They also began, tentatively at first, to resume their exploration of Llapaaloapalla. Peters’s command of the Trade language and Todd’s less elegant ability gave them access to anywhere that wasn’t private or guarded, and much that was. Neither of them asked or received permission, either from the Grallt or their own hierarchy, and they made no explanations and filed no reports. They didn’t discuss their wanderings in public, except sotto voce over meals, and although they weren’t exactly furtive, they did take reasonable precautions to avoid questions that were sure to be awkward.
The section below the operations bay had about the same volume as the bay, but was divided into decks; the upper two were warrens of freezers, some of which weren’t working, and the rest of it held long narrow trays mounted on chain drives. A gang of Grallt would manhandle a tray onto the start end of the chains, which would carry it slowly away. As it moved, it would be filled with dirt—or some mixture plants would grow in—and seeded, and before it reached the end would support a luxuriant growth, which was harvested by one crew before another wrestled the tray off the chains, cleaned it, and returned it to start for recycling. The overheads of those compartments were forests of lights of different types, and the illumination there was almost blinding; many of the Grallt working there wore caps and tinted lenses, the lenses depending from headbands or cap visors, which made sense.
“Why this one not works?” Todd asked, looking into an empty compartment in the freezer section.
“The mechanism is broken,” said Gellin, the sub-supervisor who had consented to guide them. “We could use the space, but it isn’t a large problem. When we next go to Kakikya someone will repair it.”
“How should it work?” Peters asked, looking with interest at a small box or cabinet near the door. “Is this the control?”
Gellin lifted her brows. “That’s right, you humans like to fix things. Yes, that should be the control. Except that when I move the lever—” she suited action to the words “—nothing happens, see?”
Peters had his multitool out and was removing left-handed screws to expose the mechanism. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Gellin asked, sounding dubious.
“Not always,” he said cheerfully. “It doesn’t work, so I can hardly break it, can I?”
“I suppose so.”
“Todd, take a look. Looks like a pretty normal thermostat t’me.”
“Yep, there’s the coil.” The younger sailor twiddled the lever. “And this tightens and loosens it, instead of just shifting it back and forth. Makes sense, if you can’t depend on gravity. Where’s the switch—Ah. What’s this?”
“This” was a ball of fluff that had worked its way into the mechanism, jamming a bit that was intended to move. Mindful of the possibility of electric shock—ship’s power was 103 volts, a bit over 59 Hertz, well within the adaptability of computer power supplies and enough to blow your fillings out if you got across it—Peters put on an airsuit glove and used the multitool’s pliers to gently ease the foreign body out. Something clicked, there was a fat spark from deeper in the case, and air began coming out the grilles. “There we go,” he said, holding the tool up with the fluff caught in the points.
“Incredible,” Gellin breathed. “You made that look so easy.”
“Sometimes it is easy. Sometimes it’s much more difficult,” Peters warned.
Gellin waved that off. “Yes, I know the principle,” she said. “Can you show me what you did?”
Todd took it upon himself to explain a bimetallic thermostat, and showed Gellin where the insulating fluff had stopped it from operating properly. The blast of arctic air was kicking up dust, already rapidly lowering the temperature in the room. The kathir suits kept their bodies comfortable, but faces and hands were getting a bit chilled. “I must tell my first about this,” Gellin said. “Shut the machine off for now; the room must be cleaned before we can begin using it. No, don’t worry about the cover,” she said to Peters, who had begun fiddling with it. “I will put it back in a little while.”
“No trouble,” Peters said as he put in the last screw. “I’ll turn it off.” He moved the lever to the left, at a guess; the cold blast stopped abruptly. “There.”
Gellin took them to meet her supervisor, a portly male about Znereda’s age called Lindalu, which Todd and Peters took for granted. Lindalu thanked them without effusiveness and made a suggestion to Gellin that they didn’t hear. On their way out of the freezer section she popped into one of the rooms and emerged with a handful of objects. They were probably fruits, looking a little like apples at first glance. Inside the skin they were soft, sweet, and creamy, like custard, with a center of tough fiber holding hard pits. The two sailors devoured theirs in a few bites, and Gellin only smiled and fetched another apiece. “Good, aren’t they? But we don’t have enough for everybody, so they are special treats. This occasion qualifies.”
“It was not a major effort,” Peters demurred, but Gellin only smiled and went away in the abrupt Grallt fashion. The sailors went their own way, munching custard fruit.
Word began to spread, and the humans, who not only fixed things but explained them afterwards, were welcome almost everywhere. Even Linvenig, the engineering officer who had tossed them out when they intruded before, was hospitable; he was Lindalu’s brother or something, and cordially led them on a tour of the engineering pits. He did not explain the zifthkakik. “Nobody can explain the zifthkakik,” he told them. “Nobody knows how they work except the people who made them. Sorry about that.” The idiom translated perfectly. “I’d like to know myself. So would many people,” he observed wryly. “But I don’t see it happening soon.”
“Us too,” said Todd cheerfully.
They began to get invitations. Some of the living quarters had kitchens, and those were typically occupied by families with children; they had several meals with one or another of the Grallt they met. They were on their way to a family meal when a call came from behind. “Peters, is that you? Wait a minute.”
Peters turned to look. “Oh, it is you!” Peet exclaimed, clapping her hands together delightedly. She was wearing a sort of shift or singlet, with straps over the shoulders, ending well above mid-thigh, made of something thin enough to let nipples show. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she said. “You never came to see me.” In a few steps she had Peters in a close embrace and was giving him a straight-faced kiss. After a moment or two of that, she moved back a little, staying well within personal space, and looked down. “I see I made the right impression this time,” she said with a broad grin.
“Peet, I—”
“Never mind, we can talk later.” She seized his hand. “You go ahead,” she said to Todd and their host. “I’ll bring him back later. Or maybe not.” This with another grin and a quick peck on the lips.
“Not problem,” said Todd, with amusement in his tone; Peters couldn’t look around, being trapped, but could imagine the grin. “Get on with it,” the younger sailor advised in English, definitely amused. “I’ll expect a blow-by-blow account later.”
“You wish,” Peters said, and heard the other laugh.
“Enough chat,” said Peet firmly, and towed him to the door of her room. It was set up for two, a bit bigger than the sailors’ and quite a bit more cluttered. “Get out,” she said without ceremony to the other occupant, another female. “Go visit with Dell or something. I want to gabble this guy.”