The ul’ptarze of Trader 1049 received them in a compartment just aft of the control deck. Peters got a glimpse of a row of chairs facing large transparencies, similar to what he’d seen on the pirate ship if larger and in rather better order, before being ushered in to the Presence by a Grallt who stood by the door. The guard had one of the push-force weapons, on a harness like a Sam Browne belt, and a rigidly neutral expression. Peters acknowledged him with a nod as he passed, thinking, Been there, done that.
The room was about six meters by seven, and contained a pair of settees with a low table between them, a higher table surrounded by carved wooden chairs, and an ordinary-looking desk. Ptarze Jons occupied one of the chairs before the desk, and Chuckles—Horsig—and another Grallt stood to one side.
A woman with a tumble of glossy black curls down her back sat facing away from the entry. She looked up, displaying a profile as nearly perfect as possible on a living person and a distant, almost absent expression. It occurred to Peters that this was the first young-adult female ferassi he had seen. He’d noticed several matrons and older women in the ferassi berthing area, and an inordinate number of families seemed to have nubile teenagers, but until now he hadn’t seen a woman of an age to be interesting to, say, himself.
Elisin Troy was blond, as his Ops Officer was, but neither of them was of the heavyset body type exhibited by the pirates. The ul’ptarze didn’t rise as they entered, just regarded them over hands folded in front as if in prayer. Fredik Fers stepped forward and rendered the hand-before-mouth salute. Peters contented himself with a nod; rendering the Navy salute would imply using his Navy rank, and that would put him at a considerable disadvantage.
The ul’ptarze returned the salute with a negligent wave that ended with a little wiggle of the fingers. “I understand you don’t speak our language,” he began. “We will use the Trade language. Please be seated—” he hesitated “—ipze Peters, and you, too, ipze Fers.” Troy returned to his prayerlike pose as they seated themselves. “It seemed appropriate to use your equivalent rank, rather than the simple ‘ze’ we would normally accord a visitor of unknown status. Do you object?”
“Not at all, ul’ptarze Troy. I don’t know your terms and procedures of formal respect, and hope you will be tolerant. Be sure that I mean no disrespect should I err.”
Troy’s smile was slight but genuinely amused. “We will make allowances. You have met ptarze Jons. The female is de’ze Ander Korwits. De’ze Korwits does not speak the Trade, but her presence here is necessary, as she is—hm.” He considered for a moment, eyes distant, then glanced at her before looking back at Peters. “De’ze Korwits advises us on proper conduct; I can’t explain it better without using words that don’t exist in the Trade language.”
“De’ze Korwits,” Peters acknowledged with a nod. The woman was beautiful, no doubt about it, with large clear-green eyes under winged brows, a smooth pale complexion, and symmetrically, even perfectly, formed features, but the beautiful face betrayed no hint of emotional involvement in the conversation. When she turned slightly to nod, returning Peters’s greeting, her gaze might as well have been directed at the bulkhead, or a star several light-years distant… not cold, or even abstracted; utterly dispassionate. He looked away quickly.
Troy produced another minimal smile. “Now, as I understand it, you give your race as khuma and your home planet as ‘Erth’; is that correct?”
“Approximately, ul’ptarze—”
“’Ze Troy’ is sufficient in normal conversation, once the initial courtesies have been exchanged,” the captain supplied.
Peters nodded. “Thank you, ze Troy. As I said, you have it approximately correctly. The word for our race in our language is human, and the plural is humans. The vowel in the name of our home planet is more extended: ‘Earth’.”
“Earth,” Troy pronounced, with a movement of his lips and tongue as if tasting the word. “Human. And where is planet ‘Earth’ to be found?”
“I don’t know,” Peters admitted. When the captain lifted his eyebrow he continued, “When we left Earth I was not involved in ship operation and therefore had no opportunity to observe. I am not a navigator or a student of the arrangement of stars in any case.”
“So you couldn’t return to Earth on your own, even if you had the means or perhaps our assistance?”
“No.” He hadn’t thought of that before. It was a little disquieting.
Ul’ptarze Troy leaned forward, tenting his hands once more. “And how did you come to be aboard a Grallt trade ship in the first instance?”
“The Grallt appeared in our skies and began trade negotiations,” Peters began, and related as much of the sequence as he knew. As he did so, he realized just how little of it he’d actually been informed about. “The Traders asked for advisers of little precedence, to assist in the work of preparing to receive the principal delegation,” he concluded. “My associate and I were selected from among the volunteers for that duty.”
“And you have been aboard for approximately two and eight zul?”
“Yes, that’s approximately correct.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Jons interjected. “It isn’t possible that you learned the language so quickly.”
Peters shrugged. “It’s scarcely credible to me. Most of my associates have had great difficulty; fewer than one in ten can say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ appropriately.”
Troy waved the ptarze down. “So among your own people you have ‘little precedence’,” he quoted. “What is your actual level of precedence among your own people?”
Peters thought for a moment, then sighed. Might as well be honest about it… “We use two structures. One is more or less parallel to the Grallt system or what I know of yours, and is called officer. The second is considered subordinate to the first, and is called enlisted; the Grallt have no similar system. I am of the fifth precedence in the enlisted system, out of one and eight possible levels.”
Ander Korwits said something. It sounded negligent and bored, but Elisin Troy cut off his line of questioning immediately and explained at length to her unresponsive face. The ul’ptarze then focused again on Peters: “I have explained to de’ze Korwits what we have discussed up to now. She finds it difficult to credit, but before we follow that line of thought I would like to clarify something. Your precedence is quite low among your own people, among khuman. Why do you claim higher status from your association with the Grallt?”
“I am faced with strangers of unknown status; naturally I claim the highest precedence I can legitimately assert.” Peters gestured at himself, indicating the suit pattern. “This is quite genuine, I assure you.”
Jons said “Pahp!” It sounded disgusted, which didn’t seem to follow, but the officer didn’t continue.
“Perhaps Horsig’s investigations can confirm or deny your assertions,” Troy observed with one of his thin smiles. “Horsig, what can you tell us?”
The two Grallt had been standing in a posture of alert ease during the conversation; they had not been offered chairs, and hadn’t taken them on their own. Horsig stepped forward a half-pace, and said, “Yes, ul’ptarze Troy. Shall I continue in the Trade, or report in Language?”
Troy waved negligently. “This man is either an honored guest or destined for confinement. In the first case he should hear your report; in the second it doesn’t matter. Speak the Trade, by all means.”