Episode 8, Arrival © C. J. Hoare 2006.
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Gisel glanced up from sealing the stranger's wound to see him staring at her. He spoke, his a words meaningless grumble.

She grinned and pulled up her own sleeve to show the red blaze of her own sword cut. "I'm good at cutting arms. I did it to myself."

His eyes narrowed, not suspicious now, not angry. Curiosity? He put out his left hand to her, patting her on the arm. M'Tov leaned down abruptly, an automatic pistol in his hand. "Don't get antsy, buster. I'll blow your head off if you try to hurt her."

Gisel shook her head. "I don't think he meant me any harm. He recognises help and concern when he sees it. I'd say we're well on the way to making progress with this guy."

M'Tov straightened up. "You could be right. I mean to take these two with us."

Gisel pulled the guy's torn sleeve down and stood. "Then he'll do until Dr. Hather can stitch him. By the way, we were expecting these guys to speak something like English, but I can't understand a word these guys say."

"I know. I've already found that out."

"What does it mean?"

M'Tov shrugged. "We'll discuss that later, let's get moving."

"Are we taking off right away?"

M'Tov glanced toward her father, sitting on the ground with one of the guards spraying the bloody graze on his head with antiseptic. "We've accomplished most of what we set out to do."

Henrik looked up. "I think so. Give me a hand up and I'll be ready to walk back to the Intruder."

Gisel stepped over and put out her hand. He glanced from the hand to her eyes. "I won't question whether you're strong enough to help me up. You're a tougher little devil than I've given you credit for. A damn sight better with a rapier than I am with a pistol."

M'Tov came to her side and took Henrik's other hand. "She's very good. If swordplay is important in this world, I can see she's going to have to give us all lessons."

They pulled Henrik to his feet. He wavered a moment before standing stiffly upright. "I'm good. Ready to march when you are."

"What about the horses?" Mort asked, gesturing behind them.

"Better leave them," M'Tov said. "None of us knows how to handle them. They'll likely find their own way home."

The three guards slung their assault rifles from their shoulders. They motioned the captives to step in front of them. Alan and Mort set out in front, carrying the captured rapiers, but Alan abruptly turned to walk over to Gisel. "You'd better carry this one. You know what to do with it."

She accepted the rapier with a grin. "Then you lead the way back. I don't want to lose everybody."

She walked at the rear, beside her father as they followed the track out to the edge of the woodland. "What do you make of this place?"

Henrik shrugged. "Even more different than we expected. Not modern, that's for certain. These people could learn a lot from us – I'm thinking that should be our next approach to them."

"We'll be coming back? To the castle, maybe?"

"Depends on what we learn from these two – if anything."

"If we find out how to speak to them."

"Yes, that's a surprise. In our world this was part of England, but they don't speak English. The history in this world must have veered away from ours, or else these two are foreigners."

Gisel glanced at them. "They seem to be what passes for soldiers around here. Think there could be more?"

Henrik glanced around the hillsides as they emerged into the grassy meadow. "I hope there are none nearby, but if these two were just scouts – "

"They'd be waiting for them to report back."

"Good thought. Let's hope they are."

She raised the rapier to examine it. "What could they learn from us?'

Her leaned to peer at the steel. "Better metalworking. I'll want to do an analysis on these swords when we get back to the Iskander. I'd lay odds that we could teach them a thing or two about steelmaking. We have all the facilities and people on Iskander to set up an industrial infrastructure – I'm going to suggest to M'Tov and Dirk Scopes that we should be looking for a place to establish ourselves for such a program."

"But, here?"

He smiled at her. "You're set on that castle aren't you? I must admit I'm curious, but this isn't a likely location. We'd need to be near iron ore and coal deposits."

"But Iskander has steelmaking equipment, you just said so."

"An arc furnace – enough to refine iron that's already smelted." His eyes began to shine, a sign of enthusiasm she knew bubbled near the surface of this mercurial man. "I'm thinking we could be steelmakers for the whole world. We'd need to build blast furnaces, a complete steelworks. If we're stuck here, we can make ourselves a very good life among the locals that way."

"Who do you mean – you, Robbie and me?"

"No, all of us. The Iskanders. We're going to need to be an even closer team on this world. We are a hundred Earth people among maybe millions of these backward locals. We'll get nowhere unless we stick together."

"So, they are backward? That's how everything seemed to me."

Henrik shook his head. "Maybe not backward. That's not fair. It may be that this is as far as their development has reached. These two with their cuirasses and rapiers could be the leading edge of society."

"Mort and Alan told be those woods were a cultivated oak plantation. Maybe to build wooden ships."

He smiled. "That's interesting, if it's true. I could teach them a lot there as well. You know, maybe I'm going to like this world a whole lot more than I first thought. Just think – a chance to replay the Industrial Revolution – without creating all the mistakes and pollution of the first one back home."