“Got it,” said Todd with satisfaction. “The bill was twenty-five and a half. I gave him seven slips and got two and a half in change, so each slip is four whatevers, and sure enough, here’s a four.” He pointed at one of the corners. “You owe me twelve and a half of whatever they are. Three chits and a copper square.”
“Well shit,” said Peters. “I’ll settle up when we get back to quarters. No, I can’t, I ain’t got change.”
“Let the half ride,” said Todd. “It isn’t like you won’t be around.”
When they were almost finished Dreelig came to the entry, saw the sailors, and came bustling over. “There you are,” he greeted them. “We need to make ready. Your officers and their machines will be arriving soon.”
“Yeah,” Peters growled. “Have a seat. We’ll be done pretty quick here.”
“No, I will go ahead. We don’t know exactly when they will arrive, and I must be there to greet them. Come as soon as possible.”
“Right away,” Peters told him, and lifted a cup in salute. Dreelig nodded and left, and Peters took a long sip and set the cup down. “I reckon we better get on,” he said. “Can’t keep the important folks waiting.”
Donollo wore a kathir suit patterned the same as his “important” suit, and headed up a small delegation consisting of himself, Dreelig, and Dee. The two sailors joined them, and they assembled forward of the personnel elevators and observed Navy tradition by waiting an hour or so. Then one of the Grallt pointed and made an exclamation, and everyone looked aft.
First it was a bright star, moving visibly, then it started looking… complicated? It didn’t resolve into individual specks until it was almost close enough to make out the shapes. There were four of one type in a diamond formation, and five of another in the broken echelon called “fingers”. Then the diamond broke into two diamonds, with one going port, the other starboard, and the finger-fives broke into one up and one down. Peters grinned at Todd as they flashed by. They’d been doubled up, belly to belly, less than half a winglength apart. Assholes they might be, but they were also Navy aviators.
After a few moments a spark came into view aft, then two, three, four, and the nearer one was growing… suddenly it was there, flashing through the dead center of the opening. There were a pair of sharp twangs, thum! thum! like plucking the Estring of a bull fiddle, and it was taxiing by at a fast walk, the pilot holding his hand high in a sort of wave. It broke left and came to a halt with the nose a few feet from the wall, at about a forty-five degree angle. Thirty seconds later number two came aboard, again hitting dead center, again the double thrum, and it taxied over and parked next to number one. Three and four followed in turn.
Peters had never seen an F-14 before, but now he understood why they’d picked three-quarter-century-old junk out of the boneyard for this. Modern fighters were blobs designed for radar and lidar stealth, painted in scabrous-looking anti-IR noncolors and kept in the air by brute force and computers. These were pretty, especially with the swing-wings tucked back into a graceful dart shape. They’d dipped ‘way into the past for the paint job, too, overall the dark blue called ‘navy,’ thin red-and-white stripes around the jet intakes, and white lettering on the sides, wing tops and bottoms, and tail fins, the whole polished to a high gloss that reflected the bay lights like a mirror.
There should have been ground crews, but that had been thought of. The Tomcats had spring-capped recesses the pilot could use to climb down, and the pilots did that, worked something inside the port engine intakes, and pulled out lightweight ladders that they set in place for the backseaters to use. Meanwhile the F-18s began arriving. The Hornets were single-crew aircraft, and when they were in and parked in echelon to starboard the Tomcat crews produced similar ladders from their port intakes and set them up so the pilots could disembark. Once they’d all dismounted they formed up as a company and marched over to the welcoming party.
Peters snapped to attention, glanced at Todd, and saluted. Commander Bolton looked up at the overhead and glared, but returned the salute anyway. “Detail, halt!” he called over his shoulder, then turned back to the two sailors. He was short, muscular enough to look stocky in his flight suit, and had a round head and a short buzz cut, making his face look like a chocolate drop with features. Displeased features, at the moment. He looked the two up and down, then spat, “Why are you two apes out of uniform, sailor?”
Peters held his brace. “Begging the Commander’s pardon, sir! The operations bay is considered part of the exterior of the ship, and kathir suits are required wear for safety reasons, sir!”
Nobody’d told him that, but that was his story, and he was going to stick to it.
Given a justifiable reply, Bolton’s face relaxed to simple dyspepsia. “What’s your name, sailor?” he said in a normal tone of voice, merely sour rather than challenging.
“Peters, sir!”
“Very well, Peters. Who do we report to?”
“The Senior Donollo, representing the commanding officer, sir! Render honors to the bridge, centerline forward, sir.” Well, that was probably where it was.
“Very well. Carry on, Peters.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Peters saluted again, and Bolton returned it snappily, then called over his shoulder, “For’rd, harch.”
Several of the officers looked them over as they marched toward Donollo, and Peters was suddenly self-conscious. He’d become so accustomed to the skintight kathir suit that he’d forgotten how revealing it was. He wondered how the Hornet pilots, all female, would look in them. Some of them weren’t bad, even in their lumpy flight gear.
Commander Bolton stopped in front of Donollo, half turned, saluted in the direction Peters had said was toward the bridge, and turned back to face the Grallt. “United States Navy Space Detachment One, reporting for duty, sir,” he boomed in a parade-ground voice, and saluted again, this time holding it. The other officers were all at a rigid brace.
Donollo raised his left hand, gave a measured nod, and said something short; Dreelig took a half step forward and said in a voice that projected, “The Senior Donollo welcomes you aboard in the name of Captain Preligotis.” Donnollo lowered his arm, allowing Commander Bolton to relax his salute, and beamed over the assembly. Obviously enjoying himself, he made a short speech in sonorous Grallt, seeking out the officers for eye contact one at a time. You could tell which one he was looking at by the flinches.
When he had finished, Dreelig translated: “Good morning. We welcome you aboard for your training and practice session, and look forward to seeing you frequently during the next zul.
“You have come aboard our ship seeking an opportunity to meet others, to demonstrate your skills in the hope of finding markets for them. Please be assured that we will assist you in this task to the extent we are able, and we hope you will be comfortable.
“In order to be truly comfortable, it is necessary to be among friends. Friends are not easy to find, and it is good to encounter a new one. We consider ourselves fortunate to have met you. We are similar enough to be friends, and different enough that we can compete without acrimony.
“Again, welcome aboard.” Dreelig paused, then said in a more normal voice, “That concludes the ceremony. Commander Bolton, we would be grateful if you and Commander Collins would confer with us briefly. I introduce Dee. If the others will be so kind as to follow Dee, she will show you to your quarters.”
Commander Bolton saluted again; when Donollo responded properly he dropped his hand, and said gruffly over his shoulder, “Stand at— ease!” The others relaxed their braces, and Commander Collins came up. Dee stepped forward, said, “Good morning. If you would follow me, please,” and set off toward the officers’ quarters, all but the COs following.