Temporary Duty (23 page)

"We’ve often suspected so," said Todd.

"Yes, it wouldn’t be nearly so enjoyable for the juniors, would it?" Dreelig had calmed and regained self-control. "I told them, or I believe I implied, that I have duties for you. How long must you delay your sleep time to satisfy them that they were real and have been performed?"

"A couple utle should be enough," Peters advised.

"In that case, come with me. I will buy you a drink, and you can explain some of the rules Chief Spearman mentioned. They may be useful when Dee and I go to Washington again tomorrow."

"Actually, that’s a perfectly valid duty," Todd informed him solemnly. "It’s an unusually enjoyable way of carrying it out, of course." It set Dreelig to laughing again.

* * *

Chief Joshua had evidently decided to take a liberal interpretation of ‘under escort,’ because sailors were being escorted only by other sailors who were conspicuously wearing their
kathir
suits; conspicuously, because they had on dungaree trousers but no shirts. That failed to meet what Peters thought was the spirit of the regulation, and looked like Hell to boot, but Dreelig was off to Washington again with Dee and Donollo, and Peters wasn’t ready to make an issue of it without backup.

Tee was back, but she did nothing but occupy her desk, depriving Peters of his command post. The others were less enthusiastic than before, probably more from fatigue than anything else, but worked well enough that that there were only seven and one eight of sailors not yet measured, including all the Chiefs, when quitting time rolled around.

A few beers, six hours of sleep, and twenty hours of duty that involved a lot of walking around, disinclined the sailors to anything but fifth meal and bunk time. The waiter brought the ‘human standard meal’ for this
llor
, and Peters realized dully that his stroke of genius was going to cause him more work. If he ever wanted to order another meal, he’d have to see to it that the rest of the sailors could, too. Give that the Scarlett O’Hara treatment; that’s what Granpap called it, although the reference escaped Peters.

The sailors loafing in the corridor wanted to chat. That was all he needed, and what the Hell was Joshua about, anyway? Sitting in his quarters brooding? This crowd needed something to do. Letting them hang around playing grabass was going to snowball into something nobody wanted, but neither Peters nor Todd had enough chevrons on his crow to hand out assignments. They pled exhaustion, and were finally allowed to escape to their rooms.

The next morning–the Grallt word was
thullor
; he decided that
morning
would do, being tired of circumlocutions without knowing the word existed–Peters jerked a thumb toward the stern. "Well, lookee there," he remarked sardonically, and Todd just grinned.

A start had been made on the idle-hands problem. Sailors in dungarees formed a line all the way across the bay; they were working their way slowly forward, picking up junk and passing it to the guys on the ends, who had plastic bags. Much of the junk was metal, so the bags already lined along the side weren’t very full. Peters snorted. Another prediction fulfilled. Brooms and dustpans next, no doubt.

It didn’t take long to get the last few people measured. Chief Joshua and Chief Spearman gave Peters and Todd black looks but cooperated without verbal protest, and the others went along. They’d made Chief Gill’s suit Navy blue, rather than the khaki Chiefs normally wore for "undress"; the natural tan color was pretty close to khaki, but was also pretty close to skin color for five of the six, and Peters didn’t think that would work for a skin-tight garment. Finally he decided to not mention the option, and ‘suggested’ to the Chiefs that they wear their dress blues to fitting. Keer was amused at the gaudy arrays of stripes, but generated the designs anyway.

The fabricator was again running full blast, and sailors were coming in for test-fitting of suits made during the off-
ande
. They sent the Chiefs off, suggesting that they return after third meal, and got the juniors all suited up and checked out on a more leisurely schedule. Something occurred to Peters, and he put it to Veedal as Todd was trying to convince a First Class ET that skivvies weren’t necessary. «We have been moving quickly,» he said to the tech. «Is possible that wrong suit give–was given–to two persons. What happens?»

«That is bad,» said Veedal with a worried expression. «The suits are
babble
.» When Peters looked blank, he tried again: «One suit, one person, OK? No correct function.» Like most people who associate much with English speakers, after three
llor
Veedal was using "OK" as if it were part of his native tongue.

"Dangerous?" Peters asked in English. Of course that didn’t get through, so he illustrated the concept by grabbing his own throat with both hands and simulating choking, eyes rolled up.

«No, not
babble
,» Veedal said. «Very
babble
.» He pulled his blue jumper tight around his chest and moved around, twisting as if constricted and making faces. "Uncomfortable" would do for that until a better definition came along. Further contortions and mime established that a
kathir
suit on the wrong person would make air, but the movement controls wouldn’t work, and it would be extremely unpleasant to wear.

He had something else to ask and didn’t think it would come through in dumbshow, so he excused himself after secondmeal break and went in search of Znereda, leaving Todd to finish up the test fitting. The language teacher had a class, but came to the door when Peters gestured. "I’m very busy," said the older Grallt with a frown. "What do you want?"

Peters shrugged. "Sorry, I didn’t know who else to ask. How do we reserve the suit practice room? I got two hundred sailors needin’ some pointers before too long."

Znereda rolled his eyes up. "I can’t help you. You need to talk to the ship operations people."

"Yeah. Two problems," Peters told him. "I dunno where to find the ship operations people, and I bet they ain’t gonna care too much for me wavin’ my arms around tryin’ to explain what I want. I ain’t exactly fluent, you know."

"You’re making remarkable progress, Mr. Peters, but you’re right, you probably couldn’t do that very well yet." Znereda wrinkled his forehead. "I can’t go, but there’s someone who can help you. Just a moment. Se’en," he said to the room in general, "Would you mind helping Mr. Peters? He needs a translator to talk to the
zerkre
."

Se’en stood up. "I don’t mind," she said. "Will I need to repeat this class?"

"It will count as practical experience," Znereda said benevolently. "You have a head start on the rest of the class anyway." Se’en looked a bit puzzled. "Oh, you don’t have that idiom yet, do you? It means an advantage, because you began before the others."

"Yes, I had a little experience," Se’en said as she came up. "What do you need, Mr. Peters?"

"Need to reserve the
kathir
suit practice room for two hundred sailors," Peters told her. "Don’t call me Mister, you’re gonna be dealin’ with officers and they’re likely to get bent outa shape if they hear you."

Se’en looked at Znereda. "I understood part of that," she said. "He needs to speak to the
zerkre
."

Znereda looked benevolent again. "Mr. Peters has a strong accent, in the idiom of his home region. It’s quite understandable if you listen closely, and it will be good practice for you. He objects to your saying ‘mister’ to him, on the ground that his superiors will not like to hear it applied to him as well as themselves."

"That is what I think–thought he said," Se’en agreed. "Thank you for explaining."

Peters flushed. "I’ll try to smooth it out a little," he assured her. "I can generally make myself understood if I try."

"Thank you," Se’en murmured.

They parted from Znereda, the little language master peering around the door like a grinning elf before pushing it to with a snap. Se’en gestured toward the bow, and they set off in search of ‘ship people.’

‘Ship people’ were to be found higher up and farther forward in the structure than Peters had been before. The stairwells were worn but clean, and there was no trash or dust; the corridor they came out in after a long climb was pale blue, floored with something resilient, and very quiet. Se’en led him forward to the end of the corridor and rapped sharply on the double doors that closed it off.

A girl in the four-part blue-and-whites he’d seen on the engineers opened the door and held a short conversation with Se’en, ending by gesturing go-ahead and nodding. She looked at Peters with interest as they walked in but didn’t follow, instead seating herself at a desk near the door. Wrong species, wrong uniform; nevertheless, Peters felt a lot less alien here than he’d expected.

The passageway was narrower, and doors led off it to right and left. Most of the doors were open, and Grallt in blue-and-white
kathir
suits occupied desks, shuffling papers and doing incomprehensible things. A watchstander with his suit divided eight ways, like the senior engineer they’d met briefly, was seated at a desk outside another set of double doors. He chatted with Se’en for a moment, then presented a book and indicated a blank line. Se’en bent to write something with a pen the–officer?–gave her, and suddenly Peters was homesick for the first time since coming aboard.

That feeling doubled on the other side of the doors. The space wasn’t big; it had windows on three sides, with stars visible through them. Earth wasn’t in view, but the Moon shone through the portside windows. In the middle of the room was a pipe or post with gadgets attached to it, one of them a larger version of the blunt arrowhead Gell used to drive the
dli
, with vertical handles at the wide part. A Grallt in a four-way suit sat on a little round pad behind the binnacle; beside him a girl, wearing a suit colored white above the waist and blue below, was looking at a book. The helmsman–had to be!–was explaining something in low tones. Another apprentice, male, looked on from the side.

All the way forward was a sloping counter with larger versions of the white-cross instruments. Two Grallt, male and female, stood in front of it, the woman looking off into space through a pair of ordinary-looking binoculars. To port, another sloping desk had buttons and levers, with a male Grallt seated at it and a female apprentice looking on. To starboard, the counter had only one instrument, a complex circular device thirty centimeters across; the Grallt seated at that, in a comfortable-looking armchair, was portly and white-haired, and wore a suit whose pattern was cut so many ways it was like a checked tablecloth. Another guess confirmed; the Captain did indeed look like a checkerboard.

Everyone but the woman with the binoculars looked around as they came in; two of the apprentices stared. The woman’s companion tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked around, put the glasses in a holder, and came over. «Pleasant greetings,» she said briskly, not hostile but questioning. «What do you want?»

Peters understood, but waited for Se’en to respond. «Greetings,» she said. «We are from the
babble
department. Peters–» she gestured at the sailor, «–needs to
babble
the suit practice room for
babble
his people.»

The officer looked him up and down. «You are a
human
,» she said.

«Yes,» Peters agreed when Se’en didn’t answer.

«You understand the language,» the officer commented. Her eyebrows went up.

«A little,» Peters said cautiously. He was uncomfortable; his Grallt didn’t include the equivalents of "sir" and "ma’am". «I learn slowly.»

«I have not met humans before. You have a good
babble
,» she told him. «You will learn quickly.»

«Thank you,» Peters replied.

«How many people need
babble
?»

That word had to be
training
. Peters thought for a moment, then tried modifying the verb: «We need to train eight and three squares of people,» he tried.

«Ach! That is many.»

«It will not take too long,» Se’en put in. «If they are all as
babble
as Peters and his
babble
, they will learn quickly.»

Peters thought he got that, and flushed as the officer looked him up and down again. «Good,» she said. «Follow me.»

She led them off the bridge, stopping to let Se’en make a note in the book, and took them to an office a few doors down. The officer inside looked up, and their escort said without preamble: «The practice room is needed. Has anyone
babble
it for the next few llor?»

«No,» said the other. «How long will it be needed?»

Their escort looked at Peters. «I don’t know,» he confessed.

«Can you
babble
the time?»

That word had to be
estimate
; Peters said cautiously, «Two…» he broke off and said in English to Se’en, "I don’t know that form. Tell her I think two or three
llor
." Se’en translated that, and Peters listened closely.

«Yes,» said their escort. «Dhuvenig, the
humans
will be using the practice room for four llor.»

«Yes,» Dhuvenig responded. He pulled a book from a stack and began writing in it, and their escort turned to Peters. «If you have not finished in that time, come here and tell Dhuvenig,» she said. «If you finish before four llor, come and tell him that also.»

"Aye, aye, ma’am," Peters said, then flushed again, and said in Grallt: «Yes.»

«Good.» The officer flashed a brief smile. «I think you said what you would say to your own superior,» she commented. «Thank you. Now I must return to my work.»

«Yes. Thank you,» Peters told her, and nodded. She replied with a nod and another brief smile, and went back to the bridge.

Se’en took his arm and urged him back toward the entrance. "You did not need me," she accused as they started down the stairs.

"I mighta got by, but I’m damn glad you came along," Peters told her. "It woulda taken twice as long, at least, if I’d had to do that by myself."