“Landfall coming up,” somebody remarked, and there was a general leaning toward the ports. The landscape was predominately blue, with an occasional tinge of green and a few yellows and reds for bright contrast. Houses, or at least structures, were scattered higgledy-piggledy over the rolling hillsides among linear features that were probably fences and ditches, with blue and green trees that looked a bit like pines.
The dli passed over a straight row of tall trees and came to a halt in midair, then sank slowly onto a field of close-cropped blue—sod? Sailors started to get up and reclaim small personal items from the overhead lockers. The hatch opened with a whirr and thud, and the men nearest the entry started to move out.
“Peters, front and center!” somebody shouted. “You, too, Todd. Make way, there.” Peters began pushing down the aisle, Todd following. He should have expected this and sat closer to the hatch.
Tollison stood on the wingwalk, grinning. “Your services are needed,” he said, and gestured toward the tail.
The waiting group was composed of short people(?) with round heads, broad faces, and pointed ears, like munchkins; the one at the head of the delegation wore a bright-colored red-and-yellow outfit and a green hat. “Pleasant greetings,” he(?) said as Peters clambered down the steps. “Do you speak the Trade?”
“A little,” Peters admitted with a nod.
There was unmistakable relief in the small fellow’s change of posture. “Excellent! Welcome to Star Bay Resort. I am Cacoladorivarogantsava—” the name went on for several more syllables. “But you should address me as Ca. May I know your name?”
“Thank you for your welcome, Ca. I am Peters, and this is my associate, Todd. We stand ready to assist you in whatever procedure may be appropriate.”
“Oh, most excellent indeed!” the munchkin exclaimed in his high-pitched voice. “Not only a speaker of Trade, but a cultured one as well! I’m sure we shall get along famously.” He gestured at the other individuals waiting. “My staff and I are prepared to serve you in any way reasonable.”
“Most excellent indeed,” Peters agreed gravely, and nodded. “How may we best cooperate? Few of us speak the Trade.”
Ca eyed the sailors beginning to descend from the aft steps. “This is not an unfamiliar situation,” he declared. “I suggest this: Each of your people should claim his equipment, and you should divide into pairs. Staff members will assist with the equipment and direct each pair to the desk, where one should sign the register. After that they should proceed to the rooms, with the staff directing them. Is this reasonable?”
“Eminently reasonable. Please wait a moment while I explain the procedure.” Ca bowed, one hand on his gaudy belt buckle, the other stiffly down, and Peters turned to the others.
“Attention please,” he said, and lifted his hand, and somebody in the back said, “Awright, pipe down and listen up.”
“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” he explained when he had their attention. “Everybody go grab your seabags. It’s gonna be two to a room, so pair off, OK? Then one of the bellhops’ll take the bags and show you where to go. One man in each room’s gotta sign the book, they’ll show you. Then they’ll take you to your room.” He looked around the group. “Mannix, I’d take it as a kind favor if you’d go over to the other ship and explain.”
“Be glad to,” Mannix said. “Tollison, why don’t you collect a crew and bear a hand with unloading? If we have to wait for that, we’ll be all morning.” He gestured at the freight hauler, where a pair of Grallt were struggling to bring seabags out one at a time.
“Aye, aye,” said Tollison cheerfully, and picked out five sailors. Mannix went over to the other shuttle and began explaining things, and Tollison and his crew began shifting seabags out, laying them in neat rows with space between to walk and look for tags. He was joined by four more from the other dli, and it looked like the bags would all be out in short order.
Peters turned to Ca. “We should be ready to begin the procedure in a few moments,” he told the little alien.
Ca stood with pipestem arms akimbo, looking like a cartoon of a pixie. “This is commendably organized,” he squeaked. “I must tell you we had doubts when we were asked to accommodate four eights of eights of aliens with no space experience, but if this is a proper sample of your group’s behavior I believe we will get along very well.”
Peters smiled. “I am sure they will become less organized later,” he said, “but that will be in smaller groups, or as individuals.”
“Yes, that’s often the way it goes,” Ca agreed. “But we can hope for the best.”
“Yes.” Peters eyed the scene. Sailors were claiming their seabags and picking out bellhops, who loaded the bags on hand trucks with fancy brass fittings and set out up the flagstone walkway. “Will your staff expect gratuities?”
“No, and in fact they are forbidden to accept them,” Ca said sternly.
Peters singled a sailor out by eye. “Hey, Deutsch, pass the word, willya? No tipping.” The other nodded and set out to do that, and Peters looked up at the hatch, where the Chiefs were filing out. “These require precedence,” he said to Ca, and gestured.
“Ah. How many?” the little alien asked.
“Six, all in this group.”
Ca smiled again. “That will be no problem. I have just that many corner rooms available, each with a good view. Have them follow the normal procedure, but singly. Their clothing properly identifies them?” The Chiefs were in khakis over their kathir suits.
“Yes, that’s correct,” Peters said. Ca began instructing bellhops, and Peters turned to Master Chief Joshua, who was descending the steps. “Master Chief, if each of you’d go claim your stuff, there’ll be a bellboy to show you to your rooms. They’d like you to sign the register book first.”
“That sounds all right,” Joshua said with a short nod. He looked around. “Looks like you’ve got things pretty well organized here.” Behind him, Warnocki was grinning.
Peters flushed a little. “Just passin’ the word, Master Chief. It’s Ca, here, who has things organized. I reckon he’s like the manager of the hotel. He says it’s called the Star Bay Resort.” Shifting languages: “Ca, I introduce Joshua, the First of this group, and his immediate associates.”
The little alien bowed, this time low with a sweep of one arm. “Choshawa,” he pronouced, almost correctly, and followed the bow with an unmistakable follow-me gesture. “I take it that Choshawa does not speak the Trade?” he asked Peters in a low voice.
“Unfortunately not,” Peters said in the same tone.
Ca sighed. “Ah, well, we do the best we can.”
One of the bellhops bowed to the Master Chief, pointing at his cart. Joshua nodded; they set off toward the seabag dump, and the other Chiefs followed. “I understood that there were to be a further five and five eights requiring special treatment,” Ca said to Peters. “Are they not here?”
“They are arriving,” Peters told him, pointing to the third dli, which was settling on the blue grass fifty meters or so away. “And yes, they require VIP treatment.” The concept was a single word in the Trade. “I believe we are well organized here. You should go and greet them. Consult with Dreelig, the Trader who is their translator and general assistant.”