Temporary Duty

by Ric Locke

  Steward’s color began to recede. He nodded his head sharply and went through the door, pushing it to behind him with more force than needed.

  Peters let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and scanned the room. One fresh-faced Second Class was grinning, and the other two sailors were studiously ignoring him. “I reckon Mr. Steward ain’t gonna be ‘Doc’ to his face much,” he commented, almost to himself, and the others chuckled.

  When Steward came back out he wanted to ask questions, and Peters had neither the answers nor the skill in Grallt to ask the technicians. The doctor inspected a suit closely, forcing the sailor wearing it to stand on a chair, paying especially close attention to the insides of knees and elbows, the armpits, and the groin. Finally he grabbed the man’s arm and took a close look at his crow. “Can they produce arbitrary designs and colors?” he asked.

  “I dunno about arbitrary, sir, but I ain’t seen nothin’ they can’t match yet,” Peters answered cautiously.

  Steward nodded. “I want a distinctive marking for medical personnel,” he announced. “A red cross in a white circle, just here.” He pointed at the top of the right sleeve. “Any problem?”

  “Not that I know of, sir.” Peters held out his hand, with forefinger and thumb forming an approximate circle ten centimeters in diameter. “‘Bout this big, sir?”

  “That’ll be fine. See to it. How long do I have to wait for my suit to be ready?”

  “‘Bout an hour, sir. There’s chairs over there, sir.”

  Steward nodded again, jerkily, and went to sit, folding his arms and keeping his face immobile, not inviting conversation but watching the process with steady intensity. The group who had been waiting got fitted and left, more came to don their suits for the first time, and all the medics except Chief Gill came to be measured, all with little or no conversation once the officer’s attitude was noticed. Peters consulted with Keer, who already had the sleeve-rings right and needed little guidance to produce the medical roundel, and with Se’en’s assistance managed to make him understand that any enlisted suit with a caduceus in the crow needed the extra element. Todd, who had missed the byplay while helping a First Class ET get dressed, noted the watcher and ducked back into the dressing room to stay.

  Finally Keer handed the right strip over, and Peters looked around. “Mr. Steward, your suit is ready, sir.”

  The officer stood. “Finally. Where?”

  Peters nodded toward the dressing room. “In there, sir. Petty Officer Todd will help you put the suit on the first time, sir.”

  “I’ve been dressing myself for a long time, sailor.”

  “Yes, sir, but this here’s a bit different, sir.”

  Steward stared, coloring again. “Very well,” he snapped, and went into the dressing room, again closing the door with a bang. When he emerged, suited, Se’en had showed up with Chief Gill in tow. “Hello, Gill, I see you made Chief,” was his greeting. “Why didn’t you go first to get your monkey suit? Medical personnel have priority.”

  Gill shrugged. “Men who were loading and unloading gear needed ‘em worst, sir.”

  The doctor made an irritated gesture. “And what if one of the men handling heavy gear got hurt?” He wiped off imaginary lint. “I don’t like this thing, it doesn’t give enough protection, and this sailor—” indicating Peters “—doesn’t know if it can be sterilized or not. I hope this doesn’t come out a disaster.”

  “I hope not too, sir,” Gill agreed, “but the suit gives more protection than it seems to, sir. I’ve already seen a man get whipped by a loose line and come away with nothing but a bruise.”

  Steward shifted his bundle of uniform items to a more comfortable position. “Where away is the infirmary, Chief? I need to get started.”

  “Se’en will show you, sir.” The Grallt gave him a look; he was familiar enough with her to grin back. “Your personal gear’s already in your stateroom, sir, and the equipment and supplies are being unloaded. If you’d care to advise us, sir, we’ll see to getting all that stowed. For now we’ve been leaving it in the cartons.”

  Steward looked from Gill to Peters and back, then glanced at Se’en, unable to look directly at her. “Very well, I’ll go provide adult supervision,” he said. “Lead on.” He again closed the door behind him with excessive force.

  Peters sighed. “Let’s get this evolution back underway,” he suggested. “Chief, you want to go ahead? You probably need to get back over there.”

  “Yes, I probably do. Dr. Steward, eh? What fun.”

  Even with the delay, by the end of fourth ande they’d gotten three and seven eights of people through the measuring process and issued one and three eights of suits. Peters knew he was tired, and proved it by needing the handheld to convert that to fifty-nine and twenty-five, respectively. “Attention please,” he said, then shook his head and said in English: “All right, listen up. Quittin’ time. This evolution is knockin’ off for the day.” That generated grumbles, which he overrode: “We start again at first ande, which is about ten hours from now. Get some sleep, get your meal early and get up here.” More grumbles accompanied the general dispersal.

  They’d anticipated a bit of leisure at fifth meal, but that proved optimistic. None of the Grallt who spoke English were present, and none of the new sailors knew the first word of Grallt; after the tenth or so request for aid in ordering dinner Peters pulled a waiter aside and asked to talk to the cook. “Make standard— make a standard meal…” He paused, breathed, thought, and got out a correct sentence: “Make a standard meal for all persons,” he told the head cook, whose girth, scowl, and commanding presence were positively homey. “Later they learn, they will learn to speak, and you can return to normal, the normal system.” The cook just nodded and began bawling at minions. Some sailors were disappointed, but Peters and Todd were rewarded with enough peace to eat, give or take the overall chat level.

  They met Dreelig in the corridor. “I understand that you need to speak with me,” the Grallt said. “Is it urgent?” He looked as bushed as they were.

  “Yeah,” Peters growled. He slumped his shoulders and sighed. “But I ain’t in no shape to figger it out, and you don’t look much better. Hard day?”

  Dreelig also slumped, leaning against the corridor wall as if grateful for the support. “A difficult day, yes. Your officers will be arriving to take up residence five llor from now, and I had to go Down to arrange the schedule. When I returned the doctor had arrived with all his equipment, and I had to—I believe your phrase is sort that out.” He shook his head. “What have you been doing?”

  “Runnin’ sailors through suit fitting,” Peters told him.

  “Ah. How is it going?”

  “Now that we know how it’s done, we’ll get a square through per llor,” Todd told him. “So we’ll be done with issuing the suits in less than three more llor, then we can start practice and instruction. If you can break Dee or Se’en loose for that we could finish faster.”

  “The idiom is fat chance,” said Dreelig tiredly. “They and I will probably have to take quarters in the officers’ section. The Commander has decreed that the officers will work a five-ande llor, because it is closer to your standard. The contract specifies very little contact between the officers and the normal work of the ship, but this seems like a foolish exaggeration.”

  “Se’en won’t like that at all,” said Peters.

  Dreelig sighed. “I think Se’en will not be back next llor. She was offered a post in the listening rooms, and I think she will take it and tell me to…”

  “Take a hike,” Todd suggested with a smile.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that idiom.”

  “Hm.” Peters thought a moment. “If you could meet us, say, two utle before first meal, we could talk about our problem.”

  “Yes, I suppose I can do that,” Dreelig said.

  “Where could we meet?”

  “Here is probably best. They will be preparing for the meal, and perhaps we can have co
ffee while we speak.” Dreelig grinned. “It is amazing how quickly I have become accustomed to having coffee to begin the llor.”

  “Ain’t you afraid it’ll make your nose grow?” The joke was out before Peters thought about it.

  Dreelig only grinned wider. “Kh kh kh. No, I think not. Klisti hasn’t made yours fall off.” Peters fingered the relevant member; the three looked at one another. Perhaps it was only because they were tired that they burst out laughing. It wasn’t really that funny.

  Enlisted quarters now had a sentry by each entryway, in undress blues and duty belts but without sidearms. Perhaps wisely, the one they passed didn’t challenge them. Peters only looked and growled; you just can’t change some people’s minds, but it wasn’t likely that would last long.

  Todd got to the shower first, and Peters used the delay to program the handheld for a wakeup two utle early, being careful to save the old program. Then he worked out, and saved, the basics of a program for a five-ande llor. It would very likely save him some work later.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Precise wording is very important,” Dreelig noted. They were early, but a pair of one-ornh coins had gotten them coffee and a plate of rolls with sweet topping. Dreelig had watched Peters negotiate with benign interest, but said nothing.

  “You’re probably right,” said Peters. He put his ID in the reader and brought up the text on the tiny screen. He pushed the handheld over to Dreelig, but had to help with button pushing to scroll through.

  “Ssth,” Dreelig said. “Is there some part of this that actually says what you are to do? All I see here is daga. It reminds me of Secretary Averill.”

  “It oughta be about here…” Peters took the little device and scrolled rapidly through, then passed it back to Dreelig. “Here.”

  Dreelig read, frowning, for a long moment. “This is simple, but not very informative. ‘Report to commanding officer, Grallt ship Llapaaloapalla, for temporary duty as assigned to facilitate deployment of Space Detachment 1,’” he quoted. “Where is—ah, yes, duration is a word for time, yes? ‘Duration of Assignment: sixty days, or until released.’ Commanding officer? You have not ‘reported’ to the First. Is that a problem?”

  “We’d never see the captain of any ship we were on,” Todd assured him. “You’re the commanding officer’s representative for this purpose, right? So we reported to you. All square as far as that’s concerned.”

  “I do not truly understand your organization, of course, but from what I do understand, I do not see that you have a problem. According to this, I am your senior officer, correct?”

  “As the captain’s representative, yeah, I reckon you are,” Peters admitted.

  “So until I say you are released, you work for me.” Dreelig grinned. “I shall have to inform my own superiors. I am due extra compensation for supervisory duties.”

  “Of course, your superiors could order us released,” Todd remarked.

  “Of course,” Dreelig agreed. “I must act according to the contract we made with your Navy. That calls for us to support you people in certain ways for one voyage lasting about two of your years. I think that this ‘Space Detachment One’ must be how your management refers to the group of you.”

  “That’s right,” Peters told him. “But we ain’t part of Space Detachment One. Master Chief Joshua tells the sailors what to do, and Commander Bolton tells him what to do, includin’ what to tell the sailors. But accordin’ to this, we ain’t part of that system.”

  “Ah. I begin to see the problem.”

  “Yeah. If you release us, you can’t release us to SPADET One, ‘cause we ain’t got orders to report to it. That means we gotta go home.”

  “Would you prefer to go home?”

  “You gotta be kiddin,’ Dreelig. This here’s the best chance we’ve had.” Peters paused. “Second choice, you don’t release us. But we still ain’t part of the detachment, so we ain’t under Chief Joshua or Commander Bolton, and by their figurin’ we don’t count. We shouldn’t be livin’ with ‘em, for one thing.”

  “We could find you quarters in another part of the ship.”

  “That’d work, but there’s another problem,” Todd said. “So far I like all the Grallt I’ve met to one degree or another, and Peters and I get along just fine, but I’d rather not be one of just two humans surrounded by Grallt. I’d like to be able to talk English, and Navy, and about home, with people like myself, at least once in a while.”

  Dreelig nodded. “That is reasonable, over a long period of time. Even if you enjoy our company we are not really your people.”

  “Right,” said Peters.

  “Let me think about this,” Dreelig said. “I believe that I have the beginning of an idea, but there is not time to develop it right away. Could we speak to your chief later in this llor? After fifth meal, perhaps?”

  Peters nodded. “That’d be a good time, I reckon. We oughta tell him beforehand, set up an appointment, like.”

  “Yes, that would be polite. I will take care of that arrangement myself, and send you a message. You will be at the suit office, correct?”

  “Correct. All this llor, all the next, and at least part of the one after that,” Todd confirmed.

  “Then I believe we have done all we can do at this time, and I notice that they have begun serving the first meal. Let us eat, and go out to face the llor with strength.”

  “Fortitude,” Todd corrected. “Face the llor with fortitude.”

  Dreelig smiled. “A fort has strong walls, yes? We have a similar word.” He signaled one of the waiters. “For now, I think food is enough.”

  They got to the suit office well before the beginning of the first ande, but not before the first sailors, five of whom were holding up the corridor wall as they arrived. “Chief said not so many at once today,” one of them said. “We don’t have a native guide any more. I was here yesterday, so I knew the way.”

  “OK, your suit should be ready, let’s get you in it,” Todd told him. “Then you can go back down and tell ‘em that we’ll be ready for everybody who’s already been measured, one at a time for that, and the rest for measuring.”

  “We can do it that way,” said the sailor, a First Class who wasn’t happy that a Third was telling him what to do.

  “Good.” Todd wasn’t impressed.

  Peters gestured them inside: “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Veedal and Keer were already there and turned to with a will. Tee didn’t show up; Peters stole her desk for a duty post. Except for that, the previous llor served as a model for this one: sailors being shuffled through the process at maximum speed, short breaks for meals, and back to work. Veedal found ways to shave a little time, managing to squeeze in seventeen per ande instead of sixteen, so by quitting time they’d bettered Todd’s predicted square by three.

  The cook had taken Peters’s advice and was only providing one meal to humans, including Peters and Todd since the waiter couldn’t tell the difference. That reduced by one the number of things they had to make decisions about. Peters was eating fourth meal, all Grallt items except for mashed potatoes, when Dee came up and informed him that Chief Joshua would see them at 2100 hours; she didn’t stay to chat, and Peters had to retrieve the handheld to translate that into “only twenty minutes for fifth meal.”

  When fifth ande rolled around, Veedal needed another two and eight tle to finish the man he was measuring. That done, they barely had time to change in time for their appointment. “Hell with it,” said Peters. “We’ll eat in the bar. Assumin’ we want to eat, afterwards.”

  Todd shrugged. “Dreelig’s pretty bright, and I trust him. But you’re right, we’ll eat in the bar. What’s money, after all?”

  There was no sentry by either entrance to the enlisted quarters, but a Second Class Machinist’s Mate sat behind a desk with a logbook and wanted them to sign in; a much more reasonable and Navy-like arrangement, Peters thought. This llor was payday; the envelope was there on the desk, with
eight four-ornh notes. Great. Settling up tomorrow, with everything else.

  He was about to slip the jumper of his undress blues over his head when it occurred to him that the kathir suit, underneath, didn’t have a white T-shirt collar to show. He swore, squirmed out of trousers and kathir suit, and put on skivvies and a T-shirt, then rearranged the blues. They felt strange, loose and airy, and scratched his legs. The things you get used to.

  Todd had “solved” that problem by pulling a t-shirt over the kathir suit. Peters was dubious—the suit showed over the neck of the t-shirt—but they were out of time. Dreelig was waiting in the corridor; they marched down to the Chief’s quarters, and Peters did the honors of banging on the door, pausing to make the first stroke at 21:00:00 by the handheld.

  “Come!” was the response.

  They did what was meant, which was open the door and enter. Master Chief Joshua was sitting in one of the desk chairs; he’d found time to present a more normal appearance, pressed, polished, and glittering. Dreelig stood by the window; the other chair was occupied by Chief Spearman, not so well turned out, sitting with arms crossed and a sour expression on his face. Dreelig opened the ball: “Pleasant greetings, Master Chief Joshua. Thank you for seeing us.”

  Joshua nodded by way of acknowledgement. “Pleasant greetings to you, Ambassador Dreelig. I understand you wanted this meeting to clarify the status of these two sailors here.”

  “That is correct, Chief.”

  “The situation could use some clarification,” the other chief remarked. “These two men are not part of our detachment, and by rights shouldn’t be here.” He wasn’t one of the ones who had been dealing with the Grallt regularly; you could tell by the way his eyes shifted around the room to avoid looking Dreelig in the face.

  “Peters and Todd were assigned to Llapaaloapalla, and my captain has delegated me to supervise their work,” said Dreelig smoothly. “I do not believe that we have met, Chief.”