There was excited shouting from the pier. Someone was out on the end, calling back to several others in front of the first solid man-made building Fortis had seen so far. He could just make out carefully stacked stones in varying shades of gray on the lower floor, and what appeared pale yellow-brown wood on the second. The peaked roof was almost black, like slate. From inside the large open door on the bottom floor, directly facing the pier, came running several other figures. Unlike George, with his robe down below the knees, these wore uniformly shorter garments, cut just above their knees. They also had more color than George’s somber gray and brown. While the elder had small hints of red and green, these men wore various shades of blue and purple, with yellow trim. Fortis’ anthropologist frame of reference drank in the details of the scene.
The young men on the end of the peer were waving and chattering as they lifted long poles grappling hooks. Two were holding the ends of large, tan colored straps. George manipulated the controls and the sails slipped together in stacks. Glancing down, Fortis could see the bottom was sloping gently upward into view. George pulled a lever and there was the sound of splashing under the vessel as it suddenly slowed, and they were less than a meter from the end of the pier. Once the grapplers had pulled the boat tightly alongside the dock, the straps were snaked around fixtures on the pontoons. Each was anchored in a large roll around a small, narrow drum, with a crank handle. The two men quickly cranked in the slack as the port side pontoon was pulled tighly against some sort of pale colored cushioning of a material Fortis could not identify. The ship was now solidly attached to the dock.
The chatter never slowed. Fortis recognized it as an oddly inflected version of Standard Galactic, but it was clear some of the words were being used differently, rather like slang. There were hugs and back slapping with George and each of the young workers. Finally, George freed himself, stepped back and made a formal introduction Fortis understood. “Gentlemen, I would like you all to meet Doctor Fortis Plimick, Interstellar Anthropologist.”
The men bowed half-way to waist level almost in unison. The eldest alone rose and spoke, this time in clear Galactic. “Doctor Plimick, on behalf of Clan Johnston, we welcome you to our home. Please be so kind as to tell us your slightest whims, that we may have the honor of assisting you.”
With George’s meaningful look, Fortis made a quick estimate of the situation, then bowed somewhat less than the workers had. “Men, I am grateful for your hospitality.” Then, straightening up, he assayed a joke. “For now, I believe what would serve me best is getting off this boat.”
The men laughed and cleared a path for him, as George gestured Fortis lead the way, bowing slightly himself. As he cleared the knot of men and turned toward the head of the pier, Fortis saw a trio of older men, noted their slightly longer robes, smiling broadly. While certainly more relaxed than most protocols he had seen, Fortis realized there would be a strong undercurrent of ceremony every where he went.
He was glad for the moment the odd flat topography of Misty meant the pier was at least a couple hundred meters long. Turning his face to George, just a half step behind on the left, he spotted the bow and sword hilt projecting above the shoulders again. Half smiling, “George, don’t let me make of fool of myself.”
“You’re doing fine, Fortis. The burden of flexibility falls to your hosts, and they would probably laugh at themselves before daring to think anything you said or did was silly. They’ll be relieved to find you so relaxed and friendly, because if you were a tyrant, they would be obliged to cater to your demands.”
Fortis had met such men, even in his own profession where it was such a hindrance. Behind them was the sound of men working to unload the animals and wagon, while one trailed a few paces behind them lugging George’s gear. With part of his mind, Fortis noted the forest grew within a couple of meters of the shore, but had been cleared back a bit from the small harbor. Across the way were a pair of shorter piers with a scattering of smaller boats tied up, including one which had no pontoons. It was rather long and sleek, with a ribbed hull, and a single mast for the complicated framework of the stiff curved sails used on Misty. Fortis noticed the boat when he caught out of the corner of his the movement of someone climbing over the side onto the dock, and rapidly pacing toward the head of the short pier. He was dressed more like George than anyone else Fortis could see.
Of the men waiting for them on this pier, Fortis saw two of them, of middling age, with dark blue, and patches of other colors. The other, much older, was wearing mostly mostly black, including leggings. Fortis stopped a comfortable distance away, and they bowed, bending only slightly at the waist. Fortis matched it, as George stepped forward and made the same formal introduction as before. The eldest man in black was Harbor Master Wendell Johnston. George didn’t name the other two. The Harbor Master was just as formal as the eldest worker who first greeted him, with a similar offer of hospitality. He even asked if Fortis had any personal baggage he could carry.
At this, the younger man in blue relieved the worker of George’s gear. Fortis held out empty hands, deciding humor was working well with these people. “I haven’t lacked for anything so far, but I suppose I shall have to acquire some.”
The Master chuckled, and turned to George. “Elder Manley, it’s good to know you gave proper care to our esteemed vistor. You will see Francis here about proper equipment before you travel to the city,” he said indicating the elder of the pair in blue. He opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by a shout. The figure who had left the fancy boat on the other pier was striding quickly toward them. He wore colors which matched the Johnston clan banner, but with large panels of gray. Glancing back at George, he noticed the similarities of style, and decided tentatively the gray was related to their profession or relative position in society, and the other colors marked clan affiliation. It was at least partially confirmed by the greeting.
George stepped forward to intercept the man. “Elder Bradley! How nice to see you again.”
He wore large grin, and spoke with broad sarcasm. “So, you just couldn’t wait for me to come and help. You have to drag this poor visitor up here in a hurry without any of his personal baggage. What is Misty coming to?”
There was hearty laughter all around, the two men in blue stepping back a bit. The Master spoke up, “Elder Bradley, were just discussing that. Manley, do your duty.”
The ritual was familiar by now, and Fortis bowed just slightly from the shoulders, as Elder Bradley bowed from the waist about one-quarter. He decided it was really up to him to discern from the context what was the proper depth to bow.
Bradley continued, “I suppose there is no hurry now for me to chase the currents and winds to the pole, unless I just want to see the latest technology in space travel.”
George produced his electronic sheet, unrolled it, tapped and stroked the face a few times, then showed an image of the ship. Apparently the device served several purposes, rather like personal communication devices, but without the communications. Everyone gathered around to see, but Fortis was suddenly struck by a thought.
“Elder Bradley, did we catch you about to relieve George on his watch at the space port?” Fortis rested one hand lightly on a pocket.
“Indeed! While he prefers the coursers and wagons, I just sail my little craft up the inlet on the far side. It crosses inside the polar flat, leaving me just a day’s walk from the pole itself.” His accent was much closer to George’s than anyone else there.
Fortis turned to George. “Can you zoom that image closer on the legs?” George did so, then turned it back for Fortis to see. Motioning Bradley closer, he pointed to the platform still extended. “Right next to this, on the right side, is tiny little circle which opens if you press on it.” Bradley signified he understood, with a quizzical look.
Producing the spooler from his pocked, Fortis handed it to the elder. “When you do get there, please press this into that receptacle. Then step away from the ship, as it will disappear, which will create a momentary vacuum. It could kick up some rocks or other debris.”
The two elders stared at each other wordlessly. George smiled and gave a single, faint nod of his head. Bradley clutched the spooler in both hands to his chest, and his face took on a very serious look. “I was planning to leave first thing in the morning. I’ll be sure to carry out your wishes.”
