Temporary Duty (4 page)

Peters stuffed a last bite of meat in his mouth and followed it with a sip of juice. "I’m done," he announced when his mouth was empty.

"Good," Dreelig said. "It is time for you to be fitted for your protective garment."

Todd frowned. "Protective garment?"

"Yes. You need a protective garment while you are working, in case of accident or equipment failure. It is easier to show you than to explain. Come with me."

They stood to follow, not without looks at the empty plates, not accustomed to just leaving them behind. Dreelig led them to the left, a long way down the corridor and up a set of stairs. The new corridor was painted cream color; it was cleaner than the other areas they’d seen, and the doors were glass with etched designs, pictures and what were probably words or numbers. The one Dreelig gestured them into had what looked to Peters like three paper dolls, linked together, in a vise or maybe a C-clamp.

"Looks like a doctor’s office," Peters observed. There were chairs upholstered in dark brown, a couch the same color with bare metal arms, a low table, and a desk with a female Grallt behind it.

Dreelig discussed something with the receptionist, then looked back at the two sailors. "They are ready for us. Just go on through the door."

Inside was another Grallt, male this time. He gestured at a machine, a platform of shiny metal surrounded by gadgets. "What do we do?" Todd asked.

"Stand on the platform." Dreelig pointed.

"Think I’ll let you do the honors," Peters drawled.

"Thanks a lot." Todd took a low step up and turned to face the others. "How’s that?"

The attendant gabbled something. "No," said Dreelig. "You must remove your clothing."

"All of it?"

"Yes. The measurements must be exact."

Todd began to disrobe, beginning with his hat, which he handed to Peters. When he was down to skivvies he looked at Dreelig, who nodded and made a down-sweeping gesture; the skivvies went too. The attendant grabbed something on the end of an articulated arm and began moving it around. Todd flinched the first time the gadget touched him, but after that he was able to be stoic. The process took ten minutes, with more of it than he really liked spent in the area of his groin.

Finally the attendant stowed the gadget, handed Todd his skivvies and t-shirt, and fiddled with controls on a shiny panel. Todd stepped down and began getting back into his uniform, and the panel buzzed and extruded a strip. The attendant tore the paper off, laid it on a counter, and gestured; it was Peters’s turn.

Peters took his mind off the process by examining the machine. He had begun forming an impression of what Grallt machinery looked like: a little clunky, bigger than it needed to be, not terribly well finished. This looked more… well, elegant was probably the right term. All the joints were even and nearly invisible, there weren’t any exposed fasteners, and the shape was smooth curves, almost organic. He shook his head. The impression was more subliminal than direct–although he wouldn’t have used that word; his own thought was "just a feelin’"–and therefore wasn’t anything to depend on.

The attendant disappeared through another door, and Peters started getting dressed. "Now we will wait a little longer," Dreelig said.

Todd and Peters discussed the measuring machine in low voices. Todd had gotten the same impression Peters had. The machine was–was what? "I dunno," said Todd. "It just looks nicer than the other stuff."

"Chill," Peters advised. "Here’s our friend." Dreelig came to sit next to Todd. The low table had something on it: folded paper, printed in bright colors. Well, a doctor’s office ought to have magazines. Peters picked one up and puzzled over it, unable to tell if it was backwards or frontwards, let alone read it. Right side up was easy, there were pictures of people to indicate that. There were lots of pictures, in bright colors; the text, if that’s what it was, was sparse and big, somehow simple. Kids’ books?

The measuring attendant stuck his head through the door and said something, and Dreelig stood up. "It is finished," he said, and gestured toward the door.

Lying across a table were two pairs of long johns, or maybe footie pajamas, uniform pale cream color. The attendant picked one up and gabbled, and they watched as he demonstrated. The garments opened up the front, a long slash that went diagonally from right hip to left clavicle and closed with a zipper–sort of: it had a traveler with a finger tab, all right, but what it left behind was a single piece, the seam not visible at all.

The fabric was thick, soft, and rubbery, and had no detectable weave, either to the eye or to the fingers: more like the dense foam rubber used for low-pressure gaskets than anything else. The feet were part of it, although there were slashes at the ankles that closed with more magic zippers. Gloves were separate pieces, with long cuffs like gauntlets. The neck had a tubular collar, like a turtleneck, split on the side where the main seam reached it.

The inside was smooth and almost frictionless; to get into it, one opened the slashes at the ankles, pulled it on over the legs, then worked arms into sleeves, right arm first. The top was a double flap, and the inside piece was pulled almost to the right shoulder before putting the outer one across and engaging the "zipper." It hooked together at the shoulder and closed when moved from throat to hip, which seemed backwards. When the slashes at the ankles were closed the suit fit snugly and smoothly everywhere, without wrinkles, tight places, or chafing.

The attendant brought accessories: broad belts, the same color and material as the rest of the suit, with buckles fifteen centimeters long and ten wide, black–plastic?–with an inlaid pattern of shiny rectangles and circles. "Looks like a rodeo prize," was Todd’s comment as he took it. The attendant gestured that they should put them on, but got indignant when they tried it; the belt went the other way, hooking on the left side instead of the right. It didn’t exactly hook, just stayed where it was put when pressed.

Lacking a mirror, the two sailors faced one another. The garments were almost embarrassingly revealing, with padded bulges in the crotch that seemed unnecessarily large. Dreelig had offered helpful comments from time to time as they dressed; now he asked, "What colors would you like? The
kathir
suit can be colored or patterned in almost any way you might like."

That was easy. "Navy blue," Peters said immediately. When Dreelig cocked his head, he continued, "Just like what we were wearin’ when we come in." He gestured at his uniform, which he’d laid carefully on a table. "And it needs the crow."

"Crow? I don’t understand," said Dreelig.

"The red and white design on the left sleeve," Peters explained. "It shows rank and specialty." He picked up his jumper and extended the sleeve, displaying the insignia. "Tell you what, how long does it take to do the colorin’?"

Dreelig inquired. "Veedal says the basic color will be easy, but the design for the sleeve is complex and will take some time, perhaps as much as half an
ande
, a watch." The attendant said something; Dreelig nodded. "He suggests that you leave the samples here while you are receiving basic instruction, so he can begin setting up the design. Will the others who are coming later want the same coloring?"

"Yeah, except that all the crows’ll be different, and officers use a different system," Peters said. "When our people come to be measured, tell the enlisted to wear their undress blues, and you can copy the crow. Officers get gold rings here–" he gestured at the ends of the sleeves, "–accordin’ to rank, they’ll show you. All the same color."

"That seems–" Dreelig paused, tried to find a word, finally came up with: "Boring."

"Take it from me, they’ll like it," Peters advised.

"Very well, that is how we will do it. Are you ready?"

"I guess so."

Dreelig left; they took a moment to fold their uniforms neatly, then followed, finding that the soles of the suits were strong enough that they didn’t miss their boondockers on the smooth floor. "What does
kathir
mean?" Todd asked as they left. "You called this a
kathir
suit."

"It means ‘no air,’" said the Grallt. "For outside."

Peters stopped walking, causing Todd to bump into him. "A space suit? This set of rubber long johns is a space suit?"

"Well, no," said Dreelig. He stopped, turning to face them. "A space suit is more elaborate, and stronger. This is only a
kathir
suit, for emergencies, in case there is a problem with the ship, or if you fall. It will provide air for an
ande
, a watch, about five of your hours."

"Shit," said Peters. "We about to go learn how to use it? And how to get around and manage on the ship?"

"That is correct," said Dreelig.

Peters and Todd were grinning. "Lead on, Dreelig," Peters told him. "We might be petty officers down home, but here we ain’t but spaceman recruit. Reckon it’s time to strike for apprentice."

"So how does it work?" Peters demanded. They were in a big room that his direction sense told him was near the center of the flat stern of the spaceship, with one wall that was almost all windows.

"I have never thought to ask," Dreelig admitted. "It is enough that it works." He took a pair of gloves out from under his belt and pulled them on.

"Shit," Peters commented. Where the Hell was five hours worth of air stored in the suit? There was nothing like tanks or hoses anywhere on it, just the rubbery fabric, the wide belt, and the gaudy buckle.

"Where’s the helmet?" Todd wanted to know. "Maybe this is okay for the body, but I’m used to breathing."

"
Kh kh kh
. There is no helmet. It makes a bubble of air over the head."

Todd and Peters looked at one another. "Like whatever it is that keeps the air in when the landing bay door is open?" Todd wanted to know.

"I suppose so," said Dreelig. "Are you ready to test the
kathir
suit?"

Peters looked at Todd, who nodded solemnly. The implications of the word "test" in this context were a little disturbing. "Yeah, let ‘er rip."

Dreelig pulled a handle. Windows swung outward, and there was a godawful roar and a blast of wind that almost pushed them off their feet. The roaring died away quickly, and the air blast diminished to a breeze; when Peters got his balance back nothing felt different, except that it was awful quiet all of a sudden. "What’s happening?" he asked the room in general.

No response. Todd was mouthing words, or at least his mouth was moving, but nothing was audible.

Dreelig walked over and leaned toward him. "There is no air," he said. "You cannot hear or speak to your friend, because sound needs air to work."

"I know that, dammit." He did, too, he just hadn’t thought of it yet. But… "How are you talkin’ to me?"

"When I come close enough, the bubble on your
kathir
suit merges with mine," Dreelig explained. "Then we both have air, and we can talk."

"Well, shit." Peters leaned back and walked around the room. Todd was doing the same; they met near the window, and Peters leaned toward Todd as Dreelig had done. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, no problem." Todd gestured. "The head bubbles come together, right? That’s how we can talk when there’s no air?"

"Smart guy. Yeah, that’s what Dreelig says." Peters felt around his head. "I can’t feel nothin’. You?"

"Nah. Been trying. There’s just nothing there."

The bubbles merged when their heads were about twenty centimeters apart, but didn’t separate until they were farther away than that, thirty or so. Peters started to take his gloves off, to feel it bare-handed, but Dreelig caught his arm. "There is no bubble for the hands," the Grallt explained when he was close enough. "Only for the head."

"No radios?" Peters wanted to know.

"Radios? Oh, communicators. No, the
kathir
suit doesn’t have a communications device," Dreelig said; the three of them stood with their heads together, backs slightly bent like a football huddle.

"Something else for the list," Todd said.

"Shit yes," said Peters. "The earbugs we use on deck would be enough."

The two sailors walked around, handling things and checking their freedom of movement. After a few minutes of that Dreelig threw the lever the other way. The windows swung closed and there was a blast of air, not as strong as when they’d opened. "What next?" Peters wanted to know when the roar had tapered off.

"Next is no gravity. That takes longer." The Grallt went to a panel by the door, grasped a large wheel with both hands, and began turning it slowly to the right.

Gell had given them a taste of low gravity on the
dli
, but they’d been sitting down, and there had been distractions. This time lightheadedness built up, and up, and up, it had to stop, there had to be a sudden stop at the bottom –

Except there wasn’t. Peters looked at Todd, figuring he was probably about that shade of green himself; when he looked back, his legs had flexed and pushed off, and he was already half a meter off the floor and still –

Falling.

His stomach began warning him that it was about to empty, but Dreelig was turning the wheel the other way. Peters drifted back to the floor, but had achieved a slight angle and his knees weren’t working all that well, so he ended up in an ungainly sprawl. It didn’t hurt. The sensation was exactly like landing in something really soft that got hard while he lay there. Todd did a little better, landing on his knees.

They got to their feet, more than a little shaky. Maybe it was Peters’s imagination that labeled the Grallt’s expression ‘disgust.’ "We will wait a few moments for your stomachs to settle," Dreelig announced. "Then we will try it again."

"I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get used to it," Peters warned.

Dreelig shrugged. "Some people never do," he admitted. "But you should try. There are many things you will not be able to do if you cannot bear
thukrellith
. You will not be allowed to learn to pilot a
dli
, for instance."

"Maybe it’ll be better now that we know what to expect," Todd suggested.