Temporary Duty (65 page)

«Oh? What do they do?»

«When launched they always hit their target,» Fers said seriously. «If there is something in view when they emerge they’ll follow it, and they never fail to catch up. They carry a charge of explosive, and are extremely destructive.»

Peters opened his mouth to talk about guided missiles, then changed his mind and said only, «Remarkable.»

«Yes, it is,» Fers agreed. «And as I said, they’re incredibly rare. We’d like to have more of them, of course, but we never get them, so they’re only to be used as an absolute last resort.»

«I can see that.»
Idiots! A weapons system they’re trained
not
to use? I reckon we ought to be thankful.
Zifthkakik
-driven missiles could’ve been a real problem, an’ that’s a fact.

A ferassi had come in while they were looking over the missiles; he gestured and said something. Fers responded, then turned to Peters: «It would appear that Horsig has returned from his mission. We are required in the office of the ul’ptarze, the First of the ship.»

Peters nodded. «Show the way.»

Fers gestured at the newcomer. «This is ptarze Brendik Jons, Second for ship-management. Ptarze Jons, this is–» he hesitated a beat «–ze Peters, of whom you may have heard. Ze Peters doesn’t speak Language, but he knows the Trade very well.»

Peters had a hunch. «Ptarze Jons,» he said briskly, accompanying it with a slight nod.

The other nodded back, cracking the most minimal smile possible, and spoke in his own language. Fers responded, and the officer–had to be, Peters was almost homesick–spoke at some length. «What is your rank, ze Peters?» he asked when he’d finished conferring with the junior officer.

«I am a zerkre of the third precedence of
Llapaaloapalla
, ptarze Jons.»

The officer was blond; his nearly invisible eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. «So you do know what the suit pattern means,» he said with a trace of incredulity. «The reports were difficult to credit.» He spoke at some length to Fers, who pronounced a short phrase ending with «–ptarze Jons,» then gestured quickly, palm forward, hand over his mouth. The officer responded with a similar gesture of his own, sketchier, and looked expectantly at Peters.

Peters nodded, received a nod in return, and the officer turned and left, with a parting sentence aimed at Fers. He thought he’d caught something familiar in that, and asked, «What did he say at the last?»

Fers produced one of his thin smiles. «Ptarze Jons says that my tame
khuma
has better manners than any trader-Grallt of his experience. Ul’ptarze Troy may be less unhappy than expected.»

"When the cap’n ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy," Peters murmured to himself. When Fers looked up, with a puzzled expression on his face, he explained: «An appropriate aphorism in my language, probably untranslatable. Are we to see the ul’ptarze now?»

«Yes. He is waiting, with Horsig and the other agents.»

Peters grimaced. «Then let us go, by all means. We shouldn’t keep the captain waiting.»

* * *

The
ul’ptarze
of
Trader 1049
received them in a compartment just aft of the control deck. Peters got a glimpse of a row of chairs facing large transparencies, similar to what he’d seen on the pirate ship if larger and in rather better order, before being ushered in to the Presence by a Grallt who stood by the door. The guard had one of the push-force weapons, on a harness like a Sam Browne belt, and a rigidly neutral expression. Peters acknowledged him with a nod as he passed, thinking,
Been there, done that
.

The room was about six meters by seven, and contained a pair of settees with a low table between them, a higher table surrounded by carved wooden chairs, and an ordinary-looking desk. Ptarze Jons occupied one of the chairs before the desk, and Chuckles–Horsig–and another Grallt stood to one side.

A woman with a tumble of glossy black curls down her back sat facing away from the entry. She looked up, displaying a profile as nearly perfect as possible on a living person and a distant, almost absent expression. It occurred to Peters that this was the first young-adult female ferassi he had seen. He’d noticed several matrons and older women in the ferassi berthing area, and an inordinate number of families seemed to have nubile teenagers, but until now he hadn’t seen a woman of an age to be interesting to, say, himself.

Elisin Troy was blond, as his Ops Officer was, but neither of them was of the heavyset body type exhibited by the pirates. The
ul’ptarze
didn’t rise as they entered, just regarded them over hands folded in front as if in prayer. Fredik Fers stepped forward and rendered the hand-before-mouth salute. Peters contented himself with a nod; rendering the Navy salute would imply using his Navy rank, and that would put him at a considerable disadvantage.

The
ul’ptarze
returned the salute with a negligent wave that ended with a little wiggle of the fingers. «I understand you don’t speak our language,» he began. «We will use the Trade language. Please be seated–» he hesitated «–ipze Peters, and you, too, ipze Fers.» Troy returned to his prayerlike pose as they seated themselves. «It seemed appropriate to use your equivalent rank, rather than the simple ‘ze’ we would normally accord a visitor of unknown status. Do you object?»

«Not at all, ul’ptarze Troy. I don’t know your terms and procedures of formal respect, and hope you will be tolerant. Be sure that I mean no disrespect should I err.»

Troy’s smile was slight but genuinely amused. «We will make allowances. You have met ptarze Jons. The female is de’ze Ander Korwits. De’ze Korwits does not speak the Trade, but her presence here is necessary, as she is–hm.» He considered for a moment, eyes distant, then glanced at her before looking back at Peters. «De’ze Korwits advises us on proper conduct; I can’t explain it better without using words that don’t exist in the Trade language.»

«De’ze Korwits,» Peters acknowledged with a nod. The woman was beautiful, no doubt about it, with large clear-green eyes under winged brows, a smooth pale complexion, and symmetrically, even perfectly, formed features, but the beautiful face betrayed no hint of emotional involvement in the conversation. When she turned slightly to nod, returning Peters’s greeting, her gaze might as well have been directed at the bulkhead, or a star several light-years distant … not cold, or even abstracted; utterly dispassionate. He looked away quickly.

Troy produced another minimal smile. «Now, as I understand it, you give your race as
khuma
and your home planet as ‘Erth’; is that correct?»

«Approximately, ul’ptarze–»

«’Ze Troy’ is sufficient in normal conversation, once the initial courtesies have been exchanged,» the captain supplied.

Peters nodded. «Thank you, ze Troy. As I said, you have it approximately correctly. The word for our race in our language is
human
, and the plural is
humans
. The vowel in the name of our home planet is more extended: ‘Earth’.»

«Earth,» Troy pronounced, with a movement of his lips and tongue as if tasting the word. «
Human
. And where is planet ‘Earth’ to be found?»

«I don’t know,» Peters admitted. When the captain lifted his eyebrow he continued, «When we left Earth I was not involved in ship operation and therefore had no opportunity to observe. I am not a navigator or a student of the arrangement of stars in any case.»

«So you couldn’t return to Earth on your own, even if you had the means or perhaps our assistance?»

«No.» He hadn’t thought of that before. It was a little disquieting.

Ul’ptarze
Troy leaned forward, tenting his hands once more. «And how did you come to be aboard a Grallt trade ship in the first instance?»

«The Grallt appeared in our skies and began trade negotiations,» Peters began, and related as much of the sequence as he knew. As he did so, he realized just how little of it he’d actually been informed about. «The Traders asked for advisers of little precedence, to assist in the work of preparing to receive the principal delegation,» he concluded. «My associate and I were selected from among the volunteers for that duty.»

«And you have been aboard for approximately two and eight zul?»

«Yes, that’s approximately correct.»

«That’s hard to believe,» Jons interjected. «It isn’t possible that you learned the language so quickly.»

Peters shrugged. «It’s scarcely credible to me. Most of my associates have had great difficulty; fewer than one in ten can say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ appropriately.»

Troy waved the ptarze down. «So among your own people you have ‘little precedence’,» he quoted. «What is your actual level of precedence among your own people?»

Peters thought for a moment, then sighed. Might as well be honest about it… «We use two structures. One is more or less parallel to the Grallt system or what I know of yours, and is called
officer
. The second is considered subordinate to the first, and is called
enlisted
; the Grallt have no similar system. I am of the fifth precedence in the
enlisted
system, out of one and eight possible levels.»

Ander Korwits said something. It sounded negligent and bored, but Elisin Troy cut off his line of questioning immediately and explained at length to her unresponsive face. The
ul’ptarze
then focused again on Peters: «I have explained to de’ze Korwits what we have discussed up to now. She finds it difficult to credit, but before we follow that line of thought I would like to clarify something. Your precedence is quite low among your own people, among
khuman
. Why do you claim higher status from your association with the Grallt?»

«I am faced with strangers of unknown status; naturally I claim the highest precedence I can legitimately assert.» Peters gestured at himself, indicating the suit pattern. «This is quite genuine, I assure you.»

Jons said «
Pahp!
» It sounded disgusted, which didn’t seem to follow, but the officer didn’t continue.

«Perhaps Horsig’s investigations can confirm or deny your assertions,» Troy observed with one of his thin smiles. «Horsig, what can you tell us?»

The two Grallt had been standing in a posture of alert ease during the conversation; they had not been offered chairs, and hadn’t taken them on their own. Horsig stepped forward a half-pace, and said, «Yes, ul’ptarze Troy. Shall I continue in the Trade, or report in Language?»

Troy waved negligently. «This man is either an honored guest or destined for confinement. In the first case he should hear your report; in the second it doesn’t matter. Speak the Trade, by all means.»

«Yes, ul’ptarze Troy.» Horsig glanced at Peters. «In the interest of expedition I took it upon myself to modify my orders,» he began. «I substituted Kheer for Doob, since Kheer is an experienced investigator and Doob is not. I decided that Kheer and I would proceed to
Llapaaloapalla
together, where I would remain to make inquiries while Kheer continued Down to check conditions there.»

«I consider that commendable initiative,» Troy told him. «Continue, please.»

«Thank you, ul’ptarze Troy,» the Grallt said with a deep nod. «With your permission, Kheer will summarize his findings first.»

Troy nodded, and Kheer stepped forward and nodded deeply. «To summarize: I discovered nothing that would contradict ze Peters’s story as I have heard it from Horsig and overheard here, and much that would tend to confirm it. Do you wish further details?»

«Yes. Succinctly.» Troy steepled his hands again.

Kheer nodded again. «I will try, ul’ptarze Troy… I was informed that a group of people, called by themselves ‘
khuma
‘ or something similar, was in residence, with a small number of Grallt sharing the experience. The group consisted of two subgroups: one of somewhat fewer than a square of persons, with status so exalted they neither dealt directly with the staff nor spoke to anyone, and a second group of three squares of persons. This second group was characterized as boisterous and exuberant, tending to extremes of behavior in some cases, but overall cheerful, cooperative, cleanly about their persons, and caring of the facilities. My informant considered them near-ideal guests.»

«
Osfer
and
enlista
, I would presume,» Troy observed.

«I did not hear those terms or any recognizable cognates, ul’ptarze Troy.»

«Never mind. Continue, please.»

«I took up a position where I might observe a group of the
khuma
at their recreation.» Kheer looked at Peters, then back at his commander. «Several of them enjoyed a game with a large ball. All were skimpily clothed or wearing airsuits. Strictly by physiology, I would have classed them as ferassi males in early to middle adulthood, except that–» he paused, spared Peters another glance «–there was a much larger variation in skin color and details of facial structure than in an equal-sized group of ferassi, ul’ptarze Troy.»

«How do you mean?»

«The bulk of the individuals had complexions darker than any ferassi I have seen–»

«Ridiculous,» Jons interjected. «Any ferassi exposed to starlight at the intensities found on a planetary surface will become dark. You are balancing shadows, Kheer.»

The Grallt looked apprehensive, and glanced from Peters to Troy and back again. Then he nodded deeply. «With all respect, ptarze Jons, I am familiar with the effect. One of the individuals I noted was such a dark brown as to be nearly black, with facial features much flatter and broader than found on any ferassi of my experience. The individual in question was wearing only a skimpy garment about the loins. I stand by my assessment, with all respect.»

Troy waved a hand. «Let him finish,» he said a little irritably. «We asked for his report. We should hear it.»

«Yes, ze Troy,» Jons said, a little abashed, and subsided. Peters chanced to glance at Ander Korwits, and surprised an actual expression on her face, so minimal as to be difficult to read, but seemingly alarm and a certain degree of interest. She looked away quickly, recovering her impassionate mien. Apparently
ul’ptarze
Troy was capable of making the nice distinction between ‘does not’ and ‘cannot’.