Temporary Duty (60 page)

"I knew the Master Chief was put out–"

"Yeah. Well, Chief, you can pass the word, that shit has just come to an end." Warnocki regarded him steadily, and Peters grimaced again and went on, "The situation ain’t real clear. If we was aboard a Navy ship and out of contact with the World, ain’t no question, I’d still be in the Navy and subject to orders ’til we got back to port and somebody cut separation papers, right?"

"Right, but–"

"Yeah, but… if we was in port, or somewhere within reach of a civilian facility, I could just ask for separation there. The Navy’d owe me time and a half on my base pay and transportation home, right?"

"Right… shipping over is not an option you’re considering, I take it."

"Hunh… ain’t no way the Navy can buy me a ticket home, and I don’t think Bolton could sign my separation orders if he wanted to. So here’s the way it is, Chief." Peters took a deep breath. "You post a watch bill with me on it, you’ll find me there, in proper uniform and walkin’ my post in a military manner. Comes a duty stint, you’ll find me at my station and executin’ my duties best I know how. You got somethin’ else for me, you tell me what it is and I’ll hop. But I have moved out of the enlisted quarters and I ain’t goin’ back. Stop by if you’ve a mind to. Your name’s Edward, ain’t it?"

"Yeah." Warnocki looked up, the ghost of a grin quirking the left side of his mouth. "I generally go by ‘Ed’."

"And I’m John." Warnocki nodded, accepting that and the implications, and Peters continued, "But I do not care to speak to Master Chief Petty Officer Leon Joshua now or at any time in the foreseeable future, and the next time he wants to call me on the carpet he can use the mirror in the head instead."

"He’s not going to like that."

"Foamin’ at the mouth’s more like it, don’t you reckon?"

Warnocki’s mouth quirked again. "Probably."

"All right… he’s likely to think of writin’ me up, and if he don’t, Commander Bolton might. If they do that, you tell ‘em I ain’t gonna stand a Summary, and there ain’t nobody on board impartial enough to sit a General Court. Write it up an’ I’ll sign it, and we’ll sort it out when we get back to Mayport or whatever."

"Absent without leave?"

"Or insubordination, or any of half a dozen things." Peters bit his lip. "I ain’t lawyer enough to know what they’re likely to think of."

"They might try to make it treason."

"‘Clingin’ to our enemies, givin’ ‘em aid and comfort’," Peters quoted. "Aid and comfort’s about right, Chief, but you reckon the folks back home’re gonna be anxious to call people who can fly in space enemies? The spooks are another story, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it."

"You may have burned it already," Warnocki mused. When Peters nodded at that, he took a deep breath and looked at him straight on before continuing, "All right, I’ll pass the word. I may soften it some. I don’t want to give Chief Joshua a heart attack."

"Nor me, but if it happens I can find him freezer space."

"That’s cold."

"There was room for Todd. I just don’t give a shit any more, Chief." He thumbed his buckle, pulled the belt off, and fiddled with the controls. His suit began fading from Navy blue to its default light tan. "I’ll see you later, Chief. I’ve got
zifthkakik
watch third
ande
, but right now I got business with the XO, and I need to get as much of it done as I can before I go on watch." By the time he was done speaking his suit had taken on the blue-and-white
zerkre
pattern.

Warnocki spread his hands and shrugged, but didn’t speak, and Peters turned. «Let’s go,» he suggested to Heelinig, who had stood by, watching, as he and the Chief conferred.

«Yes…. what was that about?»

«There’s some question about my status. The situation can’t be fully clarified for some time; there are several others whose input is important. This was a preliminary discussion.»

«Your status with us is clear,» she told him, smiling a little.

«I’m grateful that something is… for now, something that was said earlier has suggested a concept to me. Can we speak to Dhuvenig? If there’s one thing we have a sufficiency of aboard
Llapaaloapalla
it’s labor, and if there are enough hacksaw blades on board….»

* * *

Peters chose the east-facing bedroom and carefully closed the door to the other. Not having Todd at his elbow felt strange–the blond sailor would’ve been remarking on the forested valley filled with light and shadow, or the luxury of the room, while checking how the light switches worked–but at the same time it was as if somebody had opened a door, or taken down a fence. Todd had enjoyed the sights and experiences, but the thought that he might not be able to go back had worried him badly. Without that pressure, Peters occasionally sweated a bit at the memory of chewing out a Senior Chief, but still felt… relieved. Standing on a precipice, wondering if he knew how to fly. He had begun to suspect that he’d do better than anyone had expected, including himself.

«Get a nice place,» he’d been instructed. «You can afford it.» He’d done that. The suite was done in pale greens and golds, with filmy curtains drawn back from wood-sashed windows and little knicknacks here and there. A sideboard of polished blond wood with swirly grain bore a glass carafe of purple liquid and glasses on a doily marked with a glyph that meant "drinkable". He poured a glass and tasted it. Mint and a hint of violets… he’d been in the Navy before he was old enough to buy alcohol legally, and had developed a sailor’s habits, teetotal at sea and binge on shore. This was too good to binge on. He held it up to the light to examine the color, then took another sip.

Knock! knock!
came from the door, two short raps. «Enter at will,» he said loudly, the Grallt formula for "come in," without turning, and listened as the door mechanism worked.

«This is very pleasant,» said Prethuvenigis. «The view reminds me of your home planet.»

«That’s because the trees are green,» Peters observed. «Have you tried this? I consider it quite palatable.»

«No, but I will.» He took the glass, waited as Peters poured, and took a sip. «You’re correct, that’s certainly taken from the higher order squares. Aren’t you concerned about biochemical effects?»

«I have to eat and drink, after all. Perhaps I am a fatalist.»

«I don’t think so.»

«Actually, I hadn’t considered it.» He sipped again, then looked at the glass in his hand. «Perhaps I’m a fatalist after all.»

Prethuvenigis chuckled, deep glottal stops that had sounded like choking when he first heard it. «We should not indulge much before the meeting,» the Trader observed. «Are you ready?»

«I suppose so. When is the meeting scheduled?»

«At half-afternoon, about four utle from now. We are almost ten llor behind our planned schedule, so it took some time to make the arrangements.»

«Will our late arrival occasion any remark?»

«No, the best of schedules can only be a hope. Navigation can never be absolutely precise, and events frequently supervene.» The trader smiled wryly. «In the normal case we’re obliged to wait for the ferassi. Perhaps it’s well that they wait for us this time.»

«Yes… Heelinig said their ship was in orbit.»

«I received the same information.» The trader looked out over the landscape, swirling liquid in his glass. «It is likely that the Grallt we have been calling ‘ferassi’ are here,» he said thoughtfully. «We now know more of the truth of that, don’t we?»

«Yes, and they don’t know that we know,» Peters agreed.

«With care and a modicum of good fortune that condition could obtain for some time.»

Care. Well, they’d cautioned everyone in the strongest terms to keep their mouths shut, and that might hold for a while. A little luck, and two hundred sailors and as many Grallt, with hacksaws. Well, a hundred and eighty-eight sailors, since five were gone and seven were still in the infirmary, but a man with a broken leg can take notes while another beeps out wiring.

«I don’t quite understand what you hope to accomplish by my presence,» Peters admitted.

«At the minimum I hope to unsettle them.» Prethuvenigis smiled again. «It’s a basic principle of trading that the other party should be made as unsure of himself as possible. Confused people make bad deals.»

«I have been the confused one in several such encounters… do you think they will be fooled?»

«Not for an antle. Besides, we will make no such representation. We will present you as precisely what you are:
human
, from the planet
Earth
, very far from here.»

Peters nodded. «Have you any idea just how far it is? I’ve been wondering, but haven’t thought to ask one of the zerkre.»

«No. I’m sure they keep careful records of that sort of thing, but for me and the other traders it is only important how long it will take to get from place to place.»

«Does anyone study the stars and their arrangements? It occurs to me that I don’t know the Trade word for a person engaged in such a study.»

«I suppose they must.» Prethuvenigis shrugged. «They get us from place to place with minimal problems, after all.»

«Yes. I’ll inquire of Dhuvenig. Perhaps he knows how such things are done.»

«Dhuvenig?»

«The Engineering Officer of
Llapaaloapalla
. You met him in the incident with the retarders.»

«Yes, I know who you mean… We should go down. I’ve reserved a room for our meeting, and we should check to see that all is in order.»

Peters nodded. «And I should stop by and see that Gell is settling in properly. That will only take a moment.»

Prethuvenigis frowned and looked sidelong at Peters. «Now it is my turn to fail to be fully cognizant of all that is being planned. Why did you insist that Gell stay with us? It’s an unnecessary expense. He could have gone back to the ship and returned when we were done.»

«My concepts are perhaps not fully formed,» Peters confessed. «With us, a person who has a ship and operator at his immediate disposal is successful and therefore powerful. I thought to see if a similar prejudice might obtain here. At the most basic level, I am simply pulling strings to see what may be tangled in the ends.» He quirked the corner of his mouth. «It is a human procedure, I believe. Has anyone told you of the act Dreelig and Dee used at our suggestion?»

«No, I don’t believe so.»

A description of Donollo and the "President of Mars Act" occupied them as they descended a wide, carpeted stairway to the main level of the hotel. Prethuvenigis chuckled at several points but offered no comment, and they counted doors along a corridor. Someone was waiting, a tall Grallt male in a yellow and white tunic and trousers outfit. «Pleasant greetings,» Prethuvenigis offered. «Are you the representative of the ferassi?»

The newcomer’s eyes widened slightly, but he made no overt reaction and ignored the salute. «Yes, I am. Are you from Trade Ship
Llapaaloapalla
?»

«We are. I am Prethuvenigis, Chief Trader, and this is my associate Peteris.» The trader frowned. «Are we late? We had understood the meeting would take place some several utle later.»

«No, you are not late. I have come to inform you that the meeting will be delayed, and may not in fact take place. You may return to your ship if you like. We will send a messenger when we are ready.»

«This is not acceptable,» Peters said briskly, trying to project an air of total self-confidence. «Arrangements by mutual convenience are one thing, but we have affairs of our own, and don’t wish to sit idly by awaiting your attention. Are your seniors available?» He frowned; before the other could respond he went on. «And how may we address you? ‘Hey you’ may be appropriate, but it is hardly polite.»

The stranger stiffened. «I am called Gool.»

«Appropriate,» said Peters as drily as he could manage, and deliberately did not explain his remark, which was likely to be quite opaque. «May we speak to your superiors? We wish to register a protest at this one-sided alteration of the scheduled order of affairs.»

«My superiors are aboard ship,» Gool admitted. «I was sent Down to inform you.»

«We have transportation available at no notice,» Peters remarked. «We can return with you to your ship if you like, and meet with your superiors there.»

«No!» Gool said, then took thought. «That is not acceptable,» he said stiffly. «Affairs will go as I have outlined.»

«And that is not acceptable to us.» Peters folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe, a picture of ease; Prethuvenigis stood by, face immobile, body language not easy. «When may we have some notion of the schedule?» Peters asked in a deliberately casual tone. «We can disport ourselves here for some time, but after all our lives are not unlimited in duration.»

«I don’t know,» Gool confessed. «I only know what I have told you already.»

«Find out,» Peters instructed, in the voice he would have used to tell a seaman apprentice to swab out a head. «Prethuvenigis is in room five-dash-two, and I am in three-one-two on the same level. How long will it take you?»

«Again, I don’t know,» said Gool. His body language had gone from stiffly erect to slightly hunched.

«Do you have a way to ask immediately?»

«No. I must wait until the dli returns.»

"Shit," Peters contradicted. He reached into his pocket, took out an earbug, and screwed it into his ear, adjusting the pickup. "Gell, we’ve got a situation here," he drawled. "You up for a trip about now?" Pause. "Yeah, the folks we’re here to meet are draggin’ their feet… first level, down by the meetin’ rooms. You’ll see us from the lobby… right." He extracted the little radio, put it away, and grinned at Prethuvenigis. "See how handy that is?"

«Is that a communicator of some sort?» Gool asked suspiciously.

Peters ignored that. «Our ship operator will arrive in a few moments. He will take you back to your ship so that you may ask what the schedule is to be. Will you want him to wait, or can you find your own way back here?»

«No! This is not acceptable!»

«Nor is it ideal for us,» Peters pointed out. «We had intended to use the dli for a few llor of relaxation, visiting the points of interest. Now we must give it up to ferry underlings about, but it’s better than standing around waiting to be taken notice of.»