Blue-and-whites were opening up the hangar accesses as the sailors reached the ops bay in a close bunch of hungry humans, and the doors began cycling as they crossed the deck. The difference in sound between the forward and aft ones was notable; more than one Grallt head swiveled back and forth, and Peters shared a grin with Tollison. The elevator was full, and while they waited for it to clank and groan back a zerkre with a hand-pusher brought out the big dli, with two smaller ones following under their own power. They had to stand back as the elevator disgorged Grallt, including the tubby gent they’d seen before, who eyed them with curiosity but didn’t speak as he passed.
By the time they’d finished eating the bay was empty. The doors were still open, and sunlight flooded the bay from aft at an oblique angle. Framed in the forward opening was what looked at first like a very bright star. On closer inspection it was big enough to be a little disk instead of just a point of light, and all around it were smaller sparks that moved just fast enough to be in a different position when you looked away, then back.
“You reckon that there’s Keelisika?” Peters asked with a gesture.
“I don’t see how it could be anything but,” Todd opined. “And if those are other ships around it, it looks like a fairly busy place.”
They watched for a few minutes. Sparks drifted into new configurations, but the—planet?—didn’t move or grow significantly larger. Peters shrugged. “Not much of a show. I’m goin’ on up to quarters.”
“Me too.” Todd fell into step. “You know, that’s another planet, and that’s not the sun out there, at least it’s not our Sun. Why doesn’t it feel more strange?”
Peters spared him a look and grin. “Hell, Todd, it’s a port call. Secure from flank speed an’ launch the gig t’make arrangements, then bend on passage way and watch for a couple hours while the place you’re goin’ gets bigger.”
“Hadn’t thought of it like that.” Todd shook his head. “But you’re right. Port call. Same, but different.”
“Like it always is.”
Chapter Twenty
Kennard set up the exercise class as usual. His taste ran heavily to classical music of the last century, and a mixed group was breathing hard to Black Magic Woman when a crowd of zerkre came out of the elevator. Most of them headed for the retarder consoles, but one came over and made tentative motions, obviously wanting to interrupt but dubious about getting too close to the spinning, writhing, energetic sailor. Kennard finished his move and exchanged words, to little avail, and finally shouted, “Peters! You here? Front and center, if you are.”
“Hello, Peters,” said Keezer when Peters approached. “If I had known you were in the group I would have sought you out.”
“Hello, Keezer,” Peters replied, still out of breath. “What do you need?”
“The bay is needed for operations. We will be receiving guests in a few tle.”
“Yes.” Peters nodded and turned to Kennard. “We’re gonna have to cut this short,” he told the First Class. “Visitors comin’ in.”
Kennard spared a look over his shoulder. The planet was a bright crescent, too big to fit entirely into the view forward, a portion showing at the upper left. The ship rolled at that moment, turning it into an arc that spanned the upper portion of the opening. “OK,” the sailor said. He brought out a remote and thumbed it. The music died, and the dancers wound down slowly. “OK, listen up,” Kennard told them. “Clear the bay, the Grallt are setting up for flight ops.” Somebody repeated that in Grallt. Humans started heading for the enlisted quarters hatch, and their Grallt companions drifted more slowly to port and the elevator access.
Peters surveyed the group. “We will be clear in a few tle,” he told Keezer.
“That will be OK,” the zerkre assured him. Peters quirked an eyebrow at that, but Keezer only nodded and headed aft, swimming across the tide of Grallt bound for their quarters. Kennard and another sailor were securing the impie and taking the speakers down. Peters ignored that and headed for the hatch. He wanted a shower before he went over to the retarders to observe.
He wasn’t quick enough. Bright sparks aft were now familiar and expected, as was the loose group of Grallt waiting to greet newcomers, but something new had been added: one of the Tomcats was angle-parked just forward of the waiting group, a pair of officers—Commander Bolton and his NFO, it looked like—were standing at attention next to it, and Dreelig slouched nearby.
Peters judged the sparks too close to give him time to cross the bay before they trapped, so he joined a group in the alcove aft of the quarters hatch to watch. As far as procedure went, these were about halfway between the haphazard Grallt and the meticulous humans. They were strung out at fairly regular intervals, very nearly in a straight line, but weren’t doing anything fancy, just boring in on approach. Peters approved.
The first of the strange craft crossed the threshold as close to dead center of the opening as anyone could. A faint thrum said that the retarders were set properly, and the ship came to a near halt in midbay, then began taxiing over to park beside the Tomcat. It was a little smaller than the plane, a tubby ovoid of some dully gleaming material, with fins rather than wings. All four fins were equal-sized, set at forty-five degree angles, leading edges curving in to end at the widest point of the body. At the nose, three trapezoids of glass or clear plastic were set in a semicircle above a flattened cone painted dull red, seemingly held in place by a circle of half-inch round-headed rivets.
An oval hatch swung open and a ladder extruded itself from the bottom of the opening, swinging down to meet the deck with a clang at about the time the second ship, more or less identical, came to a stop and began taxiing over. Peters had time, now, to note that they didn’t have any landing gear. The rear fins stayed about a handwidth off the deck, and the centerline of the body was more or less level, leaving sixty centimeters or so of, well, air below the belly. Number two popped its hatch and began sticking its ladder out like a tongue, and number three came through the door, still with only subliminal hums from properly set retarders.
At the end there were an even dozen tubby ships lined up in neat echelon along the inboard wall of the bay, nicely aligned with the Tomcat. When the last ladder had hit the deck with a muted clang the occupants began appearing. First through each oval hatch was a tall one with pale skin, wearing a skintight black outfit under a black cloak that came to below the knees. The second was female, even from here, at least by human or Grallt standards; the females were equally tall and equally milk-complected, and had on tight outfits covered by long cloaks with frills, all pure white. They didn’t march in step, but they did form a column of pairs with the ones from the last ship in the lead, ending the maneuver by right-facing toward the welcoming party. Males, in the lead, dipped on one knee, nodded, and opened their cloaks; females stood tall behind them and spread their cloaks with a flourish.
Cloaks?
“Those are wings!” someone hissed.