That made Deela, Dreelig, and the stewards his employees. Tullin found a new place for them, much larger and with two inner rooms. Dreelig stayed where he was, but Deela was soon installed in the other office. Khurs and Dzheenis held court for Peters in the main office, with Khurs acting as receptionist and Dzheenis as office manager; Se’en and a male Grallt called Pisig, once one of the stewards, performed the same functions for Deela, and twenty clerks occupied the remainder of the room. Peteris—he thought of himself that way, here—acquired a desk that seemed the size of an aircraft carrier at first, soon covered with paperwork, and a swivel chair with a high back and arms.
If he’d been home he’d have had to wear a tie. Fortunately the Grallt had never invented the things.
It meant that he had to deal with Commander Bolton on almost a daily basis. That wasn’t a pleasure for either of them, but Bolton seemed most affected. “I’m not taking orders from any jumped-up enlisted man,” he declared.
“You ain’t takin’ orders from an enlisted man,” Peters pointed out, keeping his temper reined in by main force. “You’re takin’ orders from the folks that hired you. It so happens that it’s my job to pass those orders on to you, and it ain’t no bigger pleasure for me than it is for you.”
Bolton’s flush wasn’t evident, but his sour expression was. “Bullshit. I’ll hear that from Dreelig or Prethu-whatever, the bossman.”
“Prethuvenigis ain’t here. Dreelig?”
The “ambassador” flushed in turn. “I’m afraid he’s right, Commander. Peters has been assigned as coordinator between the detachment and the Trade organization. He is my direct superior.”
“Peters,” Bolton growled, “is a U.S. Navy Petty Officer Second Class who has gotten very confused.” He focused his gaze on the person in question. “You do know you’re going to wind up in front of a Court when we get home, don’t you?”
“No, Commander, I ain’t all that sure that’s so, though you say it. I ain’t been in the Navy for a matter of two months now; this here’s my civilian job.” Peters held the officer’s eyes. “Worst comes to worst, all I have to do is not get off the ship when we get home.”
“Planning to abandon your country and your people, are you?”
“Don’t be more of an ass than you have to, Harlan,” Commander Collins said sharply. She had stood with arms folded, watching as the two males tangled racks. “Do you ever listen to anybody, even yourself? Play back what you’ve been saying and tell me Peters has any reason to do you any favors.”
“It’s not a question of favors. It’s a question of obligations, and an oath he took.”
“Is it? I have to tell you, Doris Doyle has a master’s in pre-law, and she and Chief Spearman have been researching this at my orders. As far as we can tell he’s in the right.” Bolton returned her look mulishly, and she went on: “You can pout like a spoiled child all you want to, but I for one want information about our next assignment, and Peters has the data and you don’t. May we hear it, please?”
Bolton’s jaw worked. He made an abrupt go-ahead gesture, accompanied by a look of seething ill will. Peters met the look with one of mild patience, simulated by a nearly superhuman effort, until the officer looked away, then picked up a document. “The next planet we’ll be visitin’ is called Hegghi, and it’s a n’saith colony. They’ll be fieldin’ a squadron to do mock-combat, usin’ the same protocols you probably remember from the n’saith home world. They’ll be comin’ aboard beforehand, and we’ll be settin’ up a dinner for them…”
Collins came to dinner that evening. She noted the sign with amusement, and introduced herself to Ander and Alper as “Nadine.” When the meal was over she buttonholed Peters. “You know what Commander Bolton’s problem is, don’t you?” she asked.
Peters grimaced. “I reckon so. Ain’t he the one who set up this circle—this whole thing in the first place?” When Collins nodded he returned it. “Thought so. He still thinks he oughta be the most important human bein’ on board, and I ain’t so sure he’s wrong. Trouble is, it ain’t worked out that way.”
“Don’t I know it.” Collins shook her head. “I don’t think we’re ever going to really recover from Dreelig’s little trick, and Harlan fell for it hook, line, and sinker. If he’d just been forethoughtful enough not to discourage us from learning the language—”
“Yeah, that put the capper on it.”
“You could put it that way… as far as I’m concerned you’re Peteris, the Grallt liaison to our group. My officers will follow my lead, and at least some of the men will; nobody wants to see this whole effort fall apart. I’ll talk to Harlan. He really doesn’t have much choice about going along, but it’s probably too much to expect him to be gracious about it.” Bolton wasn’t at all gracious about it, but he did manage to be grudgingly cooperative.
Mock-combats at Hegghi, Sedlun, and Distaving went off as scheduled; Peters did something the Grallt hadn’t, used the detachment’s own money to place bets on themselves. The profits were handsome, and he wondered if he’d get more cooperation if he could tell the officers about it. In the meantime he used Deela and Dreelig as go-betweens, staying out of the man’s face to the greatest extent possible.
The arrangement somehow held together all the way to Keelisika.
Chapter Forty-Six
“This seems quite acceptable,” Ghnal Dhango said. “In fact, proposal number three will add considerably to the appeal of the performance. See what you think.” She passed the document to her husband. Instead of a mock-combat the decision had been made to perform an air show, an addition to the already-scheduled festivities in honor of an enkheil holiday Peters never fully understood the meaning of.
Khrog Dhakgo took the paper, scanned it. “Nnh. Yes. A memorial to fallen comrades, yes… I like it.”
“Good,” said Peters, and leaned forward. “I’ll have Deela inform Commander Bolton that you approve. We can confer later to settle the final details.”
Ghnal nodded. “I’ll pass this on to my staff. They’ll flesh out a more complete scheme, which you can send to your people for review. It will be before you in plenty of time for any objections or counter-proposals.”
“Good,” Peters said again. “Except that you should give it to Dzheenis, who will take it to your assistants. They can be working on it while we have dinner.”
“I like that idea,” Khrog put in.
“It’s about time for me, too,” Ghnal agreed. “Where shall we eat? In the same food room where we spoke before?”
“You’re invited to my quarters.” Peters flushed a little and grinned. “Yes, I have separate quarters now, and a family I’d like you to meet.”
“It was obvious from the beginning that you’d begun to rise to your potential,” Ghnal noted. “The last time you were here we chatted in the food room, and you got in trouble for it, if I recall.” She smiled and gestured at the office. “This is a remarkably different environment.”
“I note that you give the statue pride of place,” Khrog said, and looked at the figure. “It’s a great compliment to us.”
“Not at all. It’s a lovely piece; I enjoy looking at it… So, will you have dinner with us? I warn you, it’s likely to be something of a mob scene.”
Ghnal grinned. “We’re used to family dinners. Yes, by all means.”
“Then let’s go. I’m hungry, too.” Peters gestured. “You can give the documents to Dzheenis on the way out.”
Ghnal Dhango paused outside Peters’s quarters to read the sign. The movable strip displayed the word “English”; Peters slipped it out of its holder, reversed it to “Trade”, and set it back into position. “There,” he said. “It’s out of order, but you are special guests.”