Temporary Duty (8 page)

"Yeah." Todd sighed heavily. "Except I’d rather let ‘em smell me in the mess hall and shower afterwards. If I get within falling distance of my bunk, that’ll probably be the end of my day, food or no food."

"I feel the same way," said Peters. He rubbed his face, "liberty beard" rasping. "Dee, do we stink too bad to go to chow?"

"Stink? Ah, intense smell, yes?" Dee furrowed her eyebrows together in the middle. "You asked about that before. Your scent is strong, but not terribly unpleasant. There will be no trouble at the eating place."

"Good," said Peters. "That’s the way we’ll do it. Lead on."

They were too tired to pay attention to what they were eating, just stuffed it down. Back in his room, Peters stripped off the
kathir
suit and slung it carelessly on the other bunk. Todd beat him to the shower, taking what seemed like an inordinate amount of time but was probably only a few minutes. When his turn finally came he tried hot water, settled on something just a little too cold for comfort, and sluiced himself off as quickly as he could manage. That done, he looked in on Todd, who was lying across his bunk, snoring, wearing nothing but skivvies. He did a little better, managing to pull the bedclothes back and crawl in before unconsciousness hit.

Sometime during the "night" the light from the window woke him up. Earth nearly filled the window, a full moon grown hugely gross. He had no way of knowing, but the thin edge of dark at the lower right was the east coast of North America, and it was 0500 in Jacksonville; he’d waked at the time he’d been getting up for nearly ten years. Rubbing his eyes, he gaped for a few moments, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Peters woke the next time Earth filled the window, and this time it wasn’t so easy for him to get back to sleep. Regardless of how long and effortful the previous day had been, he was too young and full of habit to stay down for more than nine hours or so. Noises from the head said that Todd had reacted the same way. Still a little bleary, but fully awake, he collected clean skivvies and began his ablutions.

The first thing was a shower. He needed a shower.

That done, he scowled at the
kathir
suit, lying in a sloppy mess on the unused bunk. How the Hell did you clean the thing? He’d sweated like a pig in it; no doubt it smelled like a laundry bag of dirty skivvies. A Marine’s skivvies, after a twenty-mile run.

But it didn’t. The inside had a faint scent, but it wasn’t unwashed sailor, more the sharp not-quite-odor of ozone. Magic.

Doubts remained, so he turned it inside out, fumbled with taps until he got a thin spray of hot water, and sluiced it off thoroughly. By the time he got it back into his room it was completely dry and smelled the same as before. He snorted and began crawling into it.

The watch was lying on the study table, where he’d tossed it before going to bed. He strapped it on his arm and studied the dial. A little less than an
utle
before the first
llor
. Time for chow and begin the day, but where was Dreelig?

The Hell with it; Peters was hungry and knew the way. He rapped on Todd’s door and grunted when the other joined him; they didn’t speak as they went down the stairs and across the docking bay. Todd was wearing his white hat. Peters didn’t know how that would work out with the
kathir
suit, so he’d left his behind, but forebore to say anything about it.

Dreelig was sitting at a table near the middle of the messroom. "Pleasant greetings," he said as they took chairs, and rattled in Grallt at the waiter. The man flipped his pad shut and took himself off, and Dreelig leaned back in his chair.

"Pleasant greetings," Peters agreed, looking around. It was the first time he’d been relaxed enough to inspect his surroundings.

Two of the walls were plain, the aft one broken by big swinging doors with waiters bustling through them; the other two, port and starboard, had vertical pilasters at about three-meter intervals. Between the pilasters were splashes of color, art of some kind: pictures of Grallt, depictions of other creatures–no doubt he’d find out later if they were people or not–and what must be landscapes, although if that was true the Grallt probably thought the monotone green of Earth was really boring.

One large picture was obviously a painting rather than a photograph or captured image, done in a blocky style, with simple shapes, bright colors, and odd perspectives. The central character, depicted in bolder tones, had a thing slung over one shoulder that looked like one of the shiny ovoids wise sailors give a wide berth when they’re sitting on a bomb cart. It took several seconds for Peters to figure out what was odd about it.

The figure had a nose.

A waiter bustled up and was setting out dishes before he could say anything, and Peters shook his head and addressed himself to his plate. "This is good," he said at one point. "What is it?" Dreelig replied with something that sounded like slobbering, and they got through the meal trading inconsequentialities.

"What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day, Dreelig?" Peters asked.

"
Ssth
. Please do not say ‘agenda’ to me, Peters. It reminds me of Secretary Averill."

"Dee said something like that," Todd mentioned. "I believe her phrase was ‘up to the ears with diplomats.’"

"That is a good way to put it." Dreelig sat back in his chair, visibly forcing himself to relax. "For two
zul
I have been dealing with your people, and have only recently begun to understand your cultural assumptions." He took a deep breath and expelled it through pursed lips, a low hissing whistle. "But none of that is your concern. After this meal we will go to the practice place for further instruction in suit operation. Will that be satisfactory?"

Peters shrugged. "If we don’t feel like goin’ along, we’ll say so real polite like. We’re new here, if you remember."

"Yeah," Todd agreed. "And don’t worry about not getting along with Secretary Averill and the rest of his group. We don’t do very well at it either." He grinned and looked at Peters, who nodded and smiled slightly. "We have a word for them," Todd continued. "We say ‘suits’ because of the clothes they wear, but it really means an attitude."

"But suit–" Dreelig made it sound more like
zoot
"–just means a complete set of clothing, yes? Like the
kathir
suit."

"Yeah, but if you just say ‘suit’ it means a certain kind of clothing," said Todd.

"You seen the type," Peters put in. "Trousers and a coat, all the same color, usually somethin’ dark and dull. White shirt under the coat, with a tie." He pantomimed pulling a necktie tight.

"And the shoes are usually shiny," Todd added.

Dreelig nodded. "Yes, like the clothes your officers wear, but without all the bright decorations. I had not realized it had a particular name, or that it was a status badge."

"Oh, yeah," said Peters sardonically. "People who dress like that are special. If you don’t believe it, just ask ‘em." He snorted. "Most of ‘em couldn’t set up a dog fight with only two dogs, but they’re in charge, an’ the rest of us get to gofer."

Dreelig nodded. "Status identification." He leaned back and stared at the overhead for a moment, arms folded. "Perhaps I should get myself a suit," he suggested.

"Nah, too late," said Todd.

"Yeah, you blew it," Peters agreed. "Once they think they got you figured out, you can’t change their minds with anything that don’t do permanent damage."

"
Ssth
." Dreelig paused in thought. "We know how to deal with status societies, we do it often. But your society seemed remarkably free of such wasteful nonsense. Everyone we spoke to seemed very, ah, informal."

"Suits are informal among themselves," Todd pointed out. "It’s a small group–"

"But if you aren’t part of the group, formality applies," Dreelig finished for him. "
Ssth
. We know how to do this. How did we miss it?"

"You spent too much time listenin’ to the words," said Peters. "My Granpap explained it to me. Used to be, maybe seventy-five or a hundred years ago, the words meant something. They still use the words, but they don’t mean nothin’–"

"Outside the group," Dreelig completed the thought again. "Yes, that is clear.
Ssth
." When Todd started to speak he waved him down, then leaned back in his chair. "Would you be willing to make suggestions?" he asked.

"I don’t understand the question," Todd said.

"These are your people," Dreelig pointed out. "If we learn to deal with them effectively, it may work to their disadvantage."

Peters snorted. "Our people, Hell. They been pushin’ us away from the food dish for half a century, maybe longer," he said with some heat. "I still got folks back in West Virginia livin’ on huntin’ and home gardens, with spells in jail for shootin’ some critter they’re cherce of. You got a way to cut ‘em down a peg, you let us know. We’ll help if you need it."

"I need to discuss this with the others," Dreelig said. "For now, you need practice with the
kathir
suits."

The practice room was as before. "Would you mind if we hurried through this?" Dreelig asked. "I need to talk to the other people in my section."

"Sure," said Todd. "What should we do? Just play around with the air and gravity?"

"No, you need to learn the belt controls." Dreelig pulled his belt off and held the buckle up for them to look at.

The gaudy design on the buckle was controls for the suit functions. One pair of squares increased or decreased the pressure in the "bubble" around the head; the increase one got easier to push as the air supply ran down. "When the square has almost no resistance, the air supply is very low," Dreelig said earnestly. "You should get inside as soon as possible."

"What about refillin’ it?" asked Peters.

"That is automatic, as soon as you get back into air. You can check the status by pressing the control."

Round spots forming a diamond-shape in the center were the thruster controls: up, down, left, right. Up and down together were forward; the center button usually converted sideways push into rotation, so center plus top was lean back, for instance, but up, center, and bottom together meant "back". "You will need to turn the gravity off before these are effective," Dreelig told them. "They are weak, but enough to move around."

"How long do they last?" Peters wanted to know.

Dreelig looked at him. "I have never thought to ask," he said finally. "I never heard of one running out or stopping." Peters and Todd shared a look. "Practice with what you know now, and I will see you after the next meal," the Grallt said, and took himself off in obvious haste. They were getting used to Grallt facial expressions, and thought he looked worried.

"Never runs out of gas, eh?" said Peters when he was out of sight. "Brother Todd, this ain’t Navy issue."

"It’s not exactly standard around here, either," said Todd.

"What do you mean? I seen lots of people wearin’ these."

"Yeah." Todd held his buckle up next to the gravity control. "Notice any difference?"

Just as a design, the buckle could have been made in Japan or Boston: simple and sophisticated, even elegant. The gravity control was more of a piece with the rest of the ship: a metal panel half a meter square, painted speckle gray, with shiny screws at the corners. The wheel in the middle was a chunk of cast metal, plated or polished. "Looks like somethin’ out of a monster movie," Peters said. "A real old monster movie, last century."

Todd shook his head. "It looks," he said with emphasis, "like something made by the people who built the doors to the ops bay. Whereas this–" he held up the buckle again.

"So what? It don’t matter where it came from so long as it works," Peters pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess you’re right." Todd shrugged. "You want to let the air out, or shall I?"

"Reckon we need to? Be hard to talk."

Todd shrugged again. "That’s what the suits are really for. Might as well keep it realistic."

Having control over their movements made a big difference. As long as the gravity was off, they could glide freely around the room under near-perfect control. Pressing the thruster buttons harder made them push harder, not that they were any great shakes at maximum; pushing off the walls was faster. They were almost fully acclimated to zero gravity, and hadn’t thought about the lack of air in a long time.

They were making full circuits around the room at an angle, bouncing off all six walls in the process, when Peters thought to check the time. He pulled back his gauntlet to look at the watch; his wrist immediately began to swell and redden, accompanied by a tingling sensation, and he hurriedly restored the gauntlet before catching Todd and bringing their heads together. "Time to go. It’s already after second
ande
, mealtime’s almost over."

Todd nodded, and Peters grabbed the door handle and gave it a yank. It didn’t budge, and Todd’s hand on his shoulder kept him from trying it again.

"Hang on," Todd said. "Let me go shut the windows, and you try again when the air comes back."

"Shit, I didn’t think," said Peters sheepishly. "Now we’re even, Todd. You go shut the windows, and I won’t say anythin’ else about the window in our quarters, all right?"

"Deal."

* * *

The crowd in the messroom had thinned out considerably; they had no trouble finding a table near a wall. They again managed to order food and drink, though not quite as successfully as before. Each of them got a patty of vegetable paste, fried crisp, which they’d never seen before. Peters liked it, Todd didn’t care for it much.

Dreelig didn’t show up until they were done eating and idling over coffee. The place was almost empty, and the waiters were lounging about, clearly wishing them gone. "Pleasant greetings," the Grallt said. "I came as soon as I could. We have been arguing."

Peters shrugged. "You set the hours. What do you have on the agenda? Sorry, I mean the program."

"The plans have been modified." The sideways twist in Dreelig’s mouth would have meant disgust in a human. "Your information has made changes necessary," the Grallt went on. "That is why you are here, but changing all the plans is disruptive even so."