by Ric Locke
“No, not at all.” She moved her lips in her “wrinkled nose” gesture, a sort of three-cornered pout, the points where her facial cleft met her mouth protruding more than her lower lip. “It is just that I am not anticipating the next ande with pleasure.”
“Why’s that?” Peters asked. He noted that Todd had looked away, and realized with a start that he felt no aversion. Sometime in the past few hours Dee had changed from “funny looking creature” to “person, a little odd” verging on “pretty girl, but different.” Her eyes were light brown with a distinct pinkish cast.
She made the expression again. “Cleaning,” she said. “The quarters the officers will be using must be cleaned and stocked. It will not be pleasurable work, I think.”
Peters decided the expression meant “distaste.” “Well, I reckon it won’t get no better for waitin’,” he commented. “You eat already?”
“Yes, I ate with friends before I came here.” She stood and breathed out, a humanlike sigh. “And you are correct, of course. Shall we go?”
She led them back to the entry to the officers’ quarters, where they met three more Grallt, all male. Dee gave the newcomers a short pep talk, with gestures at the two sailors, and they turned to, beginning on the third level and separating into a division of labor. Two of the Grallt went ahead, dusting, while the third cleaned the fixtures in the heads, and Peters and Todd followed behind, Peters with a broom and Todd with a swab. Dee vanished, and the three Grallt spoke no English, so they communicated by handwaving.
It was a lot of space, and was going to take a while, even with the lick-and-promise approach the Grallt seemed happy with. “No white gloves here,” Todd remarked somewhere on the second level. Peters just grunted and shoved dirt around. About the time they were finishing up the second level Dee reappeared, which the other Grallt took as a signal to down tools and vanish, and the sailors followed suit with relief.
“More next ande, I reckon,” Peters said as he stowed his broom in a closet on the second level, between the kitchen and the heads.
“Yes, none of these areas have been used in a long time, and they are very dirty,” Dee told them. “We should finish this part by the end of the llor. After that, we will clean the area where you are.”
“Oh, no,” said Peters, an admonition rather than a groan. “We ain’t cleanin’ no enlisted quarters. That’s what seamen are for.”
“I don’t understand,” Dee admitted. “Should the quarters not be clean?”
“Yeah, sure, but not by us,” Peters told her. “When the detachment gets aboard everybody’ll clean his own quarters, then turn to and get the rest of the space shipshape. You’ll see. Officers gonna have to clean their own space? Durin’ the trip, I mean?”
“No, of course not,” Dee told him. “The three who helped you will be assigned to that area. They will clean, and make the beds, and so on.”
“Stewards,” Todd said with a grin. “All the comforts of home. The jaygees and ensigns’ll be pleased as Hell.”
“Not if they don’t do better’n they did this time,” Peters warned. “Enlisted can clean their own space, but we better go over this place again, and this time, you stick around, Dee. What we did ain’t good enough, and I need to be able to explain that to them yahoos.”
“If you say it is necessary, then that is what we will do,” Dee said resignedly.
“What next?” Todd wanted to know.
“Next is another meal,” Dee told them. “Would you like to clean up before eating?”
“Oh, Hell, yes,” said Peters. “You can probably smell me ten meters off.”
“Not quite that far,” Dee said, suddenly looking very, very alien. He missed being able to read her facial expression; was that an impish joke or not? Her tone said it was. “How long do you need to clean yourselves?”
“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” Peters told her.
She looked at her watch. “A little less than one utle. I will meet you at the, ah, mess hall you say? At the mess hall when you have finished. Can you find your way?”
“Not a problem,” said Todd, and Peters nodded.
“Good. You might bring a sack,” she suggested.
“A sack? What for?” Peters asked suspiciously.
She mimed pulling something over her head. “Several of my friends have been asking about you,” she said. “You might need a sack.” And with that she took herself off.
“Well, now we know what a grin looks like on a Grallt,” Todd observed when she was out of earshot.
“Yeah. Funny lady. Come on, me for a shower.”
* * *
When they arrived at the mess deck, bathed, shaved, and combed, Dee was sitting at a table near the entrance arch, already tucked in to her meal. She waved them over. “No sacks,” she observed.
Todd and Peters exchanged looks. “It’s a little early for us,” Todd explained.
“If that is what you choose. What would you like to eat?” Now they were sure what amusement looked like on a Grallt.
The waiter was hovering. “We still don’t know what’s good,” Peters reminded her. “You’ll have to choose for us.”
She gabbled at the waiter, gesturing at the two sailors, then addressed herself to her food, not speaking. Peters and Todd sat quietly, looking around. Several of the Grallt returned their looks, and one or two nodded heads in greeting. Silence continued after they got their food, Dee toying with the remnants on her plate and the two sailors eating steadily.
Finally the last blue leaf was gone. “Back to work, I guess,” Peters said resignedly.
It was a long five hours. The workers were incredulous and resentful at the level of cleanliness the sailors insisted on. Dusting the top edges of hatch coamings seemed ridiculous to them, clearing out the grime under the sinks had them gabbling at one another at top speed, and they didn’t at all enjoy dustbunny hunts under the bunks. Finally they seemed to grudgingly accept the requirements, and among them they got one floor of sleeping area pretty well squared away.
One of the workers asked Dee something, sounding aggrieved. Dee gabbled in Grallt, then translated, “Peer asks, will this be the same all the time? He wants to know if they will need to keep it this clean constantly.”
“This here’s just barely acceptable,” Peters told her bluntly. “Stewards’d be on report if they let it get like this back home.” When Dee translated that, the worker—Peer?—hunched his narrow shoulders and said something plaintive, and Peters shook his head in disgust. He was starting to hear words in the language they used, even when he didn’t know what they meant, and he didn’t need Dee’s translation to know Peer thought they didn’t have a big enough crew. If they were all this sloppy, he was undoubtedly right.
“That is all we can do for now,” Dee said firmly. “It is almost the end of the ande, and we are all tired. We will meet here again after the meal and continue.”
* * *
“This is what apprentices are for,” Todd grumbled as he piloted a swab down the passageway.
“Yeah. I been an apprentice,” said Peters. He was pushing and flicking a dust mop with the sure hand of long practice. “If that po-face Bolton was to see this place lookin’ like it did, I might get the chance to be doin’ that again. Do good, boy.”
Todd scowled. “You’re right, dammit. I don’t have to like it, though.”
Dee had made herself scarce again, so they got by with handwaving, grunts, and the few words they knew. The Grallt did well enough, if grudgingly, and it was amazing how far “please” and “thank you” went. They all had simple names, Zif and Peer and Dree, Don (no shit), Yod (Peters figured out it was really Llod after he’d heard it once or twice) and Se’er, and one individual, harder-working and more cooperative than the others, who rejoiced in the moniker of Pis. “Shit,” said Peters when he heard that, and Pis pointed solemnly at another who hadn’t been introduced yet. Peters didn’t respond except to wince.
The place was starting to shape up, at leas
t as regarded general cleanliness in the living quarters, but the decks were a problem. Peters wasn’t ready to try to get “wax,” “stripper,” and “buffer” across in dumbshow. It was hard enough to manage “no, goddammit, you have to get rid of the dirt, not just move it around,” although that got easier with enough repetitions. On the other hand, “Down tools and go home” was understood immediately when he called it, an utle or so before the end of the watch.
Dee met them at the hatch. “Did it go well?”
“Well enough,” Peters said, “but I’m beat.”
“Yeah,” said Todd. “Peters, you want to tell me the time?”
Peters fumbled the handheld out and pressed buttons. “0110 on a fine Wednesday morning.”
Todd winced. “Ouch. Dee, I’m not sure we’ll be able to keep this up. Your day is lots longer than we’re used to.”
“That may be true,” Dee agreed calmly. “Perhaps you will adjust. If not, we can modify the watch schedule.”
“Right.” Peters sighed. “Me for a shower and hit the mess hall again. I wouldn’t even eat if it wouldn’t be ten hours ‘til we’ll get back, but we gotta, right, Todd?”
“Yeah.” Todd sighed heavily. “Except I’d rather let ‘em smell me in the mess hall and shower afterwards. If I get within falling distance of my bunk, that’ll probably be the end of my day, food or no food.”
“I feel the same way,” said Peters. He rubbed his face, “liberty beard” rasping. “Dee, do we stink too bad to go to chow?”
“Stink? Ah, intense smell, yes?” Dee furrowed her eyebrows together in the middle. “You asked about that before. Your scent is strong, but not terribly unpleasant. There will be no trouble at the eating place.”
“Good,” said Peters. “That’s the way we’ll do it. Lead on.”
They were too tired to pay attention to what they were eating, just stuffed it down. Back in his room, Peters stripped off the kathir suit and slung it carelessly on the other bunk. Todd beat him to the shower, taking what seemed like an inordinate amount of time but was probably only a few minutes. When his turn finally came he tried hot water, settled on something just a little too cold for comfort, and sluiced himself off as quickly as he could manage. That done, he looked in on Todd, who was lying across his bunk, snoring, wearing nothing but skivvies. He did a little better, managing to pull the bedclothes back and crawl in before unconsciousness hit.
Sometime during the “night” the light from the window woke him up. Earth nearly filled the window, a full moon grown hugely gross. He had no way of knowing, but the thin edge of dark at the lower right was the east coast of North America, and it was 0500 in Jacksonville; he’d waked at the time he’d been getting up for nearly ten years. Rubbing his eyes, he gaped for a few moments, then rolled over and went back to sleep.
Chapter Five
Peters woke the next time Earth filled the window, and this time it wasn’t so easy for him to get back to sleep. Regardless of how long and effortful the previous day had been, he was too young and full of habit to stay down for more than nine hours or so. Noises from the head said that Todd had reacted the same way. Still a little bleary, but fully awake, he collected clean skivvies and began his ablutions.
The first thing was a shower. He needed a shower.
That done, he scowled at the kathir suit, lying in a sloppy mess on the unused bunk. How the Hell did you clean the thing? He’d sweated like a pig in it; no doubt it smelled like a laundry bag of dirty skivvies. A Marine’s skivvies, after a twenty-mile run.
But it didn’t. The inside had a faint scent, but it wasn’t unwashed sailor, more the sharp not-quite-odor of ozone. Magic.
Doubts remained, so he turned it inside out, fumbled with taps until he got a thin spray of hot water, and sluiced it off thoroughly. By the time he got it back into his room it was completely dry and smelled the same as before. He snorted and began crawling into it.
The watch was lying on the study table, where he’d tossed it before going to bed. He strapped it on his arm and studied the dial. A little less than an utle before the first llor. Time for chow and begin the day, but where was Dreelig?
The Hell with it; Peters was hungry and knew the way. He rapped on Todd’s door and grunted when the other joined him; they didn’t speak as they went down the stairs and across the docking bay. Todd was wearing his white hat. Peters didn’t know how that would work out with the kathir suit, so he’d left his behind, but forebore to say anything about it.
Dreelig was sitting at a table near the middle of the messroom. “Pleasant greetings,” he said as they took chairs, and rattled in Grallt at the waiter. The man flipped his pad shut and took himself off, and Dreelig leaned back in his chair.
“Pleasant greetings,” Peters agreed, looking around. It was the first time he’d been relaxed enough to inspect his surroundings.
Two of the walls were plain, the aft one broken by big swinging doors with waiters bustling through them; the other two, port and starboard, had vertical pilasters at about three-meter intervals. Between the pilasters were splashes of color, art of some kind: pictures of Grallt, depictions of other creatures—no doubt he’d find out later if they were people or not—and what must be landscapes, although if that was true the Grallt probably thought the monotone green of Earth was really boring.
One large picture was obviously a painting rather than a photograph or captured image, done in a blocky style, with simple shapes, bright colors, and odd perspectives. The central character, depicted in bolder tones, had a thing slung over one shoulder that looked like one of the shiny ovoids wise sailors give a wide berth when they’re sitting on a bomb cart. It took several seconds for Peters to figure out what was odd about it.
The figure had a nose.
A waiter bustled up and was setting out dishes before he could say anything, and Peters shook his head and addressed himself to his plate. “This is good,” he said at one point. “What is it?” Dreelig replied with something that sounded like slobbering, and they got through the meal trading inconsequentialities.
“What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day, Dreelig?” Peters asked.
“Ssth. Please do not say ‘agenda’ to me, Peters. It reminds me of Secretary Averill.”
“Dee said something like that,” Todd mentioned. “I believe her phrase was ‘up to the ears with diplomats.’”
“That is a good way to put it.” Dreelig sat back in his chair, visibly forcing himself to relax. “For two zul I have been dealing with your people, and have only recently begun to understand your cultural assumptions.” He took a deep breath and expelled it through pursed lips, a low hissing whistle. “But none of that is your concern. After this meal we will go to the practice place for further instruction in suit operation. Will that be satisfactory?”
Peters shrugged. “If we don’t feel like goin’ along, we’ll say so real polite like. We’re new here, if you remember.”
“Yeah,” Todd agreed. “And don’t worry about not getting along with Secretary Averill and the rest of his group. We don’t do very well at it either.” He grinned and looked at Peters, who nodded and smiled slightly. “We have a word for them,” Todd continued. “We say ‘suits’ because of the clothes they wear, but it really means an attitude.”
“But suit—” Dreelig made it sound more like zoot “—just means a complete set of clothing, yes? Like the kathir suit.”
“Yeah, but if you just say ‘suit’ it means a certain kind of clothing,” said Todd.
“You seen the type,” Peters put in. “Trousers and a coat, all the same color, usually somethin’ dark and dull. White shirt under the coat, with a tie.” He pantomimed pulling a necktie tight.
“And the shoes are usually shiny,” Todd added.
Dreelig nodded. “Yes, like the clothes your officers wear, but without all the bright decorations. I had not realized it had a particular name, or that it was a status badge.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Peters sardonically. �
��People who dress like that are special. If you don’t believe it, just ask ‘em.” He snorted. “Most of ‘em couldn’t set up a dog fight with only two dogs, but they’re in charge, an’ the rest of us get to gofer.”
Dreelig nodded. “Status identification.” He leaned back and stared at the overhead for a moment, arms folded. “Perhaps I should get myself a suit,” he suggested.
“Nah, too late,” said Todd.
“Yeah, you blew it,” Peters agreed. “Once they think they got you figured out, you can’t change their minds with anything that don’t do permanent damage.”
“Ssth.” Dreelig paused in thought. “We know how to deal with status societies, we do it often. But your society seemed remarkably free of such wasteful nonsense. Everyone we spoke to seemed very, ah, informal.”
“Suits are informal among themselves,” Todd pointed out. “It’s a small group—”
“But if you aren’t part of the group, formality applies,” Dreelig finished for him. “Ssth. We know how to do this. How did we miss it?”
“You spent too much time listenin’ to the words,” said Peters. “My Granpap explained it to me. Used to be, maybe seventy-five or a hundred years ago, the words meant something. They still use the words, but they don’t mean nothin’—”
“Outside the group,” Dreelig completed the thought again. “Yes, that is clear. Ssth.” When Todd started to speak he waved him down, then leaned back in his chair. “Would you be willing to make suggestions?” he asked.
“I don’t understand the question,” Todd said.
“These are your people,” Dreelig pointed out. “If we learn to deal with them effectively, it may work to their disadvantage.”
Peters snorted. “Our people, Hell. They been pushin’ us away from the food dish for half a century, maybe longer,” he said with some heat. “I still got folks back in West Virginia livin’ on huntin’ and home gardens, with spells in jail for shootin’ some critter they’re cherce of. You got a way to cut ‘em down a peg, you let us know. We’ll help if you need it.”
