When they were almost finished Dee flopped in a seat at their table, blowing out air in a huff of fatigue. “Ah, a chance to sit down,” she said. “Then I must go and guide the next half a square of sailors to their food.” The waiter appeared. “Just tea,” she told him in Grallt. “I have not much time.” Peters was gratified. He had understood the whole short conversation.
Todd took a sip of his own. “We need to talk to Dreelig, bad,” he told her. “We may have a problem.”
She frowned. “Dreelig is very busy consulting with our superiors,” she said. The waiter laid a cup in front of her and she took a sip before continuing, “After that we have another trip to Washington. Perhaps I can help.”
“I ain’t sure,” Peters admitted; he and Todd shared a look. “Maybe we have a problem, maybe not.” He sipped coffee, thinking. “Look, Dee, you know we have to go where our bosses send us, right? I mean, you understand about orders and that.”
“Somewhat,” said Dee. “I do not truly understand about orders, but I know that you have a strict, ah, order in your life. How is this a problem?”
“The problem is that our orders aren’t clear,” Todd said. Peters nodded. “We were ordered to come aboard the ship and help you,” Todd continued. “Our orders don’t say when we’re supposed to stop doing that, but Chief Joshua’s orders don’t say anything about us. If his orders don’t include us, he can’t put us in his organization in the normal way.” He spread his hands. “That leaves us under your orders, but if it just stays like that, the Navy’s likely to tell us to go back before you leave.”
“Would you prefer to go back?”
Peters snorted. “No.” Todd nodded wry agreement.
Dee looked from one sailor to the other. “This is not a matter I can resolve. You must talk with Dreelig, as you said. I will see him sometime this llor, and tell him you need him.”
“Good,” said Peters. “Meantime, it ain’t good for us to be at loose ends, somebody’s like to get the idea we ain’t needed no more.”
Dee frowned. “From what I do understand about orders, it is not my part to give them to you. By your standards, you are senior to me, and should give me orders. But I think that is not what you are asking.”
“Correct,” said Todd. “We need a way to look busy.”
“Ah. That is not an unusual requirement.” She smiled briefly. “Perhaps you could go to the suit fitting office. The first group of your people will be arriving soon, and you have a few words of the language. The stewards are busy, and we do not have enough translators.”
“That might work,” said Todd.
“I must go now.” Dee finished her tea and stood. “I must now bring the next group to eat. See you later.” She flashed another quick smile and bustled off. Todd watched with interest, then looked back to discover a sardonic grin on Peters’s face.
“She said she ain’t interested.”
“Yeah. She also said it isn’t offensive that I am.” Todd drained his own cup.
The receptionist at the suit fitting office gave her name as Tee. She spoke no English, and it took a few minutes of broken Grallt and hand waving to tell her why they were there. When she finally got it she hugged them both, called them “Peedas” and “Dodde,” and introduced them that way to the lead technician, whose name was Veedal, and his assistant Keer. The two techs were less effusive but seemed content to have them there, letting them prowl around the spaces and play carefully with the machines.
Sailors began arriving, and it was once more apparent that Dee was a smart lady; it was a good thing they were there. Tee wasn’t terribly bright, and Veedal and Keer had all they could do to run the machines. That left Peters and Todd to organize turns and keep names and IDs straight.
Peters himself was the source of one of the biggest tie-ups, stubbornly insisting that the kathir suits be colored to match undress blues, with proper crows and hash marks. Nobody’d passed the word that undress blue jumpers should be brought along, and the trip back to quarters to pick them up earned a black look from Se’en, who had pulled escort duty, and accounted for the first big delay.
Keer quickly discovered the common elements in the designs and even learned their names; by the time they’d run the first ten people through, he wasn’t bothering to scan crows except when a new rate showed up. They broke for second meal, and when they got back he’d figured out how to program the suit-design computer to assemble the proper elements. After that he would glance at a jumper, say “ETA First, four hash, good conduct” in a thick but understandable accent, wait for the nod, and punch buttons. From there the bottleneck was Veedal, who couldn’t scan in less than half an utle.
Todd didn’t do much but stand around until suits began popping out of the fabricator. He had to make a run back to the EM quarters to get people started back over for test-fitting, generating another delay when some of them couldn’t remember who’d been ahead or behind; he got Peters to start a log by name and fab-slip number, which should have been done at the beginning. “Hindsight is fabulous,” he muttered to himself. Showing people how to squirm into the things, and convincing a few squeamish ones that no, you didn’t wear your skivvies under it, kept him occupied after that.
The other problem was the buckles. The damn buttons were irresistible, and Todd and Peters both got tired of repeating that if they didn’t want to find themselves trying to breathe vacuum or walk around on the ceiling they’d better leave them alone. Some still fingered the controls when they thought nobody was looking, and all that could be done about that was to shake heads and hope for little disasters.
Break for third meal, stuff and run, and the same for fourth. In the middle of fourth ande a large rock appeared in the road in the shape of Lieutenant Commander John Madsen Steward, M.D. Peters didn’t know how he’d got there—perhaps there’d been a dli run he didn’t know about—but, as an officer, the doctor got put at the head of the line.
“How long will this process take?” he asked.
“Takes ten or fifteen minutes to get the measurin’ done, sir. Makin’ the suit—” Peters hesitated “—call it an hour after that before it comes out of the machine.”
“Get my people up here and get them fitted,” Steward ordered. “The infirmary needs to be up and running stat.”
“Sir, the Master Chief wanted medics done last,” Peters objected. “They’ll be workin’ inside where it’s safe not to wear the suit. Folks that’s been fitted can fetch and tote, and the stewards’ll bear a hand, sir.”
Steward’s face had been stony; he scowled and flushed. “It wasn’t a suggestion, sailor,” he snapped. “I am not having a gang of cuntfaces handling my gear, and ham-handed deck apes are no better. Medical personnel are to be fitted immediately, and that’s an order.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Peters said, the only response possible. “Need help,” he told Se’en.
“What do you need?” she replied in English, pronunciation perfect on the short speech, and looked straight at Steward, who turned even redder.
Peters made a point of not looking at the doctor. “Need to tell the folks who’re waitin’ that medical people should get up here soon’s possible. They’ll probably be in the compartment that’s gonna be used for sick bay, you remember where that is?”
“Sure. They can pass the word. I’ll get right on it.” She smiled.
Peters wondered what the officer thought of the facial expression. “Thanks, Se’en.”