Ric Locke - Temporary Duty

“ Kh kh kh .” They were getting used to the Grallt laugh; it didn’t sound so much like choking any more. “We like coffee, it is probably our favorite Earth food, and it should be excellent trade goods. We are buying all of it we can store, from a place called Colomba, I think. To the south of Mexico.” Dreelig talked to the waiter again, listened to the response. “Zeef says this is special coffee, for today only. It is called Blue Hills, or something similar. From Zhamaka, is that correct? An island. There is not very much of it, so we probably won’t get it again, because it is valuable for trading.”

“Tell him it’s real good,” said Peters. “Fixed right, too.”

Dreelig relayed that, translated the response: “He says thank you for the compliment. He is glad that a human finds it prepared correctly.”

Peters raised his left hand, nodded; the waiter responded in kind, with a sharper nod, and took himself off. “Jamaica, that’s the name,” he said. “Where the coffee’s from.”

“I believe you are correct,” said Dreelig. “The second vowel is difficult for us, we don’t use that sound. Please eat. It will cool quickly, and we have much to do.”

Peters finished everything but the chili, which he found a bit too spicy; Todd cleaned his plate. When they were done they got up and left, piling napkins on top of the plates, the sailors looking back, still not accustomed to just walking off without taking the dirties to the scullery.

“What now?” Todd asked.

“I am taking you to Znereda, the language instructor,” Dreelig said.

“Language lessons,” Peters drawled disgustedly. When Dreelig started to say something he waved it off. “Yeah, I know, we gotta be able to order lunch,” he said. “I just ain’t lookin’ forward to it, y’know? Languages ain’t my thing.”

“It should not be difficult,” Dreelig said. “The language is very simple.”

Peters snorted. “It better be. There’s places in the United States I need an interpreter.” Todd’s laugh earned a scowl.

The language teacher had his establishment farther forward than they had yet been, off a pale-pink corridor two decks up from the dining hall. The deck wasn’t so much carpeted as padded, with something dark maroon that was soft underfoot and deadened sound. Dreelig gave them the salute and nod. “Znereda is waiting, and I will leave you now. Dee will meet you at the dining hall at the next meal.”

Peters returned the salute gravely. “We’ll be there,” he said, and watched as the Grallt turned on his heel and shambled off.

At that point the door opened and a voice said, “Good morning, gentlemen. Won’t you come in?”

The speaker was the first old Grallt they’d seen, if white hair and lined face was any indication. He was short and slight, dressed in the loose jumper and trousers combination, white above and dark blue below. He regarded them with head cocked to the side and bright eyes half closed, like a lurking tomcat.

“Good morning,” Peters said. “Are you Znereda?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Grallt. “And you must be Mr. Peters and Mr. Todd. Come in, come in, I’ve been waiting for you.” He backed away from the door and waved them through into a room with more of the maroon padding on the floor. Comfortable chairs faced a desk and a blank wall, painted dark green, with scrawls across it. Graffiti? Here? Peters thought, before he realized that here was a genuine antique. He’d had chalkboards in the country school he’d gone to as a kid, but hadn’t seen one since.

“Not ‘mister,’ Todd corrected. “Just ‘Peters’ and ‘Todd’. Only officers are ‘mister,’ and that’s only until they make commander.”

Znereda chuckled, human style instead of Grallt choking; it sounded artificial. “We’ll discuss that at another time,” he declared. “Today I’m the teacher, and you are students.” He gestured at the chairs. “If you’ll please sit down, we’ll begin.”

By the time Znereda let them go it was almost time for the second meal, and they knew that that was the beginning of the second ande . They knew that there were six ande per llor or watch cycle, eight utle per ande , sixty-four tle per utle , and sixty-four antle per tle . They could count to “ten”—actually eight—in the Grallt numbering system, and say the number-names to a “hundred,” actually sixty-four. They knew the names of a few common foods, and how to say “yes,” “no,” “please,” and “thank you.” They were also exhausted from the mental effort.

Dee wasn’t in the mess hall when they got there. Peters looked at the watch; it was still half an utle before the second ande , and people would be drifting in over the next half hour— utle! —or so. The waiter came up; they struggled through the food names they thought they knew, and earned a deeper nod than before when they got it out comprehensibly. What they got was what they’d expected, which was quite a little triumph when they thought about it, and they fell to.

When Dee came in a little while later they were almost finished. “I see you have learned a little of the Trade language,” she commented. “That will be a great relief for me.”

“Gettin’ tired of dealin’ with sailors already, are you?” Peters asked.

“No, not at all.” She moved her lips in her “wrinkled nose” gesture, a sort of three-cornered pout, the points where her facial cleft met her mouth protruding more than her lower lip. “It is just that I am not anticipating the next ande with pleasure.”

“Why’s that?” Peters asked. He noted that Todd had looked away, and realized with a start that he felt no aversion. Sometime in the past few hours Dee had changed from “funny looking creature” to “person, a little odd” verging on “pretty girl, but different.” Her eyes were light brown with a distinct pinkish cast.

She made the expression again. “Cleaning,” she said. “The quarters the officers will be using must be cleaned and stocked. It will not be pleasurable work, I think.”

Peters decided the expression meant “distaste.” “Well, I reckon it won’t get no better for waitin’,” he commented. “You eat already?”

“Yes, I ate with friends before I came here.” She stood and breathed out, a humanlike sigh. “And you are correct, of course. Shall we go?”

She led them back to the entry to the officers’ quarters, where they met three more Grallt, all male. Dee gave the newcomers a short pep talk, with gestures at the two sailors, and they turned to, beginning on the third level and separating into a division of labor. Two of the Grallt went ahead, dusting, while the third cleaned the fixtures in the heads, and Peters and Todd followed behind, Peters with a broom and Todd with a swab. Dee vanished, and the three Grallt spoke no English, so they communicated by handwaving.

It was a lot of space, and was going to take a while, even with the lick-and-promise approach the Grallt seemed happy with. “No white gloves here,” Todd remarked somewhere on the second level. Peters just grunted and shoved dirt around. About the time they were finishing up the second level Dee reappeared, which the other Grallt took as a signal to down tools and vanish, and the sailors followed suit with relief.

“More next ande , I reckon,” Peters said as he stowed his broom in a closet on the second level, between the kitchen and the heads.

“Yes, none of these areas have been used in a long time, and they are very dirty,” Dee told them. “We should finish this part by the end of the llor . After that, we will clean the area where you are.”