Temporary Duty (64 page)

«My name is Fredik Fers,» the ferassi said a little shakily. «’Fredik’ to friends, ‘ Fers’ to others. I’ll call you ‘Peters’, at least at first.» He eyed the human dubiously. «Why did you address Horsig as ‘Chuckles’?»

«Hah! It is a word in my language meaning ‘laughter’. He didn’t introduce himself, so I applied a label I found appropriate.»

«It doesn’t seem appropriate to me.»

«You almost had to have been there… I take it ‘ipze’ is a precedence label?»

«Yes. It is our word for what the Grallt call a ‘Third’. I am responsible for security on board the ship.»

«It would seem I am fated to deal with
officers
,» Peters remarked. «Lead on, ipze Fers. I am almost certain now of what I will find, but I need to see it with my own eyes.»

«Will you return my weapon?»

«Shortly, shortly…. perhaps. Lead on.» He smiled. «Let’s inspect the food serving area first. My head seems to have cleared somewhat, but I need food badly.»

* * *

When Peters asked,
ipze
Fers–the rank seemed to be about lieutenant, j.g.–pronounced a phrase, then translated: «We call it ‘Trader Number’, hm.» He thought for a moment. «We say it in designation form: one three dash two.»

«Our numbers are in base two and eight. Let’s see–» Peters worked it out as they walked down the corridor. «A thousand and forty-nine, I make it.
Trader Ten Forty-Nine
is probably what we’d say. You don’t use names for ships?»

«No. The
dar ptith
do; we consider it anachronistic.»

«We use both systems for our military vessels, but the procedure for civilian ones varies… where are we going? Are we walking aft, forward, or what?»

«We are moving aft. You expressed a wish for food; the galley is this way.» He glanced at the human, just a flash laden with uncertainty, then looked back ahead. «I don’t know what you want to see. I thought to get you some food, then begin at the stern and work forward.»

Peters nodded. «Yes, that would be satisfactory. One of the more important things I wish to see will be all the way aft, if I understand it.»

Fers looked at him again, a longer inspection this time. «I believe I know what you mean. No, you won’t find
thuthenkre
quarters here.» He pursed his lips in a disgusted moue. «I’ve seen a few of them. It isn’t pleasant.»

«No … is it possible to rehabilitate the inhabitants? We have nearly a square of them on our hands, and it’s almost impossible to communicate with them, let alone help them in any meaningful way.»

Fers eyed him seriously this time, eyebrows lifted, but said only, «I don’t see how the concept of ‘rehabilitation’ applies in this case. If their reproductive systems aren’t damaged we could take them into our own
tuwe
, or perhaps distribute them among several ships. The contribution to our bloodlines would be of value.»

The implications of that needed some thought. «About half of them are Grallt,» he said as neutrally as possible.

«Even easier.» Fredik Fers made a curious gesture, a sharp jerk of the chin up and to the right. «Grallt don’t live like we do, and we don’t interfere when it isn’t necessary. Those could be accommodated or disposed of in many ways.»

«Disposed of?»

The ferassi dismissed the question with a negligent wave, staring thoughtfully at nothing. «If you are telling the truth it is good news of a sort,» he mused.

Peters lifted an eyebrow. «How so?»

«We have heard of some few successes against the
dar ptith
recently, and their depredations seem to be dropping off. If they’ve been reduced to incorporating Grallt females into their
tuwe
in the place of ferassi, it means they are becoming somewhat debilitated.» He gestured. «Here is the galley. What would you like to eat?»

«Something soft, bland, and sweet,» Peters specified. The adrenalin was wearing off, and the hangover wasn’t; his stomach was an uncomfortably intrusive presence, his muscles ached, and his head felt like it had been worked over with hammers. «If you have ever overindulged, you probably know how I feel.»

«Yes, I’ve done it once or twice,» the ferassi said with wry amusement. «Some people recommend more of what caused the problem in the first place.»

«That doesn’t cure it, it only puts it off a little longer. Eventually the bill must be paid.»

«That’s my experience as well. Just a moment.» He rapped on the wall next to a windowlike opening, and a female Grallt appeared. They exchanged words for a few moments; the Grallt grinned, bobbed her head, and disappeared, to return with a container the size of a cereal bowl and a tall tumbler of clear liquid. Fers pointed. «The bowl contains tiplirik pudding, soft and sweet as specified, and easily digestible. The liquid is water; you need a lot of it.»

«You have had the experience,» Peters said with some humor. «It sounds precisely appropriate.» He took bowl and glass, nodded his thanks, and carried them over to a table. Fers remained behind, exchanging further words with the servitor, then followed, laying a shiny metal spoon on the table and taking a seat.

Peters took a bite. It was bland, sweet, and smooth, with a taste a little like butterscotch; perfect. He ate perhaps half of the serving, taking sips of water between bites, then looked up. «That’s all for now, I think,» he admitted. «I’ll want something more later, assuming my abused systems don’t reject this.»

Fers sipped his own drink, a chunky tumbler of something clear with a blue tinge, and smiled. «Yes, there’s always that possibility. Are you ready to go?»

«Yes, I think so — no, wait.» He laid his left forearm on the table, pressed buttons to extrude the control display. «You called this a ‘punishment suit’. From what I’ve seen it’s a standard airsuit with extra programming. Can we cancel that? I think the controller for the disciplinary functions is well out of reach, but I’m not comfortable with the idea, and the rest of the crew might well object to a prisoner being escorted on a tour.»

«You know how to program a suit?»

«I know how to program the Grallt one I was wearing. Is it still available? Perhaps it would be easier if I just changed.»

«No, your Grallt suit isn’t available. We destroyed it to get you out of it.»

«Why? The override is easily accessible.»

«We didn’t know it, and we were in a hurry.»

«I see, I think… the controls aren’t in a language I recognize. Can you guide me through the functions?»

«Simpler to do it this way. Let me touch the control square.» He reached over, manipulated buttons; the screen cleared, then reformed, displaying Grallt characters. «Can you take it from there?»

«Yes, I think so.» Peters and Todd had experimented with their suits, discovering that programming them was complex and sometimes contradictory. It was much easier to use the larger machine at the suit office to create a program, then download it to the buckle, but everything was possible if the user was patient and persevered. He worked for a little while, finally getting the suit to fade to tan, then assume the blue-and-white of his
zerkre
rank.

«There,» he said with satisfaction. «The disciplinary functions seem to be here, but it wants a password.»

«Yes. I’ll enter it.»

«I think I trust you.»

Fers smiled thinly. «You’ll have to in this case.» He leaned over to punch in the sequence. «There,» he said briskly. «I’ve canceled the disciplinary functions, and entered the privileges of a guest aboard the ship. Are you ready for your tour now?»

«Yes, let’s go.»

After the first
utle
of traipsing around the corridors of
Trader 1049
Peters was convinced that these people had about the same relationship with the ones who’d shot up
Llapaaloapalla
as he did with the pirates infesting the Indonesian archipelago.

The ship didn’t have nearly the population of the Grallt trader, either absolutely or in proportion, but there were people in the corridors and the rooms they visited. All he saw in the after sections were Grallt, but they were just people; about half were female, and they were happy, sad, busy, worried, jaunty, as appropriate to personality and circumstances. There was subdued horseplay.

One woman was singing softly to herself, and the other clerks at desks nearby were craning their heads. He touched Fers on the arm, and they stopped and listened. A pretty song, performed in a cool clear voice that sent shivers up his spine. One of the others began tapping his upper arm, keeping time, and several joined in, finishing the chorus in multipart harmony. Imagining that scene on the pirate ship, among the unfortunates in the aft bunkroom, would have taken more brain power than he had, even if he weren’t still in the throes of a hangover.

They took a long straight corridor right aft, ending at a bare bulkhead Fers claimed was the stern. Peters had no reason to doubt that, but no way to verify it; from there it was up and down stairways and corridors and in and out of compartments. There were only three decks above the holds in the after section, the remainder of the volume being taken up with trade goods. He saw his first new
zifthkakik
, sealed up in metal cans like oversized foodstuffs. Most of the stock was either smallship-sized, like the ones that propelled the planes and
dli
, or in two slightly larger sizes intended for vessels of various sizes. There were four monsters like the one that supported
Llapaaloapalla
; they weren’t in cans, just chocked and boomed to the deck.

He began to notice that all the people they met were deferential, some nodding, others bobbing in a sort of curtsey, male and female alike. That shouldn’t have been strange–Fers was presumably their officer–but the courtesy seemed to be as much to him as it was to the ferassi. Then he noticed that none of them looked straight at them in curiosity, but used sidelong glances and occasional whispers. He couldn’t define why that bothered him.

Grallt children were around, laughing and playing games in the corridors, and a good-sized compartment was set up as a gym and playroom, full of toys and exercise equipment, painted and decorated in bright colors. They didn’t inspect every living compartment they came to–not enough time, and Peters wanted a quick look–but by the time they got to the engine room he was confident that there was no compartment aboard
Trader 1049
analogous to the hellhole they’d found on the pirate vessel.

The engine room was amidships, and according to Fredik–they’d progressed to first names–was in the geometric center of the ship. «That isn’t strictly necessary,» the ferassi explained, «but locating the zifthkakik off center wastes some of the field volume. Keeping them in the center uses it more efficiently.»

«Wouldn’t it be better to build the ship in the shape of a sphere or spheroid? That way you could fill the field volume almost completely.»

Fers laughed. «It’s not that important, and it’s a lot easier to build a rectangle. Imagine all the curves and odd-shaped pieces!» Peters thought back to the bilges and bow area of the carrier, the slippery ovoids of submarines, and compound curves on the bows and sterns of cheapjack rustbucket freighters, and wondered.

The
zifthkakik
were the same type the pirate ship had used. He didn’t comment on that, only asked, «Why two? Wouldn’t it be better to have a single larger one?»

«Larger ones are rare,» Fers explained. «We only get two and eight per uzul of the large size you saw below. Besides, using them in pairs makes certain motions of the ship easier to control.» He explained that, using technical terms that glazed Peters’s eyes after the first sentence or so. He noticed, and grimaced. «Never mind! It’s just handier in some ways.»

«I can accept that,» Peters said with a grave expression, and Fers grinned at him.

Gell had been mistaken; the ship did have accommodation for smaller vessels, eight of them. Fredik explained that they docked in niches cut away from the corners of the long sides. «When they’re docked, they look like part of the ship. That’s probably where your friend got the impression that we don’t have any.»

«What about atmosphere flyers?»

«There are two of those, kept all the way forward topside. Their bays have doors, so again you wouldn’t see them from outside the ship.»

«Could I see one?»

He frowned. «They aren’t secrets, but you’d have to go get your suit set up. The atmosphere controls are on the default setting, and you wouldn’t be comfortable.»

«I’ve already adjusted that,» Peters said offhand. «It’s set for the mix I like. Thank you for calling up the Grallt programming, by the way. I would never have been able to do it otherwise.»

«When did you do that?»

«In the food room, back aft in the Grallt section. We stopped for a snack, and you excused yourself to use the toilet, remember?»

Fers looked at him, body still, eyes serious. «You programmed your suit atmosphere in the time it took me to urinate and wash up?»

«Well, yes.» He held up his arm. «I couldn’t have done it that quickly to the Grallt suit. It’s much handier to have the controls where they’re easily accessible.»

The ferassi just shook his head, expression serious, and indicated the passageway. «We go that way.» For the next few
tle
he seemed thoughtful, a bit pensive, but by the time they’d looked at a few compartments–food storage, here, and preliminary preparation–he had recovered his former demeanor, brisk and not quite deferential.

All the way forward was where
Trader 1049
most resembled the pirate vessel. There was more space between decks, and the fittings were more elegant and luxurious. Fers knocked on compartment doors before entering; he hadn’t noticed that before. Occupied compartments yielded raised eyebrows and other puzzled expressions; Peters was addressed matter-of-factly by several people, and his failure to respond had to be explained each time. That slowed them down, and in more than one case he caught movement out of the corner of an eye as a ferassi they’d spoken to left his compartment to confer with another.

Forward and below was the weapons bay, which held half a dozen breakbeam generators and a store of the thin cylindrical objects that had puzzled them on the pirate ship. Fers used a word in his language to describe them. «There’s no word in the Trade for these, because we don’t sell them; they’re incredibly rare. They’re alive, or so we suppose.»