So far the two sailors had been spectators, and Peters couldn’t figure an appropriate role for them. Just as he was thinking this, Dreelig turned to them. “Petty Officer Todd, please assist Dee.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said Todd, and doubled off toward Dee and the junior officers.
Dreelig turned to Bolton. “I hope you were not disappointed by the brevity of the ceremony, but as Petty Officer Peters pointed out, it is not safe to be in the operations bay without a kathir suit, so we kept it short.” He nodded, then said to Peters, “Please escort the Senior to his quarters, then meet us at the suit office.”
“Aye aye, sir.” He and Donollo set off toward the elevator, Donollo keeping a stiff back and allowing Peters to press the call button. They stepped inside the car, the door closed, and Donollo leaned against the wall and called out: “Woooop! Kh-kh-kh..” Peters grinned and watched the other’s paroxysms.
After all, he thought it was funny, too.
The two walked side by side down the corridor, a little way past the mess room, and Donollo grasped Peters’s upper arm, making a shush! motion with his forefinger over his mouth and grinning.
“What’s up?” Peters asked, knowing the other didn’t understand. He made an exaggerated what’s-that gesture, raising his eyebrows and holding his hands out, palms up.
Donollo winked and pointed at a door, making motions with his other hand as if sipping from a glass. When Peters repeated the gesture he grinned and worked the latch.
All but the patrons could have been imported, intact, from one of the nicer bars in north Jax. There was a long counter with a mirror, bottles and glasses, a carpeted floor, dim lighting. Donollo grinned again and repeated the sipping gesture.
“No, sorry,” said Peters with real regret. Too bad he hadn’t known this joint was here a couple of days ago. “If Commander Bolton smells liquor on my breath I’ll wind up in the brig.” Donollo was looking blank. “Ke, Donollo, ke,” the Grallt “No,” “sorry, old man. Work.” He stood straight, pantomiming pushing a broom.
The other grinned, nodded, and pointed at him, repeating the broom-pushing pantomime. He then pointed at himself, and repeated the drinking-glass gesture. When Peters nodded he grinned again and turned toward the bar with a nod of the head and a little wave. The sailor adjusted his hat and stepped back up the corridor. Maybe they could come back later.
Commander Bolton was flipping through magazines when Peters arrived at the suit office. “Good morning, Commander,” he told the officer. “Have you been measured yet, sir?”
“No, I haven’t,” the other growled. “Commander Collins is in there now.”
Peters nodded. “You have to take all your clothes off to get measured, sir. The Grallt have a thing for modesty, and they know we do, too. It don’t take long, sir.”
“Hunh.” The officer slumped down on the couch, arms folded, and Peters stood at parade rest. They didn’t speak further.
It wasn’t long before Commander Collins came through the door, escorted by the attendant. “Your turn, Harlan,” she told Bolton. “I think you’ll find it interesting, at least.”
“Just so’s it gets over with,” said Bolton gruffly. He stood, adjusted his barracks cover, and followed the attendant into the measuring chamber.
“Good morning, Commander Collins,” Peters said with a nod; one more officer down for the day.
“Good morning, sailor. Peters, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’m.”
“So that’s what I was getting measured for,” she said in a speculative voice, looking Peters up and down. He flushed. Collins had a friendly face, officers’ version, reserved but not forbidding. “Wonder how I’ll look in it, hm? Do they all fit that tight?”
Peters flushed again. “Yes, ma’m, they do, and I’m sure you’ll look just fine.” Collins smiled a little and cocked her head, and Peters realized with a start that he’d stepped in it if she chose to make an issue.
She didn’t. “It’s a safety precaution, you said. What does it actually do?”
That put him on familiar ground. “Well, mainly it makes air, ma’m,” he told her. “Around the head, so’s you can breathe if there ain’t, ah, isn’t any air where you are. And this here,” he fingered the buckle, being careful not to activate anything, “it can move you around a little, when there ain’t no gravity. Isn’t any, I mean.”
Collins was still smiling. Her hair was a little longer than most female pilots’, and swung out when she shook her head. “It’s a space suit, then? It looks more like a comic book costume.”
“Yes ma’m, I mean, no, ma’m.” Peters shook his own head. “Dree—uh, Ambassador Dreelig says not, ma’m, I mean he says it’s not a space suit. A space suit is heavier and more complicated, he says. This here’s just a kathir suit, a suit with air, that is.”
“Is it comfortable? It looks confining.”
“Yes ma’m, real comfortable,” Peters assured her. “It’s just like you wasn’t wearin’ nothing, but warm and no drafts, you know? You forget you have it on sometimes.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she said wryly, and Peters realized with a horrified start that he had reacted to her femininity. Her brow furrowed. “That’s going to be a problem, I think,” she said thoughtfully.
“What’s going to be a problem?” Bolton wanted to know as he pushed through the door. Ignoring his own question, he continued briskly, “That machine was a little friendlier than I usually get on a first date.”
“I suppose you could put it that way,” said Collins in a cool tone.
Bolton paused a beat, avoiding Collins’s eyes, and addressed Peters: “That thing comfortable, sailor?”
“Yes, sir, real comfortable.” Peters had gone back to parade rest, hands at the small of his back.
Bolton adjusted the angle of his barracks cover minutely, a mannerism that Peters figured was going to get very familiar, and very old, in a little while. “All right, next thing,” he said. “What’s next, Mr. Ambassador?”
Dreelig had followed Bolton into the waiting room. “Now we should go to the area you will be using as living and working quarters. The others are there, and as soon as we arrive they can begin coming here for fitting.”
“Fine.” Bolton was fidgeting. “Need to hit the head before we go very far.”
Dreelig looked at Peters, who nodded minutely and fielded the question. “If you’ll follow me, sir, I’ll show you where the head is. It’s just down the passageway, sir.”
Commander Collins followed without saying anything. Peters led them down the passage, stopping at a door a little way from the elevator. “In here, sir,” he said to Bolton. “This writing means a head, you’ll find them all around the ship, sir.” Collins was looking around, and Peters noticed. That was going to be a problem, sure enough. “Do you need to, ah—”
“Use the facilities? Yes, I do, sailor,” said Collins crisply. “And I take it from your hesitation to say anything that the Grallt don’t provide separate-sex heads.”
“Yes, ma’m, that’s right,” Peters mumbled. Dreelig was staying quiet, watching the humans’ interactions.
“Then excuse me, I’m going to surprise Harlan,” said Collins, and pushed through the door.
Chapter Nine
“I believe that Commander Bolton is a difficult person to deal with,” Dreelig remarked when she was gone.
“Tell me about it,” said Peters with feeling.