Temporary Duty

by Ric Locke

  “Ah. I believe I am willing to do that,” said Dreelig, looking the two sailors over. “Let us proceed.”

  * * *

  “There is still something I do not understand,” Dreelig confessed when they were ensconced at a table and he had taken the first taste of his drink.

  “What’s that?” Peters asked. He and Todd had also taken a first deep sip.

  Dreelig made a wry face. “If your people best us in negotiations, they could profit greatly. Why do you so readily advise me how to avoid this?”

  Todd kept silent. Peters set his glass on the table with a click, and leaned forward, propping himself on his elbows. “Don’t. Lump. Us. With them,” he ground out. Dreelig leaned back, seeking a little distance from the intensity, and Peters made an effort to relax a little. “Sorry,” he said in a low voice, and sighed. “All you’ve met so far’s been rich folks, besides us. Folks in the government, folks that get to go to college and learn how the world works. Reckon we’re probably the only folks you met ain’t like that.”

  “We called them ‘suits’ a couple of days ago,” Todd put in.

  “Yeah, that’s one word,” Peters agreed. “There’s others. But mainly, as a group they run just about everything, and they don’t turn loose of nothin’ they don’t have to.” He sighed again. “‘Cordin’ to Granpap, it’s always been like that, but it didn’t used to be this bad.”

  “Are you saying that things have changed? That this is a new situation for your people?”

  “Yeah. Well, sort of,” Todd said, and paused, thinking. “Years ago, there were factories all over,” he explained. “Just about every town had a little plant or two, making something to sell.”

  “Then they started gettin’ real efficient,” Peters put in. “I only know this because of Granpap, he worked at one of them little factories Todd was talkin’ about. Anyways, they started figurin’ ways to get things done with less people. Then they got to makin’ the whole system more efficient, mainly by havin’ each plant just do what it did best, and buyin’ the rest of what it needed. And mostly it worked real good. Things was cheap, so it didn’t matter much there wasn’t so many people workin’ and makin’ good money.”

  “They’d hire people from other countries, because they’d work cheaper, and that was because cheaper here was lots better than what they’d get at home,” Todd interjected. “That was bad for folks here, in the U.S. I mean, but it was starting to get better, because other places needed workers too, and they had to raise their pay to keep them from coming to the States to make more money. So it was all starting to even out.”

  “Takin’ a little longer than folks at home liked,” Peters pointed out, “but yeah, it was all startin’ to look good.”

  “Then the wrapheads blew up Paris,” said Todd gloomily. He didn’t continue, and Peters didn’t take up the slack.

  After a pause Dreelig prompted, “Wrapheads?”

  Peters stirred in his chair. “Yeah. There’s this bunch of folks, Ay-rabs they’re properly called. Accordin’ to Granpap, most of ‘em’s just regular folks, but a few of ‘em was real sore at the rest of the world. They’d blow things up, or kill people, or what have you, and then make a speech or get somethin’ on the net about how they was makin’ the world better for their people.”

  “Some of them had a lot of money,” Todd supplied. “The place where they live has lots of oil, and most of our industry burns oil for energy. We’d buy oil from the Arabs, and then sell them stuff to get the money back.”

  Dreelig nodded. “Again, a common pattern,” he said with a shrug. “You still haven’t clarified very much. Why were these Arabs so angry? And what are wrapheads?”

  “We call ‘em wrapheads because a lot of ‘em, ‘specially the poor folks, wear a kind of hat made of a strip of cloth wrapped around and tied off,” Peters said, waving his hand around his head to indicate tying a turban. “And they got a religion called ‘Moslem’, all the holy people wear that kind of hat, like a badge of office or something.”

  “And it was the religious people that were really mad,” Todd explained. “They’d preach to the people and get them mad, too.”

  “Why were these Moslem religious so angry?” Dreelig asked.

  Peters shook his head. “Don’t rightly know. There’s some Moslem people in town, down by where I live, and far as I could see they’re just folks. They do some funny things, like there’s certain foods they don’t eat because their religion says not, but the rest of us knew that, and we got along. Sometimes there’d be arguments and that, but nothin’ serious.”

  “But the ones in their home places didn’t get along,” Dreelig suggested.

  “Nope. And like we said, some of ‘em had a lot of money,” Peters said. “Some of the rich ones’d give money to the ones that liked to blow things up. And finally, one bunch got enough money to buy a atom bomb.”

  “Atom bomb? You mean a nuclear explosive?” asked Dreelig, looking puzzled. “Those are not expensive. They aren’t too useful, because they leave such a mess behind. But they are used often in places where the mess doesn’t matter, like moving rocks out of the way or breaking them up when necessary.”

  “Yeah, well, that may be real good in space, but like you say, they leave a real mess,” said Peters. “If all you got is where you live, it ain’t real good to have ‘em around. Anyways, one bunch of Ay-rabs got hold of a atom bomb, and blew up Paris.”

  Dreelig looked at Peters in horror. “Do you mean that this Paris was a place? Where people lived?”

  “Oh, yeah. Biggest city in Europe,” Peters told him. “Well, maybe not the biggest, but big enough. Millions of people killed, and a big mess, like you said.”

  Dreelig nodded. “Yes. The system you described might be very fragile after such a shock.”

  “Well, the way Granpap told it, that’s true, but it ain’t that simple,” said Peters. “What happened was, one of the big religious people was makin’ a speech on the net. Probably half the people in the world was watchin’ that speech, and right in the middle, just as he was tellin’ everybody about how the folks in Paris deserved it ‘cause they wasn’t Moslems, somebody blowed up Jerusalem, which is where he was speakin’ from, with another atom bomb.”

  “Who did that?” Dreelig asked in horrified fascination.

  “Don’t rightly know. Granpap, he said everybody that had atom bombs denied it,” Peters said. “But accordin’ to him, some reporters got in with a airplane and said it looked like it wasn’t just one atom bomb. Maybe a bunch of people all thought it looked like a good idea.”

  “It wasn’t a good idea,” said Dreelig.

  “They found that out,” said Peters.

  “And then the economy collapsed?”

  “Not right at first,” Todd put in. “But yeah, not long after that.”

  Dreelig spread his hands. “We knew some disaster had occurred. We landed on the large landmass first, in the western part, what you call Europe, and visited other places. It was terrible.” He shook his head. “We thought it was a war. We’ve seen that before, and it’s part of what made us so cautious dealing with you. Your situation is bad, but most other places in the world are worse.”

  “We know,” said Todd. “We’re in the Navy, remember? Mostly what the Navy does any more is patrol, trying to stop pirates and that.” He shook his head. “Actually, mostly we sit at the dock because there’s no money to run the ship. Point is, we’ve been other places. Europe, South America, like that.”

  “Mar-say,” said Peters.

  Todd winced. “Yeah. God, what a stink. And we couldn’t go ashore in Rome because there was some kind of disease. Same way in Rio de Janeiro. Buenos Aires was about like Marseilles. About the only halfway nice place was Havana. We had a lot of fun in Cuba, remember, Peters?”

  “Yeah. There’s talk the U.S. might ask Cuba if they’d like to join up, and when we was in Cuba that was one of the big things to talk about. Some folks there are hot for it, but when I told Gr
anpap that he about bust a gut laughin’.”

  There was silence for a few minutes. Dreelig emptied his glass and set it down. “You still have not told me why you are willing that we Grallt should know enough to negotiate effectively with your people.”

  “Yeah.” Peters slumped down in his chair. “Well, thanks to all that, there’s two kinds of people. One kind, like Todd was sayin’, they own the factories that’re still workin’, and they got a pretty good life. They get to go to school and learn about all kinds of things. So they get to be officers, and government folks, and that. And then there’s us.”

  “The ones who don’t have jobs, you mean,” said Dreelig.

  “That’s right,” said Todd. “Me’n Peters, we’ve got it good. We have jobs, and we get plenty to eat. But we both know people, lots of people, who don’t have either one.”

  “Just about everybody we know, outside the Navy,” Peters commented. Dreelig was looking impatient, so he continued, “If the folks that’s runnin’ things now get your stuff, kathir suits and spaceship engines and that, they’ll figure out how to build it, and they won’t need to trade for it. That’ll mean a few jobs, buildin’ the new stuff—”

  “But if they don’t get your stuff, then they’ll have to give you something of ours for it,” Todd interjected. “And if we have to trade for it, it means opening up the factories again. Making the things we know how to make, for trade. Lots of work, lots of good jobs.”

  “So you are willing to frustrate the ‘suits’ in the interest of trade,” said Dreelig. “Well, if it is of any use to you, I think your analysis is correct. Your people will be better off in general by trading.” He shook his head, looked from one sailor to another. “You have both said that you do not have very good training, that you have not been educated well. Yet you have made what is actually a fairly sophisticated argument. How is it that poorly educated people can know this?”

  “Well, it didn’t happen all that long ago,” said Peters with a shrug. “There’s lots of folks around who know what was goin’ on before things fell apart. They talk. Ain’t much else to do, of a winter evenin’.” He shrugged again. “There’s more’n one way to learn, it ain’t all schoolin’. We ain’t had much formal education, but we heard lots of talk.”

  Dreelig glanced at his watch, signaled the waiter. “We have missed fifth meal, and I am hungry. Let us eat here.”

  “Fine with us,” said Todd. “But I’m afraid you’re buying again. We’re broke.”

  Dreelig smiled faintly and nodded. “Order what you wish. I will, I believe the phrase is, take it out in trade.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Commander Bolton’s decision that the pilots needn’t learn the language had consequences. Znereda was highly irritated; he was also highly organized, and got the stewards and a dozen other people through a preliminary course in the English language. After that the sailors spent almost half of their work time having inane chats in baby talk. With four and two eights of people to train, it was barely enough. It helped that all the Grallt seemed to have a knack for languages, and were able to help one another to a large extent.

  Dreelig, Dee, and Donollo made two more trips downside, coming back to confer with their still-mysterious superiors and having little time for socializing. The few times they were able to meet, the Grallt “ambassadors” were tired but cheerful, and reported that negotiations were proceeding more smoothly. “We might actually get something done before we leave,” Dee reported optimistically.

  The freight hauler made two trips a llor, a few to Mayport and the rest to Naval Support Facility Norfolk. Engineer Keezer reappeared to supervise the adjustment of the retarder consoles for its return, and Peters grabbed Peer and a girl called Se’en as translators and stuck his nose in. It didn’t seem difficult if you knew the numbers. At the end of each trip the language class was adjourned while they ferried the cargo into the humans’ living and working spaces. The storage areas below their quarters got filled, and the working spaces were taking shape, with desks, chairs (including heavy leather briefing chairs), storage cabinets, and the like.

  Chief Warnocki had taken their word about the welding equipment; there was gear for everything from oxyacetylene to LIG, and literal tons of rod and wire. Emergency rations and dietary supplements took an entire truckload and filled two rooms. There were a couple of cartons of spare uniforms, all for the officers and chiefs. There was sheet aluminum and steel, rivets, screws and bolts, and a few odd-shaped boxes containing parts for fixing the planes. That and the welding gear would have filled most of the storage space, so they shifted it over to the shoprooms in the number-three hangar bay. One big skid held computer gear, printer consumables, and network components.

  There were pillows. Apparently the request for pillows was a real puzzle for somebody; what they wound up with was three pillows.

  Each.

  What there wasn’t was radios. Peters had expected, at minimum, several Military Common Communications Equipment sets, and he’d had a hazy notion that specialized antennas would be useful. Two big cartons and a rack on a skid held deck earbugs, their base station, and a stack of relay nodes, but that was it for comm gear. He looked it over with a sour expression, exchanged a wordless look and a shrug with Todd, and ordered them stowed below enlisted quarters.

  They bugged out on the last unloading detail, trying to snatch a few utle of sleep before the rest of the humans arrived. 0700, December 1st, in Mayport was in the middle of the fourth ande aboard Llapaaloapalla; that meant most of the work would have to be done during fifth and sixth ande—again—and the sailors had adjusted—again—to the ship’s schedule.

  They were up, showered, shaved, and in dress blues, in time to see all three dli head out for the pickup. Laundry had turned out to be available on the same basis as meals were; by Peters’ calculation, the pay they were due in two more llor would just about clear them for meals, laundry, and what they owed at the bar. He sighed. He’d been broke before, and no doubt would be again. Beer is not a necessity of life, after all. Looking neat for Chief Joshua probably was.

  Dreelig, Donollo, Dee, and the language students formed the welcoming committee; Peters and Todd joined them by the enlisted quarters hatch. Peer and Pis turned up, having set up a collation of cold cuts and sandwich makings in one of the storage spaces. It was Pis who’d thought of that; he was a bright and thoughtful fellow. Peters thought he might even get over wincing at the name, someday.

  Se’en, the girl translator, was the first to spot the drifting sparks aft. They weren’t holding any kind of formation, just loosely grouped, and they didn’t do anything fancy like making a pass and peeling off in order. One sped up while the other two slowed down, one nearly coming to an apparent halt, allowing the first to get on board before picking up the pace.

  Apparently the retarders were correctly set, because there was only a whisper of air as the first dli entered the operations bay. The pilot—they could see Gell through the big square side port—brought the dli so close to the side that Peters was nervous about the wingtip, then swung around so that its hatch was presented to them, with plenty of space for people to stand around. As soon as it came to a halt and its step deployed, Peters was up the wing. “Get your hats on and pass it back,” he advised as the first couple of men poked their heads through the hatch. They were all in dungarees; he winced but continued, “Bay counts as outside, this here’s starboard midships, render honors forward centerline.” He pointed. “Forward is thataway.”

  Sailors piled out, ducking through the hatch despite its being high enough to walk through upright. Peters had to repeat his spiel a couple of times, but finally enough got passed back that they were coming out with hats firmly attached to heads and turning to salute the spot he’d specified. Then they walked gingerly down the nonskid, arms out for balance, and stepped carefully down the flap step, rubbernecking all the way. Later arrivals had to push through the gang to find a piece of deck big enough to stand on. Most of
them had their heads back, looking at the overhead and pointing out structural details, but a few of the more intelligent ones were giving the Grallt, especially Dee and Se’en, a comprehensive once-over. There was a lot of conversation, mostly in hushed tones, a few raucous overcompensators.

  The second dli flashed in as the chiefs emerged, turning around to salute toward the bow, then back. Warnocki went ahead down the gangway and Joshua turned to glare at Peters. “Got it all figured out, do you?” he asked, eyes intent.

  “That’s what I’m supposed to be here for, Chief,” Peters replied.

  “Sure is,” the chief allowed with a sharp nod, then squared his shoulders, tugged the brim of his hat to bring it straight, and walked erect down to the deck.

  “Pleasant greetings,” Dreelig told him calmly.”Welcome aboard Llapaaloapalla, Chief Joshua.” Peters and Todd had spent some time describing a chief’s uniform, and had made sure the Grallt knew the name. First impressions…

  Chief Joshua performed a snappy salute, which Dreelig returned with his lifted-arm gesture. “Glad to be here.”

  Dreelig smiled, and Peters could see the chief flinch; he and Todd had forgotten how odd that expression looked until you were used to it. “I hope you are still glad later, Chief,” the Grallt said. “We will be together for some time.”

  “Yes, we will, if all goes well,” the chief admitted, looking away, then forcing his eyes back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, sir, I need to get this evolution a little better organized.” He glanced at Todd, mouth set, and shook his head. “I want to get everybody briefed in before we start turning them loose. Last thing we need’s a bunch of people straggling around.”

  Dreelig shrugged and smiled again. “You know your business better than I. Please proceed.”

  “Aye,” the Chief said, and turned to the loose gaggle of sailors, now beginning to be augmented by the first of those from the second dli. “Listen up, people,” he said, voice cutting across the babble. “Form up, section leaders get your people together. Let’s start looking a little military here.” He looked at Peters, who was standing by the hatch, advising on procedure as the sailors emerged, then turned to Todd. “See the short fat First Class ET over there? That’s Kellmann, he’ll be your section leader. Might as well get on over and join your section.”