Selene had been too concerned with getting her artificial flesh to look believable to be particularly interested. “The world's been isolated for a long time; there's obviously been massive linguistic drift from the standard patterns.”
Ondo's gaze had been far away as he studied the data streaming through his brain. “There's drift and there's complete divergence. I can't trace any of this back to the known root tongues.”
“Which means it was isolated from the Coronadian culture and evolved by itself. That shouldn't be a surprise.”
“A planet isolated from Concordance and the galactic golden age. Don't tell her, but Hessia was right; I should have been here.”
“We'll gather all the data we can. When we get back, you can study it to your heart's content.”
Now, they crossed paths with a broken-down cart to which was tethered a stocky equine, steam rising off it as if it had only recently stopped stamping its way forwards. The cart contained a mountain of purple root vegetables, but one of its wooden wheels had come off, canting the contraption over to one side. Two men knelt in the dust of the road, trying to fix it. A father and son, Selene guessed: one was young, black-haired and clean-shaven, while the older man's face was a weathered red. The similarities between them – face, build, mannerisms – were clear to see.
The two men stood as Selene and the others approached. The younger man considered them with open suspicion, but the older one brushed his fingers through his remaining hair and greeted them warmly enough, exchanging a few inconsequential words about the weather and the fact that the evenings were getting darker as the winter wore on. The observation puzzled Selene as the motions of the planet were a matter of simple astronomical calculation. Except, of course, this was a low-tech world. Perhaps the man was genuinely delighted when the sun chose to rise again each morning.
She offered to help them by way of reply, but the younger man stepped forwards, his cheeks flushed with anger. “We don't need your help. Go back to where you came from and leave us in peace.”
“He's absolutely terrified of us,” said Hessia in her mind.
“We're no threat to him. I mean, we could be, but we're not.”
“That's not how he sees it.”
“What is this, some small-town fear of those terrifying others from then next valley over?”
“I don't think so. As far as I can tell, they both know what we are. The old man's thoughts are full of wonder about the stars and what lies out there.”
One of the younger man's hands was roughly bandaged, and she saw that the cloth was beginning to colour crimson as his blood seeped through.
“You're injured,” said Selene.
The younger man glanced down at his hand, as if only then noticing his wound. “It's nothing. Caught my damned hand under the cart as we were trying to lift it.”
“May I see? We might be able to help.”
“No. It's fine.”
“Show them,” the older man said. “They may be able to help with the pain.”
“It doesn't hurt.”
“Of course it hurts, Jem. Show them.”
Reluctantly, the son unwound the strip of cloth around his hand, revealing layers that were more and more saturated with blood. He went slowly at the end, carefully exposing his wound. It was bad: the bones of his left hand were crushed and protruding from his flesh. His palm must have taken the full weight of the cart.
“That needs proper attention, cleaning and bandaging,” said Selene. “You might lose that hand. Do you have anyone you can go to?” On any advanced world, it wouldn't be a terrible injury. Hands could be repaired or replaced, and infection wasn't a problem. Here, it would be. The stained cloth looked anything but sterile.
The young man, however, looked amused rather than worried. “It will be better in a day or two. It's nothing.”
Selene was about to tell him that was nonsense, when Hessia brain-spoke again. “He's telling the truth, or at least he thinks he is. His father too: he's not worried. He knows the lad's hand will heal.”
“How can that be?”
“I don't know.”
Out loud, Selene said, “I can lift up your cart while you re-attach the wheel if you like.”
The offer of the superhuman feat of strength appeared not to surprise either man. The father said, “That would be welcome. The pin keeping the wheel on shattered. We have a spare but we'd have to remove the entire load of oxbeets to lift the axle to the right height.”
But the younger man intervened again as Selene stepped forwards. “We'll do it without you! Get back in your ship and don't come back here. You're not welcome.”
He looked like he was ready to fight the three of them. The older man put a restraining hand on his shoulder, “Leave them be, son. They intend us no harm. They're trying to help.”
“They don't have to intend us harm to cause it, do they? We all know what strangers mean.”
“What do strangers mean?” Selene asked.
“Please forgive my boy,” said the older man. “He is worried about what your appearance signifies. You understand. But you are welcome here, truly. No one will attempt to stop you.”
She didn't at all understand why they felt so threatened; perhaps this was how people on all cut-off planets behaved.
“Do you want me to help with the cart or not?”
“Thank you, yes.”
She was tempted to walk away to spite the younger man, but instead she stepped forwards and lifted the axle with her left arm, holding it perfectly still while the older man slipped the wooden wheel back on and hammered the metal pin into place. The son scowled at them from one side, refusing to help.
“Thank you,” the older man said when he and his son were back on the cart. “You saved us an hour of work.”
“You're welcome.”
“I hope you find what you're looking for.”
With that, the cart rattled off. When they were alone again, Selene said,
