by Ric Locke
“That’s wise.” Dhuvenig looked blank for another few moments, then: “Yesterday you told me that you had eight and three squares of persons to train in use of the airsuit. How many of these persons will require training outside the ship?”
Sharp cookie, this one. “All those persons,” Peters told him. “Not in this llor. It be—it would be good if training done in next three eights of llor, but again we wait your convenience.”
Dhuvenig looked at Znereda, who returned the look with remarkable blandness. “This is not normal,” said the officer.
“I believe you will find the humans more to your liking than we are,” said Znereda. “They are always worrying about what might happen.”
Dhuvenig focused on Peters. “Do you worry about things before they happen?”
“Yes.” Dammnit, why didn’t these people have some equivalent of sir! “Normal for us to think things might go badly, and prepare best way we can.”
“Remarkable,” said Dhuvenig under his breath. “Yes, this is…” he used a word that Peters didn’t know. “Gratifying,” Znereda muttered. “I will speak to Heelinig,” the officer continued. “I don’t know what arrangement will be made. Someone will come and tell you. Where can you be found?”
Peters looked at Znereda, back at the officer. “This llor, we be—will be instructing in basic airsuit procedure,” he told Dhuvenig. “The person can find us in airsuit practice room.”
“Good.” The officer rummaged around on the desk, found a clipboard with papers, and made a note. When he was done he looked up. “Is there more?”
“No, Dhuvenig.”
“Then our business is complete. Good day, Peters.” The phrase he used was more like “pleasant llor”, but Peters understood.
“Yes, Dhuvenig. Thank you.” He nodded; the officer responded with a sharp nod of his own, and Peters took Todd’s arm and urged him and Znereda out of the office.
“That went well, I thought,” Todd said when they were outside the bridge area. “What I understood of it.”
“Oh, yes, very well indeed,” Znereda said happily. “Mr. Peters, you’ve been sandbagging, haven’t you? You didn’t need me at all. Se’en told me, and I see she was right. Next time, go by yourself.”
* * *
“So what are we going to do about the suits?” Todd asked.
“Hunh. I don’t know yet what I’m gonna do.”
Todd stopped. The corridor was bare, only one door in sight, no people. He twisted to look down at the crow on his arm, then up at Peters. “Look, I worked for this, OK? I’m not real happy at giving it up.”
“I feel the same way.”
“I thought you might. All right, the point here is just to be different, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine.” Todd spread his hands. “Then let’s have Keer or Veedal just blank them, like they were when they were new.”
Peters narrowed his eyes. After a moment he said, “Ye-es,” slowly. “That’d work. We ain’t zerkre, and for the purposes we want, we ain’t really sailors, leastwise we ain’t in the chain of command. We’re just a coupla folks who know about airsuits, ain’t we? Blank. Yeah.”
Veedal thought they were crazy, but showed them how to clear their kathir suit patterns. That led to a surprise: the back of the buckle, which looked blank, became a keyboard and display when the proper buttons were pressed. The way it worked wasn’t even all that different from a handheld or phone, and both sailors got the basic idea immediately.
“I think I should not explain any more to you,” Veedal commented ruefully. “You will take my job.”
“No, we not take your job,” Peters assured him. “We have—” he had to search for the word “—associate is very skilled using equipment similar, and he be much interested. He not take your job too, but after he learns to speak, you maybe tired seeing him.”
“If that happens, I’ll call you, and you can tell him to leave,” said Veedal. “But send him to see me when he learns the language. I can’t pretend that I know everything about this machine, and if your associate is skilled with similar ones, perhaps he can help me discover new things.”
* * *
Peters didn’t know if it was the suit, Chief Warnocki’s admonitions, or leftover mana from the previous sessions, but the sailors, all First Class, assembled at the practice room hatch and began skinning out of their dungarees, stowing them with low-voiced murmurs among themselves but no overt protest or even comment. He led them inside and dogged the hatch, and when he turned they were all in a close group near him, carefully avoiding controls and windows. He grunted in satisfaction. “All right, the first thing to know is that the kathir suit ain’t really a spacesuit, it ain’t got the horsepower. But it’ll keep you alive when needed, and get you out of tight spots if you know how to work it. Ever’body pull your buckle off and look at it, and we’ll see what the controls are…”
Todd was with Warnocki, helping him talk with the engineer sent down from Ops to look at the trash collection. Peters had handled the initial contact, Todd still being diffident about his ability in Grallt, and was still relishing the look on Warnocki’s face when he’d transmitted the Grallt’s name: Goofig. Goofig wasn’t experienced in dealing with humans, so the Chief had probably managed to keep a straight enough face to avoid offense. Not that it mattered. Goofig was so delighted to encounter people who thought “cleaning up” and “maintenance” were worthwhile pursuits that he was grinning ear to ear and willing to forgive little faults like giggling and rolled eyes when his name was pronounced.
This first group was by way of experiment. Peters had decided on the approach he would take: all business, direct statements, polite commands, not even acknowledging any challenges to his authority. It seemed to be working. Warnocki had used, by his own admission, sweet reason and threats of dismemberment to get Chief Gross to release an issue of twenty-five earbugs. Being able to talk in airlessness was a big help.
By the end of the two utle he’d allocated for the session all of them could navigate around the room on suit thrusters with some facility, and there’d been no overt challenges to his position. He ushered them out, collecting earbugs as they went by, and watched them donning their dungarees with a feeling of relief. This was working. Maybe it would continue to do so.
The second group looked like more of a challenge; it contained all the Chiefs but Warnocki and a couple of First Class with five and six hash marks. Master Chief Joshua gave him looks that promised a reckoning later, but voiced no protests, and Peters kept his tone level and businesslike, with no attempt at command voice; it seemed to work. Unfortunately Joshua was a bit inept with the suit controls, and having to continually rescue him from off-center moves strained both of their composures a little, but they got through it with no more than an exchange of glares. A third group went much the same way, and that brought them up to fourth meal time.
Chapter Sixteen
A Grallt crewmember in four-ways stood watching as the class was filing out. The humans tended to face away from her when pulling on trousers, but she didn’t interfere with the process, just stood watching with folded arms and a not terribly patient expression. Peters glanced at her from time to time, and took Chief Warnocki aside to suggest that future classes dispense with outerwear for the trip to the practice room and back; Warnocki nodded and agreed to talk to Chief Joshua about it.
The woman’s name was Peet, which made Peters wince; she thought it was funny. She spoke quickly, using slang and pronunciation different from the formal words he’d heard from Znereda and the officers on the bridge, but with a little backing and filling they established that Dhuvenig had designated the midships third of the dorsal surface of the ship (Peet called it the “top,” and Peters understood that) as a practice area for working outside. Starting the next llor, there would be no maneuvering during the first ande unless in an emergency, which would be signaled by a flashing light over the bridge. Visibility of the warning light seemed to have been
the main factor in deciding which area to allocate. “It’s dangerous,” Peet said. “You can’t talk, and you can’t hear warnings, so it has to be something you can see.”
Peters held out an earbug. “We can talk. We use these.”
The woman looked it over. “What’s this? It doesn’t look like much.”
“We call it—shit.” Peters couldn’t come up with anything idiomatic for “earbug,” lacking a word for “insect,” so he settled for the English word, “Earbug. It is a communicating device.”
Peet used a word. “So tiny? We have them, but ours are—” she held her hands apart, to indicate a large device “—and they are not dependable, the gabble in the valves fails. How do you make the valves so small?”
Peters, who had never even heard of a vacuum tube, didn’t know what to make of that. “I don’t know,” he said. “But these will work for about an ande. Then it is necessary to, ah…” He floundered, unable to come up with anything like recharge the battery in Grallt.
She laughed again and sidled well inside his personal space, laying a hand on his collarbone and smiling into his face. “Earbug,” she said. “What can I do for you that would be worth an earbug, hmm?”
Peters flushed, but he had met girls with that attitude, and worse, in lots of places. Peet was an innocent, relatively speaking. “Apologies,” he said. “These are in my charge, but they belong to others. You must speak to another if you want an earbug.”
She pouted, produced a sound approximating “Aw-w-w,” and smiled, moving her hand over to touch his neck below an ear and tracing down to his clavicle with a forefinger, then backing off with a little push. Peters flushed again. Just because he’d encountered this sort of thing before didn’t make him immune to it. She noted his reaction, plain in the skintight suit, and her smile became a grin. “Another time, perhaps? For now, I should show you how to get to the practice area. Follow me.” She set off, walking with a little more hip swing than necessary, looking back occasionally and grinning, especially at stair landings. Peters tried to keep his eyes on his footing as much as possible. Maybe Commander Bolton was right about the suits after all.
Between stairwells they passed through areas he’d never seen before. These were obviously berthing spaces. People moved around in the corridors and chatted in doorways, and Peters got his first look at a Grallt child, a little girl who stood wide-eyed in a doorway as he passed. He reflected on that for a bit. The little girls he’d known in Whitesville, West Virginia, would’ve run screaming if they saw a Grallt stroll by.
The last stage was a true ladder, narrow and vertical, ending at a round hatch with a wheel to close it. Peet worked the wheel and lowered the hatch, then beckoned Peters on. He followed her into a small cylindrical space, barely large enough for the two of them, and she took the time to tease a bit more before kneeling to pull the hatch shut. He wasn’t quite ready to watch her stretch to reach the matching wheel overhead—by this time he was sure Bolton was right—so grasped it himself while she was working a smaller one. She grinned and nodded, and he waited until the whistle of escaping air had died out, then turned the wheel to the right. Peet stood with arms akimbo, still grinning, as he yanked on it before finding out that this hatch popped up instead of dropping down.
He climbed up far enough to raise his head above the hatch coaming. The white-painted upper surface of the ship seemed to stretch on forever in all directions, a flat plain for a bug to crawl on. Bubbles and blisters sat here and there, none with ports or windows; one nearby blister, a meter high and three across, had sloping sides and a hatch on the visible side. Three-pointed padeyes were recessed into the metal every five meters. He started to climb further up, and felt a hand on his leg, restraining him.
Peet tugged again, realized that he’d gotten the message, and swarmed up the ladder alongside him until their head bubbles merged. “Don’t go out,” she warned. “There’s no gravity outside, and the ship might move.” The ladder was narrow, and their position pressed their bodies together over almost their full length. She looked him directly eye to eye, grinning slightly, then shook her head, muttered something Peters understood as “imperative try this…”, and kissed him.
Grallt kissed with faces parallel, instead of at right angles like humans; physiologically it made sense, but it was an odd sensation. Not disagreeable, but odd. After a moment Peet backed away and ran her hand over her facial cleft. “Hm,” she said. “Very strange. Not bad, I think, but very strange.” Then she grinned again. “That thing in the middle of your face may be useful. Would you like to go down to my room and try a few things?”
Peters was tempted—ah, yes!—but: “No, thank you, Peet, it is a little, ah, before the right time for me.” He couldn’t help grinning. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“You’re welcome.” She grinned back. “And any time you think might be right for trying new things, come and find me.” She kissed him again, just a quick peck, and looked up. “Close the hatch, please. Do you think you can come back here without a guide?”
Peters swung the hatch back down, noting the counterweight, and began dogging it. “Yes, I think I can return without help.”
She pouted ostentatiously, then smiled again. “That’s not what I wanted to hear. I need to find a way to earn an earbug.” The whistle of returning air started dying off, so she clambered down the ladder, with maximum touching, then squatted and began undogging the lower hatch, and Peters followed with a little more decorum. When they were standing on the deck below, she asked: “Would you like to see more of the ship on the way down?”
“Like your quarters?” She grinned at that, and he returned it. “No, I am sorry, I have not had food this ande, and I have another class in a few tle. Perhaps another time.”
“Pah. You are babble.” When he looked blank, she clarified, “Your mind is set too strongly. Come on, then. This way.”
They retraced their steps, all but the last few decks, and Peet indicated an exit from the stairwell. “That leads to the food corridor. Remember to find me if you want to babble.” She waved, a wiggle of the fingers, and went on down the stairs, presumably back to duty. Peters fingered his nose, which he’d managed not to do up to now, and sighed. Damn if he didn’t wish he had a little more time.
The rest of the llor was anticlimax. He ate quickly and met his next class only a few tle late; instruction went smoothly; he ate fifth meal and went back to his quarters. It was only his imagination, he was sure, that made the tip of his nose feel warm.
* * *
Dreelig was at fifth meal, the first time he’d seen the “ambassador” in, what, three llor now? Peters greeted him in Grallt; Dreelig waved at a chair, looked up, and did a double take. “Peters,” he said in astonishment. “I didn’t realize it was you until I looked. You have made amazing progress in the language.”
“I was pushed into deep water.” The idiom translated smoothly, but didn’t mean anything to Dreelig; Peters explained, and the Grallt nodded.
“Sometimes that’s the best way. So. Have you made progress?”
“A great deal, I think.” He was explaining about the “blank” airsuit, and basic suit training for two hundred humans, when Dee came up and sat. “Hello, Dee, it is good to see you,” he said, and was rewarded when she raised her eyebrows, taken aback.
“Amazing,” Dee said to Dreelig, who nodded. “You really have a very good accent,” she told Peters.
“Thank you.” Peters grinned. “You may be interested to know that I had a chance to use a sack, but didn’t have one with me. Maybe next time.”
Dee grinned. “I told you.”
“What’s this?” Dreelig wanted to know.
Dee explained about sacks. “Maybe you should start carrying a sack on your belt,” she suggested to Peters.
“To be truthful, I’m finding it unnecessary. Perhaps for myself.”
She grinned. “And perhaps not. Oh, there’s Todde. Who’s that with him?”
“I don’t
know,” said Peters. “Oh, yes, I do know. That is Goofig, the zerkre who has been directing the cleaning.” He stood and waved, and the two of them came over, Todd grabbing a chair from an adjacent table and everyone shuffling a bit to allow five to sit at a table intended for four. “Hello, Todd, introduce your friend to the others.”
“Hello,” Todd said with a grin. “Here Goofig. Goofig, these Dreelig and Dee. You remember Peters.”
“Hello,” said Goofig. “I’m pleased to know you. Peters, it’s good to see you again. Peet sends greetings.”
“Return her greeting for me,” said Peters cautiously.
“I’ll get you a sack,” Dee offered.
“Sack?” Goofig was confused. Everyone else laughed, and Dee explained the sack joke. “Yes,” said the engineer. “But I don’t think Peet needs a sack. In fact, I don’t think she wants any cloth at all.” That generated a biracial roar, leaving Peters flushing.
Tacit agreement changed the subject. Goofig hadn’t eaten in this food hall before, nor had he seen human foods; he was willing to experiment, and ate enchiladas, refried beans, and rice with apparent pleasure. He strongly approved the cleanup campaign. “The humans are very hard workers,” he told them. “They’ve already cleaned the bay better than I’ve ever seen it, and tomorrow they’ll begin painting. They’ve even asked if it’s possible to renew the coating on the floor. I don’t know the answer to that, but I’ll ask.”
“You think we allowed to repair doors?” Todd asked, understandably if not well.
“I don’t think so,” said Goofig. “The doors work well enough, and we’re a little afraid to let strangers work on important parts of the ship.”
The engineer was astounded at the tools and test instruments the humans had. “When Sshhot took the light switch apart I was afraid. But he did a good job. What was that amazing instrument he was using?”
“Called multimeter,” Todd told him. “For simple electric.”
“Incredible. Our section has something with much the same purpose, but it masses two eights of gorz.”
