They heard the whispering thunder ofSkimmer's flux thrusters, dropped their tools, and stood, faces upturned, as the ship blew dust and lowered tosquat about a hundred yards from them. Theycontinued to stare as Pat opened the hatch.
Man knew little about his origins. History estimated that only a small number of people, perhaps less than one million, left Old Earth beforenuclear war devastated the planet, riding outwardfrom that small, isolated sun on ships far more primitive than the old colony ship which circledthis world.
The people from Old Earth had settled, it wasfelt, only four or five planets in the original wave of colonization from Old Earth. Various portions ofthe UP claimed to have been the original points of settlement, including the older planets of the Zedesystem. In all cases, the small groups of settlerswere unable to maintain, on virgin planets, thelevel of technology which had sent them into space.In fact, the best estimates of historians were thatit had taken between ten and thirty thousand yearsfor the space children of Old Earth to soar backout among the stars.
It was felt that one Old Earth "country," or,perhaps, a small group of "countries," had beenresponsible for sending the starships up, for therewas a surprising singularity of racial types in the entire race of UP man. Earth history was nothingmore than semimyth, or legend, but the old talessaid that on Old Earth, there had been red menand yellow men, black men and brown men, andlight-skinned men like modern man. And legend/myth said that each different type of man on OldEarth had had his own language. Some historianssaid that that fact alone would have accounted forEarth's constant warfare which led to the final conflagration.
Only a specialist, such as ex-professor Pat Howe,understood the concept of different languages.There'd been a brief flurry of interest in the popular media when an expedition brought back fromthe colliding galaxies in Cygnus a book in an alientongue, but that flurry faded quickly. Pat, ex-occupier of the one seat of language study atXanthos University, knew of the extensive archeologicalwork on Old Earth which had begun immediately when man accidentally stumbled onto theplanet of his origin. Through the bravery and thedream of one of the mutated humans who had survived Earth's nuclear agony, this work had beensteadily adding to modern man's store of phrases, words, and some fragmented works of literature inthe various languages of Old Earth.
It was not surprising, then, to Pat, to see, as thetwo men approachedSkimmer, that they were ofthe usual racial type, two fine specimens, as amatter of fact, and that they seemed not in theleast awed by the landing of a spaceship. Theywalked boldly, with longbows—yep, bows and arrows, Pat thought—in one hand, quivers with arrows slung over their left shoulders. They pausedat a distance of about a hundred feet and looked athim in silence.
"I am a friend," Pat said, raising his right handin salute. The two men shifted their longbows totheir left hands, raised their right hands in return salute, and one of them spoke in a harsh, gutturallanguage.
Pat's old interest in languages soared. This wouldknock the socks off the ivory-tower eggheads backat Xanthos U.
But it would, he soon realized, be an immediate problem for him. If these people had evolved alanguage of their own during their thousand ormore years of isolation, it might cause quite aproblem in communications.Skimmer's computerdidn't have the kind of philology programmingwhich, long years ago, had enabled translation ofthe Artunee manuscript.
Pat waved, saying, "Come closer. Friend. Comecloser."
The two men came to within a few feet, lookedup at him from guileless blue eyes, smiled, madethat salute with the right hand again.
"I come from the United Planets," Pat said. "Icome as a friend."
"Ichsighgorben,"one of the blue-eyed men said.
They were dressed lightly for the warm climate.Their strong legs extended below a short, girdledskirt, chests were bare, feet semiwrapped in a typeof sandal. The material of the skirts was rough,most probably woven from plant fiber.
"My name is Pat Howe," Pat said, punchinghimself in the chest.
"Ichsighgorben,"was the answer, the man, too,punching himself in the chest.
Bells began to ring in Pat's head. He'd beengood in his field when he was a professor of philology, and one of his last big research projects had been to compile a grammar for one particular Old Earth language from the fragments of books and inscriptions unearthed in a dig on the fringe of thelargest continental mass of Old Earth.
"Ah," he said, pointing to the man who hadspoken. "Gorben."
The man nodded and spoke. Pat tried to identifythe words he'd helped translate with the soundscoming from the blue-eyed man. It took a while.He came down out of the lock and squatted, inviting the two to join him. They hunkered down, stillholding their longbows. He encouraged them totalk, nodding, smiling, putting it all together until he thought he had it. Of course, some rough rulesof pronunciation can be compiled from the writtenlanguage, but theyare rough, and when he firstspoke the two men cocked their heads in puzzlement.
It got easier. There were certain gutturals whichgave Pat some trouble, but he soon mastered them,and then he said, "You speak an ancient tongue,friend, a language called German."
The man called Gorben looked startled. "Howdo you know that?"
Pat smiled and tapped one finger to his temple,saying in English, "Smart, smart joker."
Gorben looked at his companion. Both wereyoung, physically fit. Well-developed muscles toldPat they were not unacquainted with some form ofphysical work. "The one who flies from the starsspeaks our language."
"Yes," Pat said, and added, "Why does that surprise you?"
The silent man's face went pale then. He looked at Gorben, his mouth open, something akin to fearin his eyes. "Only the gods," he whispered.
"Yes," Gorben said. With a swiftness that startled Pat, the two youngmen kicked their feet backward and fell to lie onthe ground before him, heads nodding. "Welcome,Honored One," Gorben said. "We pray that you come in friendship."
"I come in friendship," Pat said. He put hishand on Gorben's shoulder. "Please rise," he said."This is unnecessary." They rose, looking at him with awe. "Then youhave come, at last?" Gorben said.
"I am here," Pat said. "May you, Honored One, give your blessings toourDorchlunt," Gorben said. "You will want to talk with our elder."
"Yes," Pat said. So they had reverted to primitivism, clinging to an antique language, space lostto them, perhaps even the memory of it, and hewas being greeted as, if not a god, at least a powerful friend.
"Please come, then," Gorben said. Pat gave the computer orders to buttonSkimmerup tight. When the outer hatch closed, Gorben andhis companion jumped in nervousness, but Patsmiled and said, "It's all right. Don't worry."
A middle-aged woman was standing in the doorof the nearest cabin as they approached. She wore a shapeless dress which fell to mid-thigh.
"He has come at last, Mother," Gorben shouted. The woman's eyes went wide. She fell to theground and began to nod her head to Pat. It wasgetting downright embarrassing. It was the firsttime he'd ever been a god, and he wasn't too fond of the idea.
The woman, mother to Gorben and probably theother young man, fell in behind them. On the wayto the center of the village they accumulated others who first fell down in worship and then followed in awed silence.
From a cabin at the center of the village a white-haired, close-shaven, distinguished old man cameto meet them.
"He has come, Elder," Gorben shouted jubilantly. "Welcome, Honored One," the village elder said,bowing. It was a relief to Pat not to have the oldman fall on his face and worship. "We have longawaited your coming."
"I am honored to be here, Elder," Pat said. "But perhaps I am not who you think I am. May we talk in privacy?" The elder, he reasoned, would be thewisest man in the village. Study of a primitivesociety might
be interesting, if he had the time,but he'd come a long way to get some answers.
"Of course, Honored One," the elder said. Hestepped aside and bowed, motioning with his handfor Pat to proceed him through the open doorwayto the cabin. Pat took a couple of steps, and two sounds came to him at once. First, the beep of his communicator. He lifted it from his belt quickly, hearing as he did, a low moan of surprise from thecrowd on the village square.
"Speak to me," he said to the computer.
"Alert, alert," the old man said. "Unidentifiedvessels—" And then there was silence. The crowdmoaned. Pat turned and went rigid.
There, high up, hulls reflecting the afternoonsun, rode a battle fleet, ship after ship, huge dreadnaughts, cruisers, little destroyers, supplyships, auxiliaries. And even as he took a deep breathhe saw a ship separate from the fleet and fallswiftly, under power. The crowd around him, including the elder, had fallen to the dirt in fear and worship.
It took only seconds. There was nothing he coulddo. The falling ship grew in size, showed the outlines of one of the new Greyhound Class spacetugs. At least, he thought, they weren't going toblastSkimmer.
The Greyhound's fall slowed swiftly, the skipperstopping her not more than five feet fromSkimmer's squat hull, and then she was lifting,Skimmerenclosed in her field, while the people moaned and worshiped.
Five minutes later the tug was back in position,just a tiny, gleaming dot. And then the fleet blinked simultaneously and was gone.
"Well," Pat told himself, "it looks as if I'm goingto have plenty of time to get acquainted."
"Rise, people," he shouted in German. "Arise,for those who fly to the stars have gone."
SEVEN
Pat had the position of honor at a well-made wooden table. The boards of the table did notbend, although there was enough food there toexcuse them if they had. The main meat dish wasroasted pig, a standard UP-type swine. It was delicious, and not surprising, for the old colony shipshad taken everything needed to establish a lifestyle on a new planet. Only the vegetable disheswere different, and not all of them. There weregreen beans which tasted as if they had been cookedon a UP planet, and, of course, potatoes. The saladwas different, spicy, tangy, and quite good.
Pat had had his private talk with the villageelder, whose name was Adrian Kleeper. The talkhad been