[Tayrey raises a hand to shade her eyes, to see past the glare of white-on-white and look at the figure more closely. A man. Not one of hers; she knew every man on her ship by sight, and this one was no Tradeliner. There had been no civilian ships in the area. Nobody at all. This place was uncharted.
She stares at him, a dazed, almost uncomprehending look on her face. A human, where no human could possibly be. A human speaking Company Standard to her. Not Sector Standard, the lingua franca of the lines, a hybrid of spacefaring tongues โ but an older language, suggestive of an earlier era. The conclusion was startling, but inevitable: this man, or his ancestors, might have come from some lost cryoship. A slow ship full of hopeful colonists that never reached its destination, but ended up here instead.
A momentous discovery. She feels her pulse quicken in anticipation โ only for her to shiver again as she realises the flaws in her analysis. Lost colonists would have settled on a far more temperate part of the planet. If this man is out here regardless, it's by design โ and Tayrey doesn't know what caused her shuttle to crash. It wasn't kinetic weapons, else she'd have seen the damage, but that doesn't rule out electromagnetic interference, which he and his people might have caused.
Calm down, Tayrey. Assume peaceable contract. Answer the question.]
I'm not injured.
[Naturally she assumes that's what the question must mean, and she's not, at least not badly. Bruises, maybe minor lacerations. She hadn't checked. The Prosperity's doctor wouldn't like that she'd blacked out and couldn't remember the crash, but gravity alone could have done that, and it's a problem for when she's safely in the starship infirmary, not something to complain about now.
She lowers her hand, and it brushes by her coat in what seems a casual gesture, but has the felicitous effect of revealing a brief glimpse of the energy pistol clipped to her belt. She's not injured, and not helpless either.]
Thank you. I'm fine. Peace and prosperity to you.
[A cold gust of wind makes her angle her body away from him, but as soon as it passes, she stands straight again, knowing she has to keep control of the situation.]
I had an accident. Six miles north, seven? [Assigning no blame. Not yet.]
You'll have my sincere gratitude if I can use your communications tower, send out a Sibril line to the local relay station. You'll be compensated, fair contract. My captain will see to it.
[If she thought about it, she'd realise that nobody on an uncharted planet could have a Sibril line, at least not one known by that specific company name - but Tayrey's operating half on autopilot right now, hoping that this man in a strange uniform who speaks Company Standard actually has a perfectly rational reason for being here. That it will all make sense.]
[ In such an impossible situation, the mind scrabbles to cling fast to whatever vestiges of logic that it possibly can. ...Even now, after all of the unnatural things that he has been witness to โ the creature, something unlike any natural beast yet documented on Earth โ Little tries to find reason. To hold fast to it.
If she's here, then it's by intention, although.... perhaps not her own. It's possible, perhaps, that she's some sort of hostage taken by the natives to this land...
(The only other option involves the woman being part of some... expedition of her own right, but that's almost wholly far-fetched a notion. Even if she's dressed very much like a crewman...)
His wide eyes follow every movement she gives, locked on with alarm and shock, sweeping down for that fleeting moment to catch the item clipped to her belt. A weapon? She's armed?
'I'm fine.' How can that possibly be? Yet the more she reveals, the more confusing it all only becomes. An accident, a request to use aโ communications tower, Sibril line...? Little's mouth parts, but can't quite seem to find the words. In contrast to his desperate struggle to find reasoning, he's met with the sensation that this all seems a dream. But then, one word snaps him back into a certain focus, and his eyes clear, sharpen with recogntion. ]
Your captain?
[ Then she must truly be... part of some crew. ....A rescue? With an almost pained shuddering jolt of his heart within its ribcage, the man adjusts the shotgun secured to his person, shoving it back further out of the way as he moves closer, draws himself in so that he can hear her better over the howl of wind. ]
What is the name of your vessel? Who is your captain?
[ More words come in a rush as he gestures quickly with one arm back behind himself, where his footprints have already been dusted over with a fresh coating of snow. ]
Our ships are just back this wayโ both of them, held fast in the ice. Terror has the worst of it, she's leaning badly, wood split in placesโ [ The woman must surely recognise the name of the ship, because this must be a rescue. It can't be anything else. Nothing else would make sense.
But she mentioned an accident and his heart's beating faster. ]
Your ship... how is its condition? Can it still be maneuvered?
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She stares at him, a dazed, almost uncomprehending look on her face. A human, where no human could possibly be. A human speaking Company Standard to her. Not Sector Standard, the lingua franca of the lines, a hybrid of spacefaring tongues โ but an older language, suggestive of an earlier era. The conclusion was startling, but inevitable: this man, or his ancestors, might have come from some lost cryoship. A slow ship full of hopeful colonists that never reached its destination, but ended up here instead.
A momentous discovery. She feels her pulse quicken in anticipation โ only for her to shiver again as she realises the flaws in her analysis. Lost colonists would have settled on a far more temperate part of the planet. If this man is out here regardless, it's by design โ and Tayrey doesn't know what caused her shuttle to crash. It wasn't kinetic weapons, else she'd have seen the damage, but that doesn't rule out electromagnetic interference, which he and his people might have caused.
Calm down, Tayrey. Assume peaceable contract. Answer the question.]
I'm not injured.
[Naturally she assumes that's what the question must mean, and she's not, at least not badly. Bruises, maybe minor lacerations. She hadn't checked. The Prosperity's doctor wouldn't like that she'd blacked out and couldn't remember the crash, but gravity alone could have done that, and it's a problem for when she's safely in the starship infirmary, not something to complain about now.
She lowers her hand, and it brushes by her coat in what seems a casual gesture, but has the felicitous effect of revealing a brief glimpse of the energy pistol clipped to her belt. She's not injured, and not helpless either.]
Thank you. I'm fine. Peace and prosperity to you.
[A cold gust of wind makes her angle her body away from him, but as soon as it passes, she stands straight again, knowing she has to keep control of the situation.]
I had an accident. Six miles north, seven? [Assigning no blame. Not yet.]
You'll have my sincere gratitude if I can use your communications tower, send out a Sibril line to the local relay station. You'll be compensated, fair contract. My captain will see to it.
[If she thought about it, she'd realise that nobody on an uncharted planet could have a Sibril line, at least not one known by that specific company name - but Tayrey's operating half on autopilot right now, hoping that this man in a strange uniform who speaks Company Standard actually has a perfectly rational reason for being here. That it will all make sense.]
no subject
If she's here, then it's by intention, although.... perhaps not her own. It's possible, perhaps, that she's some sort of hostage taken by the natives to this land...
(The only other option involves the woman being part of some... expedition of her own right, but that's almost wholly far-fetched a notion. Even if she's dressed very much like a crewman...)
His wide eyes follow every movement she gives, locked on with alarm and shock, sweeping down for that fleeting moment to catch the item clipped to her belt. A weapon? She's armed?
'I'm fine.' How can that possibly be? Yet the more she reveals, the more confusing it all only becomes. An accident, a request to use aโ communications tower, Sibril line...? Little's mouth parts, but can't quite seem to find the words. In contrast to his desperate struggle to find reasoning, he's met with the sensation that this all seems a dream. But then, one word snaps him back into a certain focus, and his eyes clear, sharpen with recogntion. ]
Your captain?
[ Then she must truly be... part of some crew. ....A rescue? With an almost pained shuddering jolt of his heart within its ribcage, the man adjusts the shotgun secured to his person, shoving it back further out of the way as he moves closer, draws himself in so that he can hear her better over the howl of wind. ]
What is the name of your vessel? Who is your captain?
[ More words come in a rush as he gestures quickly with one arm back behind himself, where his footprints have already been dusted over with a fresh coating of snow. ]
Our ships are just back this wayโ both of them, held fast in the ice. Terror has the worst of it, she's leaning badly, wood split in placesโ [ The woman must surely recognise the name of the ship, because this must be a rescue. It can't be anything else. Nothing else would make sense.
But she mentioned an accident and his heart's beating faster. ]
Your ship... how is its condition? Can it still be maneuvered?