Sarah woke to the smell of cooking onions. It made her think of something her grandmother had once told her, a bit of wisdom passed on from her own mother, Sarah’s Great-Grandma Crawford: When your man’s on his way home from work and you haven’t started supper yet, toss some onions in a pan with a splash of oil. By the time he arrives, he’ll never be able to tell you’re running late.
Now, Sarah was well aware that the old-timey advice contained enough subtext – real and imagined – to fuel an entire college of women’s libbers for a semester or two, but she’d always tried to keep her head down whenever people started getting rabid about, well, anything, and she wasn’t about to start digging into such things now.
The point, she reminded her still slightly foggy brain, was that…wait…did people still say “women’s libbers”? Wasn’t that a bit of an old-timey phrase too? What were those kinds of people called today? Women’s rights activists? Women’s advocates? Something like that. There were some good people under that banner, some good causes too…along with the more militant and, uh, screechy types.
But that wasn’t the point! The point was…um…what was the point again? Oh, right! The point was, whatever else Granny Crawford and her generation did, or said, or thought…the woman knew her food. There might be an entire feast simmering away nearby, or it might be just a lonely handful of onions and a splash of oil. All Sarah could tell was that it smelled wonderful.
Her stomach chose that moment to chime in enthusiastically, telling her the sumptuous odours also indicated a potential solution for a very specific type of emptiness that was – to her stomach’s way of thinking – entirely unacceptable and in need of urgent rectification.
Thus Sarah woke, with her stomach growling and her brain still a bit fuzzy, to one of the most pleasant and homey environments she’d ever experienced.
She lay upon a padded bench against the wall of a large, open room. The wall was to her right, and the room spread out to her left. The space was decorated simply but beautifully and was comfortably lit, though not with the bright and constant illumination she associated with modern electrical lighting. Instead, the orange-yellow glow had a slight sense of movement to it, and as she looked around, and her eyes slowly adjusted, she realized the room was lit by several oil lamps set in strategic places, along with a small fireplace set into the wall beyond her feet. The lamps' wicks were surrounded by fluted glass chimneys and so protected from most errant breezes, but still, each flame moved in its own minute ways as it consumed its fuel, while the flames in the fireplace danced a merry jig upon their foundation of logs. The overlapping and constantly shifting glows gave the light in the room a sense of depth and intimacy combined, something that modern-day lighting experts probably needed at least half their degrees' worth of knowledge to imitate.
Considering the wooden walls and the slightly rustic look of her surroundings (what did that word actually properly mean, anyway?..."rustic"...hmm, bunny trail for another time), Sarah guessed she was in the farmhouse that she’d seen from the road, before she…uh…Sarah cautiously moved parts of her face, scrunching up her nose, pursing her lips, shifting her jaw…it didn’t feel like she’d fallen on her face. That was something at least.
How long had she been out? She craned her head up and to the left to get a better look at what she suspected was the front wall of the house, where she’d spotted a door flanked by windows in her first passing glance. Yup, two windows, both a little smaller than she was used to back on Earth…did they have building codes here? She shook her head. Not currently important.
Nothing was visible through either window, so, assuming they weren’t covered in some kind of shutters – which she doubted because she’d seen light coming through them from outside – it was now full night…which meant it had been at least an hour or two since sunset, which was about when she passed out on the road.
Still, it probably wasn’t much past late evening, since the unmistakable sound of giggling drew her eyes to the back end of the room, where two small children played upon a thick, colourful rug, before the cheerful fire merrily crackling upon the stone hearth.
The scene was so very domestic and pleasant that Sarah had to blink a few times to drag her brain back on track. Why were the kids important and how did they relate to the time of night?
Oh, right. It was because both children appeared quite young. Now, Sarah would be the first to admit she was no expert on children’s bedtimes, alien or otherwise, but she was willing to bet there wasn’t a mom in the universe who enjoyed having her children all cranky from staying up too late. Add that supposition to the dark windows and the fact that the children appeared to be in fine spirits, and one naturally arrived at a time of late evening, sometime after the evening meal, again, because hungry kids tend to be cranky kids.
Just as Sarah was congratulating herself for that bit of mental gymnastics (which had somehow been way more challenging than normal), her stomach started protesting the thought that the evening meal might be over.
This time, her gastric complaints were loud enough to draw attention. Both children looked over at her. When they saw she was awake, the smaller – and presumably younger – of the two suddenly turned shy, hiding behind her older brother, while that brave young soul stood his ground, staring down the stranger in his home.
“Hi,” Sarah said.
Well, that’s what she tried to say. What actually came out was more of a croaking cough, as her parched throat informed her it was on strike until such time as it received due compensation for services rendered.
The sound seemed to at least remind the young boy of his duties, however, for he turned to his sister, gave her a few words and a gesture that were probably instructions, and pushed her gently in the direction of the front door.
While the girl crossed the room – keeping a wary eye on Sarah the whole time – the boy only went as far as the well-worn wooden table that sat in the centre of the open space. Upon the table was a single clay cup. The boy picked up the cup and started over to Sarah’s bench, walking slowly and holding the cup very carefully with both of his small hands.
Sarah couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked, trying so very hard to not spill the contents of the cup. His eyes were a bright jade green, his hair looked more like the fluffy down of a baby bird than curly locks, and his jaw and face were far too narrow to be human; but the way the tip of his tongue protruded from between his lips in an expression of intense concentration reminded Sarah of a much younger version of her own brother.
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Anticipating the boy’s purpose, Sarah propped herself up on her elbows so she could drink whatever was in the cup without half of it running up her nose and down her neck. Well, she tried to use both elbows…her left elbow quickly made her aware that it had not yet recovered from the abuse received in the forest and she could bloody well manage with just her right elbow, thank you very much…Left Elbow was on light duty and there was nothing head office could do about it. Sarah sighed and squirmed around on the bench, finally finding a way to brace her weight against the wall without putting undue pressure on any of her worst injuries.
When the alien boy finally handed her the vessel of cold water, and his face transformed from solemn duty and focus to delight and pride at having accomplished his important task, Sarah felt such a strong sense of kinship that she would have reached out and hugged him…if she weren’t entirely occupied with draining the cup as quickly as she could swallow. Sappy feelings did not, it seemed, take precedence over relief from dehydration. Which was probably as it should be, she reflected; survival instinct and all that.
While Sarah was guzzling water, the tiny alien girl – seemingly satisfied that the stranger in her house was sufficiently distracted – finally darted the last few steps to the front door and tugged it open, standing on the tips of her toes just to reach the latch. A wash of cool, sweetly scented air flowed into the room as the girl leaned forward against the door frame and called out into the night in a high, sweet voice.
Sarah finished the water with a sigh of relief and contentment and handed the empty cup back to the suddenly shy boy. He blushed at her smile of gratitude and mumbled something too quietly for her to catch. She cleared her throat to test her voice, still feeling parched and hoping the boy would catch the hint and bring her a refill. He might have done it, if he hadn’t been distracted by the sound of footsteps approaching the still-open door.
The boy scampered over to join his sister and Sarah followed him with her eyes as a tall figure entered the farmhouse, wiping his hands on a ragged bit of cloth. He must be the farmer, Sarah thought, as she wondered what kind of farm chores required working well after sunset. It must have been especially important, since it also meant leaving the children alone with her, a complete stranger…though she had been unconscious and so probably hadn’t seemed very threatening.
As he closed the door behind him, the alien man looked over at Sarah, noticed she was awake, and turned back to his children without so much as a nod to acknowledge her presence or her timid wave. She wasn’t sure what to make of that – if felt almost like a dismissal – but she reminded herself that these people were of a different culture (and not even a human one at that) and she should not judge them by her own people’s preferences or traditions. Besides, she thought, she was their guest and she owed them much; she could put up with a little eccentricity and rudeness.
When she thought about it, she quite possibly owed them her life itself, depending on how long she might otherwise have lain in the road before waking…and what might have found her in the meantime. Although, it really had only been her virtual life that had…no, no, no, we talked about this, Sarah reminded herself. Treat it all like it is real. This is real!
Meanwhile, unaware of the internal storm his simple action (or lack thereof) had stirred up in his guest’s mind, the farmer was chatting quietly with his children as he removed his work boots and moved various tools from his belt to a small shelf unit beside the door. She couldn’t understand a word any of them said, Sarah realized as she emerged from her mental remonstrations. How had she not noticed that before? Hmm…brain fuzz from exhaustion/pain/dehydration/just-woke-up-from-blacking-out? Yeah, that seemed like a good enough excuse, because she was totally not distractible and marginally unobservant. Ahem. Anyway…
The farmer finished removing his outdoor things and moved towards Sarah and her padded bench, snagging a wooden chair from its place by the table and setting it down a comfortable distance from the bench; close enough to chat, far enough away to not make the human feel crowded or threatened. Before he could sit, however, the little girl tugged at his hand and he turned back to address her for a moment, his gestures and tone of voice seeming to convey reassurance as he drew the boy into the conversation as well. Sarah took advantage of their mutual distraction to finally examine her presumed benefactor up close.
He was a slim man, and fine-boned, but his body bore layers of wiry muscle that spoke of many hours spent in hard physical labour…or so Sarah assumed, since she’d never before spent much time around people who worked with their hands and bodies, except for that one classmate who was addicted to the gym but she didn’t think bulging muscles above the waist and barely adequate ones below was really a healthy balance, nor did excessive use of free weights really count as “work”.
Like the children, the farmer’s face was narrow, his eyes were jade green, his nose was short but pointed in a sharp angle, and his skin was a reddish-brown. Unlike them, his hair was thick and full, though Sarah couldn’t decide if the dark green strands should be called hair-like feathers or feather-like hair. Still, despite the obvious (and probably more than a few not obvious) differences between these people and her own, Sarah thought they were also remarkably similar, in all the basic ways at least. They had two arms, two legs, one torso, one head, five fingers per…no, make that six fingers per hand…okay, so there were a lot of differences, but really, the overall shape was roughly the same, and if you squinted a bit, this alien looked remarkably human…ish.
A sudden flurry of movement pulled Sarah out of her obsessive…ahem, detailed examination of the aliens as the farmer finished reassuring his children and settled into the chair. He lifted his small daughter into his lap and placed one hand on the shoulder of his son, drawing the boy to stand at his side. Sarah reacted by pushing herself into a proper sitting position. (Why hadn’t she done that from the start, instead of contorting into some strange shape? Such an idiot…)
She still felt very weak – and she desperately wanted another cup, or two, of water and a large serving of that food she could smell but not see – but she tried her best to look dignified and civilized. First impressions were important after all. She may have flubbed it the first time around, what with being unconscious…okay, and the second time too with whatever that had been she did with her body when the boy brought her water…but she was determined to make up for it.
For a long moment, none of them spoke. The kids stared at her with shy curiosity and she and the farmer studied each other thoughtfully, until finally, the farmer cleared his throat and spoke a phrase in that fluting bird-like language of theirs. It sounded like a question.
Sarah shrugged slightly. “I’m sorry,” she replied quietly. “I don’t understand.”
The farmer’s eyes widened briefly before he nodded, as if she had confirmed something. He then lifted his hand from his son’s shoulder, gestured to Sarah, and asked another question.
“Ingan?”
Sarah’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Where had he learned that? A few days ago she wouldn’t have had a clue what the word meant; a few days ago, she didn’t have the [Polyglot] skill that gave her full knowledge of every language on Earth.
Her mind spun. This was the tutorial…a virtual reality simulation…and this instance had been created based on her choices, including the Group Size of one, which meant she was the only human here, right? A.I. or not, these people were supposed to represent the inhabitants of Sanctuary worlds; worlds on which not a single human had yet set foot…So when did this alien farmer learn to speak Korean?