The mayor was short, round and bland-faced. He listened patiently as Sittas explained what he wanted to do, then replied with a shrug:
“The people probably won’t want to bring wounded foreigners into their homes, but I shall tell them that you have asked them to do so. We shall see how they react.”
The reaction was startling, even to Sittas. Nearly every family in the tiny village showed up at the town square and took at least one of the wounded men lying out on the worn old paving stones. The casualties were all safety indoors before night fell.
The mayor was amazed. “These people revere you, Sittas.”
The priest shook his head. “It is not me. They are good-hearted people. I only pointed out how they could help.”
All through the night, with only an hour or so of rest, Sittas attended “his” patients. Near dawn, one of the doctors reported worriedly:
“We have just about stripped the entire district clean of medical supplies. There’s practically nothing left to go on.”
Altai, standing nearby her uncle, said, “Perhaps I can get more.”
As she went off toward the building’s only tri-di transceiver, a Komani officer strode into the main entrance. He looked across the sea of bedridden men that filled the entiyway and stretched on into the other rooms.
“Which of you is in charge here?” he demanded of the Shinarians.
Everyone turned toward Sittas.
“I am Sittas,” the priest said, making his way toward the Komani. He saw a trio of warriors standing just outside the doorway.
The Komani officer said, “In the name of Okatar Kang, I claim the Terrans sheltered here as prisoners …”