Temporary Duty (13 page)

"Then a tax lawyer would really be best," the woman noted.

"But it isn’t an option for most of us. Do you have any other suggestions?" Gill asked.

Styles lifted his chin. "We are not authorized to advise taxpayers on methods of compliance," he said frostily. "Agent Cade has already gone much farther than she should have. We will leave a supply of paper forms with Mr. Joshua for those of you who aren’t able to file electronically or don’t care to. We very much prefer electronic filing, but we understand that it may be impossible in the circumstances. Beyond that, all we can do is advise you to comply with the law. There are severe penalties for not complying fully." He looked at the Master Chief. "I believe that’s all we have for you."

The Master Chief nodded but didn’t rise. "Thank you, Agent Styles," he said in a monotone.

Styles stared for a long moment. "Laura," he said, half-questioning, and made a little come-along gesture with his left hand. One of the FedSec goons went to the door, looked up and down the hall, and nodded shortly. The woman stood and went ahead of Styles, who glanced impassively back at the group as he left, and the other goon followed, keeping his head turned toward the sailors until he closed the door.

"Hunh," said Gill contemptuously. No one else commented, and the Master Chief brought his hand down on the table in an explosive slap,
wham!
"Let’s get back on track," he said. "I’ll pass out the forms when I get them. Chief Gill, I think we were talking about foods and allergies before we broke for coffee. Any more you want to ask about?"

They broke for chow, at the EM club again, and got back at it, and it was almost twenty hours when Chief Joshua finally called a halt. He handed Peters and Todd copies of the IRS forms, then whistled up the Suburban and driver that had brought them to the Naval Air Station. Dee’s watch read a few
tle
before the fourth
utle
when they pulled up by the athletic field at Mayport. "Thanks," Peters told the driver.

"No prob’, man."

"And here’s our ride." Todd pointed above the admin building, where the
dli
was ghosting in, still improbably silent. The driver’s eyes were wide in the dark. "See you another time," Todd told him.

"Yeah, see ya," the driver said abstractedly, eyes following the white shape as it settled on the grass. A Marine challenged them, but contented himself with a cursory scan of their ID blocks, and Dreelig appeared at the hatch. It said a lot about their day that his alien face looked welcoming, a comforting relief.

"You look very tired," Dreeling observed. "Were you successful?"

Peters just grunted. Todd answered, "Yes, I think we were, but it was pretty wearing. What about yourself?"

"Very well." Dreelig was smiling. "We did not accomplish much, but the social interactions were fascinating. Secretary Averill was very deferential to Donollo."

"That’s great," Todd told him. "Oh, shit, I almost forgot. Dreelig, what’s the ship made out of?"

"I don’t understand the question," the Grallt confessed.

Todd waved at the ceiling. "The ship up there. What material is it made of? Steel, aluminum, titanium, or what?"

Dreelig’s eyes were wide. "I have never thought to ask. Do you need to know at this moment?"

Todd yawned. "Yes, right now if possible. I need to send a message."

"Then please wait a few moments. I will ask Gell, perhaps he knows." The two sailors stood just inside the hatch, glad to be out of the wind, until the Grallt returned. "Gell doesn’t know the word in your language, and neither do I," Dreelig told them. "He says it is the substance found at the center of planets like this one, or almost the same. Does that help?"

"Not really," Todd said, but then a dim memory surfaced. "You know, it does help after all. I’ll be right back." He climbed down the step to chat with one of the sentries. "I left a message with the Marines," he told them when he got back. "God only knows if Warnocki’ll get it." He yawned again and stretched. "I am beat, let me tell you."

"So what’d you tell ‘em?" Peters wanted to know.

"Hunh?"

"The Marines," Peters said patiently. "What did you tell the Marines to tell Chief Warnocki? That the ship is made of?"

"Oh, that," said Todd. "I remembered an old nature vid. The center of the Earth is iron. I can’t imagine making a machine out of iron, it’s too weak and brittle, so I told the Marine to tell Warnocki it was steel."

Peters grunted. "Hunh. That’ll please him."

"Not that I give a damn. Come on, let’s cut the yak and get out of here. I’ve got a date with a bunk mattress."

Gell was in his seat, idly fingering the flight control, when they got to the cockpit and flopped into the black chairs. The pilot gave them a toothy grin, and Peters was too tired to realize that he’d recognized the expression, just replied the same way, fingered the seat control to full recline, and went promptly to sleep. The next thing he knew Gell was shaking him awake, and they were sitting in the ops bay, with the sun shining brightly on the ceiling. That last failed to matter. They stumbled up to their quarters, tossed the paperwork on the desks, folded their uniforms and tucked them away out of sheer inertia of habit, and flopped into their bunks.

* * *

When they’d come aboard the first time, by chance the Grallt schedule was more or less in sync with theirs, and they had adjusted fairly quickly. Now they had been forced back into Earth time, which was nearly in opposite phase, and had to begin adjustment all over again. They managed to nap during the
ande
after their return and make the next meal, but were really dragging when the fifth
ande
rolled around and they were finally able to hit their bunks again.

Dee and Dreelig were shuttling up and down to Washington on Earth time schedule, and weren’t available except for a few words at an occasional meal. Unfortunately, they were also the only Grallt other than Znereda the instructor who spoke English well. Peters physically dragged the steward called Peer, who seemed to be more or less in charge, to Znereda’s office and spent some time sketching and handwaving. After that they had a couple of buffers, which didn’t look at all remarkable, some pads, and a supply of cleaner and wax, in metal tins instead of plastic bottles. The stewards all thought they were nuts, but they got not only the officers’ living quarters but the spaces intended for operations offices clean and the decks gleaming.

When officer’s country was done they started on the enlisted berthing spaces. Peters didn’t ask, just collected the crew, led them over, and started handing out assignments. A confident bearing and "follow me, men!" seemed to work just as well on Grallt as it did on humans. They didn’t do a thorough job, just dusted the corridors, cleaned the decks, and laid down wax, but the place looked a hundred percent better, and they could do the individual rooms when the other enlisted got on board. After meeting Chief Joshua, neither Peters nor Todd was eager to leave much scope for apologies.

They did manage one more session with Znereda, this one devoted to numbers, writing, and emergency calls. Those last weren’t of much use, since according to the instructor Todd had heard right: the shipwide PA system hadn’t worked in years. Peters felt sure that a handful of electronics types would be able to fix it easily, but there wasn’t any way to let Chief Joshua know they needed the supplies.

When they headed for their bunks after fifthmeal they found a surprise. Lying on the study desk was a square white envelope. Inside was a thin sheaf of square pieces of something thin and tough, with noticeable fibers in a random pattern, like the plastic material some courier envelopes were made of but with a smoother surface. Each was about ten centimeters on a side, one face printed with a complicated design of swirls and Grallt writing in blue and bluish gray, the other quartered in blue and white squares. He counted them: eight.

What the hell is this?
he thought, then realized that Todd had come through the head and said the same thing. They didn’t normally do that. As a rule, they met in the head but didn’t invade one another’s quarters. "You have any idea what this is all about?" Todd demanded, waving a similar sheaf of–whatever.

"Fuck if I know," Peters growled. "Whatever it is, I got eight of them. How about you?"

"The same," said Todd.

"Well, shit." The long days had left both sailors grumpy and irritable, and they had figured out that there wasn’t much point in trying to think or communicate just before bedtime. "Fuck it," Peters decided, fingering the slips. "I dunno, and I ain’t gonna try to figure it out now. Me for the rack, an’ I suggest you do the same. We gotta be fresh as a daisy for Commander Harlan Shithead Bolton in a few hours."

"Yeah, you’re right," said Todd. "See you later." He pushed the head door shut, and Peters tossed the slips back on the desk and started squirming out of the suit. He wanted that shower.

* * *

They didn’t know if the mess room would be operating that early, but set off across the bay anyway, somewhat rested, dressed, but hungry and hoping. It was open, but there were only a few Grallt around, none of them looking very alert, and the waiters were moving slower than usual.

Along with their meals came another surprise: each was handed a slip of paper. At the top was a scrawl of Grallt; Todd mumbled to himself, looked up at Peters. "It’s my name," he said. "See, t – o – d." Peters’s slip had his name on it, too. It was the first time either of them had seen their names written out in Grallt letters.

Below the names were tally marks, Grallt style, three horizontals and a vertical cross each, a one-stroke-at-a-time version of the character for "four," which looked like a reversed capital E. At the bottom was a number. Todd’s was thirteen; Peters had twelve, a slash, and four, which was a fraction. "Four and eight, and a half," he said. "What do you suppose this is about?"

Todd had been counting tallies. "You’ve got twenty-five tally marks, and I’ve got twenty-six. You reckon it’s a count of meals? I had one more than you did, sixmeal once, remember?"

"So what the hell’s this? The bill?"

"Can’t be anything but," Todd told him. "Look, if each meal is half a whatever, it comes out right, see? I had twenty-six meals, so my bill’s thirteen, and you had one less."

"Yeah, I reckon so." Peters looked at the slip. "I guess I was just assumin’ that food came with the duty, like at home."

"Apparently not."

"So what do we pay it with? Dimes? Dollars? Shirt buttons? If it’s much more than that, I can’t cover it."

"I’ve got a hunch." Todd ran his thumbnail down a thin line on his suit, pulled open the resulting pocket, and extracted his sheaf of puzzling blue-and-white squares. "We each got eight of these things, right? There’s eight days in a week, and today and tomorrow are supposed to be free days."

"Payday. Well I be go to Hell," Peters observed. "I didn’t bring mine, though."

"If I’m right, no problem, you can pay me back. Let’s try it." Todd signaled to the waiter, handed him the two slips and all but one of the squares. The Grallt nodded and inspected the slips, lips moving in calculation, then clicked a gadget on his belt and handed Todd three bits of metal. Two of the bits were just alike, squares about an inch on a side, copper colored, and the third was a little smaller and silvery.

"Got it," said Todd with satisfaction. "The bill was twenty-five and a half. I gave him seven slips and got two and a half in change, so each slip is four whatevers, and sure enough, here’s a four." He pointed at one of the corners. "You owe me twelve and a half of whatever they are. Three chits and a copper square."

"Well shit," said Peters. "I’ll settle up when we get back to quarters. No, I can’t, I ain’t got change."

"Let the half ride," said Todd. "It isn’t like you won’t be around."

When they were almost finished Dreelig came to the entry, saw the sailors, and came bustling over. "There you are," he greeted them. "We need to make ready. Your officers and their machines will be arriving soon."

"Yeah," Peters growled. "Have a seat. We’ll be done pretty quick here."

"No, I will go ahead. We don’t know exactly when they will arrive, and I must be there to greet them. Come as soon as possible."

"Right away," Peters told him, and lifted a cup in salute. Dreelig nodded and left, and Peters took a long sip and set the cup down. "I reckon we better get on," he said. "Can’t keep the important folks waiting."

Donollo wore a
kathir
suit patterned the same as his "important" suit, and headed up a small delegation consisting of himself, Dreelig, and Dee. The two sailors joined them, and they assembled forward of the personnel elevators and observed Navy tradition by waiting an hour or so. Then one of the Grallt pointed and made an exclamation, and everyone looked aft.

First it was a bright star, moving visibly, then it started looking — complicated? It didn’t resolve into individual specks until it was almost close enough to make out the shapes. There were four of one type in a diamond formation, and five of another in the broken echelon called "fingers". Then the diamond broke into two diamonds, with one going port, the other starboard, and the finger-fives broke into one up and one down. Peters grinned at Todd as they flashed by. They’d been doubled up, belly to belly, less than half a winglength apart. Assholes they might be, but they were also Navy aviators.

After a few moments a spark came into view aft, then two, three, four, and the nearer one was growing… suddenly it was
there
, flashing through the dead center of the opening. There were a pair of sharp twangs,
thum! thum!
like plucking the E-string of a bull fiddle, and it was taxiing by at a fast walk, the pilot holding his hand high in a sort of wave. It broke left and came to a halt with the nose a few feet from the wall, at about a forty-five degree angle. Thirty seconds later number two came aboard, again hitting dead center, again the double thrum, and it taxied over and parked next to number one. Three and four followed in turn.