A/N: Thank you to all who are continuing to read and leave me really nice reviews. They are very encouraging. I am glad everyone seems to be liking the updates to the story-line as well as the new world-building details so far.
29th of Xuxiq, Fall, 6544 A.S.
(c. March 11, 1998)
Uslisgas, Asteria
Ruarc had had the honor and the pleasure of serving under two previous army Supreme Commanders and with one previous fleet Supreme Commander before the current Supreme Commanders had come to power. Yet, of all those he had served under or known of from those who had more years in the service than he, Supreme Commander Anarr and Supreme Commander Sujanha were by far his favorite. None of those others had been bad, ill-skilled in the art of war or unlikable personally, but Anarr and Sujanha were … special.
There were good reasons why most anyone in the Furling military … and many of our allies, too … would follow the two Commanders to the very shores of the Sea of Night.[1]
A Furling scholar from a past age had once written a long treatise on politics and the nature of kingship, discussing what made one a good ruler and how one might be a good man and a good and just ruler simultaneously, given the difficult decisions a ruler was sometimes called upon to make.
Especially a ruler who rules as many worlds and as many peoples as our High King.
Though he enjoyed reading more than his brother did, Ruarc was not one for reading political treatises, but there was one particular passage from that work, which he had never forgotten.
Of what does the nature of kingship consist? A king does not abide within his tent while his men bleed and die upon the field. A king does not dine while his men go hungry, nor sleep when they stand at watch upon the wall. A king does not command his men's loyalty through fear nor purchase it with gold; he earns their love by the sweat of his own back and the pains he endures for their sake. That which comprises the harshest burden, a king lifts first and sets down last. A king does not require service of those he leads but provides it to them. He serves them, not they him.[2]
That passage was discussing kings, but it fit the two Supreme Commanders just as well. Both were terribly aware that every order they gave had life and death consequences, and they never gave orders that they were not willing to carry out themselves. During the worst years of the Great War, both Sujanha and Anarr had fought on the front lines, not commanding from the rear, and were the first in any desperate attacks and the last to retreat off the battlefield when a battle went against them.[3] When rations were short, the Commanders' tables suffered that shortage the same as any line troop, and the same went for when pay was short.
No sacrifice was forgotten.
No names were left unmourned.
Sujanha Staðfastur[4] was one of the greatest commanders Ruarc had ever had the privilege of serving under, but she also had a way of frustrating him—infuriating him on the bad days—like no other, not even his brother. Her devotion to duty was absolute, her loyalty to her men unquestionable, her strategic genius undeniable, and yet at the same time … she was terrible at taking care of herself. Though Commander Anarr had appointed them as her bodyguards, they had done more guarding her from herself than from outside threats.
She would forget to eat half the time if not for us.
As great a commander as she was, she was also simply a good person. The Furlings were known for their hospitality and generosity when it came to the treatment of strangers and wanderers, but there were probably few, Ruarc thought, who would want to invite an almost complete stranger, especially one with whom there was an extreme language barrier, into their homes to give them a place to adjust.
Though I think there is more than generosity of spirit and the sheer practicality of this decision influencing her thinking.
Two days had passed since Daniel Jackson's return to and settling on Uslisgas, and despite the two brothers' concerns about the security risk of him staying with the Commander, nothing had happened. So far, at least, the jaded, cynical side of him wanted to argue before Ruarc reminded himself of the character references from the Nox, the Tollan, and indirectly from Supreme Commander Thor's interest in SG1.
New is not necessarily a threat.
Unknown is not necessarily a threat.
It was something he was reminding himself frequently these days.
The Commander, while leaning towards the unorthodox at some points in her strategy and tactics, was not foolish or prone to taking unnecessary risk, and she was a good judge of character, and she seemed to be getting along well with her new house-guest.
At least having a house-guest is actually getting her out of the office and home a little earlier, and she hasn't even slept at the office for three nights straight.
It was almost a minor miracle.
The Commander bore a heavy burden of responsability as the leader of the fleet. Her sense of duty and her loyalty to her people and her driving need to protect them whatever the personal cost was a heavy burden on her shoulders. Heavy lies the head, as the old adage went. Maybe this Doctor Jackson will be good for her.
He was a very interesting youngling, Ruarc judged, from their interactions while giving him and Lady Lya a tour of Uslisgas. Looking, looking, looking, wide-eyed and interested. Not judging because of the many differences from what he was used to. Just wide-eyed and fascinated. And all the questions! Doctor Jackson had asked about as many questions as he seemed to deem polite and which Lady Lya had been able to translate into Furling.
The morning of the 29th found Ruarc sitting at the table in Commander Sujanha's kitchen, paging through the tablet he had brought along. He was sipping a mug of spiced tea drawn from the large pitcher she had told him he was welcome to before she left for work, while he waited for Doctor Jackson to appear. The Commander had sent him a message the previous evening asking if he would escort Doctor Jackson into the city to buy what things he needed now that a bank account had been opened in his name and his resettling money had been submitted to it.
Ruarc's tablet—a portable holographic screen—was an extra tablet that he had semi-permanently borrowed with permission from the Commander's stash. I'm not quite sure how she's managed to accumulate like … what was it six of them? Yes, storage on these is limited, but not that limited, and I've never seen her use the others. On it was a language program of sorts of his own creation that he had compiled quickly over the last two days. Ruarc, his brother, and the Commander were quickly picking up English through everyday interactions—new sentences and words being shared among the three of them as quickly as they were acquired—but as far as Ruarc knew, Doctor Jackson had probably picked up little to no Furling over the past couple of days. Furling was a completely foreign and quite complicated language, and unlike Ancient which had been spoken long ago on Midgard, no likely derivation still survived in Avalon.
We can't stand as escort all the time, and he would not want to be—and we do not want him to be—housebound without one of us to translate.
Facial expressions and gestures went a long way along with some basic phrases—there were enough different races and languages in the Empire that most were used to making do with imperfect communication at times. However, Doctor Jackson would need to know some basic phrases and words in Furling, even for times Ruarc or Ragnar were with him, just in case he gets separated. Uslisgas was a large city. The older parts of the city were laid out on a grid pattern, but the newer sections had grown organically and were less well-organized.
I don't want to be the one responsible for losing him and not being able to find him for hours.
Given that he had been a linguist by trade on Midgard and that immersion was a frustrating if effective means of learning a language, Ruarc hoped that Doctor Jackson would be able to pick up Furling relatively quickly. It would make things more straight forward for him and open up nearly a galaxy of opportunity. Furling was widely spoken throughout Asteria, even among the Furlings' allies who spoke their own tongues, as well.
Thus, Ruarc's program—a series of illustrative pictures of some basic items and actions overlaid audibly with the corresponding words or sentences in Furling—was designed to fill that gap, and it would help Doctor Jackson to start picking up familiar words and their derivatives during conversation and thereby give him a foundation to build on. It was a rough job, quickly put together, but it would do for now. And I can fix it up later. The tablet was connected remotely to Ruarc's main tablet, and he could send updates with new words or phrases as he created them.
Footsteps sounded mid-morning, and Doctor Jackson appeared in the kitchen soon after. (Even if the rotational cycles of Midgard and Uslisgas were off, day and night on Uslisgas and Gaia were close enough to have helped him adjust.) He was dressed in the clothes he had brought him with from Midgard, the soldiers' uniform of his people. The shadow of a beard was also growing on his chin.
Maybe add a razor to his list of needed goods … if his people aren't opposed to cutting their hair … though with his hair that short, I doubt they would be.
The Idrore, one of the former human races within Asteria—they had been totally wiped out during the Great War, most dying when their planet had been bombarded from orbit without warning—had been well known for never cutting their hair, which thankfully for their sakes had grown quite slowly. Or that much hair would get out of hand!
Even years after the Great War, it still seemed strange to think of some of those peoples in the past tense, almost unbelievable to comprehend that a whole people had been lost to history.
"Good morning, Doctor Jackson," Ruarc greeted him in accented English. The English greeting, by chance, was near identical to the Furling one for the same circumstances.
Doctor Jackson had started in surprise in the doorway of the kitchen, probably at seeing Ruarc present, and stopped short in the doorway. He blinked and then pulled off his glasses to polish them on a corner of his jacket. "Morning, Ruarc," that was apparently a slightly more casual greeting based on the fuller greeting, "I was not expecting to see you this morning."
It was a relief after several days to be finally able to speak and understand more than halting, horrifically simplified, grammatically incorrect English. Not that their English was fluent yet by any means, but it was progress.
And every step of progress now helps make the next steps easier.
"The Commander has fleet business to deal with," Ruarc replied, "She has asked me to escort you to the city to get needed clothes and goods."
There was another long blink. "Lady Sujanha mentioned the money that would be supplied to me as an asylee, but the money can't have come through yet, can it? It's only been two days." Dr. Jackson's voice was puzzled.
The Furling government could move slowly in some things at times. Haste or slowness had a different meaning when one lived as long as the Furlings and most of the races in Asteria did, but in this promptness was essential and vital. Getting money supplied to those granted asylum were always a priority to help them get settled.
"The process is not greatly complicated," Ruarc replied slowly. It had taken him a few moments to parse through what Daniel Jackson had said and then several more to try to find the words he wanted in his limited but quickly expanding vocabulary, "The money is available as an exchange when you buy at the shops. The money will be taken from your account."
"Ah, credit, okay." What does this "okay" mean? And what is "credit"? "Bureaucracies on earth never move that fast. Let me quickly get some food first, and then I can go."
"There is food in the cold-box, the Commander said," Ruarc said, pointing with one giant paw to the large burnished metal unit that stood to the left of a set of cabinets that held some cooking supplies, canned goods, and eating dishes and utensils, "and there is spiced tea if you would like some," gesturing toward what was in his own mug. "The container is in the cold box on the tall platform."
"Shelf," Doctor Jackson replied absently, pushing his glasses up from where they had slipped down the bridge of his nose, "and in English, a cold-box is called a refrigerator."
What a strange word!
It took Doctor Jackson a moment to figure out how to open the cold-box. It had no handle, just the same activation stone as the house's doors, and a few seconds before Ruarc was about to speak up, he realized that and waved his hand above the stone, and the door slid open. There was material for sandwiches, and several covered containers of … something. Sujanha still had a taste for milder Dovahkiin food from time to time when she could get away with eating it without it souring her stomach, and that stuff lasted for a long time before it went bad, which is convenient with how much she's away. Doctor Jackson was apparently not of the adventurous type, and he went for the sandwich material.
Food. That could be another big change. Ruarc hadn't even thought about it before. Though I really should have considering how different food dishes tend to be between many of the main species within the Empire. As a melting pot of cultures, could find most any type of food in one city on Uslisgas or another, and especially in Uslisgas, the capital, the food tended be a strange mixture of foods from multiple different cultures.
"Will I be keeping you from your work?" Doctor Jackson asked as he fixed his food.
"No," Ruarc replied with a shake of his head, "My brother and I actually have little to do when Lady Sujanha stays on Uslisgas, besides pass messages, run errands, or help around Headquarters."
"Is Uslisgas the name of this city or the planet?" There was a note of unrestrained curiosity in his voice.
Ah, yes, that would cause some confusion.
"Both. Uslisgas is the name of the planet, which is our current homeworld, and of the capital city."
I do wonder how that came to be.
Once Doctor Jackson had made himself food for the morning meal, gotten a glass of tea, and sat down at the table across from him, Ruarc pushed across the tablet he had been working on. The young man's eyes went wide again in surprise—he was not good at hiding his feelings—but he finished a bit of food before he asked, "What's this?"
"To help you start learning our tongue," Ruarc replied, tapping on the screen with one claw.
Immediately, a two-dimensional holographic image of an injured person being attended to by a healer appeared floating in the air above the tablet, and a clear but automated voice said, "Uzfur."
Doctor Jackson started slightly, but then he starred at the hologram intently. "Wow!"
Ruarc swiped his hand through the holographic image several times, new images with new, recited meanings appearing each time, to show Doctor Jackson how it worked. "Learning our tongue will require time, but this will help with … foundations … for listening. Our writings," he mimed writing out something by hand, "is long and complex, so I only gave you the sounds."
Doctor Jackson studied the holographic image of two figures greeting each other—one of the most complex actions because there were general greetings and greetings that varied by rank—the last Ruarc had paged to for a few moments, before speaking, "The Furling alphabet is complicated, you mean, so you gave me the pronunciation." He paused, "So this is somewhat like an audible dictionary? Though some of these images look more like actions."
"You would have to tell me what a dictionary is," Ruarc replied before I can answer the first question.
"Oh," Doctor Jackson gave a half-smile, "Sorry. A dictionary is a book that gives a list of words in one language with the corresponding meanings for each in another language."
Ah.
"Then this is somewhat like that, yes," Ruarc replied, "There are basic words and basic sentences, like if you do not know your place or need assistance." He had been making updates earlier, so the 'dictionary' had started in the middle with the last of the basic words—Uzfur for medical assistance—and then gone into more complex actions.
"If I get lost, probably wise," Doctor Jackson pushed his glasses up his nose again, "Thank you. This will be very, very helpful. I do hope you included how to say 'I do not speak Furling.'"
How would I even depict that with an image?
Words were easy to depict with images. It was easy to find a picture of a wide enough spread of food-stuffs to show that the given word was for "food" generally, not one dish in particular, but sentences and actions were much more complicated, and Ruarc had limited himself to those that he or the scholar in the Great Library that he had enlisted to help him could conceive of an illustrative image for.
Ruarc shook his head, "No. I do not know how to show that with a drawing."
Most will understand a blank look of non-comprehension or a shrug when they talk to you. Furlings and the other non-human races understood enough of human body language for that to work, and some gestures and movements seemed universal among different races of the same species.
"How many vocabulary cards are there?"
"About 60," Ruarc replied, "That was what I thought of and created in two days. I will think of more and add more in time."
"Thank you!" Doctor Jackson emphasized, his eyes shining in delight, "This will be very helpful." He repeated.
It did not take that long for Doctor Jackson to finish eating, and once plates and mugs were washed and put away and Doctor Jackson had taken his new tablet upstairs to his room, it was time to go. Ruarc suggested walking, which was at first met with skepticism given that the Commander had indicated that it was quite some distance from the city to her house.
Ruarc shook his head, "I walk the distance in half-an-hour or so. The two of us walk it in a little longer." The Commander's conception of how far one place was to another in walking time and whether the distance was long or not was heavily influenced by her physical condition, not that Ruarc was going to explain that. "The walk is good. The land is good."
I need to learn more descriptors! There was much more he wanted to say, but Ruarc lacked the words to convey what he really meant, but Doctor Jackson still seemed to get the idea and readily agreed.
Ruarc led the way out of the house and down the path through the garden of brightly colored fall flowers, trailing vines that crawled up the garden walls, and tall trees that cast long shadows across the grass. The gate swung open as they approached, and Ruarc turned left onto the road that would curve a few minutes' walk away and lead straight toward the city. The road was flat and well-made, carefully cut stones set against carefully cut stones so well-erected that the line between two blocks could almost disappear. The road near the Commander's house was only wide enough for two to comfortably walk abreast, but down the road where the turn came for the city, the road widened out into a much broader street where five or six broad-shouldered people could easily walk abreast without risking bumping arms or wings.
Doctor Jackson was unusually quiet for the first part of the walk … if all of his questions during the tour of the city was characteristic, and something about the paving stones on the road seemed to be unusually attention-drawing. Considering how little he's paying attention to where his feet are going, it is very good that the road is so well-made! (Ruarc did not want to have to test his reflexes to keep the Commander's guest from face-planting onto the stones.) Finally, Doctor Jackson's gaze started to wander to the scenery: the towering ancient trees, the hardy wildflowers and shrubs that grow unhindered along the edges of the road … unhindered until they try to grow onto the road, the rolling fields that stretched as far as the eye could see between the gaps in the trees.
Wait until spring comes again! The hardy fall-flowers, as beautiful as they were, had nothing on Uslisgas in spring.
There was wonder in Doctor Jackson's eyes as he took everything in, which made Ruarc wonder what it would be like to look at his home-world and all the worlds he visited with fresh eyes. These had been the lands he had wandered across and fought in all his life. The landscapes … they just … are … now for me … I'm not sure I've ever stopped to just look at them. A lifetime of war had made him jaded … made us all jaded.
Everything was new and fresh and wondrous for Doctor Jackson.
Maybe we all could use a fresh perspective.
Finally, Doctor Jackson broke the silence, and his inquisitive spirit reappeared, and Ruarc found himself on the receiving end of yet more questions, questions which he had now had more of the language ability to comprehend and respond to.
"Ruarc, what is the proper way to address the Commander since I'm not in your military?"
And he does not know of her status in the imperial household yet.
"'Lady Sujanha' or 'Commander Sujanha' will do. 'Lady' would be the less formal address of the two and the one she usually prefers. 'Supreme Commander' is reserved for the most formal situations."
Or the times she is quite angry or trying to make a point. When the Commander's tone turned biting cold and she insisted on being addressed as Supreme Commander, it was a clear sign that the discussion had just taken a massive turn for the worse, and back-peddling quickly was probably in order. I've only heard her do that a few times, and politics … and High Councilors … were usually involved.
"Is 'Lady' a courtesy title or a sign of rank or something else entirely?"
I'm not even sure what the conversation was that gave us that word in English.
Maybe it was a conversation with the Commander or something from the transcripts.
"It can be both," Ruarc replied, "It is most often a form of address given as a mark of respect to the women of the Empire whatever the rank, though it can be a sign of rank at times." Among the more distant members of the imperial family … not that there are any of those still living currently. "It is never not right to call a woman as 'lady.'"
"Thanks. Do you mind another question?"
"I am at your service, Doctor Jackson. I will answer as many questions as you have that I know the answers to."
Or have the English comprehension to understand and answer.
"Daniel."
Ruarc made a questioning hum.
"You don't need to keep calling me 'Doctor Jackson,'" His companion clarified, "'Daniel' is fine."
"As you wish, Daniel," replied Ruarc.
What types of questions will it be this time?
"Yesterday, the Chief Judge said, after he granted me asylum, that I was granted 'all the rights and privileges of one of our own people,' of one of the Furlings. What exactly does that mean?" Daniel shoved his glasses back up his nose again.
Maybe you need some other means of improving your eyesight. Ruarc wasn't sure whether his glasses were ill fitting, or whether the gesture was simply a nervous one.
And a very astute question.
"I suspect that it means much of what citizenship should mean on Midgard," Ruarc was thankful that terms like had been used during that meeting, because he did not relish the thought of having to discuss "citizenship" without actually being able to use the straightforward term. How would I even talk around that? "Protections by the laws; obedience to the laws; right to work, including in the government; free passage among our territories, and so on."
"Since I am a citizen but not a Furling," Daniel mused, "What jobs could I get?"
Why would there be a limit? You are not a Furling by blood, but you are the citizen of a Furling Empire. Why would the distinction matter?
Maybe Midgard politics or quirks I do not want to know.
"Under law," Ruarc replied slowly, "You may serve any job you that you have the knowledge and experience for. Our allies in the Empire and those from other worlds granted asylum and citizenship have the rights of our own race. There is no … making apart."
"Distinction."
"Distinction, my thanks to you. There is no distinction," Ruarc went on, "Once you learn our tongue, the galaxy shall be open to you. If you desire to work in the library, many of our scholars would desire the chance to learn of the peoples of Midgard and of Avalon that you have met. If you desire to work under Sujanha to help cause the downfall of the Goa'uld, you may."
(As much as she thought his help would be useful in working towards the start of the War of Deliverance, the Commander had forbidden anyone pressuring Daniel toward one decision or another, but given that his concern for his wife had driven him towards the Furlings in the first place, there was no harm in mentioning the possibility.)
I doubt his wife is far from his mind. Daniel periodically touched his jacket over his heart, and since he did not look, smell, or act ill, I wonder if he has a picture of her in his jacket.
"You really mean any?" Daniel asked, his head swiveling to look at Ruarc instead of the road ahead for a moment, his face and voice … somewhat skeptical.
Is it not so on your world?
Politics sometimes could affect such decisions, and since his world's … country's! … that there were so many countries on Midgard still flabbergasted Ruarc … how does it even function? … politics were questionable in some areas, there could be problems in those regards there, too.
"Yes," Ruarc replied, "Some of your species have even risen to sit on the High Council, though I must admit it is rare. Are matters different on Midgard?"
Daniel gave a snort, an expression Ruarc was not sure how to interpret. Among many of the other races in Asteria, it would be a sign of anger, but Daniel did not seem angry. "No," Daniel replied with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, "Well … not necessarily. In the United States, some jobs are limited to any citizens, while others are limited to those who are citizens by birth. Politics, culture, it's complicated. Why is it rare to have a human on the High Council?" His tone changed to the same curious tone that usually preceded more questions.
Not that it bothers me.
Daniel was refreshingly inquisitive and curious, and everything new about the culture he was living in seemed to fascinate him.
He has a very keen mind, a scholar's curiosity.
"But in rare times" like Janth trying to unseat the Commander! Ruarc fought back a visible response to the anger that thought brought, "High Councilors and High Chancellors hold that position for life. There are few human peoples in Asteria. My people, the Furlings, and many of our allies are very long-lived. That means that it is only at times that those not of one of the long-lived peoples are able to rise to sit on the High Council."
There was still a puzzled look on Daniel's face.
Human peoples were always the majority, but have all the long-lived species in Avalon perished from the stars?
Ruarc decided to take a different tactic, "How long do your people live?"
"About 70 to 80 years on average."
From the discussions on Gaia several days previously, Ruarc knew roughly how long a Midgard year was in comparison to a Furling year. He was silent for several minutes as he quickly did some rough calculations, wishing as he did so that Ragnar was there, for his brother was always the quicker in doing figures mentally.
Stars in Heaven!
Even the shortest-lived of the human peoples here live twice that long on the whole!
"The short-lived human peoples in our galaxy live around 130 of our years on the whole, which is about 150 of your years … if my numbers are right. More common life-times are between 800 and 2000 years. I am one of the Sukkim, a … under-kind of the Furling, one of many. One of the Sukkim or one of the Maskilim like Commander Sujanha's brother can live as long as 6000 of our years on the whole—about 6800 of your years—though some of the other under-types might only live half-that. Of the other peoples of Asteria, only the Dovahkiin are believed to live longer than my people."
Daniel's mouth dropped open, and his eyes went wide, "My …" He cut himself off at the beginning of what sounded to be some sort of imprecation. "I can't imagine …" He shook himself, "How old are you? … If that's not wrong to ask."
"It is not wrong … not in private," Ruarc replied. "What year is it on your world?"
"Noted. Uh, it's 1998 AD, about a quarter of the way through the year … if that matters." He had a glazed look in his eyes like the one the Commander could get if she was thinking too much.
Okay … 1998 … so assuming they have an age system the same as we do … and that they have not changed the calendrical system …
"These numbers are rough, but …" Ruarc paused, doubling checking his math, "My brother and I are womb-mates, so we were born at the same time. We are 1263 years old as of the previous month, and in your years, we were born in … 556 AD. The Commander is older than us." He paused, quickly did another set of figures. "She was born around 424 AD."
"I can't imagine living that long," Daniel murmured, apparently stunned beyond belief, judging by his wide eyes and stunned voice, "All you could see! All you could do! The possibilities …"
I wish it were that simple … of long-life giving you more possibilities.
It was not.
A scholar's thought to think so … I could imagine Odin have thinking so in your position.
Long-lives meant that wars could last for thousands of years. Long-lives led to feuds that otherwise might die out in a handful of years among one of the shorter-lived races lasting for hundreds of years, instead. I think the feud over Odin's death is still a problem in the Imperial House! Political issues could drag on for tens of years.
Long-lives meant that there was not necessarily a need to do some things more quickly.
We always thought … 'there is time.'
The Great War had shattered that illusion. To many people had said 'I have time,' and then never returned from the wars, never made peace, never done this or that. Long-life meant living on and watching person after person of the shorter-lived races die, meant sometimes watching a whole people die out. Long-lives could breed resentment among those not so blessed with length of years.
Long-life was not always a blessing … thought sometimes it has its mercies.
A short-live … that would teach you to make the most of every day that you have, live every day to its fullest … when you have so few.
Daniel seemed to be caught up in those thoughts, probably imagining as a scholar what could be accomplished in a lifespan that long, and silence returned. That silence lingered for most of the rest of the walk to the city, until they crested one final small hill and saw Uslisgas spread out before them. It was a beautiful sight, if now a somewhat sad one for Ruarc. The city had greatly changed because of the war, and it still felt strange to see the city so much less … busy … and alive than it had been years before when the war had not been at its worst.
And I never even knew the city BEFORE the war!
"So, Ohper told me that we are in a different galaxy. How far is Asteria from the Milky-Way … from Avalon, I mean? Why do you call it Avalon?" Daniel asked at that point.
"We call your galaxy Avalon because that is what the Ancients called it long ago, and the Furling never made a separate word for it," Ruarc replied. "Asteria is … I do not know the length measurements in Midgard terms, but it would take a Goa'uld mothership about 111 of your years to reach the borders of this galaxy."
"Yikes," Daniel muttered.
That is a strange word.
Silence fell again, and Ruarc led the way into the city through the sparse late-morning crowds. The two wound their way through the streets of the residential district of small-to-medium sized stone-structures built to last for thousands of years or the larger six-to-seven story residential buildings with smaller homes.
When they reached the edges of the broad north-south street that led into the Great Market, Ruarc asked, "What stores do you desire to visit first?"
"Clothes would be helpful," Daniel replied, "I only have two pair. I could use a razor, too." He motioned to his chin.
That is what you call it then. An interesting word.
They had entered the Great Market at that point, and at the mention of clothes, Ruarc turned left instead of continuing straight, since the shops for the clothes maker and sellers were along the southern edge of the Great Market generally. Rho should have a clothing to his taste, I think. Ruarc led the way to a small two-story stone building outside of which hung a small sign advertising clothing for sale in both the Furling and Lapiths scripts. The inside of the store was somewhat warm for his tastes, but since Rho has to work here all day, the temperature is set to the needs of her biology. The walls were decorated in colors that brought to mind the marshes of Noreia, the Lapith homeworld. One half of the store was devoted to shelves upon shelves of cloth of all types and colors with the other materials needed for sewing garments in boxes further back in the store. The other half of the store held racks of pre-made clothing.
"Rho," called Ruarc as they entered, careful to pitch his voice to carry but not to shout. The Lapith were known for their acute hearing, which aided them in hunting, but on a busy world, the louder environment noises could be physically painful.
A hiss of acknowledgement drifted back from the rear of the store within seconds, and within a few moments, the soft tap-tap-tap of footsteps approached where Daniel and Ruarc were waiting just inside the door, and then Rho Trunec, the Lapith shop owner, appeared. Out of the corner of his eye, Ruarc saw Daniel start … but only slightly.
The Lapith are certainly … surprising … to those used to human peoples.
The Lapith were a humanoid species, though no one who was not blind could mistake them for humans. You'd have to be deaf, also! Instead of fur or skin, Rho had dark grey scales that overlapped so closely as to make an almost impenetrable armor against bladed-weapon. What nose she had was flattened into her skull with only large openings where nostrils otherwise would be. Her ears and her dark eyes were similarly recessed into her skull. Like with the Dovahkiin, large claws on her feet were the cause of the tapping sound when she was walked, and a tail trailed the ground behind her, giving her almost impossible balance. And a weapon … especially with those spikes.
"Daniel, this is Rho Trunec, the shopkeeper. Her people are the Lapith," Ruarc introduced Daniel first and then switched into Furling, "Rho, this is Daniel. He was granted asylum two days ago and is a guest of the Commander. He escaped his world with only the clothes on his back and is in need of a full wardrobe."
Rho tilted her head and scanned Daniel from head to toe and then looked back at Ruarc, giving a long hiss with an upward lilt at the end and making several quick gestures with her claw-tipped fingers. Before she had been a shopkeeper, she had served as a scout for the Lapith Army during the Great War, and during one mission, which Ruarc had never learned the particulars of, her neck had been injured, and she had lost the use of her voice. She could still make noises, hence the hisses, but not form words, and relied on both those hisses and sign-language to speak.
I wonder if Midgard has non-verbal languages … The ranks of the injured among all the peoples of the Empire who had lost either the ability to see, hear, or speak … or sometimes multiple of those … had been much too high, and standardizing the various sign-languages amongst the Empire was still a work in progress to ease the ability of all of those to communicate
"Do you have a preference as to clothing … a kind?" Ruarc asked.
Daniel paused, frowned for a moment, and then gave a half-shrug, "Something practical and durable … long-lasting … and not completely foreign."
I think I know what he means by that.
With Ruarc trailing along behind, Rho led Daniel toward the back of the store where the racks of pre-made clothes were, and they set to work finding him a new wardrobe. By the time midday was passed, Daniel had a complete wardrobe of five new sets of practical clothes, somewhat similar the Midgard style that he had been wearing, all in dark colors and two pairs of nightclothes along with under clothes, a light jacket, a heavy jacket for cold weather, and a good pair of gloves.
That style looks Boii, I think.
Ruarc settled the accounts with Rho, giving the banking information that the Commander had forwarded to him that morning … I'll explain all of this to him at lunch and he can change the protecting information later … and then led the way outside, leaving Rho to box up the clothing and send it along to the house once she was finished, "Are you hungry?"
"Yes," Daniel said, a note of confusion in his voice, "but don't we need to get my clothes?"
Ah, yes, I probably should have explained that before we left. He was so used to that way of doing things, of having heavy packages sent along to the residence he and his brother shared, that he had not even stopped to think about it.
"We still have stops left to complete." Ruarc replied, glancing across at Daniel, "That box will be heavy enough that you would not want to carry it for several more hours." I wouldn't want to carry it around for hours! "Rho will have it sent to the lady's house. It will be waiting for you there when you return."
"Oh, okay."
The two bought their lunch at a different outdoor shop than from several days before. This shop sold mugs of spiced tea, sandwiches, and fragrant, spicy soup that had changed over time into a unique version of whatever culture or cultures' food it had originated from. The seller was one of the Cesneors, a frail woman named Deayi.
Over lunch, Ruarc explained … in fits and starts … with internal curses against the necessity of having to explain anything about money and banking in a language of which he not only had an incomplete grasp of but also had a complete lack of technical terms. But by the end, he thought that Daniel had at least a basic idea of the Furling banking system, how credit worked in stores, and where and when it was generally custom to buy with coin.
After lunch, the two wandered around the Great Square for several more hours, picking up the other things that Daniel still needed: a razor; a stack of books with blank paper for Daniel to keep his journals in, he said, though what a journal was Ruarc had no conception; a clock that Ruarc promised to adapt to tell time in Midgard numerals … once I know what those numbers ARE and how they actually correspond; a picture-stone for the picture that Ruarc assumed Daniel was keeping in his jacket pocket, if he doesn't have one, he'll find use for it eventually, and the cost is small … the nature and use of the stone Ruarc promised to explain later a small contraption; as well as a few random other things.
The sun was setting when Daniel and Ruarc returned to the Commander's house, and the internal lights were on, signaling that she had already returned from work. It's a wonder! It's time for the evening meal, and she's already left!
"Your boxes will be in the house. The money for those things will be deducted from your account at the end of the week," said Ruarc.
"Thank you for the help today," Daniel replied.
"I am glad of the time to be of help. I will return tomorrow after the mid-day meal to help set up your clock for your way of writing and make some adjustments to the program that helps run the house."
"I'll see you tomorrow then, and thanks for the help today."
"It was my pleasure."
[1] Equivalent to someone from Earth saying that they would follow someone to Hell and back. According to Furling religious beliefs, the soul at death is freed from the confines of the flesh and is set free to set sail on its final journey across the Sea of Night until it reaches the Eternal Halls, the home of the Maker in the uttermost north.
[2] Quoted from Prescot, Gates of Fire.
[3] Paraphrased from C. S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy.
[4] An Asgardian epithet meaning "Steadfast" that was granted to the Furling Supreme Commander during the Great War.
