by Ric Locke
“Do you understand why you are here?” Dreelig asked.
The shuttle was rotating slowly to the right, and the horizon disappeared. Stars appeared, first looking fairly normal in a black sky, then more and more filling in the gaps until the view was all stars, like a faint overspray of white paint on a black surface. The rotation continued, bringing the Earth back into view, and Peters felt a moment of vertigo as his point of view changed. All his life, that had been down; suddenly it was over there, a difference he hadn’t expected and wasn’t sure he liked.
He looked away from the window. “The call for volunteers said maintenance an’ preparation for deployment of Space Detachment One. I figured it meant cleanin’ and paintin’, gettin’ the berthin’ compartments shipshape.”
Dreelig nodded. “That’s correct as far as it goes,” he said, “but you two are also something of an experiment for us.”
Neither sailor responded. Peters couldn’t; his gut was roiling in a way that had nothing to do with the motion of the shuttle, which still wasn’t perceptible. The view outside was nothing but stars drifting slowly by, downward from his point of view.
“Your hierarchy is more complex than it seemed at first,” Dreelig went on. “The technicians are having difficulties, and we on the negotiating team have noted problems as well. One of the technicians suggested that it might be useful to build relationships with individuals at a lower level, so as to gain insight into the workings of the system, and after some discussion we decided to try it. You are here as the result.”
“Hunh,” Peters managed. Todd said nothing.
Dreelig produced a complex facial expression, the corners of his mouth stretching outward, the two points where his upper lips met his facial cleft pulled up to expose white teeth. Beaver, Peters thought. “Don’t be concerned,” the Grallt went on. “Your duties will be as you expected for the most part; we intend to observe and ask questions. For now, relax. It will be some time before we arrive at the ship.” He exchanged a few words of babble with the pilot, then sat back and adjusted his seat to an almost fully reclining position.
Gell said “Peters,” quite distinctly, and followed it with liquid babble, waving at the arrowhead on his side. Peters looked around at Dreelig, who said, “Gell is offering you an opportunity to operate the dli. If you would like to try, grasp the andli, the thing on the end of the rod, there.”
“Me? Drive a spaceship?”
“No, no, this is only a dli, I think you would say ‘shuttle.’ It is very simple to operate. Grasp the andli and try it.”
Peters took the arrowhead gingerly, a bit awkward because it was most convenient to his left hand. It was cool, smooth metal by the feel, and when he moved it slightly the crosses on the two dials in front of him moved. “What am I doing?” he asked plaintively. “I can’t feel anything.”
Dreelig said something to the pilot, who made a short choppy sound in his throat and pressed one of the black buttons, holding it in for a slow count of three. One of the gauges moved, stopping close to the center position, and at the same time Peters felt strange, light and a little dizzy. “Gell has reduced the setting of the—” the word Dreelig used was long and complex, and somehow didn’t sound quite like the babble he and Gell used together. “The, ah, gravity is somewhat less, as you will note, and when the dli accelerates you will feel it a bit. Gell says it is a technique often used in teaching.”
“Tell him thanks.”
Peters quickly got the general idea. Twisting the arrowhead caused roll, pitch, and yaw; the right-hand cross moved in reverse sympathy. Pushing it forward and back caused acceleration in that direction; ditto for side to side and up and down, with the left-hand cross tracking that. He played with it for a little while, not trying any sudden or extreme moves. “I hope I don’t have to do anything complicated,” he said worriedly.
Dreelig relayed that to Gell, who made the short sound again and babbled back. “Gell says you are doing very well. Perhaps you can, ah, I believe the word is ‘dock.’ Perhaps you can dock the dli aboard the ship.”
“I don’t reckon that’s a good idea,” said Peters, pulling his hand away from the controller. “Tell Gell thank you, but I ain’t ready to be a dlee pilot just yet.”
This time Dreelig made the sound; evidently it was the Grallt form of laughter, because when he relayed Peters’s comment to Gell the pilot made it too. He took the controller, though, and waved toward Peters before thumbing another button. The gauge went back to the left and normal weight returned.
Todd was more adventurous when he got his chance, having the shuttle—the dlee, Peters reminded himself—swinging about vigorously at one point. That didn’t seem to bother Gell, who leaned back in his seat, arms folded in a relaxed attitude. “No, I’m not ready to try landing it,” Todd said when he was ready to relinquish the control. “Ask me again after a little more practice.”
Dreelig translated that; both Grallt gave their chopping laugh, and Gell set the gravity back to normal and took the controls. A bright spot was visible in the distance, brighter than any of the stars and moving, very slightly but visibly.
They had seen pictures, but seeing the ship in person, as it were, was quite different. It was shaped like a chunk of two-by-four, too short to use, too long to throw away; not at all aerodynamic, but not the collection of spiky protuberances familiar from old movies either. There wasn’t much in the way of antennas and the like, nor anything that looked like a rocket motor. It had once been painted white; the paint was peeling off, especially on the end away from their approach, leaving bare—metal?—pale gray and scarred. Where the paint was intact the sun glare was almost painful.
The end nearest them was blunt, almost flat, freckled with small black spots, probably windows or portholes. Off center to the right was a rectangular area, and on each corner of that was a red flashing light. Now they could see it was a hole. The light was different inside, bluer than the sunlight and not nearly as bright, and machines of some sort were just becoming visible. The upper left-hand light wavered oddly and broke up into lines at an angle to the edge of the hole; Gell spat a syllable and pushed the control gently to the right, then a bit down, and the light went solid but continued flashing. Their version of a meatball, apparently, and pretty slick. Keep the lights round seemed to be the game.
That was a big hole. One of the things inside was another dli, looking like a toy; Todd tried to recall the height of the vertical stabilizer, made a quick calculation, then a low whistling hiss. “Peters, that hole is over twenty meters high.”
“Yeah, I was just gettin’ the same thing. That makes it fifty wide, which makes the ship eighty meters high and better’n two hundred wide. God knows how long it is.”
“Approximately seven hundred meters,” said Dreelig. “Of course we don’t use your measures. You will have to learn our measures, and our numbers, if you are to be of help.”
The stern of the ship was a wall filling the windshield, and the hole was a gaping maw, bluish light inside, corner lamps strobing. The closer they got, the faster their approach speed seemed. They knew it was an optical illusion, but both sailors were gripping their seat arms and leaning back defensively. Then the light changed as they crossed the threshold, there was a heartbeat of impossibly quick deceleration that didn’t change the rock-stable feeling at all, and they were moving sedately across the floor of a huge space. Gell pushed a series of buttons, causing the crosses on the instrument dials to disappear, and the dli came to a halt next to another, identical one.
Dreelig stood and stretched, much as a human being would. “Please get your things and come with me,” he said. He led the way toward the back of the shuttle, continuing, “The delay on the ground has cost us some time. I must introduce you to my, ah, colleague, because I have other duties for the remainder of this llor.” The two sailors exchanged glances and shrugs, got their seabags and peacoats out of the luggage locker, and followed.
Chapter Two
The welc
oming committee was a single Grallt, female if the well-filled tunic meant the same thing as it did with humans. She and Dreelig conversed in low voices while Todd and Peters waited on the wingwalk, looking around.
Overhead, heavy beams pierced with lightening holes ran crosswise every three meters or so, with lighter stringers lengthwise at about the same spacing. A rat’s-nest of wires, tubes, conduits, and who-knew-what twisted and tangled around the beams, entering and leaving boxes and tanks. Six rows of big lights marched from one end to the other, giving about the level of illumination to be expected on the carrier’s hangar deck at night, but bluish instead of the yellow they were used to.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Todd said, “but isn’t outer space supposed to be a vacuum?”
“That’s what they told me,” Peters replied slowly, shifting his seabag for a more comfortable grip.
“And we just landed this thing, right?”
“That’s what I remember, yeah.”
“Then what the fuck are we breathing?” Todd demanded. “Did you hear any air coming in, or anything like that?”
“Shit, I dunno. I ain’t never been on a spaceship before.”
The thwartships beams continued down the walls to form alcoves two meters deep. One wall, to port as they had entered, had three big doors or hatches reinforced with a waffle pattern of smaller beams, not quite as high as the bay but almost as wide. Everything was painted one color, probably cream or light yellow; it was hard to tell, because it was all grimy and scarred, let alone the effect of the bluish light. The deck was scuffed, worn, and littered with trash, most of it the size of bolts and screws but a few pieces as big as a man’s head; bits of unidentifiable machinery sat here and there in no discernible order, and many of the alcoves were filled with a miscellany of equipment and junk.
“This is not reassuring,” said Todd, gesturing at the clutter.
“You got that right,” Peters agreed with some force. “If the rest of the boat’s as sloppy as this is, we may not live to regret comin’ along.”
“Pretty out the door, though,” Todd observed.
“Shit, I been tryin’ not to look.” The hole they had entered through was still open, a crescent of the Earth intruding on the upper left-hand corner, stars shining elsewhere.
“Isn’t the air supposed to be kinda thin out there?” Todd persisted.
Peters shrugged. “Magic, I reckon. Look alive, here they come.”
The two Grallt had finished their talk, body language making them a pair but not a couple. Peters and Todd hefted their bags and stepped down off the wing, finding the deck a bit slippery, as if the nonskid was too worn to be effective any more.
Dreelig gestured toward the newcomer. “I introduce you to Dee. She will show you to your quarters and tell you something about the ship.”
“Hello, Dee,” said Peters, looking her over. The female Grallt was wearing a tunic and trousers of something satiny, blue above and yellow below; she was about Todd’s height, slender, and very nicely shaped, at least below the neck.
“Pleasant greetings, Peters,” she said, her voice much deeper than expected, a musical baritone. “Welcome aboard Llapaaloapalla. You are Todd?” When Todd nodded, she continued, “Welcome aboard also. Please follow me.”
“Sure,” said Peters. “Thanks for the guidance,” he said to Dreelig. “See you again.”
“That will probably happen,” Dreelig agreed with a nod. He walked away toward the entrance of the bay, aft they supposed, and Peters turned back to Dee. “Lead on, lady.”
“This way.” Dee led them to starboard, or at least away from the big hatches, to a people-sized hatch with an oval porthole at eye level. She worked the latch, a big handle that swung thirty degrees with a squeal and clank, and stepped aside to let them through.
Light came from glowing bare tubes supported by the ends in pairs, a little thicker than standard fluorescents, and a stairway, more like the ones in an office building than a ship’s ladder, led upward. The Grallt pushed past them, gestured at the stairs, and led in that direction, and the sailors followed, grunting under the weight of their seabags.
Two decks up they entered a corridor running lengthwise in the ship. Doors, all closed, interrupted the walls at about four meter intervals. Dee opened the first of these on the right, to reveal a small room or suite whose most outstanding feature was a window with rounded corners, now displaying stars. “These will be your quarters if you find them satisfactory,” she said.
Windows on a ship? In enlisted berthing? Peters forced himself to look away. The room was about four meters by three, dusty from disuse, with low bunks to left and right, metal wall lockers, and a desk with reading lamp and chair. The bunks weren’t made. To the left, by the head of the bunk, was another door. “This is great,” he said. “We don’t live like this on our ships, except maybe officers.”
“Yes, I know,” said Dee. “They described your normal living quarters to us in detail, and took us on a tour. Ssth. We have nothing like that here, and we see no need to do so much work to make life less comfortable for you.”
“One problem,” Peters observed. When Dee didn’t respond except to shift position slightly, he continued, “It’s in the wrong place. This passage is all for us, right? When the rest of the unit comes aboard?”
“Yes. There are a sixty-four of rooms on each floor, and you will have two floors. There will be an eight and three sailors—”
“Two hundred, I thought.”
“I mean an eight and three sixty-fours, of course.” Dee drew with her finger in the dust on the wall: dash, vertical line, lightning bolt. “So there is enough space for everyone, and many can have individual rooms.”
Peters eyed the scrawl. If those were numbers, it looked awkward, backwards, and too big. “Well, we gotta do it according to our, ah, the word Dreelig used was ‘hierarchy.’ Chiefs and First Class close to the hatch, in individual compartments. The rest of us down the passageway, OK?”
Dee turned away, her attitude suggesting thought. “Will some, ah, Chiefs and—”
“First Class,” Peters supplied.
“Ah. Chiefs and First Class. Will some of them want to be at the other end? Beside those stairs?”
“Yeah, sure. Look, we can’t set it all up now. Just give us a room a little closer to the middle.” Peters looked around; being first on the scene had some privileges. “One with a window.”
Dee shrugged, a very humanlike gesture. “Certainly.” She led them down the corridor a few meters, selected a door, and pushed it open, revealing a compartment that was a mirror image of the first. “Will this be satisfactory? Would you prefer individual rooms?”
“Why not?” Todd suggested. When Peters looked at him, he shrugged. “First come, and all that.”
“Does the next room connect to this one?” Peters asked.
“Yes, it does. Let me show you.” Dee went to the interior door, to the right this time, and opened it. “Here are sanitary facilities. The door at the other end leads to the next room.” The head was both ordinary and strange, a pair of sinks with mirrors and lockers to the left, a toilet and shower stall to the right, familiar in overall design but different in details to the ones they were used to.
“This here’s perfect,” said Peters. “Todd, how about I take this’un and you get the other?”
“Sure.” Todd went back to get his seabag.
Dee began showing Peters the details, and Todd joined them a few minutes later. The door to the corridor had a latch, but no lock. Light switches went left for on and right for off. Water valves opened to the right, hot and cold both. Linens were in lockers over the bunks, pale tan sheets of something soft and bulky gray blankets that didn’t scratch. “No pillows,” Todd observed, and Dee assumed her “puzzled attention” position, head back and tilted a bit to one side.
“We need pillows,” Peters explained. “Uh, little sacks of somethin’ soft, about so—” he sketched the size in the air with his hands “
—for supportin’ the head while sleeping.”
“We don’t use anything like that,” Dee declared. Now that they looked, that made sense; her shoulders weren’t as wide as a human’s, and looked flexible somehow. “The, ah, suppliers can make something.”
“It isn’t anything major,” Todd put in. When the others looked at him he flushed and continued, “We can bring our own along, as long as we know about it.”
“That is acceptable.”
There was nothing like a phone or com screen, but a grille over the desk was a speaker for the 1MC system, the shipwide PA. “You will need to learn the emergency calls,” Dee said seriously. “If something goes wrong, you must know what is happening and take appropriate action.” She gestured at the grille. “Unfortunately this has not worked in a long time.”
“Do you have tapes?” Todd asked.
“Tapes?”
“You know, recordings. Mechanical examples.”
Dee thought for a moment. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said finally. “I can pronounce the warnings and explain what they mean. Anyone on the ship can do that.”
Peters and Todd shared a look. “We need to start makin’ a list,” Peters said after a moment. “There’s gonna be a lot of things we need to bring. Hang on a minute.” He unzipped the side pocket of his seabag, brought out a handheld. “Let’s see. Pillows. Sound recorders. There’ll be more, we just ain’t got to it yet. Anything else here?”
“I don’t think so. Perhaps you would like a little time to unpack your things and get comfortable?” Dee made a gesture, a palm-up sweep. “I can return after a short time.”
“That’s a good idea,” Todd observed.
“Very good.” Dee consulted an instrument strapped to her right wrist. “It is now nearly the end of the first ande, you would probably say ‘watch.’ I will return in a little more than a tle, perhaps three-quarters of one of your hours, I think. We will take a meal then. Will that be satisfactory?”
