I had to study up on some things but I was not the only one.
I had printed out a small child’s book for Beenie. For now I have to teach her English, I also am forced to teach Ksenia and Neeti some first aid. And as I didn’t want to be left out I turned my translator off and began to learn the native language.
The Ligno reminds me a little like Japanese in that it uses honorifics to describe nearly every station or relationship.
Lovers are given different honoifics compared to married couples. Children, teachers, girls and boys.
What strikes me unusual is that the language is written right to left like Hebrew. It isn’t an easy thing to master, but as I am already bilingual, that’s if you consider Klingon another language, I have some experience with such things.
Most of the clinic is built. Right now Neeti working with Laurel to build her room. Though it looks clear that she and I will be sharing a room from now on, I have to think about where she will stay when my replacement arrives.
The lab is still in its medieval stages. All I have is a portable generator, a PC, and the recyclor. It feels as if I am not getting anywhere. The drugs are still locked away within the car as is most of the equipment the team left me. Fortunately, no one at the village has died yet.
By the way, I found out what happened to turn the wool blue.
It seems that an ingredient in the soap did not mix well with one of the oils the Ligno naturally secret, creating what I hope is a harmless pigment.
I wish I had someone to talk to about this. Even Peter. Dear God, how lonely am I for intellectual company to think Peter is a better than nothing.
Maybe I could make a synthetic version of the Ligno wool. Sadly, even if I had the equipment, I wouldn’t be able to manufacture such a thing.
I know the Company has invested large amounts of man-power and energy into synthetic fibres, and I know I can look forward to some extra benefits if I brought my findings back, but I sort of need stuff here and now. It’s all just damn inconvenient.
I have given Laurel the clay, knowing that he would be able to make more moulds, to make screws and nails. This should allow us to build more cultured furniture.
In other news, I had managed to glance over the stuff I had brought from the satyr fortress/city and managed to extract sulphur, iron, and some copper as well as some zinc from the metal. Apparently, these people just toss everything into a pot and pray it doesn’t shatter.
I also extracted a reasonable amount of iron from the rusted metal I brought. I then had Laurel turn it into nails and hinges for which I sold back to Ronaldo at four times the cost of purchase.
Welcome to the world of recycling bitches.
A satyr came in with his wife leading him in. He has a fever. The fever steamed from an infected cut on his leg.
I cleaned the wound, bandaged the damaged area, and gave him some antibiotics. I also had Ksenia give his wife some tea to settle her nerves.
Shit, I seem to be saying apparently a lot.
The husband is in one of the cots. His fever broke four hours ago and will make a full recovery. I allowed his wife to take a dip in the bath to take the chill off.
For security reason that have to entirely deal with safety, and a whole bunch other things that are too technical I can’t get into, I installed cameras into the bath.
I should probably not have said that out loud. But as it is for science, I feel that my actions are justified. Future generations will one day look back on this footage and thank me.
This time I trade my services for information. The wife it turns out is a natural gossip.
Not much is happening in the village, not if you don’t count who got caught sleeping with whom. I feel like I am in some 1980’s fratboy drama. Everything here, involves sex.
I suppose if you don’t have a sustained supply of booze and a surplus of cousins you take your fun where you can.
While Ksenia isn’t in the room, I ask the wife the deal between my assistant and the new chief.
It turns out Ksenia’s son was not a saint as she made him out to be. Too much like his father. Meaning he would have fucked a tree if he had a whole in it. It was all messy drama that belonged on a unoriginal mid-afternoon soap opera.
I kid you not, I think the Day of Our Lives theme song was playing in the background.
I will cut short the fucking long, story and say that Ksenia and Ronaldo hostility came down to old grudges, sex, and bizarrely enough a fence that may or may not have been built to code. I know, weird.
It all came down to the new chief wanting to show that he was in charge by taking all the previous chief’s wives and impregnating them.
The woman had told me that Ksenia was holding out for some reason. Normally she would have been the first hail to the new king, if you catch my drift.
I am reminded of those mythical stories of satyrs and how Christianity had used them as a symbol of evil. I wouldn’t go so far as to list these pricks as evil, but they definitely needed to think before they screwed each other wives, daughters, sisters, and dogs. Not that humans are much better at that.