Chapter 6: Language lessons
Varielle became aware slowly as she came out of her healing trance. She wasn't even close to healed, but her elbow and knee would mend, whole and hale, and her other bones were knitting fast. The worst of her bruises, scrapes and cuts had healed, and she was starving.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" The words made no sense to her, just like the rest of the language. She looked at the short reddish-haired woman in surprise. Different clothes, same skin colour. Same language.
The room was dull, like plascrete; perhaps an underground hospital. A safe place to put war victims in times of struggle. Or it could just be that these people didn't like windows.
"Hey," she looked back at the woman. Varielle tried to speak and her throat rasped. She was suddenly aware of how long it had been since she ate and drank.
But she wasn't as hungry or as tired as she should have been. On one side was a clear bag of some liquid feeding into her arm. Some kind of constant injection system. A very sensible idea, if nutrients was all it was. She reached out with the Force, into the bag and her own body. Satisfied it only contained a simple pain-killer, she looked around for water. The woman was watching her curiously.
Annoyed and amused to be back at childhood levels, she made eating and drinking motions. A moment later a glass of water was furnished. It tasted of purifying agents.
A bowl of hot soup appeared with the blonde man, limping slightly, and a short bald man in need of a better diet. She nodded slowly at him, recognising the aura of 'one in charge'.
She couldn't understand their conversation. Finally the blonde man sat down next to her. "I'm Daniel." She frowned, and he put his hands on his chest. "Daniel," he said. "Daniel Jackson."
"Varielle," she said. "Varielle Mizabwe." He nodded and looked around for somewhere to start, then picked up the water pitcher. "Water," he said clearly, pouring her another glass. She nodded and gave him her word for water. This would be a long day.
A few hours of intense concentration later he was chased out by the short lady, who brought her more food. It felt like it didn't touch the sides, but it was tastier than the soup. Vegetable-like things, meat, something that tasted baked. It was surprising how similar the food was.
"Thank you," Varielle said. She could manage that phrase.
The woman nodded, surprised. "You're welcome." Varielle had had a lot of chances to practice her look of polite incomprehension. "Get some sleep." Another look. The short woman gently pushed her to lie flat and pulled the blankets up. Varielle got as comfortable as she could, keeping the pain at bay, and dropped back into a healing trance. The more she could mend herself, the better.
Varielle became aware slowly as she came out of her healing trance. She wasn't even close to healed, but her elbow and knee would mend, whole and hale, and her other bones were knitting fast. The worst of her bruises, scrapes and cuts had healed, and she was starving.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" The words made no sense to her, just like the rest of the language. She looked at the short reddish-haired woman in surprise. Different clothes, same skin colour. Same language.
The room was dull, like plascrete; perhaps an underground hospital. A safe place to put war victims in times of struggle. Or it could just be that these people didn't like windows.
"Hey," she looked back at the woman. Varielle tried to speak and her throat rasped. She was suddenly aware of how long it had been since she ate and drank.
But she wasn't as hungry or as tired as she should have been. On one side was a clear bag of some liquid feeding into her arm. Some kind of constant injection system. A very sensible idea, if nutrients was all it was. She reached out with the Force, into the bag and her own body. Satisfied it only contained a simple pain-killer, she looked around for water. The woman was watching her curiously.
Annoyed and amused to be back at childhood levels, she made eating and drinking motions. A moment later a glass of water was furnished. It tasted of purifying agents.
A bowl of hot soup appeared with the blonde man, limping slightly, and a short bald man in need of a better diet. She nodded slowly at him, recognising the aura of 'one in charge'.
She couldn't understand their conversation. Finally the blonde man sat down next to her. "I'm Daniel." She frowned, and he put his hands on his chest. "Daniel," he said. "Daniel Jackson."
"Varielle," she said. "Varielle Mizabwe." He nodded and looked around for somewhere to start, then picked up the water pitcher. "Water," he said clearly, pouring her another glass. She nodded and gave him her word for water. This would be a long day.
A few hours of intense concentration later he was chased out by the short lady, who brought her more food. It felt like it didn't touch the sides, but it was tastier than the soup. Vegetable-like things, meat, something that tasted baked. It was surprising how similar the food was.
"Thank you," Varielle said. She could manage that phrase.
The woman nodded, surprised. "You're welcome." Varielle had had a lot of chances to practice her look of polite incomprehension. "Get some sleep." Another look. The short woman gently pushed her to lie flat and pulled the blankets up. Varielle got as comfortable as she could, keeping the pain at bay, and dropped back into a healing trance. The more she could mend herself, the better.