The next day dawned on a little vehicle running at a speed usually reserved for those who had a death wish. The little converted military scout car hit a small bump in a field and came down with a huge crash, rattling its driver, who was the only one inside.
Dr. Earl van Horn gritted his teeth and hoped nothing was being irreparably damaged, either on the converted Darter scout car or in the cargo compartment in the back. Great idea, asshole, he mentally chewed himself out, even as he steered haphazardly around the larger obstacles in the forest. Great idea, race like a fucking moron and kill yourself before you can help anyone.
Dr. van Horn was human. More to the point, he was a Doctor of Anthropology from the University of Desmonde, a planet in the United Systems Republic. Widely regarded as a genius, he was one of many scientists who had jumped at the chance of studying the newly discovered sentient species found beyond the Outer Draconian Rift. He alone was chosen to conduct a study of the not one, but two native species on planet PX-65098, unofficially named 'Bowman's Planet.'
The requirements of the mission had been severe; the studies had to not interfere with the native societies, and under no circumstances was interaction allowed. Even an accidental interaction would result in immediate termination of his permit and removal off world, to be replaced by someone far more cautious.
Thus, van Horn had come up with the plan of using military sneak suits to plant remote sensor stations nears each major city and village of the two species, the Lupar and the Gatón. Well, that's not what we called them at first, he remembered as he steered around the largest tree he had seen outside of the cultivated Redwoods on the planet America. Originally titled 'Bowman's Wolf' and 'Bowman's Cat,' the disguised remote sensors and their shotgun mikes had allowed the gathering of lingual data, and from that a translation of their speech. He had wanted to study the two species at a closer range, though, which is why he had been ordering supplies for just such an excursion. I just didn't think it'd be this soon...
Van Horn himself had taken the time to learn the basics of each of the languages he studied, mainly to get a feeling for the peoples that used them. It was a little appreciated fact that a language shapes a person as much as his or her culture did, and knowing the basics could sometimes help immensely in understanding a new people.
However, most of this didn't matter now, because of a pack of ruthless barbarians. Fuck the Wobbies, anyway, he mentally cursed as he slowed down to avoid running into a gully. Van Horn had used a satellite to retrieve the data from his remote stations and transfer it to the specially built hidden bunker in which he spent most of his time, lest he contaminate the cultures he studied.
The satellite had also served as his main communication link with the supply jumpships that came every month to replace his consumables. The interplanetary transmission dish on the satellite could easily transmit at the needed power, especially with the large solar panels that collected the ample sunlight that could be found in synchronous orbit.
The satellite also had served as his warning system when the four unknown jumpships had arrived. He had found it suspicious that some many would appear at once, and so he had not transmitted like he was supposed to. This had saved his life, as he soon saw the numerous dropships that had left their parent jumpships land all over the main continent to raid and kill the Lupar and Gatón settlements.
That was when he had packed everything he could carry and set off from his bunker, lest the Wobbies track it down. He knew they had to be members of the Word of Blake, because they had thought themselves in a safe system and used unsecured radio transmissions that van Horn had listened in on. He knew what they were there for, and he knew that the conventions under which he had studied were thrown out the window.
With that, he had set out to see if he could warn the two races he had studied, and hopefully stay alive and uncaptured long enough so that when the supply ships came again, he could warn them and the entire Republic. He had stayed in contact with the few monitoring stations he could reach by radio-bounce, as the satellite, - apparently unknown to the Wobbies - was his most precious resource at the moment.
Approaching the station that monitored the Gatón village that the natives called Kuamket, he saw an unusual sight; the lupar caravan that had nearly parked itself on the remote station. He had taken a rest break that night and watched the lupar entertain some apparent VIPs from the village. He had also felt horrified when he saw the Blakests launch an unprovoked and monumentally wicked attack on the hapless natives.
So now, against all reason and logic, he raced for the attacked village. He knew that the wobbies would be gone, for that was their style; to deliver fear and death, and then move on to sow it elsewhere. What he thought was impossible was that anyone survived. Still, he had to try and see if he could at least render medical help to any wounded, or even just comfort the dying.
Van Horn shook himself out of his thoughts as his vehicle crested the last ridgeline slowly, eventually coming to a stop on the other side, just outside the tree line. The view was horrifying as it was last night, with the houses of the village and the lupar wagons burned or burning. Am I too late?
He looked down to the instrument panel where his vehicle's sensor suite was tied into. The good doctor had been in the military once, and he had managed to swing a deal in order to get an active probe suite installed in place of the machine gun the Darter usually carried. He had altered the software in the probe's internal computers to make it better at locating life signs rather than the telltale signatures of war machines. One of his first sweeps was a long shot, as he told the machine to search for heartbeat signatures, which in humans was a unique radio frequency.
Nothing, good, van Horn thought to himself as he saw none but his own displayed. No human beats meant no Blakests in the nearby area, which meant he was safe from them. Next he told the probe to sweep for the gross signatures of life, such as thermal concentrations and movement indicated by high-frequency low-power Doppler radar. Nothing popped up, but he wasn't surprised; the signatures he was now looking for were far more elusive.
Van Horn decided to move forward and see who was there, if anyone. He popped the clutch and shifted into neutral, allowing gravity to pull his vehicle down the ridge's gentle grade. He steered carefully, and had a foot over the brake pedal to keep from going too fast. In this fashion, he rolled down and into the outskirts of the village, coming to a stop just beyond the first row of ruined houses.
He checked the sensor suite again, and again found nothing. Sighing, he engaged the drive and moved his 13-ton scout car forward and down the large way that barely allowed passage to the market square that satellite pictures had identified months ago.
Along the way, his sensors picked up something, and he hit the brakes to come to a complete stop. Checking the instruments again, van Horn saw that it was only a half hit; hardly enough data to classify, or even to tell if the thing was alive. But it's a start, he thought as he put the vehicle into park and looked out the windows in the direction that the sensors told him the 'hit' was.
It seemed like an ordinary house, but a bit larger. A hail of lead bullets had carved half of the front in, but the back part seemed to be in good shape. It seemed like a good shelter to van Horn, so he decided to check it out.
As he went into the back of the vehicle and got some things he might need, he was struck by the feeling that he was technically breaking the law, so heavily had the rules been drilled into his head. He gave himself a shake. No, the rules are out the window now.
When he was ready, he opened the door and stepped out onto the stepladder that let people get into or out of the high wheelbase scout car with ease. He stopped, smelling for the first time in a long time the stench of death by fire. The thought of someone burned alive gave him chills, and he hastened his efforts, walking quickly to the back of the house.
Here he found a garden of plants of different sorts. A huge metal foot had stepped on one part. Van Horn recognized the tread pattern from his days in the army as the foot of a Stinger battlemech, a deadly anti-personnel platform that mounted twin machine guns.
He put those thoughts aside and walked up to the door. He tried it and found it unlocked, so he went in, ducking his head to avoid hitting the frame. He stood up inside and looked around to find himself in a kitchen of sorts. To the front of him was a doorway leading into the ruined front portion of the house, and near that was a door leading to the right.
Van Horn decided to try his luck with the language. "Hello?" He called in gatonese, and then repeated in lupari. The answer wasn't what he had hoped for, as a sharp point tapped into his back suddenly.
Van Horn froze at that, and at the voice that spoke next. "Hello to you too. Now, back slowly towards the door." The voice said in lupari.
Shit, he cursed mentally and raised his hands slowly to show himself unarmed. Well, almost unarmed. He had a M3000 .45 cal pistol in a holster on his right hip, but he realized that the lupar behind him probably didn't know what it was. He hoped he didn't have to use it, but he was glad that it was there.
The two backed slowly to the door, where van Horn had to again duck to get out. This time, however, his martial training kicked in, as he definitely didn't want to be a prisoner of anyone. Stepping back from the door, he deliberately over-stepped and let his left foot catch nothing but the air to the side of the steps that led from the ground to the door. He fell to the side, carefully avoiding the implement that had been pressed against his back. He caught a glimpse of his would-be captor and unsurprisingly, found him to be a lupar.
Van Horn landed on his back, and grunted loudly to make it sound like he had hurt himself. The lupar still standing near the door turned to him to look, but van Horn was already in motion. He used the momentum of the fall to get himself rolling away from the lupar, and that allowed him to push off the ground and get into a crouching position, which let him draw his pistol and aim it at the confused lupar.
The latter only stood there, his wolf's-muzzle agape as he saw the strange creature escape what should have been a full-proof capture. Van Horn didn't fire on him, but instead decided to end the confrontation. "Drop it!" He called in Lupari. When the wolf-man didn't do it, he cocked that hammer at the back of the handgun. "Drop it, please," he said more softly, "I do not want to hurt you."
"That makes two of us." Came another voice in lupari from behind van Horn's back, and once again he felt a sharp object poke him in the back. This time it felt like three such objects, and he realized that it must be a pitchfork.
Van Horn turned his head slightly to let his peripheral vision take in the new participant. It was, sure enough, another lupar, but this one seemed to be leaning on something with his right hand, and thus he held the pitchfork a bit unsurely with his left hand. To the lupar's right was a gatón, who held another pitchfork but was a bit further away. "Put that weapon down, or I will run you through," the lupar said.
Van Horn was caught and he knew it. However, the voice of his drill instructor came suddenly into his head. "Sometimes, you'll get caught in a tight situation where you might not see any way to get out free or even alive. I'll tell you this now, that there often is a way out, and that is to remember that in situations like a possible capture, the Initiative is the only thing that makes one side the captors and the other side the losers. If you think you're caught, the best thing you can do is take the Initiative and yank it away from the enemy by the balls!" Van Horn decided then to retake the initiative.
He turned his head back towards the first lupar, but his words were meant for the one behind him. "I don't think so, boy. I would say that you had better back off and you and your friends next to you move from behind me to stand next to your other friend there."
There was a laugh, made alien by its panting nature. "Even if you wanted to, you couldn't turn around fast enough to kill me before I would strike you down."
"I agree, but then," van Horn said and aimed the pistol more carefully, "I'm not aiming for you, am I?" He spoke the words in a calculatedly cold fashion.
All mirth was gone from the lupar behind him now. "You so much as draw blood and I assure you, you WILL die slowly."
"And I assure you, that if you so much as draw blood from my own skin, I shall take your friend with me on the road to Hell." Van Horn didn't know if the word translated, but references to eternal damnation seldom needed translation. "You know that it takes a while for someone to die by such a crude weapon that you hold. Care to bet whether you can even spoil my aim?"
"You cannot kill him, or you will die." Said the lupar.
"And you cannot kill me, or he will die."
They all stood quietly for several moments. It was long enough for van Horn to realize that the first lupar had used a wooden sword to attempt a capture. Why, you ballsy sonuvabitch. He couldn't help but grin, which the one standing on the steps noticed. "You find something funny, furless one?"
Van Horn ignored the implied insult, mainly because it really had no cultural effect on him. "Aside from the fact that we're in a Mexican standoff?" He asked, not able to keep from using the old phrase, and the lupar paused to try and figure it out, allowing van Horn to go on. "But what I'm grinning at is your bravado in trying to take someone like me captive with a toy that at worst would have given me a splinter."
Despite the situation, the one on the steps grinned a bit, or so van Horn thought; the muzzles of the wolfmen tended to interfere with a human's interpretation of expressions.
He didn't think about it more, however, since the one behind him moved the pitchfork from its position on van Horn's back. "Very well, you win. Just... Just don't hurt my brother."
Van Horn nodded. "Just move slowly, and no one needs to be hurt."
Sure enough, the small groups behind him walked around him in a wide berth, allowing him to get a good look at them for the first time. The one in the lead was the only lupar there, aside from the one still standing next to the ruined house. He was definitely leaning on something that looked like a cane, and his leg seemed to be bandaged. He was dressed like his fellow lupar, with leather armor and green breeches stained with mud. The two others with him were both gatón, one was an older adolescent, almost a man, and the other was fully-grown. They were both dressed in brown trousers and shirts, which looked like the kind of clothes farmers would wear. Each carried a pitchfork, which enhanced the image of hapless villagers just trying to stay alive.
It hurt van Horn to have to threaten someone like this, but he also knew that when dealing with primitives, it was better to get their respect first, and then earn their trust. When the natives were all together - or near enough to not matter to van Horn - he stood up slowly, using one hand to push off the ground, but keeping the other aiming the gun at the first lupar.
When he was standing fully erect, he knew he was a bit intimidating, being both taller and different than either the lupar or gatón. "I told you that I did not want to hurt anyone," van Horn began, "and I meant it." With that, he pulled his pistol up and away from his aiming point at the point between the eyes of the lupar on the steps. Van Horn looked to the second lupar, who was taller and probably older from the sure way he had handled himself. "You have nothing to fear from me, I give you my word." And with that, he holstered his pistol and spread his hands out in a gesture to validate his words.
Mikula was genuinely shocked at this turn of events. They had been in town to gather some things from the shaman's house when the strange rolling creature - No, not a creature, but a thing - had appeared on the ridge, prompting everyone to take shelter. Then it had rolled into the village and stopped by the shaman's house, only to let out this tall, hairless man. Mikula had instantly known that the man and the giants were connected somehow, though he knew not why. Thus, he had hatched a hasty plan to capture and interrogate the furless one.
A bit too hasty, Mikula had thought when he saw the thing escape capture not once, but twice. He had guessed correctly that the furless one would try to escape, and so he had waited outside in case he was successful in evading Pavlo. What surprised him was that the strange person had not given in like a lupar of gatón would have, but instead had shown more concern for its freedom than its life. And now, this thing throws away its advantage!
He wondered, might he actually reason with this creature? It had lived up to its word about not hurting any one, even after the two attempts to capture it. Mikula had known several lupar who would have taken advantage to avenge their dishonor by killing those who had dishonored them, yet this furless man had not.
"Why did you come here?" Mikula asked, deciding that talk was always better than killing, most of the time.
"I came to help. I saw the rampage and destruction that happened here last night, and I drove all the night to come here," the thing said. "I've brought medicine and some food, and I want to see what else I can do to help."
"Why should we trust you? No one's ever seen anything like you before, and you come right after this place is attacked, in a wagon that moves without being drawn by animals. That alone smells of the demons that struck at us." Mikula said, somewhat heatedly.
"Enough!" Came a voice that Mikula recognized instantly. He turned around to see Forbasa striding towards the gathering, with Alexis and Tiana in tow. The limp that he had seemed more pronounced now, though it hardly slowed him down.
"Shaman, this creature was going into your house to look for something, so I decided to try and take it captive." Mikula said, and his lowered his head, and his ears and tail showed his embarrassment, at both his failure and his apparent angering of the shaman.
"I came inside because I thought someone was inside and may need medicine help," the thing said, somewhat awkwardly as it clearly didn't know lupari all that well. Mikula turned towards it. "How could you know tha-?"
"I said enough, Mikula!" Forbasa said again, quieter now that he was close, but still forceful nonetheless. Mikula looked down again, his embarrassment again evident. But he picked his head up again when Forbasa walked right up toward the pink-skinned creature, stopping right in front of it. Mikula became worried now, as a person he owed his life to was standing next to a creature that could be dangerous. Again, however, he would be greatly surprised.
Forbasa looked up at the person in front of him for a moment. "I never thought I'd ask this question, but... Are you a Human?"
Mikula noticed, with some satisfaction, that the furless one was taken a bit aback, yet he too was shocked that Forbasa would know the thing's species. "How do you know that?" The pinkish thing asked in confusion.
Forbasa, who had stood on the front pads of his feet to get more height, now rocked back onto his heels and leaned a bit more on his cane. "I know that because in our most ancient stories, Humans are mentioned. They are portrayed as furless creators of powerful machines, and wielders of great magiks. You fit the description well..." Forbasa trailed off, and he teetered a bit before steadying himself. "Pardon me," he said, "but the night and day have been long, and I have had little rest."
"It is quite alright, shaman." Stated the human, obviously wanting to show that he, too, knew things about the others.
Forbasa nodded and smiled a bit. "Indeed, you serve the stories well." He turned away and walked towards the other natives, but continued talking. "We need a place to talk, and it is probably not too safe here." Forbasa paused in his steps and looked back. "Perhaps you could come to our camp, as a show of faith?"
The human nodded. "If you want, I can do better than that, and give you a ride in my, ahh," he paused to think of the word. "Wagon, yes, that word will do. I can take all of you back to wherever your camp is."
Mikula and the others looked horrified at the prospect. Do we dare trust him? They thought as one. But all did trust the shaman, and they looked to him then.
Forbasa stood a moment, and then spoke. "Yes, I think that would be a good idea, for my old body is weary of walking for now. Please, lead the way." And he waved his cane to indicate that the human should lead.
The man nodded and slowly walked past the group of natives, and maintained his slow pace so Forbasa could keep up without straining. Mikula looked at the others, and all had the look of horror that accompanied their fear. Yet, the shaman showed none of this, as he followed this unknown creature.
Mikula's thoughts went back to the shaman's promise of just a few days ago. He promised to let us know what he knew, thought Mikula. Yet, he didn't say exactly HOW. Perhaps he is trusting because he knows something?
Mikula decided that the shaman had shown himself to be wise, even in the wake of the attack, which was something to shatter a weaker man's mind. With that, he followed Forbasa, and soon enough, everyone did.
They all walked around the house and up to the open door of the wagon-thing, which Mikula realized was made of metal. How does it move? He wondered to himself. The human took a look inside, then hauled himself up using the bars on the side of the upward-opening door. Once inside, he turned around and poked his head back out. "Shaman, do you require any assistance getting up here?"
"Yes, I think I would like a hand up these steps." Replied Forbasa as he held out his hand to the human. It showed remarkable bravery, or so Mikula thought. Yet the human didn't seem to care, and just simply reached down and took hold of Forbasa's hand, engulfing it in his own, and helped the old gatón up the steps that were made for a being larger than the cat-person. This happened for each of the females as well, surprising Mikula, as he thought chivalry wasn't something this 'human' wouldn't know about.
Although he was the first to follow, Mikula's suspicion caused him to wait until everyone else was on the metal wagon. As he walked up, he was surprised to see the human reaching down for him, as well. Until he realized, however, that the creature had noticed his wound. "I don't really need any help getting up." He protested to the human.
"If you wish, but if I had a nasty wound like that, I'd want to avoid making it worse," replied the man. Mikula sighed at the logic, and allowed himself to be helped up the steps. As the human's hand wrapped around his own, he noticed how soft the furless skin was, and how warm it felt to the touch.
Once in the metal wagon, Mikula let go of the helping hand and turned to look at the interior. The room inside was rather cramped for such a large wagon, he noticed, though it did extend back a ways. He saw everyone sitting down on the floor, save Forbasa and Tiana, who sat in chairs of some sort. There was a third chair, in the back of the compartment, and his mother silently beckoned him to sit in it with her eyes and ears. He let out another sigh, realizing that mothers would be mothers, and so carefully moved to the chair and sat down.
The human went up to another seat at the front that sat before a window of a sort, and next to the one Forbasa sat in. He turned it to face the windows, and began pressing some of the strangely colored things there. Everyone jumped as the door hissed shut by itself. What strange trickery is this? Mikula thought.
What came next seemed even more magical, as the human pushed yet more objects and a rumble began in the belly of the wagon. Is this thing alive after all? Mikula thought in a flash of panic. Yet, the human seemed unconcerned, and instead set his large hands on a wheel and a lever to his right, while his feet seemed to operate levers on the floor.
Suddenly, the rumbling grew a bit in volume, and the wagon lurched into movement underneath them. Mikula had to hold onto the chair for a moment before he noticed that his mother, Shaman Forbasa, and the human all had secured themselves using straps attached to their chairs. Again embarrassed, he looked down at his chair and found similar straps, which he grabbed in a smooth part of the ride. He looked at the ends, which held some sort of metal pieces that looked like they would hook into each other. This he did, connecting them over his waist, and then pulling on what seemed to be a part that took up the slack. In a second, he was fastened comfortably and trying to peer out the front window.
The view was interesting, as the metal wagon let them sit much higher than a normal lupar wagon would've let them. He also noticed that, while the wagon bumped sometimes, it never seemed to bump as hard as a normal wagon would have done. Mikula was duly impressed and mystified at the same time.
He was more impressed when the wagon accelerated to beyond anything that a normal pongo-drawn wagon could have done. The ride was therefore fast, and only broken in silence by the rumbling and the occasional direction Forbasa gave to the human driver.
In a few minutes, they approached the caves that were acting as temporary shelter for the surviving gatón and lupar. "I think we'd better stop before we scare everyone," Forbasa said. The human just nodded and slowed the thing to a stop, again using the levers. In a second, the metal wagon was stopped and the rumble died at the touch of another device.
The debarking process was played out quickly, and soon the human left his wagon, pressing his hand to a part of the wall next to the door on the outside. The door once again hissed shut, leaving the human without his mysterious weapon. Once the door closed, the human turned to Forbasa. "Now then, where to?" He asked.
"Over there." Forbasa indicated an outcropping with his cane. As they walked over there, Forbasa called to one of the gatón that had been in the metal wagon with him. "Jahni, please go inside and alert everyone that we have a visitor, and that who came come out may wish to hear what will be said."
"Yes shaman," replied Jahni as he raced to get inside the cave. His voice echoed the shaman's pronouncement as Forbasa sat down on a rock that looked carved to serve as a bench. He looked up to see the other natives move around and sit, either on more rocks or on the ground as the strangeness of the situation set them into quiet shock. Mikula and his brother, though, remained standing, until Tiana chided him and told Mikula to sit down.
The human remained standing as well, and began to talk. "I believe it is now time for proper introductions, is it not?" He asked.
Forbasa nodded, and began. "I am shaman Revalo Forbasa, the shaman of the... of what was the village of Kuamket." The last words stuck in his mouth a bit, and a sour look came on to his face.
More gatón and lupar emerged from the cave, but the human looked nonplussed as he began his introduction. "I am Doctor Earl van Horn, scientist of the United Systems Republic, formerly of the planet Desmonde."
The words were strange in Mikula's ears, as most of them had no equivalent in lupari, or even gatonese, which the human repeated himself in to make sure that everyone knew what he was saying. The strange words sound very similar to lupari, however, thought Mikula.
Then the human - Vanhorn he said his name was - took a slow step forward, kneeled to the ground in front of Forbasa, allowing himself to be at eye-level with the shaman, and stuck his hand out. When Forbasa looked confused, the human spoke again. "This is a greeting ritual among my people, to clasp hands firmly and shake them while looking into the eyes of the person you are meeting."
Forbasa nodded, then reached out with his own hand. The two hands, one small and fur-covered, the other large and hairless, clasped and shook. Forbasa indeed looked into the eyes of this human, and found them to be a startling blue, much like Alexis.' He also saw an inner strength there that he recognized seeing in his own eyes when he was a youngster looking into the mirrored surface of a still pond.
With the handshake done, the human, van Horn, stepped back and away to stand again in the middle of a growing group of native gatón and lupar. He looked around, clearly as curious of the native races as the gatón and lupar were of him.
Forbasa took up the slack in the meeting. "I take it, then, from your mentioning of the word 'planet,' that you come from another world?"
Again the human looked shocked. "Yes, but I would like to know how you know of these things. I and my people had thought that, until recently, our efforts to hide ourselves were successful."
Forbasa now looked confused. "Indeed. And how long have you been here?"
"I myself have been here for nearly a year to study your people and the Lupar. You are among the first races we've discovered away from our home world, and it fascinates us. As for my people in general, we've been atching you for about ten years now."
"Well, this is surprising, since only our oldest stories mention your kind." Forbasa seemed as confused as van Horn. "The stories tell us of how the humans came to this world from beyond the sky, only to disappear after teaching our ancestors the rudiments of civilization."
The human looked horrified, or so Mikula thought, since the creature's emotions were hard to gauge. "If that is true, then someone from many, many years ago must've been the ones to come here, for my people, as I've said, have only recently discovered your world."
"That is interesting, but right now I must ask a few questions of you, if you do not mind." Forbasa spoke with courtesy. The human nodded and the shaman started again. "For one thing, do you know of the tragedies that have been occurring?"
The human looked down, apparently in embarrassment, though instead of his ears moving, his face took on a reddish tint that made him look sick to the natives. "Yes, I do. I left my residence to the south when they began so I could help your people in this terrible time."
"Then you know what plagues us? What they are?"
"Yes," the human said in a voice that even the native races could hear the shame in. "The giants you speak of, well, there is no word for them in your language, so let me use their name from my own. They are called, 'Battlemechs.'" He spoke the last word slowly, so that everyone could hear it. He seemed to understand, as Mikula did, that a name often helped one to begin to overcome fear.
"What are they?" Asked Forbasa.
"They are machines of war, created to augment the strength of our people a thousand fold. Few things that my people know of or build can match its ferocious abilities."
Forbasa looked concerned. "Augment? So people, like you, control these machines from within?"
The human's face turned red again. "Yes- I mean no- I mean..." He paused and took a breath. "The persons who... drive the machines that attack you are like me and my people only in form and species. In thoughts and deeds, we are far different." A new look replaced embarrassment, and Mikula, despite his lack of knowledge of human emotions, recognized it for what it was; rage. "These, barbarians, are outcasts from civilized society. They care not for individuals; they care not for peace and stability. They only crave power."
Forbasa and the others were taken aback with the vehemence in the stranger's words. "Do you know why they have come here?"
The human looked embarrassed again, though the red in his face never seemed to go away as he switched from one emotion to the other. "I can only make a guess, but I would say that it is because my people smashed their home base a few years ago. Now they do not threaten us, or any other human. We thought that this meant the survivors had decided to leave and never come back. But now," his face fell, "now they seem to be targeting your world. For what reason, I cannot fathom. But their acts are heinous both in deed and intention."
Forbasa leaned back then, absorbing all this information, as well as letting Alexis translate the speech from lupari into gatonese for the gatón who didn't know the language. He decided that the human was indeed sincere. "I think this is enough history for one day. You mentioned that you came to help with food and medicine. Did you mean that?"
"Hell yes!"
Forbasa smiled for a split second at the reaction. "Then we would welcome that."
Van Horn nodded then. Finally. "I could use some help getting the medicine... Packages, for lack of a better word."
"Certainly. Alexis, Jahni, please go help mister Vanhorn." Forbasa said.
"You go help too, Pavlo." Tiana said from her seat as she rose with most of the rest of the natives. The meeting broke up as the gatón and lupar went off to think about what they had heard, while van Horn and the three natives that went along to help him walked towards the vehicle.
While walking up, van Horn noticed the male lupar that came with him was the one that had tried to capture him earlier with the toy sword. When they got to the Darter, van Horn turned to the lupar. "Look, I am sorry that I had to threaten your life back there, in the village. No hard feelings?" Van Horn asked and held his hand out for a shake.
Pavlo looked warily at the offered hand. "Did you not introduce yourself already to the shaman?"
"Yes, but a handshake can also be used to express an understanding of sorts." The human looked unsure to Pavlo, like he was searching for the right words, and finding none. "Like forgiveness, then?" The young lupar asked.
Van Horn nodded. "Yes, exactly. Though I would understand if you didn't forgive me, I was just hoping we could... Leave the past in the past." He said the last few words slowly, trying to translate an idiom effectively.
Pavlo looked at the hand again, then took it and looked into the human's eyes like the shaman did. "I believe it is not advantageous to hold a grudge over something so trivial as a misunderstanding."
"Good," said the human with a smile. "Now, let's get to work." He went up to the vehicle and placed his hand against the gray metal plate that was beside the strange door. Again, it hissed and opened up, letting the human and his companions inside.
Van Horn went to the back of the main compartment, and opened a door the natives hadn't noticed before. Behind it were racks of various boxes, and van Horn began to grab ones that were painted white with red crosses on them and pass them to the others. "Here, take these." He said.
"What are they?" Asked Alexis as she passed a couple back to Jahni before holding a few herself. They felt strange, as they were made of a material she didn't recognize. It was smooth as metal, but warm and easy to touch like sanded wood.
"These are... I do not know the word. They have medicine inside, and bandages, as well as a few other things." Van Horn answered her as best he could, while simultaneously thinking Thank God for bureaucracy. The shipments of First Aid and full Medikits had continued to arrive even though he had enough for a year of treating himself. Most of them he sent back, but he always tried to keep a stockpile, in case he had to be abandoned for a time, like the last researcher had to be during the conflict with Clan Star Adder.
Now, however, he was going to use them, and the pile of rations that had also come in at a rate that belied his operation's size. Save the rations for later, however, he thought to himself. "Now, let's go help some wounded folks." He said as he grabbed the last kit. Van Horn turned around to see that the others were all about overloaded with the white boxes, especially the female gatón.
Van Horn sighed. "It won't do us any good if you drop the things halfway to the cave. I want all of you to put down half of what you have when you get to the door, okay?"
The natives all nodded, and did as they were told, eventually getting outside with only their arms burdened with the medikits. Van Horn closed the door behind him again as they left and walked to the cave.
Inside smelled horrible to Van Horn, as he noticed the smell of burned flesh and fur and hair, and heard the moans of pain. He saw a line of about twenty persons along the left side of the narrow entrance passage, gatón and lupar alike, laying down on the hard rock. All were wounded in a manner van Horn had only saw once, while participating in the cleanup after a battle against a pirate enclave. But those assholes deserved it, unlike these folks.
Forbasa kneeled along one of them, holding the gatón's hand and apparently whispering a prayer. Others, both lupar and gatón, also tended to the wounded, but it appeared to van Horn that the won Forbasa was tending was the gravest.
Time to see what I can do. Van Horn turned to the others carrying the boxes. "Put them down in a pile over there," he pointed with his hand to a small alcove created by a pair of stalagmites, "all but one, which you should carry with you. I want you to follow me to learn how to use them. Understood?" He got nods, and the three dutifully went about doing what he had instructed. Once they finished up, they came back and followed van Horn as he went to go and kneel by the badly burned gatón.
Forbasa looked up as the human came down. "This one is not long for this world. Perhaps you should help the others while I tend to this one." The gatón certainly looked like he was almost dead, with half his body burned in a manner that had left charring from the fur on his skin and his right ear partially gone.
"If he has little time, then at the very least his time should be made comfortable." Van Horn replied as he opened his kit. Reaching in, he found the vial of neomorphine and a hypospray. He used the former to fill the latter, and soon had a does that he figured wouldn't kill the poor creature lying on the ground. Van Horn reached down and, with a quick hiss, injected a dose of neomorph into the unburned arm of the gatón. The effect was nearly instantaneous, as the moans coming from the elder adolescent stopped. Forbasa almost cried in alarm, until he noticed that the young man was still breathing. "Amazing," he said.
"That's not all," replied van Horn, who now took out a new vial and loaded some of its contents into the hypospray. "The first shot was a medicine that makes pain go away, or at least makes it bearable." He said as he took the vial away from the hypospray and bent down to inject it into the gatón's neck. "This one is a mix of an artificial antibody and a hormone that stimulates regeneration of the skin." He unfortunately had no translation for the words antibody or hormone, and the natives looked confused. Van Horn grimaced as he realized he must speak in simpler terms. "What that means, is that it's supposed to let his body heal faster, and prevent any infections from moving into the damaged areas."
The others looked somewhat dubious, but they kept quiet; after all, they HAD seen the effects of the first one seem to make the pain disappear. Forbasa in particular hoped that the miracle stories of the humans' ingenuity in all things would apply to the care van Horn was giving Soru.
Van Horn turned to the others that carried medikits, and noticed that the walking wounded lupar had come up. "Will he survive?" The latter asked.
Van Horn stood up and gave a tired shrug. "I don't know. I'm not a real doctor, I've just been trained a bit in giving aid with medikits like this." He unknowingly used the English term for the kits, and Mikula wondered again why that sounded like lupari in some faint way.
Van Horn turned to the others carrying the medikits. "Okay, you saw how I did it, now follow me and I'll let each of you take turns doing it, so that you won't need me all the time, okay?" They nodded, and he set off to repeat his work.