by Peter Grant
Steve frowned. “That’s not acceptable. It’s as if they didn’t trust us.”
“I suspect they don’t, sir. Senior Lieutenant Laforet’s trying to find out more about it right now, but their signal didn’t leave us much wiggle room.”
“I see. That explains why she’s not here yet. Did the signal say anything about our liberty parties?”
“No, sir. She’s asking Orbital Control about that as well.”
“Very good.”
Devakai sent a large, luxurious shuttle to collect the diplomatic mission. It docked in the visitors’ bay, and three representatives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs came aboard to welcome the delegates. There was much bowing, hand-shaking and formal pomposity as the niceties were observed by both sides. Steve was glad to see the delegates finally troop aboard the shuttle, leaving the docking bay clear for their baggage to be loaded aboard the ship’s cutter, along with one of the Devakai representatives as escort. The utility craft departed to follow the shuttle planetside.
Senior Lieutenant Laforet hurried into the docking bay as the cutter departed, and caught Steve’s eye. He moved to one side of the compartment to meet her. “Sorry to take so long, sir,” she began, “but it’s been a difficult process dealing with the Devakai authorities. First off, they won’t allow our liberty parties to go planetside. They’ll be restricted to the Orbital Terminal, which has very limited recreation facilities – a couple of spacers’ bars, a few fast food joints and a restaurant.”
Steve snorted. “I’m beginning to get the feeling we’re not welcome here.”
“You and me both, sir! There’s another complication. A Lieutenant from Devakai’s System Patrol Service is on his way to us, to act as our Liaison Officer with the authorities. He apparently expects to be quartered aboard during our stay.”
“That’s not going to happen. It’s not compatible with our diplomatic status, for a start – and then there are our other duties. No. He can come aboard as necessary to hold meetings with us, but he can’t stay here.”
“They’ve already signaled us that he’s coming, sir. He should be here any minute.”
“Then he can go straight back again! I’ll go with him, to explain to his superiors what our diplomatic status means.”
“Er… all right, sir. Should I prepare your gig?”
“Yes, please – and I won’t be going to their patrol craft to pick up an escort. This Lieutenant can ride with me if he wants to, but I’ll come back alone. We can’t let them think they can push us around.”
Lieutenant Chetty arrived within ten minutes. He was a tall, thin, dark-complexioned man with an engaging expression. His black uniform bore two gold stripes on its sleeves, and was topped by a pure white turban instead of the cap Steve had been expecting, with a sunburst device pinned to it. He presented his orders, and listened while the First Lieutenant explained their diplomatic status.
“I don’t wish to cause any difficulty, ma’am,” he said in a deep, melodious tone. “I must admit, we aren’t sure how to handle this situation. We’ve never had direct contact with the Lancastrian Commonwealth before. What’s more, diplomatic courier vessels normally don’t call here – passengers usually arrive aboard scheduled freight or passenger services.”
Steve nodded. “I think I’d better go to your System Patrol Service headquarters and explain the situation, so we can get the ground rules straight right away. That will help to minimize future problems.”
“Of course, sir. With your permission, I’ll escort you there.”
“Thank you. You’re welcome to travel with me in my gig – your cutter can accompany us. Senior Lieutenant Laforet, I’ll leave the ship in your capable hands while I’m gone.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The liaison officer was looking flustered. “Er… sir, I think it would be best if you travel in my cutter.”
“And I think it will be best if I use my gig, Lieutenant. We’re a diplomatic courier vessel. As such, by interplanetary convention – to which Devakai is a signatory – this ship and her small craft have the right to freedom of movement. That’s not negotiable.”
“Ah… I’ll signal my superiors for instructions, sir.”
“There won’t be time for that. I’ll be departing in five minutes. If you want to travel with me, you’d better get aboard my gig.” Steve signaled to his pilot, who hurried through the airlock ahead of him, grinning at the exchange.
“Er… ah… I… yes, sir.” A deeply apprehensive expression on his face, the Devakai officer bent to call through the airlock to his cutter’s pilot. “I’ll be returning to SPS HQ with the commanding officer of this ship, aboard his gig. Tell the docking bay we’re on our way, then follow us.” Without waiting for a reply, he hurried through the airlock to the gig.
Steve glanced at his First Lieutenant. “Have fun while I’m gone, Number One. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“I won’t, sir. Of course, that leaves me plenty of scope.” Her voice was dead-pan, but there was a twinkle in her eye.
Steve winked at her as he drew himself to attention. “You have the ship, Senior Lieutenant.”
She saluted. “I have the ship, sir.”
—————
Devakai’s System Patrol Service HQ was aboard the Orbital Terminal, a large satellite providing cargo import and export facilities, Customs and Immigration controls, accommodation and a limited entertainment district for orbital workers, and service and maintenance facilities for satellites and small orbital craft. The SPS occupied its own wing of the Terminal, with a dedicated docking bay into which Steve’s pilot steered his gig.
“They want us in Bay Three, sir,” the Petty Officer explained. “It’s over there in a corner. Not what I’d expect for a visiting Commanding Officer.”
“I think we’re being sent a not very subtle message concerning our lack of status here,” Steve agreed, frowning. “That’s about to change. Wait for me aboard the gig.”
The NCO grinned as he heard the steel in Steve’s voice. “You tell ’em, sir!”
Steve entered the SPS wing through the airlock, to find no side party or reception committee at all. He turned to his liaison officer. “Is it usual to treat the commanding officers of visiting diplomatic courier craft with such disrespect?”
“I… ah… I…” Lieutenant Chetty clearly had no idea how to respond.
Annoyed, Steve decided to apply a little pressure. “Who’s the Commanding Officer of the SPS?”
“That’s Captain Padayachi, sir. He’s based here, but he’s planetside at present.”
“Who’s second in command?”
“Commander Wapara, sir.”
“Is he here?”
“Er… I think so, sir.”
“Then kindly lead me to him. There are some ground rules we need to get straight before anything else goes wrong.”
“I can’t just interrupt him without an appointment, sir!”
“But I can, and I’m going to.” Steve’s voice was remorseless. “Kindly lead the way.”
The unhappy and by now deeply apprehensive Lieutenant took Steve to the administrative area of the base, a long corridor lined with offices. Near the far end he led him into an anteroom staffed by another Lieutenant and two civilian secretaries, with doors opening off either side. “That’s Captain Padayachi’s office, sir,” he said, indicating one door, “and the other one is Commander Wapara’s. This is their joint Administrative Assistant, Lieutenant Odda.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Chetty. Lieutenant Odda, I understand Captain Padayachi is planetside, so I need to see Commander Wapara. Kindly tell him I’m here, and ask him for a moment of his time.”
“But you don’t have an appointment. I can’t interrupt him, sir.” The officer’s voice was filled with a combination of resentment, surliness and a smug satisfaction that set Steve’s teeth on edge.
“In that case, I’ll do so myself.” Ignoring Odda’s squawk of protest, Steve walked over to the door Ch
etty had indicated, knocked firmly, and opened it. The officer inside looked up from his desk, startled, as Steve walked inside, closed the door, and crossed to the desk.
“Good afternoon, Commander Wapara, sir. I’m Lieutenant-Commander Steve Maxwell, Commanding Officer of LCS Pickle, the diplomatic courier vessel that’s just brought a mission to your planet on behalf of the United Planets and the Lancastrian Commonwealth.”
Wapara came to his feet, scowling in annoyance. “What’s the meaning of this interruption? I’m busy! You can’t just walk in here!” The officer’s thin, gaunt face was topped by a red turban, with a gold trishula pinned to its folds.
Steve suppressed his reaction at seeing the officer’s headgear, and kept his voice level. “I apologize for disturbing you, sir. However, your service and your planet are currently in violation of an interplanetary treaty. Among other things, my ship and the delegation it carries are here to discuss several billion credits’ worth of assistance to your System Patrol Service. I’m the officer assigned to assess your needs and recommend what is to be provided. I therefore respectfully suggest that we resolve those violations at once.”
As the Commander listened, his annoyance seemed to evaporate, to be replaced by a patently false smile that he hurriedly pasted onto his face. “My dear Lieutenant-Commander, of course!” He emphasized the prefix, as if to remind Steve of his own more senior rank. “I’m sorry to hear there’s been some sort of misunderstanding, but I can’t believe it extends to actual ‘violations’.”
Steve shook his head. “Sir, Devakai is a signatory to the United Planets Convention on Diplomatic Missions. It specifies, among other things, that courier vessels carrying UP missions are exempt from normal Customs inspection; that they and their auxiliary craft have the right of free navigation to, from and around planets they visit during their diplomatic duties; and that neither they, nor their crews or passengers, may be interfered with in any way. Instead, we’ve found a patrol craft parked in our laps, with instructions to put escorts aboard our small craft whenever they leave the ship, and to act as a traffic control station for other small craft approaching us. We’ve also been denied free movement for our crew on liberty. Those measures are in violation of the Convention, and I must therefore request that they cease immediately.”
“But your ship isn’t a United Planets vessel. It’s part of the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet, so the Convention doesn’t apply to it.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong, sir. As our arrival signal made clear, we’re here on behalf of the United Planets, carrying a delegation authorized to negotiate on behalf of that organization. Any assistance the UP decides to offer Devakai will come through the Lancastrian Commonwealth, by virtue of our role in the UP’s Athi peacekeeping mission, through which this visit has been arranged. Therefore, we have the same diplomatic status as a UP vessel for this mission.”
“I… I think I see. I’ll have to ask our Foreign Ministry planetside for clarification on that.”
“I’ll be grateful if you’ll please do that, sir. However, unless and until the situation is satisfactorily resolved, I shall not be able to conduct any assessment of the SPS’s requirements. In the absence of that assessment, neither the UP nor my Fleet will be able to supply the aid your Service has requested. You might want to make that clear to your Foreign Ministry.”
“Ah… yes, yes, of course.” The man’s face was expressionless. “Commander,” – this time he left off the prefix – “I’ll get in touch with Captain Padayachi at once, and have him discuss this with the Foreign Ministry. I’m sure everything will be resolved within a matter of hours.”
“Thank you very much for your assistance, sir. It’s always a pleasure to encounter professional courtesy like yours.”
“Ah… yes, of course. Thank you.”
“While I’m here, may I ask my liaison officer, Lieutenant Chetty, to show me the entertainment areas of this space station? If my crew are to come here on liberty, I’d like to see what’s available to them.”
“Er… yes, Commander, that will be in order.”
“Thank you, sir. I apologize for interrupting your work. I’ll leave you to it.”
Steve walked out into the anteroom to find the two Lieutenants staring at him as if he were some sort of strange, exotic creature. “All’s well,” he informed them cheerfully. “Commander Wapara’s been most helpful. I’m sure all our difficulties will soon be resolved. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Chetty, he’s agreed that you can show me the entertainment area of the space station, so that I can see whether it’s suitable for my crew.”
“Ah… yes, sir, of course. This way, please.”
Chetty led Steve out of the SPS base area into a long passage filled with small businesses. “This is the commercial side of the station,” he explained. “These shops mostly cater to the needs of the SPS and visiting ships – not that we have nearly as many of those as you do at Lancaster, of course – and to spacers on liberty. They tend to go down to the lower end of the arcade.” He gestured to a few brightly flashing signs.
“I see. Let’s walk down there and take a look.”
As they passed down the crowded passage, Steve said casually, “I noticed that the Commander’s turban was red, whereas yours is white. Is red an indicator of senior officer’s rank in the SPS, something like the silver leaf insignia on the peak of my cap?”
“Ah… no. White is the standard color of the SPS uniform turban. We’re all supposed to wear it, but there are so many members of the Kotai sect nowadays that they petitioned the Defense Ministry for the right to wear the colored turbans that are a mark of their faith. The Commander’s red turban shows that he’s one of their senior members.”
“And the trident on his turban, and the sunburst on yours?”
“The trident’s also a Kotai insignia. Its members got permission to wear it instead of the standard SPS sunburst device.”
“I see.”
Steve could sense that the Lieutenant was growing uncomfortable with his questions, so he left it at that. He glanced to left and right as they walked, peering into the various shops and businesses. There was a poor selection of goods on display, and his mental conversion of the prices into Lancastrian Commonwealth credits showed that they were expensive. The cleanliness of the corridor also left a lot to be desired.
Halfway down the passage they were checked by a procession emerging from a highly decorated storefront. The participants all wore brightly colored clothes and fake flower garlands. There was a festive atmosphere.
“What’s this?” Steve asked curiously.
“Oh, that’s a Hindu temple. We have them all over, even in orbit like this. Two of our SPS spacers were getting married today. Here they are now.”
Steve saw a young couple emerging, flushed with excitement, both wearing uniform. The newly-applied bindi, the red dot signifying her married status, still glistened on the woman’s forehead. Those who’d preceded them out of the temple broke into applause. As the couple walked up the passage, followed by the crowd, Steve instinctively half-bowed to them, joining his hands as if in prayer, thumbs toward his chest, and said aloud, “Namaste.” They smiled at him and responded in kind as they passed him.
As he lowered his hands, he noticed Lieutenant Chetty was staring at him as if dumbfounded. “You offered namaste!” the younger man said, almost accusingly.
“Yes, I did.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“Yes, of course. I was acknowledging the divine in both of them. My wife is Hindu, you see.”
The Devakai officer’s eyes widened with surprise and delight. “But – but that means you understand us! We didn’t know that. This changes everything!”
“What do you mean?”
“You share our faith!”
“Well… not exactly. A Vedic priest told me I couldn’t convert to Hinduism, because I wasn’t born into a caste,” Steve pointed out, carefully not adding that he hadn’t wanted to convert in the first p
lace. “That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate Hinduism’s good points. Here, let me show you some pictures of our wedding. My wife’s sponsor, a retired Admiral, presented her to me in the kanyadaan ritual. I lit the vivaha-homa fire, to signify the establishment of a new household, then the priest took us through the seven-fold Saptapadi exchange of oaths.”
He called up images that he’d stored on his Personal Intelligent Assistant, and projected them through the device’s three-dimensional holographic viewer. One showed Abha and himself in uniform with the robed Vedic priest; another showed Brooks’ wife, Carol, applying the bindi to Abha’s forehead at the end of the ceremony. His wife’s darker skin tone was clearly visible. He diplomatically refrained from showing the Devakai officer the pictures depicting the Christian ceremony he and Abha had undergone at the same time.
“That’s wonderful!” Chathi enthused, his face alight. “Sir, with your permission, I’d like to tell Commander Wapara about this. We’ve grown very tired of outsiders looking down on us because of what they consider our ‘primitive’ beliefs. We expected you’d do the same, but that clearly won’t be a problem for you – or us. You’ll find everyone much more relaxed when they realize that.”
Steve thought fast. “Ah… please ask the Commander to be discreet. Remember, my planet’s society is secular, not dominated by any one faith. I mustn’t say or do anything publicly while I’m here that my crew, or the diplomatic delegation, or my superior officers in the Fleet, might regard as a conflict of interest. That might compromise my report in their eyes.” That ought to do it, he thought. If you think you’re helping me to secretly help you, you’ll open doors you’d otherwise keep shut. I’ll take any advantage I can get, if it’ll help me do my job.
“I understand, sir. I’ll be sure to mention that to Commander Wapara.”
Steve gave him a friendly smile. “Very well. I’ll trust your judgment and the Commander’s discretion. Now, let’s see the entertainment facilities – and I want to sample some of these food stalls, too. My wife has taught me to appreciate Indian cooking. Those samosas smell delicious!”