Temporary Duty (53 page)

"Neighborhood’s goin’ downhill," Peters observed.

"Yeah." Todd was slumped down on his spine, resting his head against the back of his chair. "Le’s get ouda here. We oughda look around some."

"Yeah, I reckon." Peters pulled himself erect and out of the chair, helped Todd do the same. He remembered his manners enough to speak to the bartender. «Pleasant greetings, Denef. We will leave now.»

«Pleasant greetings, Peters. Careful.»

«We will be careful.» Peters looked at Todd, who was weaving a little, then around at all the white uniforms, and reached into his pocket. «These are our species, and I will buy them all a beer.» He groped through his money, coming up with a "square," a perfect blue-and-white checkerboard worth sixty-four
ornh
. «That should be enough.»

Denef counted the house, jerked his head up and down. «Enough. Three and two eights of ornh change.»

«Keep it. Come on, Todd, let’s go.» They set off along the beach, supporting one another.

The waves made wave sounds, the beach smelled like a beach, and the sun shone. If it hadn’t been for the red and yellow trees along the backshore they could have been somewhere around Mayport. "God damn space," Todd complained. "Oughta be bug-eyed monsters ‘n all that. Lookit this." He picked up a handful of sand. "Fuckin’ sand. Ten zillion light-years from home, and I’m walking through fuckin’
sand
." He threw the handful as hard as he could. It pattered on the surface of the water, making little rings around the occasional pebble. "God damnit, I volunteered ’cause I thought it’d be exotic, y’know? Monsters. Villains. Suns all different colors. All kinds of shit.
Romance
. What’d I get? Fuckin’ aircraft carrier. Gettin’ drunk on liberty. Fuckin’
outer space
."

"What the fuck is that?" Peters asked.

"Fuck if I give a shit." Two fins were sticking up side by side and splashing, something moving through the water. Moving fast. "Or maybe I do give a shit. Maybe we oughta step back a little."

"Yeah." They had started to do that, struggling a little in the soft sand, when the area where Todd’s handful had landed exploded in wet spray. They had a glimpse of a thing like a submarine with teeth before it was too close to see anything but gray hide. It missed, thank God, although its flank knocked Peters aside, abrading a hole in the sleeve at his shoulder. Then they were running, kicking up the soft sand, and somebody was screaming in the background.

It was scrabbling and thrashing around behind them, but they didn’t look back until they had reached the backshore berm. The thing was ten meters long and as big around as Todd was tall, and it seemed like a quarter of it was mouth with big teeth. It had short stubby fins, with which it was trying to heave its bulk up the beach, and made a grunting sound as it snapped at them.

Denef the bartender came running up with a thing like a shotgun on steroids in his hands. «Snikk,» he said, waving his shooter in existential definition.

"Well-snikk-I-reckon," said Peters, out of breath.

The gun made a
boom
and flash, its kick noticeable even with Denef’s bulk. It made a hole the size of a fist in the snikk just below an eye. That didn’t seem to affect it much; it kept right on struggling up the beach, intent on reaching them. Denef fired again, scoring the eye directly, and again. Finally it slowed down a little, then got quiet.

Denef reloaded with fat shiny cartridges from a bag slung on a strap over his shoulder and fired another round, and the snikk finally got the message. It struggled around until it was headed back to the water, then flopped until it got there. There was yellowish-red blood all over the sand. The snikk disappeared into the water. "Goddamn," said Peters.

"Yeah," said Todd. "Now we know why nobody swims here."

"You got that right. Shit, I was thinkin’ about rentin’ a boat, but Christ you’d need a destroyer to be safe around those things." He touched Denef on the shoulder. «Thank you, friend. That was a big snikk.»

«No, no,» Denef hefted his firearm. «Little snikk. Big snikk come." He pointed out toward the water.

Several of the double fins were moving around, stirring up low wakes. The wounded snikk was trailing blood through the water, and its mates were headed in for a light snack. Shortly there was a hullabaloo of splashing just offshore, heavy torpedo-shaped bodies visible in glimpses. After a bit their snikk–the original one, they could tell by the bullet holes and the missing eye–crashed back ashore. There was a hunk the size of a man missing from its side.

Half a dozen people the same species as Denef had run down from the hotel with more guns, some like Denef’s, a couple about twice that big. The latter sat on tripods and were being set up with practiced efficiency. There was a great deal of excited jabber, not in Grallt. A snikk twice the size of the original heaved itself out of the water and chomped down on the wounded one. Finally one of the big guns crashed.

It took a long time.

When the snikk stopped coming the sun was well below the horizon and a light onshore breeze had sprung up. The hotel staff had brought big floodlights on poles to illuminate the scene. Three snikk lay on the sand, still threshing around, spraying blood from their wounds, dead or dying but not having got the idea yet. The first one was one of them. The other two were two or three times that big.

"Monsters, you wanted," said Peters.

"Looks like I got ‘em."

"Yeah. What’s goin’ on now?" Denef and the others were conferring, with Denef pointing occasionally toward the two sailors. There were raised voices and emphatic gestures.

"Shit if I know," said Todd. "Just before this happened you mentioned food. It’s been a long time since we landed, and all we’ve had is a few beers. I could do with some food."

"Yeah, me, too," said Peters. They started walking toward the hotel, where there was bound to be a restaurant. "Next time you want monsters, you make sure I’m not around, you hear? I’m bored too, but I don’t need that shit."

«Wait.» It was one of the ape-people. «You are Peters and Todd?»

«Yes, we are,» said Peters.

«Good. Are you well? Did the snikk hurt you?»

«The first one bumped my arm,» said Peters. «It tore my shirt, and I may have a bruise there. Otherwise we are well.»

«Good, good,» the ape said. «I am Corso. I am the manager of the hotel. The snikk are very dangerous. Sometimes people are food for the snikk. It is good you were not hurt.»

«You seem prepared,» Todd observed.

«Yes, we keep the guns available and train the staff in their use.»

«They did very well,» Peters said with a nod.

«It is good of you to say so, but they should do well. They are paid well for this duty.»

«They should be paid well. It is dangerous work for them. Does it happen often?»

«Oh, sometimes,» said Corso.

«Well, it’s over now,» Peters said. «Todd and I will now go to eat. Tell everyone thank you for us.»

Corso smiled. «I will say so. Perhaps I might join you at your meal.»

The two humans shared a look. «Join us, of course,» said Peters with a sigh. «You can tell us what is best to eat.»

«Yes. As I said, the staff are paid well for this duty. Also the ammunition for the guns is expensive. It will be necessary to discuss the bill.»

* * *

The food Corso suggested was partly delicious and partly disgusting, about par for the first meal on a new planet. While they were eating a series of functionaries conferred with the manager, shuffling bits of paper around and talking in the language that wasn’t Grallt. Peters asked for something nonalcoholic to drink, and Todd followed suit, not without a raised eyebrow. "Better keep a cool head," Peters advised as the waiter brought glass tumblers of something yellow.

"Yeah," Todd agreed. It was some kind of fruit juice, mildly astringent and not too sweet.

Dessert was sweet and gooey, like ice cream with dark blue berries mixed in. It was good, but didn’t go well with the juice. Corso looked up from his papers, noticed Todd’s grimace, and jabbered at the waiter, who brought cups of something like tea, much better. Over the last of it he laid a piece of paper down with a flourish.

"Looks like chicken tracks to me," Todd said. Actually it didn’t. It was pretty neat for handwriting, unrecognizable symbols in columns. If those were numbers, the one at the bottom had a lot of digits.

«Could you translate to Grallt symbols?» Peters asked.

Corso obliged, and the two sailors bent to the task of converting base-eight to base-ten. The result would have been a disaster a month ago.

"A little under four thousand
ornh
, I make it," Todd noted.

"Expensive walk on the beach," Peters commented wryly.

«How will you pay this?» Corso asked. «You cannot leave until it is paid. We are not kind to those who leave without paying.»

«There is no problem,» Peters told him. «We do not carry so much money on our persons, but we can pay. We will pay when we leave the hotel.»

Corso stared. «It is not so easy. How can I know you will pay? It is a large amount of money. Not everyone has so much.»

"Man’s got a point," Todd said.

"Shush," said Peters. «Corso, we have the money. If you will ask the clerk, we showed our credit when we checked in. Please ask now. We will wait here. Perhaps the waiter could bring us more tea.»

«Yes,» Corso said. He jabbered at the waiter, longer than necessary to order tea, and left in a hurry. The waiter brought a pot and poured. Todd and Peters lounged in their chairs simulating nonchalance, but noticed a good-sized individual, one of the gunners from the beach by his clothes, loitering nearby. They didn’t know the word for "trust" in the local language, and it didn’t look like they were going to learn it any time soon.

"This doesn’t look good," Peters said when he spotted Corso caming back. He was was striding along briskly, flanked by a pair of underlings in the uniforms of the hotel staff. The two humans started to stand when he approached their table, but he waved them back.

«My apologies,» he said. «If one of you would be so kind as to sign that, I will take it away and no more will be said.»

"Sure," Peters agreed. «Of course, Corso. I will sign.» He scribbled across the bill, then handed it to Corso. «A little extra for your trouble.»

Corso bowed. «Thank you. In the meantime, we have a small problem. My
brizk
of a clerk assigned you to the wrong room. If you would give me your keys….»

Peters dug his out, exchanged it for the one the manager proffered. When Todd had done the same Corso bowed again. «Thank you once more. Please don’t trouble yourself about the meal, it is provided by the establishment. And now, if you will excuse me….» He bowed a third time and swept off, trailed by his flunkies.

"Well, well," said Todd as the manager disappeared through a door. "Did you get all that?"

"Free meal? Sure I got it," Peters said. "I also got the key. It’s been a long day."

"You got that right."

The keys were inscribed with a squiggle that was no doubt the room number. They found the room by selecting an individual from the group near the desk, holding up an
ornh
, and proferring one of the keys. The woman took the key and led them up to the same floor their first room had been on, then down a long hall, where she opened a door. Todd handed her the
ornh
, glanced around, and added two more. It seemed appropriate.

"You couldn’t park a Tom in here," Peters said sardonically when she’d left.

"Maybe a Hornet."

"You’d have to fold the tail down."

"Or cut it off."

Peters wandered out on the balcony, where a glass-topped table held a bottle in ice. He poured, sipped, looked appreciative, and sipped again, looking out across the starlit, snikk-infested waters. "You know what, Kev old boy?"

"No, what, John old friend?"

"I like being rich." He finished his glass, reached for the bottle. "And I’m gonna enjoy it while it lasts."

* * *

Breakfast the next morning wasn’t nearly so successful. The planet had a long rotation period, so they felt as if they’d slept in, but the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. The waiter spoke no Grallt, and the menu was in the local language. Finally they pointed at things.

Peters got a deep plate or shallow bowl of something orange, viscous, and cold, with occasional bits of white stuff marbled in blue distributed through it, and a ceramic spoon like a smaller version of the one used to serve Chinese food. Todd’s portion was a brownish irregular cylinder swimming in a clear, sticky sauce, accompanied by lumps of something pasty white.

"Look at this crap." Todd prodded his lump with the two-tined fork, causing it to break up. "Turd in snot sauce. I ain’t even gonna taste it."

"Wise move." Peters cautiously brought the spoon to his mouth, took a tiny sip, spat it out immediately. "Yecch. Tastes worse’n it looks. I wouldn’t've thought that was possible." He looked around, but there was nothing to drink on the table, not even water. "Let’s just get out of here."

"Right." Todd looked across the room as he got up. Commander Bolton was lethargically spooning something into his mouth, looking neither more nor less discontented than he usually did, and none of the other officers was spurning the food. "They do have stuff we can eat," he pointed out to Peters.

"Sure they do. They just don’t give a damn if we get any or not." Peters shoved his chair under the table.

"Must be nice to have an interpreter on call."

"You wanta ask for advice?" Peters demanded harshly.

Dreelig was engaged in conversation with Mr. Devon and Ms. Weber, shoving something into his face between phrases and paying no attention to anything outside his group of charges. "Uh, no, don’t think I ought to interrupt," said Todd. "Maybe we could hire one of our own. We got the chill."

"Maybe later," said Peters. "Come on!"

Before they got to the door they were intercepted by one of the locals, their waiter perhaps, who spoke in low urgent tones and flourished a slip of paper. "The bill, I reckon," Peters said disgustedly.