And with that, Kta turned him out on the deck at liberty. No one offered him unpleasantness, even when his ignorance put him in the way of busy men. Someone would then gesture for him to move-they never touched him- or politely call to him: “Umanu, o-eh,” which he thought was his species and a request to move. And after a part of the day had passed and he decided to imitate the crew’s manner of bows and courteous downcast looks, his status improved, for he received bows in return and was called “umanu-ifhan” in a tone of respect.
But at night the young officer Bel t’Osanef came and indicated he must take his place again at the mast. The seaman who performed Bel’s order was most gentle in applying the chain, and came back afterward to provide him a blanket and a large mug of hot tea. It was ludicrous. Kurt found the courage to laugh, and the nemet seemed
also to understand the humor of the situation, for he grinned and said, “Tosa, umanu-ifhan,” in a tone which seemed kindly meant.
His hands left free, he sipped his tea at leisure and finally stretched out at such an angle that he did not think anyone would trip over him in the dark. His mind was much easier this night, though he shuddered to think what might have become of him if not for the nemet. If Kta’s Tamurlin were indeed fallen Hanan, then he had had an escape close enough to last a lifetime.
He would accept any conditions of the nemet rather than fall to the Hanan. If Kta spoke the truth and the Hanan were powerless and declined to barbarism, then he was free. There was no more war. For the first time in his imagination, there was no more war.
Only one doubt still gnawed at the edges of his mind: the
question of why a modern Hanan starship had run from the destroyed world of Aeolus to this world of fallen humans.
He did not want to think on that. He did not want to believe Kta had lied, or that the gentleness of these people
hid deception. There was another explanation. His hopes,
his reason for living insisted upon it.
In the next two days he walked the deck and scanned the whole of the ship for some sign of Hanan technology, and concluded that there was none. She was wooden from stem to stern, hand-hewn, completely reliant on wind and oars for her propulsion.
The skills by which these men managed then- complex vessel intrigued him. Bel t’Osanef could explain nothing, knowing only a handful of human words. But when Kta was on deck, Kurt questioned him earnestly; when the nemet captain finally seemed to accept that his interest was unfeigned, he tried to explain, often groping for words for objects long-vanished from human language. They developed between them their own patois of Hanan-Nechai, Nechai being Kta’s own language.
And Kta asked about human things, which Kurt could not always answer in terms Kta could understand. Sometimes Kta looked puzzled at human science and sometimes shocked, until at last Kurt began to perceive the disturbance his explanations caused. Then he decided he had explained enough. The nemet was earthbound; he did not truly conceive of things extraterrestrial and it troubled his religion. Kurt wanted least of all for the nemet to develop some apprehension of his origins.
A third day passed in such discussions, and at the dawn of the fourth Kta summoned Kurt to his side as he stood on the deck. He had the look of a man with something definite on his mind. Kurt approached him soberly and gave a little bow of deference.
“Kurt,” said Kta, “between us is trust, yes?”
“Yes,” Kurt agreed, and wondered uneasily where this was tending.
“Today we go into port. I don’t want shame for you, bringing you with chains. But if I bring you in free, if then if you do hurt to innocent people, then I have responsibility for this. What must I do, Kurt Morgan?”
“I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. And what about your people? How will they treat me? Tell me that before I agree to anything.”