Maybe.

He leaned forward, unsure of his own motives. "What's happened to him?"

The woman hesitated, but the boy piped up loyally, his thin, clear voice transmitted well by the Speaker tubes. "Adda was gored by a boar."

The old man spat a harsh laugh. "Oh, rubbish. I was mangled by a pregnant sow. Stupid old fool that I am." Now he seemed to be struggling to push himself away from his tree trunk to reach for a weapon. "But not so stupid, or old, that I can't turn your last few minutes of life into hell, Pole man."

Toba locked eyes with the strong woman. She raised her spear and grimaced... and then, shockingly, disarmingly, her face broke up into laughter.

Toba, startled, found himself laughing back.

The woman jabbed her spear at Toba, barely threatening now. "You. Toba Paxxax."

"Mixxax. Toba Mixxax."

"I am Dura, daughter of Logue."

He nodded to her.

She said, "Look, you can see we're in trouble here. Why don't you get out of your pig-box and give us some help?"

He frowned. "What kind of help?"

She looked toward the old man, apparently exasperated. "With him, of course." She stared at the car with new eyes, as if appraising the subtlety of its design. "Maybe you could help us fix up his wounds."

"Hardly. I'm no doctor."

Dura frowned, as if the word wasn't familiar to her. "Then at least you can help us get him out of the forest. Your box would be safe here until you got back."

"It's called a car," he said absently. "Carry him where? Your home?"

She nodded and jabbed a spear along the line of the trees, down toward the interior of the Star. "A few thousand mansheights that way."

Mansheights? he thought, distracted. A practical measure, he supposed... but what was wrong with microns? A mansheight would be about ten microns — a hundred-thousandth of a meter — if it meant what it sounded like...

"What kind of facilities do you have there?"

"...Facilities?"

Her hesitation was answer enough. Even if Toba were inclined to risk his own health carting this old chap around the forest, there was evidently nothing waiting for him at home but more of these naked savages living in some unimaginable squalor. "Look," he said, trying to be kind, "what's the point? Even if we got there in time..."

"...there'd be nothing we could do for him." Dura's eyes were narrow and troubled. "I know. But I can't just give up." She looked at Toba, through his window, with what looked like a faint stab of hope. "You talked about your property. Is it far from here? Do you have any — ah, facilities?"

"Hardly." Of course there were basic medical facilities for the coolies, but nothing with any more ambition than to patch them up and send them back to work. Frankly, if one of his coolies were injured as badly as old Adda he'd expect him to die.