshine.