Temporary Duty (61 page)

«I am not authorized to do this,» Gool wailed.

«Imagine our concern,» Peters said, so flatly the other winced. «Ah. Here is our ship operator.»

"Hey, Peters," said Gell as he came up, with the arm-lifted salute. "This why you teach me English?"

"Naw, but it can be handy, can’t it?" He grinned. "Mind takin’ a little trip?"

"Reckon not." Gell looked the stranger over. "He don’t look like much."

"He ain’t much. Just a flunky." Peters switched to the Trade: «Gell, I introduce Gool, a low-precedence representative of the ferassi. He needs transportation back to his ship, so that we may determine what the delay is and what the new schedule will be. Gool, Gell will deliver you to your ship. If you think the business can be concluded quickly he can wait.»

«No,» Gool said, looking and sounding trapped. «No, it wouldn’t be that quick in the best of cases. I or another will return later.»

«Soon, or so I hope. Be off with you.» Peters waved idly. "Gell, you might take along a pencil and paper, make a few notes, y’know? And certain events of the recent past ain’t for discussion, if you take my meanin’."

"Yeah, no prob," said Gell with a wink. «Let us go,» he said to Gool. «I was about to take a meal, and I want to get this over with.»

«Yes,» Gool said dully.

«This way,» Gell told him in a brisk tone, and took him by the upper arm to escort him off. Gool went without enthusiasm but without a struggle, and the pilot threw a flash of grin over his shoulder as they left the hall.

«You took a rather stronger line than I might have in this situation,» Prethuvenigis remarked without particular emphasis. «Overawing underlings is not a particularly difficult exercise.»

"Hmph." Peters straightened from his deliberately idle pose and released his tension in a spate of English: "No, browbeatin’ peons ain’t real useful, but when the whole thing’s stuck, you push on the bits you can get at and hope for somethin’ to wiggle. I reckon Gool done wiggled a little."

«Kh kh kh!» Prethuvenigis laughed full-throated, like a fifty-caliber letting off a burst. "Yes, our friend Gool has certainly wiggled. Whatever happens, this is almost certain to be entertaining."

"Entertainment may be all we get," Peters observed sourly. "From the way he acts I reckon Mr. Gool ain’t got much horsepower."

"I fear you’re right." Prethuvenigis smiled and went back to the Trade: «Gell mentioned food. Since we won’t be having a meeting, a meal would be a good way to pass the time.»

«Yes… Let’s check the restaurant here,» Peters agreed with a nod. «From what I saw as we approached, the surrounding area seems not to offer much in the way of amenities.»

The view down the valley made Peters homesick, not a feeling he much relished. He’d enjoyed being a sailor; the ocean was so agreeably flat. A wide verandah with a roof supported by turned columns of unfinished wood looked off into the hazy far distance between heavily wooded peaks. Gell found him there, sitting in a rocking chair, reading.

«What are you reading?» the Grallt pilot asked as he settled into an adjacent seat.

Peters held the book up. «I brought it with me from the ship, in case there were idle moments. It purports to be a book of philosophy.»

«It sounds dry.»

«That’s not the adjective I’d choose. The author maintains that objective reality cannot be established, that each of us experiences a different Universe.»

Gell grinned. «I remember as children, we tried to establish whether each of us saw colors the same… we reached no definite resolution, as I recall.»

«Yes, I had the same experience. It’s not something I’d thought of in this connection; thank you for the insight.»

«You’re welcome, I’m sure.»

Peters nodded, placed a strip of cloth at the page he was perusing, and closed the book with a snap. «So. You delivered Gool to his ship, I take it?»

«Yes… the experience contained some moments I’d prefer not to repeat. The ferassi are not a welcoming folk.»

«No red carpet was spread, or so I would assume.»

«Carpet?»

Peters waved that off. «Your pardon, an allusion to one of our aphorisms. What happened?»

Gell looked around. There were several others sitting on the porch, mostly Grallt and n’saith and a single bulky zeref. «I’m not comfortable discussing it with others nearby,» he confessed.

"Speak English," Peters suggested. "It ain’t likely anybody here can make it out."

"I ain’t got enough words," Gell said, and wrinkled his forehead.

Peters surveyed his surroundings. «Perhaps we should take a walk.» He gestured at the woods near the inn, where a marked path wound between the trees.

«In there? It seems isolated and dangerous. I’m not an especially brave person.»

«Hah!» Peters chuckled. «I spent my childhood in a similar environment, and have walked part of that trail. From my point of view it is so well-tended as to be very nearly urban.»

«From my point of view it seems to offer all the amenities of primitive wilderness, including teeth and claws concealed in the trees,» Gell retorted in good humor. «But if you’ll assure me that you’ll ward off the predators, I’ll give it a try.»

«It is an axiom that… hm, how shall I translate it? My father’s father says the most dangerous thing in any forest is a hungry man.»

«True on a ship as well. Hm. Very well, let’s go.»

They walked across the lawn and set off down the trail, which wound along a contour of the slope. It was paved with pea-gravel between carefully-set stones and crunched underfoot. After a few minutes Gell offered, «Perhaps we are isolated enough here. The forest makes me nervous.»

Peters shook his head. «Well it should. As a child I could approach within a few eights of tell, perhaps less, under such conditions, without your being the wiser. What we want is an open area. I believe such is just ahead.»

They came out in a clearing perhaps two acres in extent. An outcropping near the center provided seats. «This is probably sufficient,» Peters said, looking around. «No one can approach closely, but keep your voice down.»

«For some reason I don’t feel like shouting,» Gell said wryly.

«That’s not an uncommon feeling.» Peters grinned. «To tell the truth, I feel much the same. My childhood was long ago… what did you find out?»

Gell settled back against a sun-warmed stone. «The ferassi are not a welcoming people,» he repeated. When Peters nodded understanding he went on: «The ferassi vessel is a quarter the size of
Llapaaloapalla
in each dimension, perhaps as much as a third, and has no internal bays for landing. It is necessary to set down on the dorsal surface, and trust the zifthkakik to provide air to breathe if you have no airsuit. We approached the ship from aft, and immediately they began showing the wave-off pattern, denying me permission to land. I persisted in my approach, and they produced the green lights you may recall from not long ago–»

«Yes.» Peters produced a wry smile. «In my culture, a green light means ‘proceed’. Not so here.»

«No. Gool became excited, and instructed me to perform a set of maneuvers which would serve as a recognition sequence.» Gell wrapped his arms around his knees, looking thoughtful. «I thought of your communications device at that point. It would have been very useful.»

«If the ferassi ship had had a mate,» Peters pointed out. «They are only useful in pairs.»

«A significant limitation… after almost an utle of gyrations they displayed a landing pattern on the lights. I brought the dli to a stop on the surface of the ship and waited. No one emerged. After a few moments I asked Gool, ‘Do you expect a welcoming party?’

«’No,’ he told me, ‘Just let me out.’ So I opened the hatch and he left. His parting shot was, ‘Get out of here as quickly as possible. They don’t like people who linger.’ I took him at his word and departed with all dispatch.»

«Did you see where he went?»

«I have an impression of a pop-up opening nearby, but as I said I saw no one else.»

«Yes… can you describe the ship itself?»

«Again, not in great detail. In shape and construction it recalls another of our recent experience: the band of windows across the bow and the completely plain stern, for instance. Its surface is almost completely smooth, without sponsons or turrets visible. The paint was fresh and seemed unmarred.» Gell spread his hands. «I can’t tell you much more. After having them shoot at me I wasn’t in the mood for close examinations.»

«Understandable.» Peters stood and looked over the trees at the adjacent peak, biting his lips in frustration, then tossed a stone. A flock of birdlike creatures rose with a low buzz like an old-fashioned airplane engine, startling both of them. «Gool gave you no hints as to when further information may be forthcoming, I take it,» Peters said. It wasn’t a question.

«No,» Gell responded anyway. «I saw no one, spoke to no one. Gool got out, and I left.»

«Yes. Frustrating.» Peters sighed. «We might as well go back.»

«This is actually quite pleasant,» Gell remarked as they entered the woods once more. «It’s quiet, and the light is pretty.»

Peters nodded. «This seems to be a common opinion. There are various notions of why that might be so.» He pointed out a group of Grallt approaching on the path. «It appears that others wish to share the wilderness experience.»

«They are welcome to it,» Gell said. «Pretty or no, I am anxious to get back to the hotel and find something cool and alcoholic.»

«A worthy ambition, in which I concur without reservation. Pleasant greetings,» Peters told the approaching Grallt. «A pleasant day for a walk in the forest.»

The leader spat something liquid and incomprehensible, then looked expectant. Peters shook his head. «Do you speak the Trade? I don’t understand you.»

Another spate of gabble, ending on a peremptory note. Peters spread his hands and cocked his head–
Don’t understand what you want, boss.
The leader gestured impatiently and spat a few syllables, and the others crowded around.

"I don’t feel good about this," Gell muttered in English.

"Me neither," Peters grimaced. «I don’t know what you want, and whatever it is I don’t have it,» he told the other, who was scowling. «Now if you don’t mind, we’d like to go back to the hotel. Enjoy your walk.»

The leader spoke again, this time giving instruction to his two subordinates, who crowded in closer. When Peters made to push one of them aside, he was grabbed by the upper arm. «If you care to keep that hand, I suggest you remove it,» he growled. The other understood the Trade, even if he wasn’t willing to speak it; he grinned, showing teeth, and tightened his grip.

Bar fights on six continents made this familiar territory. Peters smiled, making it weak, and relaxed a little, averting his face slightly as if abashed. When the other moved farther into his personal space, the sailor braced his right foot and brought his right hand around in a short arc, stiffened extended fingers catching his assailant just below the rib cage. The Grallt released his grip, backed up, and bent over slightly, and Peters employed a move learned in "dance class": a spinning kick, right foot beginning behind his stance and ending at a point two or three inches to the back of the other’s skull. A throat intervened; the assailant sprawled over backwards, limp, and Peters ended facing the leader, conscious of pain in his toes.

The leader spat a few syllables and gestured, and the third Grallt moved up cautiously, arms spread in a stance intended to be threatening. Peters simply stood, waiting, as the other got closer. At the moment he judged correct, the sailor took two fast steps back; the Grallt followed, too quickly, and when he was in range Peters grabbed a forearm and pulled. The other stumbled forward and met a knee on his chin. His head snapped back, and Peters grabbed hair and repeated the knee lift. Something crunched and Peters released his grip, allowing the other to fall face-first onto the path. A short stomp on the back of the neck generated another crunch, and the Grallt went still.

Peters looked around. The leader-Grallt had stepped back a few paces and produced what was presumably a weapon, similar to what Todd had taken from the Nekrit but somewhat larger. He brandished it. «Stand,» he said, in a horrid but understandable accent.

«What do you want?» Peters asked, holding eye contact and being careful not to watch Gell, who was moving slowly behind the other Grallt with a sizeable stick in his hands. «We were simply walking along the path. What do you want from us?»

«Come with,» said the unknown Grallt, mangling the words. «Come now.»

«I don’t think so,» Peters told him. «I don’t like the way you welcome strangers.»

«Come with!» the Grallt said sharply, waving the weapon. «We go– »

The cudgel met the back of his skull with a
clonk
that was clearly audible, and the Grallt folded. Peters stepped forward, picked up the weapon, and skipped back out of reach in one motion. «Thanks,» he told Gell. «Do you know how this thing works?»

«It’s a weapon,» Gell said, out of breath. When Peters shook his head irritably, the pilot continued: «Like the ones we have. If you press the button on the top, it projects a short burst of push-force.»

«Like this?» Peters tested the device. A stone beside the trail splintered.

«Yes, just like that,» Gell replied. «What are you doing?!»

Peters knelt, put the business end of the weapon against the leader’s temple, and pressed the button, twice. He looked up at Gell. "I reckon there ain’t no cops comin’ along anytime soon, and folks as tries to push me around and don’t manage it don’t get no second chances." He administered the same treatment to each of the others, then stood and regarded the gadget with a twisted mouth. "Souvenir," he pronounced, and put it in his pocket.

«I don’t know that word,» Gell said shakily.

«No, I don’t believe I’ve used it before. It means an item which can elicit a particular memory.»

«I won’t have any problem remembering this.» Gell stood looking down at the body of the leader. «I’m sure I’ve never hit anyone that hard before. Not with intent to harm, anyway.»