"What seems to be the—" Sten started.
"Sir!" Sutton blurted. "We've been taken!"
Sten reflexively glanced about. Was the Gamble being boarded? Was Cavite being invaded? The admiral's daughter violated? Taken? By whom? Sten skipped the why and where and assumed the now.
Mostly, what Sten was really worrying about was how he was going to untangle his feet and leap into position. Alex saved his behind by sort of explaining.
"Wha' Mr. Sutton, here, is sayin't, Commander, is we been busted. I dinnae care't' guess wha for, but we been pushin't the motive a wee bit a' late."
Sten buried a laugh. He had a pretty good idea what was going on. But Alex had been running on his luck a great deal. It was time for Sten to run it back. He placed a look of great concern on his face. He almost harummphed. With as much dignity as could be mustered in a three by two-meter space, Sten rose to his feet.
"What, gentlemen, could possibly be the problem?" His voice was very casual and cool.
"We're trying to tell you, sir," Sutton said. "We're being invaded by the cops!"
Sten allowed himself to be drawn out the door.
At dockside, drawn up before the Gamble, was a phalanx of Black Marias with five police gravsleds per side and two cops per vehicle.
"I told you, sir," Sutton said. "We've been taken." He turned to Alex with accusation in his eyes and an angry quiver in his voice. "You turned me in."
"You? Who th' clottin' hell are you? Dinnae hae reference of grandeur, lad. They're bleedin' bustin' us all!" Alex gave Sten a glance. "I dinnae suppose we hae good graces here. But, if w' do, Ah'd be serious usin' them now, Sten!"
Sten maintained his superiority of silence. Oddly enough, it did seem to have an effect on the two beings next to him. There was an agonizing moment, then a hiss from the lead sled in the column. The driver's door opened, and an enormous member of the Cavite police force unreeled himself out. There was another moment for brushing of tunic and flicking at stray hairs. Then measured bootheels advanced toward Sten. There was an official piece of paper held in his thrust-out hand.
"A warrant, Ah'll ween," Alex whispered.
Sten was silent.
The cop marched up to Sten, tossed him a smart salute, and handed him the document. Alex peered over at it, his face breaking into amazement.
"You dinnae?" he said.
"I did," Sten said. "Thank you, Constable Foss," he said formally.
"With pleasure, sir," Foss said. "Now, begging your pardon, sir, but we're all on Ten-Seven. Can you process twenty recruits in less than an hour? Or should some of us come back?"
Alex finally came through. "Twenty of you, aye? Come in, come in, said the cider to the fly."
Moments later, he and Sutton were lining up the cops.
"So, thae be what it's come to, then?" he whispered to Sten. "Recruitin' clottin' fuzz."
Sten gave Alex his best and most practiced CO look. "Ain't war hell?"
First Lieutenant Ned Estill was a miracle captured in amber. He looked sharp! Sounded sharp! Was sharp! And his rйsumй was as crisp and clean as his dress whites. He snapped Sten a knife-edged salute, heels clicking like a shot.
"If that will be all, sir!"
Sten had rarely been confronted with such perfection. Estill was the kind of officer who made even a commander feel the grime around his collar. The comparison was especially pertinent because Sten and Alex were dressed in filthy engineer's coveralls. Estill's interview had been impromptu—an interruption of a greasegun's-eye tour of the ship. Sten had as much difficulty in dismissing the man as he and Alex had in quizzing him. How do you deal with a naval recruiting poster?
"We'll be gettin' back to you, Lieutenant," Alex said, solving Sten's immediate gape. Sten almost had to physically hold up his jaw as Estill wheeled 180 perfect degrees and clicked—not walked—down the gangway.
Sten sagged back against the hull in relief.
"Who sent him?" Sten wanted to know. "He's gotta be a spy, or something. Nobody, but nobody that good would ever volunteer for our dinky little boats."
"He nae be a spy," Alex said, "alto' he be a Doorman lad his whole career. The wee spindar checked him out."
"Okay," Sten said, "but look at his record. Honors, awards, medals, prized exploration assignments. Personal commendations from every superior officer."
"All peacetime, lad," Alex reminded. "Also, nae one good word from his ultimate superior—Doorman himself"
"Estill's too good," Sten said. "I don't trust him."
"We got crew enough for the four ships," Alex said, "but we're still lackin' two captains."
Sten mulled that over for a bit, wondering if Lieutenant Estill was an answer to his prayers or the seeding bed for future nightmares. Besides, did Estill have...
"Luck, Ah wonder if the lad has luck?" Alex said, completing Sten's thought. "How desperate are we?"
"If I could put a good first mate with him..." Sten mused.
There was a thrumming of engines overhead, and a loud voice crackled through a hailer across the docks. "Hey, you swabbies get off your butts and give a lady a hand!"
Sten and Alex looked up to see a rust bucket of a tow-ship hovering overhead. The tow pilot already had one ship dangling from its cradle and was moving into position over the Gamble. Long, slender robo arms snaked out and started unfastening the dock lines.
"What in the clot do you think you're doing?" Sten yelled up.
The woman's voice crackled out again. "What's it look like? Moving your ship to the engine test stands.
You are on the schedule, aren't you? Or doesn't your captain keep the ranks informed of what's going on?"
"You can't move two ships at once!" Sten shouted back.
"Wanna clottin' bet? Hell, on a good day I can pull three. Now, get cracking with that line, mister!"
A bit bemused, the two men did what the woman said. And then they watched in awe as she maneuvered Gamble into a sling below the first ship in a few seconds flat. The tow engines roared to full power, and she started away.
"That lass is some pilot, young Sten," Alex said. "Ah've rarely seen the likes of her."
But Sten was paying him no mind; he was already running along the docks after the tow as it wound its way toward the test stands. By the time he reached the yard, the pilot was already transferring the Gamble over into the work berth.
"Hey, I'm comin' aboard!" Sten yelled, and without waiting for permission he swarmed up the netting to the towship.
A little later, he found himself squeezed into the tiny pilot's cabin. In person, the woman was even more stunning than her obvious flying talents. She was slender and tall, with enormous dark eyes and long black hair tucked into her pilot's cap. She was looking Sten over, speculatively and a bit amused.
"If this is your way of asking a lady out for a beer," she said, "I admire the clot out of your gall. I get off in two hours."
"That isn't what I had in mind," Sten said.
"Oh, yeah? Say, what kind of a sailor are you, anyway?"
"A commander type sailor," Sten said dryly.
The woman gave him a startled look, then groaned. "Oh, no. Me and my big ensign yap. Well, guess there goes my job. Ah, what the clot! I was lookin' for one when I found this gig."
"In that case," Sten said, "report to me tomorrow at 0800 hours. I got an opening for first mate."
"You gotta be kidding." The woman was in shock.