He completed his inspection and walked over to the cart that the local had fallen over and tipped on its side. He set it back on its wheels and examined what was lying on the ground.
It appeared to be a mix of personal belongings and sealed ceramic containers; there were shirt and trouser type cloth articles and heavy, wax sealed containers. He guessed that they might contain preserved food. The most interesting thing was a sheathed knife that looked to be a product of great skill. He pulled on the heavy bone or petrified wood handle and a pale gray, quartz-like blade about twenty centimeters long slid out of the heavy, leather sheath. It looked sharp and he gave it the usual test against some hairs on the back of his left hand. ‘Sharp’ was an understatement, and he, very carefully, slid it back into a sheath whose odd, wood, blade guides he no longer questioned.
Ames and Twisst came up behind him as he looked toward the town and saw the crowd starting to gather at the other end of the path. As they arrived from the town, they approached with their heads pivoting upwards to take in the sight of the Santana; when they joined the group at the end of the path, their eyes were fixed on the three strange visitors. Several of them were carrying crossbows, but none, as yet, were pointed in their direction.
There was a small commotion as the local, that Hayes recognized as the owner of the cart, pushed to the front of the group; he was, practically, dragging another local that Hayes recognized from long hours of watching survey recordings and thought of as the Mayor because of the central role that he plays in many of the town’s activities. The owner of the cart was gesturing excitedly while the Mayor stood there staring at the Santana and the three aliens. Hayes smiled at the obvious parallel between all of the wild speculation about Ancient Aliens having visited Earth in the distant past. We are them, passed through his mind.
He looked at the knife in his hand and then back at the anxious face of its owner. He raised his free hand, pointed at him, and made an obvious gesture indicating that he should approach. He pulled out his pad, activated the translator program that Doctor Ames had loaded into the Santana’s AI, and hung the pad from his breast pocket. The owner of the cart had not moved, but had acquired a look that could only be interpreted as fright.
Hayes signaled again with more enthusiasm.
“What are you doing, Lieutenant?” asked Ames.
“Breaking the ice, Doc.”
Hayes’ gestures caused a bit of a stir in the group, and it looked as though his intent was clearly understood; the Mayor and someone standing on the other side of him gave the cart owner a small push toward Hayes. The Mayor pointed at Hayes and said something to the frightened man that had the inflection of an order.
Hayes smiled again, Send the sacrificial peon out, and see if he gets eaten.
The cart owner was shorter than Hayes--considerably shorter; but then, all Foresters averaged around twelve centimeters shorter than humans. It was unknown whether it was a genetic lock or dietary deficiencies. His clothing was well constructed, fit well, and looked pretty tough if not what humans would call haute couture. The best part was that Foresters had high hygiene standards and there were no offensive odors to politely ignore. Hayes had made sure that the three of them had slicked-up to the nines and wore matching dark blue Navy shipboard work suits. He knew from years of observing the Foresters that they did make an effort to dress reasonably well.
The cart owner had closed to within six meters of Hayes but did not seem to be inclined to move closer; it was close enough. Hayes held out the sheathed knife and said, “Trade!”
The pad on his pocket said, “Motka”
The cart owner twitched.
Hayes tucked the knife under his arm, pulled his own knife out of his pocket, and unfolded the twelve centimeter blade at one end and the seven centimeter blade at the other. He held out both hands with a knife in each.
“Trade!”
“Motka”
He held his folding knife out further toward the cart owner.
“Trade!”
“Motka”
Fear was, obviously, slipping away as Hayes’ intent registered as something familiar. The cart owner approached and gently took the folding knife. He folded the blades and unfolded them several times with a growing smile. Finally, he looked very closely at the blades and said, “Salaf mart” or something like that.
The pad said, “Metal construction <question>”
Hayes nodded, “Yes, metal construction. Will you trade with me?”
The longer translation resulted in a smile, a ducking motion reminiscent of an old Japanese gesture, and one word, “Tyyg”
“Yes!”
The cart owner took off running back to the crowd and showed them his new possession.
Hayes turned to the two linguists that were exchanging bemused looks, “Okay, I’ve warmed ‘em up; they’re all yours.”
Ames and Twisst activated their pads and hung them on their pockets as Hayes had done, “Stay with us, Hayes.”
They walked closer to the crowd and stopped about eight meters away when some back-pedaling indicated residual apprehension. Doctor Ames raised his left arm toward Hayes and said, “Hayes.”
He raised his right arm, “Twisst.”
He placed his right hand on his own chest, “Ames.”
The AI knew the intent of the introductions and did not attempt any translation.
There was no reaction from the group other than their eyes following his motions.
“Is there an astronomer here in this group?”
“<astronomer> does not translate - suggest <sky watcher>”
“Translation change approved.”
The question caused a
