"Donald—listen to me," I said.
He stiffened. "I thought you would be somewhere around," he said. "Who are you?"
"My name is Eu Kor, and I am a native of Thalassa."
"Where's that?"
"A good many spatial units from here—a good many of your light years," I amended. "I mean you no harm, but I need your cooperation. My spaceship is crippled. Our fuel has deteriorated. We need more and I want you to get it for us. We captured you because we need your help. Being a native you would not make a ripple in this society. And we would create whirlpools."
"What is this material you want?"
"A metal. Atomic number 50, a white metal used as an alloy component of primitive metallic cultures," I said. "It shouldn't be too hard to get." I didn't realize how hard it was to describe what I wanted. I wasn't getting through, and it bothered me. The culture barrier was almost as bad as though we couldn't contact mind to mind.
"I think you mean tin," he said. I grasped the concept and it seemed right.
"Bring me some and I will run tests," I said.
"And what do I get in return?"