Orphans - Kevin Killiany [25]
“A fourteenth-century Europe analog?” Stevens estimated, gauging the sophistication and fit of the weapons.
“Twelfth to eighteenth,” Abramowitz countered. “Don’t get too narrow until you’ve seen how they live.”
Stevens wondered for a moment where the others were, then realized eight riders on eight mounts made sixteen. Once Kairn learned to tell the smells apart…
His thought broke off as the newcomers came level and their size registered. The stirruped boots were at his eye level and he could not have touched the smallest animal’s withers without jumping. It was more difficult to judge the riders while they were mounted, but he estimated that their heavy belt buckles would be even with his shoulder.
If the mismatched sizes bothered Lauoc, Tev, and Kairn, they did not show it. Stevens did his best to emulate them, standing tall between Abramowitz and Soloman and the newcomers.
For their part, the two groups of riders pulled up, perhaps twenty meters distant and stared. Better than simply killing them outright, Stevens reflected, which would have been more in keeping with the European model.
“What’s the temperature?” Abramowitz asked abruptly.
“Twenty-two, twenty-three,” Stevens guessed. “Why?”
“Heavy clothes indicate cold weather,” Abramowitz said. “Could be part of the breakdown.”
“Why no gloves, I wonder?”
“Their hands will be webbed,” Tev answered over his shoulder. “Ill adapted to wearing gloves.”
“Webbed?” Abramowitz asked. “How can you be sure?”
“Note the facial features are in the top third of their heads.” Tev did not turn his own face from the natives. “The eyes and nostrils aligned just below the brow line.”
He paused a moment, evidently expecting the light to dawn. When Abramowitz and Stevens continued to remain silent, he snorted in disgust.
“Surely you’re familiar with McCoy’s Comparative Alien Physiology ?” he demanded. “Low profile above the waterline.”
Abramowitz shrugged, which Tev must have sensed.
“These mammals are semi-aquatic,” he explained. “In Earth-specific terms: Your ancestors were lemurs, theirs were otters.”
At this point the natives, whom Stevens resolved not to think of as “otters,” evidently decided they’d learned all they could from a distance. Without apparent signal, the riders moved forward.
As they drew close, the two groups rejoined to form a semicircle, not so close as to be immediately threatening, but too close for casual escape. Though the swords were sheathed and the lances pointed skyward, Stevens had no doubt their weapons could be brought to bear instantly.
Without haste, Tev activated his combadge. Kairn nodded, but made no move toward his own. Stevens understood. One combadge’s universal translator was sufficient to decode the native’s language. As its power failed, another could be activated and the language downloaded. Depending on the energy drain, they should be able to communicate for days.
This close Stevens could see that their forearms and the backs of their hands were covered with sleek fur. Even their faces had short, down-like growth. Their eyes and nose were indeed high on their heads, but any ears they might have had were covered by leather helmets.
One native—perhaps the leader, though Stevens could see no sign of rank—spoke. His voice was a beautiful, operatic baritone and—though it was always dangerous to guess the significance of voice tone in an alien culture—he seemed more curious than threatening.
“I am Kairn, engineer in service to the Klingon Empire.” Kairn answered the most likely question. Then, pointing to each of the others in turn, he gave their name, occupation, and planet of origin.
Stevens wondered at the Klingon’s uncharacteristic eloquence. Then he realized Kairn was encouraging the other by example to speak at length for the benefit of the universal translator.
The native leader spoke again, first tapping the side of his head, then indicating each of the others with an open hand. Stevens noted he had four digits, two long fingers between what seemed to be two thumbs at either side of his palm.
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