by Ric Locke
“I need to discuss this with the others,” Dreelig said. “For now, you need practice with the kathir suits.”
The practice room was as before. “Would you mind if we hurried through this?” Dreelig asked. “I need to talk to the other people in my section.”
“Sure,” said Todd. “What should we do? Just play around with the air and gravity?”
“No, you need to learn the belt controls.” Dreelig pulled his belt off and held the buckle up for them to look at.
The gaudy design on the buckle was controls for the suit functions. One pair of squares increased or decreased the pressure in the “bubble” around the head; the increase one got easier to push as the air supply ran down. “When the square has almost no resistance, the air supply is very low,” Dreelig said earnestly. “You should get inside as soon as possible.”
“What about refillin’ it?” asked Peters.
“That is automatic, as soon as you get back into air. You can check the status by pressing the control.”
Round spots forming a diamond-shape in the center were the thruster controls: up, down, left, right. Up and down together were forward; the center button usually converted sideways push into rotation, so center plus top was lean back, for instance, but up, center, and bottom together meant “back”. “You will need to turn the gravity off before these are effective,” Dreelig told them. “They are weak, but enough to move around.”
“How long do they last?” Peters wanted to know.
Dreelig looked at him. “I have never thought to ask,” he said finally. “I never heard of one running out or stopping.” Peters and Todd shared a look. “Practice with what you know now, and I will see you after the next meal,” the Grallt said, and took himself off in obvious haste. They were getting used to Grallt facial expressions, and thought he looked worried.
“Never runs out of gas, eh?” said Peters when he was out of sight. “Brother Todd, this ain’t Navy issue.”
“It’s not exactly standard around here, either,” said Todd.
“What do you mean? I seen lots of people wearin’ these.”
“Yeah.” Todd held his buckle up next to the gravity control. “Notice any difference?”
Just as a design, the buckle could have been made in Japan or Boston: simple and sophisticated, even elegant. The gravity control was more of a piece with the rest of the ship: a metal panel half a meter square, painted speckle gray, with shiny screws at the corners. The wheel in the middle was a chunk of cast metal, plated or polished. “Looks like somethin’ out of a monster movie,” Peters said. “A real old monster movie, last century.”
Todd shook his head. “It looks,” he said with emphasis, “like something made by the people who built the doors to the ops bay. Whereas this—” he held up the buckle again.
“So what? It don’t matter where it came from so long as it works,” Peters pointed out.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Todd shrugged. “You want to let the air out, or shall I?”
“Reckon we need to? Be hard to talk.”
Todd shrugged again. “That’s what the suits are really for. Might as well keep it realistic.”
Having control over their movements made a big difference. As long as the gravity was off, they could glide freely around the room under near-perfect control. Pressing the thruster buttons harder made them push harder, not that they were any great shakes at maximum; pushing off the walls was faster. They were almost fully acclimated to zero gravity, and hadn’t thought about the lack of air in a long time.
They were making full circuits around the room at an angle, bouncing off all six walls in the process, when Peters thought to check the time. He pulled back his gauntlet to look at the watch; his wrist immediately began to swell and redden, accompanied by a tingling sensation, and he hurriedly restored the gauntlet before catching Todd and bringing their heads together. “Time to go. It’s already after second ande, mealtime’s almost over.”
Todd nodded, and Peters grabbed the door handle and gave it a yank. It didn’t budge, and Todd’s hand on his shoulder kept him from trying it again.
“Hang on,” Todd said. “Let me go shut the windows, and you try again when the air comes back.”
“Shit, I didn’t think,” said Peters sheepishly. “Now we’re even, Todd. You go shut the windows, and I won’t say anythin’ else about the window in our quarters, all right?”
“Deal.”
* * *
The crowd in the messroom had thinned out considerably; they had no trouble finding a table near a wall. They again managed to order food and drink, though not quite as successfully as before. Each of them got a patty of vegetable paste, fried crisp, which they’d never seen before. Peters liked it, Todd didn’t care for it much.
Dreelig didn’t show up until they were done eating and idling over coffee. The place was almost empty, and the waiters were lounging about, clearly wishing them gone. “Pleasant greetings,” the Grallt said. “I came as soon as I could. We have been arguing.”
Peters shrugged. “You set the hours. What do you have on the agenda? Sorry, I mean the program.”
“The plans have been modified.” The sideways twist in Dreelig’s mouth would have meant disgust in a human. “Your information has made changes necessary,” the Grallt went on. “That is why you are here, but changing all the plans is disruptive even so.”
“Yeah,” Peters drawled.
“We will want you to listen to our plans and criticize, but we are not ready for that. The practice room is in use, and Znereda is busy.” Dreelig drew his eyebrows together. “Perhaps it would be best if we found the, ah, stewards, and continued cleaning your officers’ quarters.” When the sailors didn’t say anything, the Grallt let out a very human sigh. “It is not a pleasant task, but it must be done. Come along, then.”
They collected the crew of stewards from a section of the ship the sailors hadn’t visited before, two decks up and aft from the messroom. The workers weren’t any more enthusiastic than the sailors were, but they all slouched across the docking bay in a loose straggle, Dreelig in the lead and the humans coming last as usual. Once they’d gotten their tools and divided up into crews Dreelig excused himself, pleading “making plans”, and the sailors continued as before. Peters found that he was hearing more and more of the language, and began to wish for another session with Znereda.
Dreelig didn’t come back, and Peters declared “down tools” well before the end of the ande. Most of what they could do with rags, brooms, and swabs was done, so they’d used the time to polish brightwork. The work was useful, even necessary, but they needed to tackle the decks, and for that they needed serious tools—a buffer was high on his wish list, maybe two of them—and materials: stripper, wax, maybe paint.
Dreelig was in the mess room, sitting at a table near the entrance with another Grallt. “Pleasant greetings,” he said. “I introduce you to Donollo. What do you think of his costume?”
Donollo—the double-”l” was the almost-y they were getting used to—was older, or at least grizzled. He was wearing a dark gray tunic, collarless but open over a turtleneck of soft fabric with an iridescent luster, and a pair of trousers the same color but with a slightly duller finish. On the roll of the turtleneck, just below his left ear, he had an amber jewel that flashed in the light. “Looks distinguished,” Peters said. “This your boss?”
“Kh Kh.” Dreelig translated that for Donollo, who joined in the staccato Grallt laugh. “Donollo is retired. We explained the problem, and offered him a fee, and now he will help us. Your reaction is just what we hoped.”
“What did you have in mind?” asked Peters.
“I am a failure,” Dreelig said dully, and hunched over, face down. “My superior must now accompany me, so that I get it right in future.”
Donollo said something in Grallt; it sounded harsh and admonitory. Dreelig responded, also in Grallt, but in a soft monotone, to which Donollo responded by folding his arms and prono
uncing a single syllable, accompanied by a sharp nod.
“The Senior suggests that we discuss provisioning, and defer more significant matters to a later time, when he is better informed,” said Dreelig in deferential tones. “What is your thinking on this?”
Peters grinned. “Yeah, Mr. Ambassador, tell the Senior we can do that.”
Dreelig translated; Donollo pronounced a short phrase and gave a quick flap of one hand, then settled back in his chair as if bored. “This is correct procedure then?” Dreelig asked, tone still deferential.
“If it ain’t perfect, it’s damn-sure close,” Peters told him. “Who thought of the topaz stickpin? It’s great.”
“It is good you approve,” said Dreelig, returning to his normal manner as Donollo sat up attentively. “Donollo suggested the jewel. I had noticed that your people often wore jewelry, not prominently but small attractive pieces. He thought it might serve the purpose.”
“It’s just right,” Todd said. “No suit is really complete without a watch or something, sometimes a ring. This is different, but the same style.”
“You know how to walk?” Peters asked.
“Oh, yes.” Dreelig settled back. “Donollo goes ahead, with head up, looking straight ahead but glancing aside from time to time. I follow half a step behind, head down, carrying a small case. Very easy.”
“There’s something else you could add,” Todd suggested, his tone a little sly. “The finishing touch, so to speak. Is Dee busy just now?”
“Dee has many duties. But it is important that we finish up here.” Dreelig shrugged. “The ship people do not like sitting in orbit with little or nothing to do. If Dee can help speed the process, she will help.”
“What’re you drivin’ at?” Peters inquired.
“You ever see a big shot without a secretary?” Todd waved his hand to indicate Donollo. “Cute little mamacita hovering at his elbow, bringing coffee for the Great Man and taking notes with a gold pen?”
“He’s right,” Peters approved with a nod. “The finishin’ touch.” He stared at Donollo, furrowing his forehead in thought. “Dress her up in a junior-grade version of what he’s wearin’, and add more jewelry. Gold chain around the neck an’ a bracelet with little dangles, hey, Todd?”
“Yeah. No shirt, though, show some skin.” Todd made a gesture across his chest. “Give her a shoulder bag and a note pad. Oh, and a supply of, Hell, I don’t know, mints or something.”
“I still don’t understand,” Dreelig said, giving an impression of wariness. “What would Dee’s duties be?”
“From your point of view she ain’t got duties,” Peters said. “It’s all gonna be dumbshow. She walks on the other side of Donollo, keepin’ level with him, and never says nothin’ to nobody but him, right, Todd?”
Todd nodded. “That’s right. She’s always there, right by his elbow. From time to time he says something and she writes it down. You say something to him, mostly he just answers, but once in a while he asks her and she flips through the notebook and reads something back.”
Donollo asked something, and Dreelig replied, first absently, then at length. The elder laughed the Grallt chuckle, heavy on the percussion, and made a little speech, clearly the old head explaining to the newbie. Finally Dreelig laughed, a single explosive bark, and pounded the table with the flat of his hand. “Why did we not think of this before?” he asked in English. “We could have left a zul ago.”
Peters shrugged. “Like I said before, you been listenin’ to the words and not watchin’ the dance. Listen up to the Chief, there. Looks like he knows what he’s doin’.”
“Yes, Donollo has many years of experience. Sometimes we forget how valuable that can be,” Dreelig said ruefully. “If I understand you, and him, correctly, Dee would almost be like a piece of jewelry herself.”
“Not almost,” Todd corrected. “Exactly like. Real big shots don’t wear much actual jewelry, it isn’t, ah, I dunno—”
“Elegant,” Peters put in. “It ain’t elegant. That pin’s just right, expensive-lookin’ but not too gaudy, but he’s gotta have some way of showin’ off what he’s got—”
“—and so Dee wears it for him, besides being an ornament herself,” Dreelig finished. “Status display.” He shook his head. “Todd, you said that Dee should carry some small foods, I think. What are those for?”
Todd shrugged. “I dunno. Medicine, maybe.” He grinned. “That’s it. He’s an old guy, and he needs to take pills. Once in a while she looks at her watch, then pulls something out of her bag and gives it to him.” He pantomimed handing something to Peters. “Donollo grumbles a bit but takes it and eats it. Then he says something to her, real gentle and polite like.”
“And never explain,” said Peters. “If they ask, you change the subject.”
Donollo laughed at that and made a short comment. “More power display,” Dreelig translated. “A small mystery, and a little action to distract them. You are acute observers.”
Peters shrugged. “We been around, is all.”
“Yes.” Dreelig pulled his eyebrows together, glancing at Donollo, then at his watch. “It too late to go Down, so we must wait until the beginning of the next day. This is good, because we need to practice our act. Dee’s schedule is awkward, but she can change if necessary.”
“Speakin’ of schedules, what’ve you got arranged for us?” Peters asked. “We don’t need to be sittin’ around.”
Dreelig frowned again. “We can check with Znereda. Perhaps he has time to give you another language lesson. After that…” he paused, making a nervous gesture with his fingers on the table. “You have kathir suits now. Perhaps you would like to explore around the ship, yes?”
The two sailors shared a look. “I guess so,” Peters agreed cautiously.
“Good.” Dreelig gestured. “Shall we go to see Znereda?”
Peters shrugged. “Sure. Lead on.”
At the door of the mess room Donollo nodded and gave them the left-handed Grallt salute. “Hear later,” he said, then exchanged a few words with Dreelig and corrected it to, “See you later, ke?”
“Yeah, see you later, Donollo,” Peters said, returning the salute. The other inclined his head and left, and the two sailors accompanied Dreelig down the corridor toward the language teacher’s office.
“You have plenty of nouns,” Znereda began the lesson. “It is time for you to learn verbs.” Todd was pleased to learn that Grallt was less complex than Spanish, and didn’t have much in the way of rules of agreement for nouns, verbs, and modifiers. There were irregular verbs, but they fit the nouns in fairly simple patterns, and there were no male/female distinctions.
Talking about male and female led to a surprise. “Dee’s male, and you’re female?” Peters asked incredulously. “You could’a fooled me. You did, in fact.”
Znereda chuckled, Grallt style. “Actually, it isn’t that simple,” he said to their stares. “If you saw us unclothed you would be very confused.”
“Wait a minute,” Todd demanded. “How do you know all this?”
“It’s part of my job,” Znereda told them with lifted eyebrows. “Sex interaction is very important to language. I’ve studied materials brought back from your planet, including popular magazines with pictures, and a medical text.”
“I bet I know what kind of magazines,” Peters said with a chuckle.
“You’re probably correct. I believe they are not thought very cultured. We have similar ones, and they are not respected. The ones I received offer a great deal of information to a person like myself.”
“I’ll bet,” said Todd darkly; Peters waved him to silence, and Znereda went on to explain. Grallt of Znereda’s sex were biologically female, in that they produced ova; Dee’s sex produced sperm. “Males” had an ovipositor, similar in structure and function to a penis, but nothing resembling testicles. A “Male” deposited an egg in the body of a “female,” where it was fertilized and grew to maturity. Grallt sperm, like the human version, needed t
o be kept cooler than body temperature, so “females” had testicles similar to a human male’s, but their sex organs were otherwise similar to those of human females, including provisions for suckling. Znereda produced a magazine that could have been sold in a Jacksonville stop-and-rob, behind a screen to keep the kiddies curious, to illustrate.
The teacher waved them out, still confused, a few tle before the fourth ande, and they headed for the mess hall, where they regarded the other diners with new interest. One “female” had patterned “her” kathir suit to emphasize “her” frontal development, which was considerable. “She” undulated by, eyeing them sidelong, and Todd sighed. “It’s too much for me,” he confessed. “I’m just gonna think of them as men and women, like back home.”
“What’re you gonna do if a lady asks you out?” Peters asked slyly.
“I don’t know the answer to that yet,” Todd confessed. “I guess I’ll burn that bridge if I get to it, you know?”
“Yeah, I reckon I’ll reserve judgement myself,” Peters said. “Not that it’s likely to come up ‘til we know more of the language. Dee ain’t interested, an’ who else could we ask?”
Chapter Six
“Tell you what, let’s do poke around a little,” Todd suggested. “I’d like to get a look at what’s below the main deck.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
They rode the elevator down to the docking bay and walked forward, as Peters had decided to call it, to the big door midships. Set in it was a smaller, people-sized hatch; through that was a thwartships passage, easily wide enough to accommodate a dli or a Navy fighter, going all the way across to another big door that presumably led to the other docking bay. The passage was as long as the bay was wide, maybe longer.
“So the midships section’s the same width as the docking bay,” Todd noted. “Fifty meters wide, eighty high, and seven hundred long. That’s a lot of fucking space, even with the hangars taken out of it.”
“Well, Dee said most folks lived here,” Peters pointed out. “An’ it makes sense structurewise, I guess.”
