“You can confine your adventures to flying the planes,” Bolton pointed out.
“Yes, sir,” Goetz aknowledged. Williams snorted and swung her legs over the side.
“What?” the boatman asked in confusion as the two officers began pushing the boat back off the beach. “What happens?”
“They’ve agreed to go back with the others,” Peters told him.
“What are you telling these guys, sailor?” Commander Bolton wanted to know.
“I told the boatman they’d agreed to go back, sir,” Peters explained.
The manager explained the situation in the local language. “Good,” said the boatman with a nod. “Thanks.” He began adding his own force, and the boat began to slide, grating on the sand until it was bouyed up by an incoming wave. He leaped aboard, hardly getting his feet wet, and the two humans followed with less grace.
“And just who the Hell are you to be giving my officers instructions?” Bolton demanded. “Peters, isn’t it, sailor?”
“Yes, sir.” Peters flushed. “Beggin’ the Commander’s pardon, but I ain’t givin’ no orders to nobody. I know the language a little bit, and I was tryin’ to help straighten the situation out, sir.”
“Hmph.” Bolton watched with sour disapproval as the boat swung in the breeze while the three crew confused one another in an attempt to raise the sail. They got it ready in time to prevent the wind from pushing it back to shore, and the boat set out on a close reach in the general direction of the rest. The Commander gave Peters a lambent glare and turned away. “Come on, Dreelig,” he said to the waiting Grallt. “We’re done here.”
“Yes, I think you’re right,” Dreelig agreed. He nodded at the boat manager, spared Peters and Todd a brief glance, and followed the Commander up the beach.
“Your superiors not big polite,” the boat manager observed. “But quick.”
“Yeah,” said Peters sourly. “Yes,” he repeated in Trade. “Has the situation been resolved to your satisfaction?”
The manager bowed. “Yes. I am Lulakarithisalozohavi—” and more Peters didn’t get. “Call me Luli. This group much status, ke? You less.”
“That’s precisely correct, Luli.”
“Think so,” said Luli with a decisive nod. “This group got boats until star leave. Star come back, come see me.” He glanced at Todd, then at the other two sailors, who had watched with interest but hadn’t dared interject themselves. “Bring friends,” he continued. “We take nice boat, go past rocks. Pretty place, good gabble. Not know word?” he asked slyly when Peters looked blank. “Means catch things live water. Much fun.”
“Fishing!” said Todd with a grin. “Peters, we’ve got to take him up on that. I haven’t been deep-sea fishing since I left home.”
“And I ain’t never tried it. Sounds interestin’.” He nodded at the local. “I’ll discuss it with the others. You will probably see us tomorrow.”
“Star come back,” Luli agreed with a bow. “See you,” another idiom that translated directly. He flashed another big grin and headed up the beach, legs pumping in the half-trot they used, with the rest of the audience following in an irregular bunch.
“Well, that coulda gone better,” Peters noted. The sailboat was well out to sea, merging with the group.
Todd grinned. “At least we got a fishing invitation out of it,” he observed. “I can hardly wait.”
“So I see,” said Peters with an eyebrow lifted. “Well, if you’re that enthusiastic, I reckon I’m willin’ to go along.”
A new star appeared in the west at twilight. “Looks like our ride’s here,” Todd commented, looking up at the bright point.
“Yep, I reckon you’re right.” Peters turned away from the sunset and surveyed the room. “We better start gettin’ our shit together.”
“I won’t really be all that sorry to leave,” Todd mused. “This place is the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on in a long time, but all the same, I’ll be glad to get back to the boat.”
Peters snorted. “Yeah, me too.”
They packed before going down to dinner, not that it was a big problem. Kathir suits solved a lot of wardrobe requirements, and the uniforms they’d brought had stayed in the seabags. Some of what they were packing were souvenirs; the locals on the farms surrounding the resort had a nice line in handicrafts. Todd’s prize was a flick-knife, a pair of handles of shiny wood concealing a blade over ten centimeters long. Peters eyed it. “You realize if you try to carry that thing back home they’ll put you in jail, don’t you?”
Todd grinned and performed the finger-twisting midair pass that gave the knife its name and left it with its blade extended from his fist. “Yeah. It’s fun to have anyway.” He gestured again, the blade disappearing like a magic trick, and stowed the folded knife in his bag.
Not all the sailors had seen the portent in the sky, but the word got passed over dinner. Most of them devoted the evening to packing, but quite a few used a portion of the night to practice their Grallt by ordering a last few sips of excellent beer and saying goodbye to the bartender, whose name had three and seven eights of syllables but who answered to “Wally”. Morning brought the skystar and the dli, in that order, and the bellmen helped hump bags down to the landing field.
Officers arrived, spiffy in whites, and the enlisted watched in idle chatting groups as the stewards toted bags aboard the dli. It lifted off and rose toward the puffy white clouds, and then it was their turn. Working parties loaded the little freight hauler, passing bags from hand to hand. Some of them clinked, and Peters shared a raised eyebrow with Mannix. Apparently a few of the sailors had mastered “beer to go.”
Peters turned to take a last look. Blue sky over cobalt grass seemed perfectly reasonable after a week, and the gentle curve of black sand properly and correctly defined the margin of the gray-blue sea. Another sailor pushed by with a grunted semiapology, and Peters shook his head, stepped through, and took his seat next to Todd, who glanced at him and returned to staring out the window.
Nice place.
Next?
Next was five planet visits, with long transits between and no liberty at any of them. The trade delegations went Down, but nobody else paid attention. Two of the visits involved mock combats between the Navy crews and the locals. Neither of those seemed like much of a challenge.
They all settled into a routine, and began to pay about as much attention to where the ship was and what was going on as the Grallt did, which is to say nearly none. It was relaxing rather than boring, with not much changing, and that slowly. Peters ran his retarder and stayed out of sight.
“This last coffee,” Zeef told them at first meal. “You not here early, not get any.”
“That’s really unfortunate,” Mannix observed. “Our efficiency is likely to plummet.”
Zeef grinned. “Us too. Everybody likes, used up quick.” He poured, alternating between cups so each of the four sailors got the same amount. “Really, not bad,” he suggested. “Little goes long way. Lasted almost three zul.”
“Well, that leaves tomatoes,” said Todd as the waiter bustled off. “No reason to run out of those unless all the lights burn out.”
Tollison grunted sourly. “Hmph. Hate the things.”
“I do believe we have heard quite enough from you on that subject,” Mannix told him with mock sternness. “You should look on the bright side.”
“And what might that be?”
“Someone could have brought zucchini.”
That got a slightly sour laugh. Their diet was becoming restricted, with only a dozen or so items to choose from, and Chief Gill had made a general issue of nutritional supplements in the form of pills to be taken with each meal. Word from Dr. Steward via HM/2 Kiel had it that they were in no danger of malnutrition so long as the supplements held out, and they had plenty of supplements. The pudgier ones were starting to slim down, though.