“Ain’t we supposed to wear the suits all the time?” Peters asked as they crossed the bay.
Dee shrugged again. “It is your decision,” she said. “I don’t wear mine very often.” She forestalled any comment on that by making a production out of entering and operating the elevator, then officiously directing them to the suit office.
The technician made sure he knew which suit went with which uniform, then said something to Dee. “He has finished making the designs,” she told the sailors. “The suits will be ready after the meal. We should go; we don’t need any further delays.”
“That looks like a pair of scissors,” Todd noted as they went by one of the etched-glass doors. “Is it a place to get a haircut?”
Dee glanced at the design. “A hair cut? Oh, you mean head-hair trimming. No, that is a place where clothing is modified to fit better. Most of the shops in this area have something to do with clothing, like the kathir suit fitting place. Personal services, like hair trimming, are on the next level up.”
“Shops?” Todd lifted his eyebrows.
“Certainly. This part of the ship is devoted to shops of one sort or another.” They negotiated a stairway; as they emerged Dee continued, “This level is almost all food vendors, either prepared food or things that families can prepare in their quarters. Here is our food hall, for instance.” She gestured at the archway. “We should eat quickly and get back to the suit office. We have many things to do in the remainder of this llor.”
When the attendant brought the suits out they were just the right shade, crows exact in every detail. The only jarring element was the belt and buckle. The belt was the same color as the rest of it, which made the gaudy buckle stand out even more. They remained skintight, and there was no tar flap down the back; the sailors decided they wouldn’t miss that.
They dressed, feeling less self-conscious than before. Dee made no comment when they came out, simply gestured and led them down the corridor to the elevator, then across the bay to an area well forward of the section where their quarters were.
“There are six residential sections in this area,” Dee explained as she worked the latch. “This is number three. Yours is number five.” The entrance was a pressure hatch instead of a simple door. Dee didn’t say anything about that, just gestured them in to look around.
The main deck was primarily storage, but had a couple of small compartments that would work as squadron duty offices, a large head with showers and lockers that would accept a poopy suit, and a big room with variable lighting. “Ready room,” Peters said with a nod. “You’ll need chairs, comfortable ones, one for each officer, and a podium.”
“Ready room?”
“Before each mission, all the officers get together to prepare, and one person explains what they’re gonna do,” Todd explained.
“Ah. Like a school.” Dee thought for a moment. “Chairs with tables?”
“No,” said Peters. “Big comfortable chairs with arms, kind of like the seats on the shuttle, the dli.”
“And a place for the teacher to stand,” said Dee with growing understanding. “Yes, that’s clear.”
The O-1 level or “second floor” was offices, more than enough for sickbay and other needs, a messroom with big windows, kitchen facilities, and another big room. “Lounge,” Todd pronounced it. “You folks have liquor?”
“I don’t know that word,” Dee admitted.
“Alcohol for drinking,” Todd explained.
“Yes, we have many varieties,” said Dee. “A little is produced aboard ship, and the rest we trade for.”
Todd and Peters shared a look. “How is it dispensed?” Todd asked.
Dee shrugged. “There are places set aside for that purpose around the ship. Those who use—ah, ‘liquor’ you said?—they go to those places.”
“Commander Bolton is gonna be pissed,” Peters predicted.
“Yeah, but he’ll come around,” said Todd. “Dee, have this room designated as a place where liquor is available, and provide the stuff to store it and pass it out. We’ll write out a special sign for the door.”
“Special sign? I don’t understand.”
“Yeah,” said Peters. “A real special sign. ‘Officer’s Club.’”
Sleeping quarters were on the O-2, the second level above the ops bay, and the level above, the O-3. Each deck had twenty-four standard rooms and one larger compartment, all on the outboard side of the passageway; hatches on the inboard side led to balconies looking out over the bay. Sleeping rooms were much like their own but bigger and more luxurious, set up for single occupancy with individual toilet facilities. The larger rooms had free-standing beds rather than built-in bunks and furniture rather than lockers for storage.
“This don’t look like much space,” Peters noted. “How many officers’re you expectin’?”
“It will be enough,” Dee decreed. “There will be two groups, one of one and three, twenty-five, males, and one of four and two, twenty, females. They have specified that each group will have its own section, so there will be vacant rooms in the section occupied by females.”
The sailors shared a look. “Don’t seem like many people,” Peters observed cautiously.
“Ssth. It is more than enough.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic,” Todd suggested.
“I’m not. Dreelig is, but he is only trying to salvage something from a hopeless situation to preserve his status.”
“Face saving,” Todd put in.
“Yes, that idiom translates well.” Dee’s face contorted, the lips of her facial cleft coming together; Peters decided it was the equivalent of wrinkling the nose at a bad smell. “It’s useless,” the Grallt went on. “‘Demonstrating Earth technology in the hope of finding markets,’” she singsonged, clearly a quote. “What technology will they demonstrate? The machines had to be fitted with new engines to operate in space, and everyone is familiar with those. We should have gone on to where there is profit to be made. Instead we have wasted half an uzul idling in orbit, for no good result that I can foresee.”
“Maybe somethin’ll come of it,” Peters offered, placating.
“The future always exists.” Dee shook herself, and her face smoothed out. “We were discussing numbers. The original proposal was for three squares of officers, but when we inquired more closely it became obvious that only one out of four of that number were ship operators, with the rest being spies and negotiators.” The last word was a spit. “We rejected that outright. In the end it was decided that the male group would bring eight machines, each with two operators, and alternates for the primary operators only, for a total of three eights. The females will bring a twohands of machines, ten, each with a single operator and an alternate, giving four and two, twenty, as I said.”
“An’ the other male?” Peters had been counting.
“The humans, your people, insisted on a medical technician. After thought we agreed. That exactly fills the floor set aside for males, and leaves space in the females’ section.”
“And not a diplomat in the group.” Todd’s observation was whimsical.
“Not if we can avoid it,” Dee said with force. “We have had it to the ears with diplomats.”
“Is that something you ordinarily say?” Peters asked after a pause. “‘Had it to the ears,’ I mean.”
“Yes, it is a normal idiom with us.”
“Then you can write that’un down as another idiom that translates well,” Peters said, keeping his voice light. “Except we generally say ‘had it to here,’ with a gesture.” He held his hand up horizontally at nose level.
“We use that variant as well.” Dee’s face contorted again; Peters decided this one was a smile, though a weak one. “Shall we continue the tour?” she asked.