Free Temporary Duty by Ric Locke

stuffed it down. Back in his room, Peters stripped off the
kathir
suit and slung it carelessly on the other bunk. Todd beat him to the shower, taking what seemed like an inordinate amount of time but was probably only a few minutes. When his turn finally came he tried hot water, settled on something just a little too cold for comfort, and sluiced himself off as quickly as he could manage. That done, he looked in on Todd, who was lying across his bunk, snoring, wearing nothing but skivvies. He did a little better, managing to pull the bedclothes back and crawl in before unconsciousness hit.
    Sometime during the "night" the light from the window woke him up. Earth nearly filled the window, a full moon grown hugely gross. He had no way of knowing, but the thin edge of dark at the lower right was the east coast of North America, and it was 0500 in Jacksonville; he’d waked at the time he’d been getting up for nearly ten years. Rubbing his eyes, he gaped for a few moments, then rolled over and went back to sleep.
     

Chapter Five
    Peters woke the next time Earth filled the window, and this time it wasn’t so easy for him to get back to sleep. Regardless of how long and effortful the previous day had been, he was too young and full of habit to stay down for more than nine hours or so. Noises from the head said that Todd had reacted the same way. Still a little bleary, but fully awake, he collected clean skivvies and began his ablutions.
    The first thing was a shower. He needed a shower.
    That done, he scowled at the
kathir
suit, lying in a sloppy mess on the unused bunk. How the Hell did you clean the thing? He’d sweated like a pig in it; no doubt it smelled like a laundry bag of dirty skivvies. A Marine’s skivvies, after a twenty-mile run.
    But it didn’t. The inside had a faint scent, but it wasn’t unwashed sailor, more the sharp not-quite-odor of ozone. Magic.
    Doubts remained, so he turned it inside out, fumbled with taps until he got a thin spray of hot water, and sluiced it off thoroughly. By the time he got it back into his room it was completely dry and smelled the same as before. He snorted and began crawling into it.
    The watch was lying on the study table, where he’d tossed it before going to bed. He strapped it on his arm and studied the dial. A little less than an
utle
before the first
llor
. Time for chow and begin the day, but where was Dreelig?
    The Hell with it; Peters was hungry and knew the way. He rapped on Todd’s door and grunted when the other joined him; they didn’t speak as they went down the stairs and across the docking bay. Todd was wearing his white hat. Peters didn’t know how that would work out with the
kathir
suit, so he’d left his behind, but forebore to say anything about it.
    Dreelig was sitting at a table near the middle of the messroom. "Pleasant greetings," he said as they took chairs, and rattled in Grallt at the waiter. The man flipped his pad shut and took himself off, and Dreelig leaned back in his chair.
    "Pleasant greetings," Peters agreed, looking around. It was the first time he’d been relaxed enough to inspect his surroundings.
    Two of the walls were plain, the aft one broken by big swinging doors with waiters bustling through them; the other two, port and starboard, had vertical pilasters at about three-meter intervals. Between the pilasters were splashes of color, art of some kind: pictures of Grallt, depictions of other creatures–no doubt he’d find out later if they were people or not–and what must be landscapes, although if that was true the Grallt probably thought the monotone green of Earth was really boring.
    One large picture was obviously a painting rather than a photograph or captured image, done in a blocky style, with simple shapes, bright colors, and odd perspectives. The central character, depicted in bolder tones, had a thing slung over one shoulder that looked like one of the shiny ovoids wise sailors give a wide berth when they’re sitting