“Probably,” said Todd, nodding.
A Grallt with a four-way design on his suit was prowling the middle level, at one point reaching up to tap on a gauge, then turning around to brace his clipboard against the balcony railing while writing. He regarded his work for a moment, then looked up for some reason. “Oh,” he said, and launched into a babble addressed at the “chief” over the railing, pointing at the sailors.
The Chief—officer? rating?—looked up and saw them also. His face contorted into a scowl, and he strode rapidly across the deck, climbing the ladder with much banging of treads. “Uh-oh,” said Todd. Peters grunted, and the two composed themselves as best they could. There was nowhere to run, and no way to hide; more than that, both sailors were fully accustomed to the Navy way of handling such situations: when caught in the wrong, it’s going to be a lot worse if they have to chase you down.
The Grallt reached the top, puffing a little, and pointed a finger, saying something in a sharp accusing tone. Then he froze in place, his eyes going wide, apparently just realizing that his engineering spaces had been invaded by aliens. He lowered his arm, glared suspiciously, and said something disgusted and questioning.
Peters held up his left arm. “Pleasant greetings,” he said in Grallt, then used his other hand to indicate himself and Todd. “Peters. Todd,” he said, pointing. “Human. Earth.”
The engineer relaxed and said something sharp. When Peters shrugged and held palms up—don’t understand, boss—he repeated part of it even more sharply and pointed, ending the gesture with a sharp jerk of the hand, upwards. That was clear: Get out! Back where you belong, tourists!
Peters nodded jerkily, half a bow, and he and Todd backed up a step before turning around. They looked back, once, to find the engineer still standing, leaning on the railing, watching them go. The ladderway hatch was a haven from that unfriendly glare.
“Whew!” said Todd as they secured it behind them. “I didn’t know if he was going to toss us in the brig or keelhaul us.”
“Or feed us to the monster,” Peters suggested.
“You know, those aren’t original,” said Todd in a musing tone. “Just another part of the refit.”
“Yeah.” Peters chuckled. “Buy one, or steal it. Save the original packin’ in case of return for warranty service, hey? Install per tech order nine jillion an’ umpty-ump, and ta-da! Better fuel economy and a longer time between overhauls.” He grinned and looked at Todd. “Reckon what’d happen if you installed one instead of number-two fuel cell on the carrier?”
“I was thinking of one of the subs.”
Peters nodded. “Yeah, they’re about half spaceship already anyways.” He looked around. “Well, we ain’t gonna be the ones that decide things like that. Tell you what, I’m gettin’ kind of pooped, and it’s about time for chow. What say we give this up for the time bein’?”
“Sounds good. My stomach’s been growling for a while now.”
They had almost finished their meal when Dreelig came bustling up. He looked harried, moving jerkily as he had on board the dli. “Pleasant greetings,” he said, his tone a little tense. “Have you been occupying your time usefully?”
“Depends on what you’d call useful,” Peters said. “We been lookin’ around a bit.”
“Good. You should become more familiar with the ship.” Dreelig sat, or better collapsed. “When the rest of your people arrive you will be needed to help them orient themselves.”
“So what’ve you been up to?”
“Consulting with my superiors about the change in negotiating technique you suggested. We find the idea very encouraging in some ways, but a great deal of discussion is required.”
“Yeah.” Peters looked away, then back at the Grallt. “From somethin’ Dee said we gather you ain’t got any easy way to talk with the other folks. Means a lot of comin’ and goin’, don’ it?”
“Yes. It’s quite tiring.”
“So how come? Radios ain’t all that hard.”
Dreelig’s expression was probably rueful. “Now that I have seen how your people operate I can understand why you might think so, but none of the other people we know have such a sophisticated communications technology. Our communicators are large, bulky, and not dependable.”
“Don’t you have anything?” Todd sounded dubious.
“Some races have large stations that send to many receivers. Llapaaloapalla has receivers for those, and a staff who listen when such transmitters are nearby, but if we ever had transmitters I have never known it.” Dreelig shrugged. “Perhaps they have failed, if they exist. I know little about it.”
“Is that how you learned our language?” Todd asked.
Dreelig raised his eyebrows. “I suppose it must be. Znereda never mentioned it.” He made a dismissive gesture. “It has been a long and difficult llor for me, and I wish to eat and go to bed. You should do the same. Next llor—tomorrow—will be equally difficult, I fear.”
“What’ll we be doing?” Peters wanted to know.
“After first meal you should go to Znereda for another language lesson, and after that you should continue cleaning. We will want your comments on the new negotiating technique, probably after third meal.” Dreelig gestured tiredly again. “We will go down to Washington during the third ande. It would be good if you went along. You have spoken of things your people should bring, and those arrangements should be made. Your officers will be bringing their machines aboard in a few llor, and we should have as much done as possible before then.”
“Yeah, that sounds like the right way to do it. Need to get with whoever’s gonna be in command of the detachment.”
“That sounded like agreement, but I’m too tired to parse the idiom.” Dreelig waved off Peters’s attempt to explain. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“I ain’t never learned another language before,” Peters grumped on the way to Znereda’s place. “I reckon you’ve got a leg up, knowin’ Spanish and all.”
“It’s not real similar. You seem to be doing all right.”
“Hearin’ words in the flow,” the older sailor admitted.
“That’s half the battle right there,” Todd noted.
The lesson went well, as did the cleaning session, which was makework, more brightwork polishing. “We’re gonna need some equipment soon,” Peters remarked as he watched Zif rubbing out a stainless steel sink. “Handwork won’t cut it for the rest of this.”
Todd shrugged. “Out of our hands if the Grallt don’t provide,” he pointed out. “Let’s knock off and get chow.”
“Yeah. Ain’t gettin’ much done anyways.”
Chow had become routine as well, easier now that they knew more of the language. “What’s the uniform of the day for the trip down?” Todd asked over coffee.
Peters considered. “Dress blues, I reckon,” he said finally.
“Not kathir suits?”
“I’m purely tempted, but no, I reckon not,” Peters said with a grimace. “We’re gonna wind up doin’ a lot of salutin’ and such. This—” a gesture at his chest, indicating the kathir suit “—ain’t exactly regulation, and I ain’t real anxious to get crosswise with anybody right now.”
“Safety considerations?” Todd obviously wanted to wear the kathir suit.
“Yeah, we could probably bullshit through it,” said Peters. “But no. We can get in their faces easy enough without, and like I said, I ain’t ready for the aggravation.”
“I guess you’re right,” Todd admitted. Something caught his eye. “Hey, look at that.”