by Ric Locke
“Yes, Chief, but we got a fu—, a mistake here, and I ain’t got the horsepower to straighten it out. I’d be obliged if you could meet me by the demonstration plane.”
“Is this really serious, Peters?”
“Yeah—yes, Master Chief, I reckon it is.”
“I’ll take your word for it this once. Where are you?”
“Down by the demo Tomcat.”
“On my way.”
“Thanks, Chief.” Peters unclipped the earbug, handed it back to Ridley, who grimaced in his turn and wiped it down the front of his uniform jumper before clipping it in place. “In a moment, my immediate superior will be here,” he told the enkheil. “He will take you to the ones you should speak with.”
Khrog Dhakgo clapped him on the back. “John, I think your culture pays too much attention to status. While we are waiting for your superior, I want you to call us ‘Khrog’ and ‘Ghnal’ at least twice. Do you think Ghnal is pretty?”
Peters slumped his shoulders and laughed weakly. “Very well, Khrog. Yes, I think Ghnal is very pretty. That may be because I have not seen a female of my species in some time.”
Ghnal clapped her hands together, wing flaps making it a double pop. “Wonderful! You even have my name right, considering that you don’t have the flap in your throat to make the sound properly. And you told a joke, too.” She touched him on the forearm. “Don’t worry. You have done very well, hasn’t he, Khrog?” When Khrog nodded she went on, “If you have free time after this business is concluded, perhaps you would like to visit us? We have a very pleasant place, with a view of a lake. You would enjoy it, I’m sure.”
“Yes, I’m sure I would, but I don’t know if I will have any free time—Ah.” He was rescued by the appearance of Chief Joshua, in khakis over his kathir suit, hat firmly in place.
“What’s this all about, Peters?” Joshua wanted to know.
“Master Chief, this is Khrog Dhakgo. He’s the, well, they say the First of the enkheil squadron, I reckon he’d be about full Commander equivalent. We done got it backwards. The pilots are the enlisted, and these here are the officers, in this setup.”
“I see,” the Chief said dubiously. “Pleasant greetings,” he managed in Grallt, and saluted.
“Is this a respect gesture?” Khrog Dhakgo asked.
“Yes!” Ghnal Dhango hissed. “Return it, you oaf!”
Khrog inclined his head slightly and shrugged his wings with a pop. The Chief relaxed his salute and said, “Tell them to come with me, Peters. I’ll escort them to meet the officers.”
Peters relayed that, and the reply: “They say OK, Master Chief, but they’re askin’ if I could come along to translate.”
Joshua stared a moment, finally shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Dreelig can handle it.”
“Aye, Master Chief.” To the enkheil: “Please go with Master Chief Joshua. Our superiors have translators available.”
Khrog Dhakgo half-spread his wings, furled them in a gust of air. “Very well,” he said shortly.
“And after this business is finished, you will come to visit. It’s settled,” said Ghnal. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you,” she said when he tensed up.
Peters shook his head as they walked off toward officers’ country. At the moment, Ghnal’s parting shot sounded more like a threat than an invitation.
Chapter Twenty-One
Peters reported to the retarders for flight ops, correctly rigged out in helmet, flak jacket, and boondockers, but: “The Master Chief wants to see you in his office,” Howell said with an unmistakable air of satisfaction. “Right now,” he added with relish.
“Did he say what it’s about?” Peters asked.
“Hmph. You know as much about it as I do.” The First Class smirked a little. “Probably more, in fact. Get going, nothing’s going to happen here for a while, and if it does, Jacks and Rupert can cover for you.”
“Right.” Peters stared a moment, then turned away and headed for the enlisted quarters hatch. First stop, his room. Anything that had that asshole Howell looking so damn happy was bound to call for undress blues, at least.
Master Chief Joshua’s door was always open. That didn’t mean you walked in on him without invitation; Peters banged on the doorframe. The Chief looked up from the computer he’d been punching at and barked, “Come!”
Peters took off his white hat as he entered. “You wanted to see me, Chief?”
“Yeah.” Joshua snapped the computer screen shut and leaned forward, elbows on the desk, supporting his chin on his knuckles. After a moment he snorted, shook his head, shifted his forearms to lie on the table grasping his elbows, and leaned farther forward. “Just what did you think you were doing, sailor?” he asked in a voice that seemed more tired than irritated.
“Beggin’ the Master Chief’s pardon, but I don’t understand the question, Master Chief.”
Joshua’s gaze intensified. “Don’t come that shit with me, Peters,” he warned.
“I still don’t understand, Master Chief.”
Joshua snorted again. “Hmph. All right, if you want to play ignorant and innocent, I’ll spell it out for you. You, Peters, are a Second Class Petty Officer in the United States Navy, isn’t that right?
“Yes, Master Chief,” Peters replied softly.
“Good. Now, in the United States Navy, enlisted people are not authorized to engage in official contact with senior officers of foreign powers. In fact, they are specifically forbidden to do so. Were you aware of that, Petty Officer Peters?”
“Yes, Master Chief.”
Joshua nodded. “Glad to hear it,” he said sarcastically. “To continue,” he leaned forward again, “In the United States Navy, and to my knowledge in all the armed forces of the United States of America, enlisted people, especially junior enlisted people, are not authorized to engage in substantive negotiations, for trade or otherwise, with officials of foreign powers. I will admit that it isn’t specifically forbidden by the regulations, but I’d say the first rule I mentioned would just about cover it, now wouldn’t you, Petty Officer Peters?”
“Yes, Master Chief.”
“Good, I’m glad we agree.” Joshua leaned back and folded his arms. “Now, with those two rules as background, I am gonna ask my first question again: Just what the Hell did you think you were doing running around with the CO of the opposing force like long lost buddies, accepting invitations, and making suggestions about trade matters, Peters?”
Peters stared straight ahead and thought furiously. “Beggin’ the Master Chief’s pardon,” he said again, “I’m afraid the Master Chief’s understandin’ of the sequence of events is mistaken.”
“Hmph.” Joshua leaned forward again. “All right, Peters, I’ll bite. Just what was the sequence of events from your point of view?”
Peters took a deep breath. “I believe the Master Chief is aware that I’ve learned a little of the language they use on this here ship.” When Joshua nodded sharply he continued, “The enkheil come over to the retarder consoles while we was strikin’ from flight ops, and tried to enquire of my section leader. Petty Officer Howell don’t speak no Grallt, Master Chief, and I offered my services as translator.”
“I see,” said Joshua. “What did they want?”
“They wanted to see the retarder consoles, Master Chief, and set up the procedures for how we was to alternate between our guys and the enkheil crews.” He thought a moment. “Is the Master Chief aware that Ghnal Dhango, the one with the red fur, is the head of retarder crews for the enkheil?”
“No, Peters, I wasn’t aware of that.” By the tone, Joshua didn’t care, either. He gestured, a little wave. “Continue, please.”
“Aye, Master Chief. Anyways, we got the business about the retarders settled to Howell’s and Khrog Dhakgo’s satisfaction—”
“Just a minute,” Joshua interrupted. “Krog Thak Go is the name of the CO, right?” And he’s the one you introduced me to when you called me?”
“That’s correct, Master Chief.” Well, close enough, anyway.
“Continue, please.”
“Aye, Master Chief. As I was sayin’, we got the business with the retarders concluded, and Khrog Dhakgo asked where away was the chow hall. We was done strikin’ the evolution, and I had no specific duties at that point, so I offered to show ‘em where to get some chow, Master Chief.”
“I see,” said Joshua again. He clasped his hands, fingers intertwined. “And you took chow with them, as I understand it.”
“Yes, Master Chief.”
“What did you talk about over chow?”
Peters thought back. “Just general stuff, Master Chief, like people from different places talk about. Stories, mostly.”
“Stories,” Joshua said with a caustic edge. “You gave them a pretty detailed look at the Tomcat, or so I hear.”
Ridley was the source of that, no doubt. Peters nodded. “Yes, Master Chief. To my understandin’ the reason the Tomcat was parked where it was, with a sentry, was to provide the new folks with somethin’ to look at, and to serve as an example of our stuff. The enkheil expressed an interest, and at the time I didn’t see nothin’ wrong with the idea, Master Chief.”
“You ‘didn’t see nothin’ wrong with the idea’,” Joshua mocked.
Peters flushed a little. “No, Master Chief.”
“And all this time you thought you were talking to a couple of ordinary folks, I take it.”
“Yes, Master Chief, to the extent that folks with wings from another planet can be considered ordinary folks, that is.”
“Yeah, right.” Joshua laid his hands on the desk, asked tiredly, “At what point did you become aware that this Krog whatever was the skipper of that bunch, Peters?”
“Only at the very end, Master Chief, and I immediately got in contact with the proper person in my chain of command, as I am instructed to do, Master Chief.”
“Which is me.”
“Yes, Master Chief.”
“All right, Peters, now we get to the point. I’m gonna ask this one time: Did you, at any time in that conversation, suggest to those people that any of our stuff might be for sale, or offer any kind of trade suggestions?”
“I might’ve, Master Chief.” Joshua glared, and Peters went on hurriedly, “We was just talkin’, Master Chief, about the stuff we make, on both sides. We was bound to make suggestions.” He spread his hands in frustration, hurriedly returned them to their clasp in front when the Master Chief’s glare intensified. “I know I ain’t got the horsepower to make any kind of agreement, Master Chief. I didn’t make no proposals or suggest prices or like that. We was just talkin’ about what was around.” He shook his head. “I can’t say any better’n that, Master Chief.”
“No, I don’t suppose you can, Peters.” Joshua’s tone was tired; he brought his hands together and rested his chin on them again. After a long pause he said, “I don’t want to go through this again, Peters.”
“No, Master Chief.”
“I think you’ve been getting the idea that you’re something special because you know the language. Well, that’s so to a certain extent, but what you are is a Second Class Petty Officer, and from where I sit you’re bucking for Third, do you understand what I mean, Peters?”
“Yes, Master Chief.”
“In the future I expect you to keep a low profile, do you understand me?” Joshua forestalled Peters’ acknowledgement with a handwave. “You’re expected to provide your knowledge of the language to those who need it, to help in relations with other people, but you are not to go haring off on your own, making agreements and setting up trade, because you are not some kind of half-assed ambassador, you understand?”
“Yes, Master Chief.”
“I sincerely hope so, because if we have to have a little talk like this again, you are going to be in deep shit, do you understand that, Petty Officer Peters?”
“Yes, Master Chief.”
“All right, you’re dismissed, Peters.” Joshua gave him the once-over. “I see you dressed for the occasion, and I do appreciate the thought, but you skin back into your deck gear and shag ass down to your station. Flight ops’ll be starting soon.”
“Aye, Master Chief.”
“Get your ass out of here.”
Peters nodded and got. Back in his room, he shook for a few moments with reaction, then got out of his undress blues and into green jumper, dungaree trousers, and the rest of it. He shook his head, left his blues in a heap on his bunk, and headed below. He’d have time to think about this later.
* * *
The operations bay had been rearranged, with tubby enkheil ships in nose-out echelon along the outboard wall and human planes arranged the same way inboard. Human pilots filed out of their quarters hatch, formed their column of twos, and marched in step across the bay, taking up stations at the nose of each aircraft. The arrangement put the boarding ladders out of sight; at a barked signal the crews saluted, doubled around the noses, and began saddling up. Enkheil Combat Dancers stood against the wall forward of their ships, black alternating with white, wings partially extended, watching with interest.
They knew more, now, about the enkheil. The batlike people had a long history of bloody war, and had eventually solved the problem by turning the whole concept into an art form. Few enkheil were ever killed in their performances, but it did happen, and apparently they didn’t worry too much about it, regarding an occasional casualty as an inevitable byproduct, regrettable but not tragic. Khrog Dhakgo’s company was considered (by themselves, at least) to be at the top of the list of performers in the dance of war, specializing in the airborne version.
When all the aircrews were strapped in, the planes began moving slowly, canopies open, directed by enlisted in yellow shirts with light wands. Chief Warnocki stood well forward, wearing the yellow jumper of a catapult officer; they didn’t have, or need, catapults, but as each plane reached a point even with the officers’ quarters hatch the canopies closed, the pilot saluted, Chief Warnocki returned the salute, and the plane accelerated down the bay, turning into a point of light in space.
When all the planes were clear the Combat Dancers began boarding their tubby ships, moving in a simplified version of the ruffles and flourishes they’d used when disembarking. Khrog Dhakgo stood across the bay from Warnocki, wings half extended, his head turning from side to side as he supervised the action. Ghnal Dhango was aft, standing by Howell. Each retarder console had its human crew and a pair of enkheil, ready to trade off according to which type of ship was to be recovered. The two at Retard Three had no Trade beyond “hello,” “goodbye,” and “please;” they communicated by hand signals, demonstrated by Ghnal with translation by Peters, sour looks contributed by Howell. The enkheil flourish meaning “it’s all yours” was similar to the one humans used, but more spectacular with its accompanying flirt of a wing.
When all the enkheil ships had launched, moving gracefully but without the extraneous business of ground-guides and salutes, Chief Joshua announced a two-utle standdown over the deck push. “Stay near your stations in case of emergency, but take it easy,” he advised. Ghnal Dhango made a short speech in the staccato enkheil language, probably amounting to the same thing since the other enkheil seemed to relax, some leaning against the open bay door, others gathering in small groups to chat, just like the sailors.
“That was impresssive,” said Ghnal. Peters hadn’t noticed her approach and started a bit, and she grinned and continued, “The business with the wands, and the little ceremony with each ship, make a different dance, and a very nice one. I’m sure Khrog will want to copy it. Dhnangkhi’s Company will be envious when next we meet.”
Peters had to admit that the enkheil had something of a point. The care necessary to move multiton vehicles around in a restricted area did result in something that looked very much like a performance. Flight ops on the carrier are dirty, noisy, and dangerous; without engine noise, intakes to suck you in, or jet blast to knock you ass over
teakettle, this was pretty. “It is our normal procedure,” he said with a little shrug. “The men with wands guide the ships, because the operators cannot see well enough to do it safely.” He paused, looked around. Several sailors were eyeing the two, among them Howell, who was scowling. “Ghnal, I have been instructed by my superiors to avoid contact with you. They don’t think it’s appropriate for a junior like myself to associate with those of high status.”
“Yes, that Grallt—Dreelig?—said something like that. Foolishness,” Ghnal declared. “But I understand that you must follow their directives, so I won’t cause you any trouble.” She grinned, shrugged, and flirted a wing. “Remember our invitation.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to visit,” Peters said. “Partly because of my superiors’ directives, but mostly because the ship will be leaving immediately after the ship-dance is concluded.”
“That’s a pity.” She touched him on the shoulder. “But I predict a great future for your people. Perhaps you will visit Keelisika again, and then you can visit.”
“I suppose that isn’t impossible,” Peters admitted.
Ghnal laughed. “Very few things are actually impossible,” she said. “Some of them are improbable. But if you are ever able to accept the invitation, be confident that it will still be extended.” She nodded and popped her wings, like the salute Khrog Dhakgo had given the Chief. “Now I will take myself off, so as not to get you in trouble.”
Peters watched her go with mixed emotions. The invitation seemed sincere, and absent the Master Chief’s specific injunction he would have taken it with pleasure. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he was ready to be by himself on a world full of aliens, even if he could have stretched the invitation to include Todd.
Howell gave him another scowl, and Jacks and Rupert were eyeing him speculatively. He gave the latter two a shrug and grimace, and they turned and shrugged at one another. Ghnal Dhango went to the aft end of the row of retarders, conspicuously avoiding Howell, and took up a closed stance, wings furled around her torso. Peters snorted and pretended to check the retarder console.
