Ric Locke - Temporary Duty

There was silence for a long moment. Khurs asked softly, “What happened in the Year of Our Lord Twenty-Twenty-Three, Donald?”

The old man had been staring into space, gazing at old memories; he turned his head quickly and gave her a grin of pure savagery. She straightened and put her hand to her mouth, taken aback, and Donald converted his expression to a real, if forced, smile. “Why, in 2023 the world fell apart, and the Federal Government didn’t,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Since then, anybody who tries to fix things up gets cut off at the knees by Federal Regulations.” He made a sideways chopping gesture, cutting off further discussion. “Enough of that. Johnny, have another beer and get started talking. You’ve told me some in your letters, but now I want details.”

Alper was yawning, and Ander had fallen asleep in the crook of his arm, before Peters had even gotten as far as the attack by Grallt pirates. They put the two women to bed in the room that had been his parents’, under a double-wedding-ring quilt handed down from his mother’s family, and Donald announced that he was going to shut down the generator. “I hadn’t really intended to keep it going this long,” he apologized. “At this rate it’ll be out of fuel by midnight.” He lit candles and went on the errand.

When he returned Peters had rummaged in his backpack. “Present time, Grandpap,” he said, and handed the old man one of the fist-sized zifthkakik he’d bought on Jivver. “Think of it as a battery that don’t run out,” he suggested as his grandfather looked dubiously at the shiny ovoid. “Fifty kilowatts, more or less, and Schott told me how to jigger a power-pole transformer to make it work with house wiring. We’ll get it done tomorrow.”

“What is it really?”

“I guess you could call it an engine. Hook it up right, and it’ll lift about ten tons and move it around at pretty much whatever speed you want.”

“Spaceship engine.”

“No, this model don’t make atmosphere or the shieldin’ you need for a spaceship.” Peters grinned. “Be kind of fun to install it in the Vette, but then you wouldn’t be able to run the house lights with it.”

“Hunh… what’s something like this worth?”

“I paid—” he stopped to think “—call it five thousand eagles for it. Here? You tell me.”

Donald grunted again. “Hunh… What else have you got there?”

“It occurred to me you might be a little tired of reloadin’ shells for the Mauser.” Peters indicated the other two objects with a wave. “These here’s called ‘push-force weapons’. They’ll punch a hole in quarter-inch steel plate at close range. The little one’ll knock a man down at fifty meters without killin’ him; the big one’ll do the same at five hundred.”

“Recoil?”

“None, nor noise either.”

“Just the thing for deer hunting. Well, your magic grapefruit isn’t hooked up yet. Time to stoke the furnace.”

“I’ll help you.” Dzheenis followed as well, and watched with interest as the two men cleaned out ashes and refilled the firebox. “Can you get away with this?” Peters asked as they closed the door.

“Have for years. You remember.” The elder Peters looked at the furnace, then gave his grandson a twisted grin. “Tonight it’s even legal.”

“Heh?”

“Weather emergency. I’ve no other source of heat, and if this blizzard doesn’t count as an emergency I don’t know what would.”

They trooped back up the stairs and poured more beer, and Peters resumed his story. Dzheenis and Khurs listened with interest; they’d been offered beds, but refused them on the grounds that they hadn’t heard this part before. Khurs stayed close to Donald Peters, making soft comments, touching him occasionally, and missing few opportunities to have him meet her eye or just look at her. Peters noted with sardonic interest that Granpap had quit flinching when she turned her face toward him; possibly the beer helped. The grins Dzheenis flashed told him that the big Grallt understood what was going on; so did he, but he kept his smiles to himself.

Sometime after three in the morning the story reached their arrival at Earth orbit and the raucous party they’d thrown to celebrate the occasion. “That’s about it,” Peters said, and spread his hands. “The rest of it’s bureaucrats, reporters, and regulations.”

Donald nodded. “It’s time to turn in anyway. I’m sure I’ll have more questions… I’m interested in these Makers, whatever they are.”

Peters grinned. “So am I. I ain’t got no more information, though.”

“Maybe you’ll think of something… Dzheenis, you can sleep in Johnny’s old room, end of the hall on your right. The guest bedroom there will be about right for Khurs.”

“Where will you sleep?” the Grallt girl asked.

“My bedroom is there. It’s dug into the hill, so it’s warmer when I can’t fire the furnace,” Donald told her. “Speaking of which, I should stoke it once more before we turn in. This won’t blow over before late tomorrow at the earliest, and we’ll all need the warmth.”

“Dzheenis and I’ll do the honors,” Peters put in. “You go on to bed, Granpap.”

“May I bathe before I go to bed?” Khurs wanted to know. “I feel—not really dirty, but I’ve worn these clothes too long.”

“Sure.” The elder Peters shrugged. “The furnace has been on all afternoon, so there should be plenty of hot water.” He stood and yawned. “I’m going to sleep in tomorrow. We don’t have a schedule, after all.”

Khurs disappeared into the bathroom with some items retrieved from one of the packs, Donald Peters went up the pair of steps to the loft room, and Dzheenis and Peters headed down the stairs with a small candle-lantern to care for the heating system. “Your grandparent is likely to be somewhat surprised a little later,” the big Grallt remarked.

“Yes… I’ve never seen Khurs act this way before.”

Dzheenis looked surprised, then nodded. “That’s right, you never met the man. Peteris, allowing for the effects of weathering on skin and a trifle of height, your grandparent could be Candor Zin’s brother, even his twin.”

“So Khurs is suffering from nostalgia. She may be in for a surprise of her own. Granpap is by no means infirm.”

“How old is he?”

“Hmm… I make it six eights of uzul, actually a little more than that. Pay the number no mind; he doesn’t.”

“So it would appear. Ah, well, something to look forward to in the morning… is this the control?”

“Yes, but don’t shake the coals down,” Peters advised. “If you leave the consumed material on top, it will maintain the reaction at a low rate until we are awake again. That way we don’t have to reinitialize it.”

“I see.” The big Grallt watched as Peters adjusted dampers and air supply. “You know, I’m getting a little jealous,” he remarked as they started back up the stairs. “You have Ander and Alper, and it appears Khurs has found an outlet for her urges. Only I need sleep alone tonight.”

“That isn’t my fault,” Peters said with a smile. “I thought you had some arrangement with that blonde from the control-room crew. Her name is Lisis, is it not?”

Dzheenis’s eyebrows went up. “That’s right, and yes, I have. I’ve been waiting for what seemed the proper time.”

“Proper time for what?”

“Why, to ask permission from my depa’olze to cohabit, of course.”

“Shit.” Peters rounded on the big Grallt, forcefully enough that he took a step back, then deflated with a sigh. “Dzheenis, you are a member in good standing of the Peters pa’ol. If you wanted to take your share and move to Zenth to set up a klisti-berry farm, the only question involved would be how much your share would be. If I thought your judgement was that bad I’d dismiss you anyway, but there’s no question of permission.” He shook his head and met the big Grallt’s eyes. “You definitely do not need my permission to select either a partner for an evening’s adventure or a mate for a lifetime commitment. It is a little insulting that you could think your depa’olze might wish to interject himself into a matter so personal.”