“That may be true,” Dee agreed calmly. “Perhaps you will adjust. If not, we can modify the watch schedule.”
“Right.” Peters sighed. “Me for a shower and hit the mess hall again. I wouldn’t even eat if it wouldn’t be ten hours ‘til we’ll get back, but we gotta, right, Todd?”
“Yeah.” Todd sighed heavily. “Except I’d rather let ‘em smell me in the mess hall and shower afterwards. If I get within falling distance of my bunk, that’ll probably be the end of my day, food or no food.”
“I feel the same way,” said Peters. He rubbed his face, “liberty beard” rasping. “Dee, do we stink too bad to go to chow?”
“Stink? Ah, intense smell, yes?” Dee furrowed her eyebrows together in the middle. “You asked about that before. Your scent is strong, but not terribly unpleasant. There will be no trouble at the eating place.”
“Good,” said Peters. “That’s the way we’ll do it. Lead on.”
They were too tired to pay attention to what they were eating, just stuffed it down. Back in his room, Peters stripped off the kathir suit and slung it carelessly on the other bunk. Todd beat him to the shower, taking what seemed like an inordinate amount of time but was probably only a few minutes. When his turn finally came he tried hot water, settled on something just a little too cold for comfort, and sluiced himself off as quickly as he could manage. That done, he looked in on Todd, who was lying across his bunk, snoring, wearing nothing but skivvies. He did a little better, managing to pull the bedclothes back and crawl in before unconsciousness hit.
Sometime during the “night” the light from the window woke him up. Earth nearly filled the window, a full moon grown hugely gross. He had no way of knowing, but the thin edge of dark at the lower right was the east coast of North America, and it was 0500 in Jacksonville; he’d waked at the time he’d been getting up for nearly ten years. Rubbing his eyes, he gaped for a few moments, then rolled over and went back to sleep.
Chapter Five
Peters woke the next time Earth filled the window, and this time it wasn’t so easy for him to get back to sleep. Regardless of how long and effortful the previous day had been, he was too young and full of habit to stay down for more than nine hours or so. Noises from the head said that Todd had reacted the same way. Still a little bleary, but fully awake, he collected clean skivvies and began his ablutions.
The first thing was a shower. He needed a shower.
That done, he scowled at the kathir suit, lying in a sloppy mess on the unused bunk. How the Hell did you clean the thing? He’d sweated like a pig in it; no doubt it smelled like a laundry bag of dirty skivvies. A Marine’s skivvies, after a twenty-mile run.
But it didn’t. The inside had a faint scent, but it wasn’t unwashed sailor, more the sharp not-quite-odor of ozone. Magic.
Doubts remained, so he turned it inside out, fumbled with taps until he got a thin spray of hot water, and sluiced it off thoroughly. By the time he got it back into his room it was completely dry and smelled the same as before. He snorted and began crawling into it.
The watch was lying on the study table, where he’d tossed it before going to bed. He strapped it on his arm and studied the dial. A little less than an utle before the first llor. Time for chow and begin the day, but where was Dreelig?
The Hell with it; Peters was hungry and knew the way. He rapped on Todd’s door and grunted when the other joined him; they didn’t speak as they went down the stairs and across the docking bay. Todd was wearing his white hat. Peters didn’t know how that would work out with the kathir suit, so he’d left his behind, but forebore to say anything about it.
Dreelig was sitting at a table near the middle of the messroom. “Pleasant greetings,” he said as they took chairs, and rattled in Grallt at the waiter. The man flipped his pad shut and took himself off, and Dreelig leaned back in his chair.
“Pleasant greetings,” Peters agreed, looking around. It was the first time he’d been relaxed enough to inspect his surroundings.
Two of the walls were plain, the aft one broken by big swinging doors with waiters bustling through them; the other two, port and starboard, had vertical pilasters at about three-meter intervals. Between the pilasters were splashes of color, art of some kind: pictures of Grallt, depictions of other creatures—no doubt he’d find out later if they were people or not—and what must be landscapes, although if that was true the Grallt probably thought the monotone green of Earth was really boring.
One large picture was obviously a painting rather than a photograph or captured image, done in a blocky style, with simple shapes, bright colors, and odd perspectives. The central character, depicted in bolder tones, had a thing slung over one shoulder that looked like one of the shiny ovoids wise sailors give a wide berth when they’re sitting on a bomb cart. It took several seconds for Peters to figure out what was odd about it.
The figure had a nose.
A waiter bustled up and was setting out dishes before he could say anything, and Peters shook his head and addressed himself to his plate. “This is good,” he said at one point. “What is it?” Dreelig replied with something that sounded like slobbering, and they got through the meal trading inconsequentialities.
“What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day, Dreelig?” Peters asked.
“Ssth. Please do not say ‘agenda’ to me, Peters. It reminds me of Secretary Averill.”
“Dee said something like that,” Todd mentioned. “I believe her phrase was ‘up to the ears with diplomats.’”
“That is a good way to put it.” Dreelig sat back in his chair, visibly forcing himself to relax. “For two zul I have been dealing with your people, and have only recently begun to understand your cultural assumptions.” He took a deep breath and expelled it through pursed lips, a low hissing whistle. “But none of that is your concern. After this meal we will go to the practice place for further instruction in suit operation. Will that be satisfactory?”
Peters shrugged. “If we don’t feel like goin’ along, we’ll say so real polite like. We’re new here, if you remember.”
“Yeah,” Todd agreed. “And don’t worry about not getting along with Secretary Averill and the rest of his group. We don’t do very well at it either.” He grinned and looked at Peters, who nodded and smiled slightly. “We have a word for them,” Todd continued. “We say ‘suits’ because of the clothes they wear, but it really means an attitude.”
“But suit—” Dreelig made it sound more like zoot “—just means a complete set of clothing, yes? Like the kathir suit.”
“Yeah, but if you just say ‘suit’ it means a certain kind of clothing,” said Todd.
“You seen the type,” Peters put in. “Trousers and a coat, all the same color, usually somethin’ dark and dull. White shirt under the coat, with a tie.” He pantomimed pulling a necktie tight.
“And the shoes are usually shiny,” Todd added.
Dreelig nodded. “Yes, like the clothes your officers wear, but without all the bright decorations. I had not realized it had a particular name, or that it was a status badge.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Peters sardonically. “People who dress like that are special. If you don’t believe it, just ask ‘em.” He snorted. “Most of ‘em couldn’t set up a dog fight with only two dogs, but they’re in charge, an’ the rest of us get to gofer.”
Dreelig nodded. “Status identification.” He leaned back and stared at the overhead for a moment, arms folded. “Perhaps I should get myself a suit,” he suggested.