“That’s possible, I guess. What about our folks?”
“Yeah, there’s that. I’d like to go to Granpap’s funeral.” Peters tossed another rock. “That ain’t right, I’d rather the old buzzard lived forever… dammit, this is fun, even when it ain’t. Sometimes it’s polychrome palm trees, sometimes it’s snikk—”
“Or turd in snot sauce,” Todd reminded him.
“Or somethin’ like that. It’s good, it’s bad, shit, it’s excitin’… if we go back, you know Goddamned well we won’t never get back out here again. It’s gonna be piss-green walls and headshrinkers in relays until we die.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Sure as the sun shines,” said Peters. “Whichever sun that is… I get these dreams, y’know? Here’s stars and spaceships and planets, and there I am, stuck in some interrogation cell, wonderin’ what’s happening.”
“Hnh.” Todd stared out to sea for a long time, then looked up at Peters. “I wake up in the night too. I see myself in the ops bay, looking down at Earth, and I can’t go there… I don’t sleep too good for a while after that.”
“Yeah.” Peters stood for a long moment, looking out to sea, tossing a stone up and catching it, face still… finally he snorted, relaxed a little, and dropped the stone at his feet. Without turning he said, “Well, we still got a little time.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Todd stood, still hugging himself. “We can’t put it off forever.”
“But now’s not the time.” Peters looked up at the ridge, shook his head, and changed the subject. “Wonder what’s over this hill here?”
What was over the hill was a pretty little cove, with an arc of beach stretching to another headland covered with red-and-yellow trees. The path stayed back of the beach, leading to a village that nestled in the foot of the farther cliff. A long concrete dock or pier extended into the water just below the village. Before they had seen snikk they would have wondered why the pier was so sturdily built, and why the boats were so big and robust. There wasn’t a dinghy or skiff in sight.
The buildings of the village were low and substantial, stuccoed in salmon, rust, and ocher, with hints of blue-green. Several locals sat eating and drinking under one of a number of broad porches roofed with vegetation much like Denef’s bar, possibly a cafe or similar public building.
“You know, breakfast wasn’t much,” said Todd, eyeing the patrons.
“I could do with a bite to eat myself,” said Peters. “It’s been, what, a couple hours?”
“At least that. Come on, maybe we can get something.”
They took the steps up to the plank flooring and were met by one of the locals, who wore a pink apron and said something they didn’t understand.
“I don’t understand you,” said Peters. “May we have something to eat?”
The local bared his teeth in their alarming smile. “Eat place here. Sit.”
The local didn’t have much Trade, and after some back and forth Peters just told him, “Bring food. You choose.”
What they got was portions of flaky white stuff, fish perhaps. “This is good,” Todd said. “Wonder what it is.”
Peters put the question. “Snikk,” said the waiter.
“Hunh,” Todd grunted, looking at his plate. “Good to know all that effort didn’t go completely to waste.”
Peters looked out across the water. “I got a suggestion.”
“How’s that?”
“Let’s get a room an’ stay here instead of goin’ back to the hotel.”
Todd thought about it, staring across the sparkling waves, then up and down the peaceful tree-lined street. He took a bite of snikk and smiled. “Peters, have I told you lately that you’re a fuckin’ genius?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“We didn’t see much of you this time,” Mannix remarked as they gathered to board the dli. “I gather that your fluency and your well-known capacity for making friends have once again gained you entreé to regions of delight not accessible to the more cloddish.”
Peters flushed a trifle. “We been spendin’ most of our time in the little town where the folks live, back over the hill yonder. Sort of peaceful.”
“I see. Well, I shan’t complain. You’ll be pleased to know your language lessons didn’t go at all to waste; Tollison and I displayed a gratifying degree of civilization on a number of occasions, did we not?”
Tollison grinned. “We ordered a lot of beer.”
“Precisely, and good beer it was, too.” Mannix grew a little more serious. “That was not the reason I accosted you, though, pleasurable as it always is. Our illustrious Commanding Officer requires your presence, and Master Chief Joshua selected me to bring you the happy news.”
“I reckon that pleased you ‘bout as much as it does me.”
“Taking care of these small but vital points of protocol is an essential part of our duties.” A person not familiar with Mannix’s speech patterns might have missed the tiny barbs in that. “Had I been punctilious about it, I would have notified Howell and let him bring you the glad tidings, which I’m sure would have gratified you no end.”
“‘No end’ is about right.” Peters surveyed the group, found the officer in question standing by one of the dli, in conversation with… Collins, by the shoulder boards. “Thanks, Gerald.”
“You’re quite welcome.” The short First Class tagged along as Peters worked his way through the crowd of sailors waiting to board the dli for the trip back to Llapaaloapalla, but uncharacteristically said nothing more. He saluted once in range of the officers.
Peters, in civvies, simply dipped his head. “You sent for me, sir?”
Bolton returned Mannix’s salute, then looked Peters over. “Who authorized you to be in civilian clothes?” he growled.
“Begging the Commander’s pardon, sir,” Mannix put in, “civilian clothes are authorized on liberty except when the Orders of the Day specifically say otherwise, and unless they have been altered since Master Chief Joshua and I drafted them they say nothing of the sort, sir.”
Bolton acknowledged that with a nod; the thin smile on Collins’s face might have been Peters’s imagination. “Very well,” the commander admitted sourly. “I understood your asshole buddy was a Third Class.”
Peters opened his mouth, but again Mannix beat him to it. “Begging the commander’s pardon, sir, but is the phrase ‘asshole buddy’ a specific charge in this context, sir? If so, Petty Officer Peters might care to respond formally, sir.”
Collins’s smile manifested itself fully. “He’s got you there, Harlan.” When Bolton said nothing, she looked from one sailor to another, finally focussing on Mannix. “Commander Bolton has been feeling extremely frustrated, I’m afraid. His remark was the unfortunate result of combining that with his usual good humor.”
Bolton had gone from flush to pallor as she spoke; now he said in a voice kept level with notable effort, “Yes, my apologies, an unfortunate remark. Consider it retracted… Petty Officer Peters, are you ready to serve as my interpreter with the shuttle pilot on the trip back up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well.” The officer glanced at the dli, where Gell was leaning, arms folded, against the wing. “We should board, then.”
“Yes, sir.”
Collins put in, “I don’t think I’ll accompany you, Harlan. I’ve had my chance at the controls.” She took the resulting look with equanimity. “Petty Officer Mannix might like to occupy the vacant seat.”
“Whatever,” the commander growled, his usual mood reasserting itself. He turned and walked toward the dli, body language tense, and Peters and Mannix followed, acknowledging Collins’s half-smile and lifted eyebrow with another nod and a salute, respectively.