Vapor Cont. 3

The wind smacked me in the face as the glass on our skimmer rose, smelling of rain and distant buffalo. The folk around us had halted when I raised the cockpit, but now one took a cautious step forward. A tall, imposing fellow whose huge frame belied his gauntness, he wore his brown beard long and hair longer. He was dressed in a simple, dirty jumpsuit, something he'd probably gotten from the generators in U Town or New Omaha. He gave me a fierce look, his gaze narrow as he raised one huge hand in a formal greeting.

"Sor buenoman ke es de skie, esa buenwoma taka muh infima, sor. Vasos tenar te pillen e U Town. Kin puin me aida?

His voice was rough and his accent thick, and though he spoke deliberately, I could understand little of what he said. The locals hereabouts spoke a difficult tongue for me, a much-mutated hybrid of Classical English and Spanish. I had been making attempts at the language since I arrived at U Town, but so far had had little time to devote to it. Like most native-born Martians, I spoke Classical English and Mandarin, but I found I had little facility with the native tongue.

I shrugged in exagerrated confusion to let him know I hadn't understood, and turned to Shaun. He spoke Classical Spanish, having spent some time in the Iberian Hills as a child. I was hoping he had a better idea of what this fellow was about. He nodded and leaned over to whisper in my ear.

"I think they're saying they have a sick woman. They were trying to take her to U Town to get medicine, and they want us to help them."

I nodded at Shaun and looked back at the leader of this little group. I didn't know exactly how we were going to fit this woman into the skimmer, what with our nearly full cargo of bears.