Sten turned to Alex. "Mr. Kilgour. You... me... sidearms. Four men with willyguns. Move!"
Sten's crew may not have been fully trained as sailors, but they were fairly skilled at breaking and entering. Breaking was not necessary—the Baka had its lock extended and ready. The entrance slid open. Two men were on either side of the tube, willyguns held—not quite—leveled. The other two flanked Sten and Alex. They started down the tube, and their stomachs jumped a little as they crossed from their own artificial gravity field to that of the Baka.
The Baka's inner port opened.
Sten expected to be met with fuming and shouts. Instead there was quiet outrage.
The ship's CO introduced himself as Captain Deska. He was a man of control—but a man who was most angry. "Captain... Sten, this is totally unwarranted. I shall lodge a protest with my government immediately."
"On what grounds?" Sten asked mildly.
"We have been hijacked merely because we are Tahn. This is rank discrimination—my company has nothing to do with politics."
My company? A ship's captain working for someone would hardly have said "my." Sten decided that this Deska wasn't terribly good at fraud, "You are in a forbidden sector," he said.
"You are incorrect. We have the correct clearances and permission. In my cabin."
Sten smiled politely. He would be most interested in inspecting said clearances.
Deska led the way to his cabin. The ship corridors, unlike those of a normal exploration ship, were immaculate and freshly anodized. The crew members were also unusual—not the bearded loners and technicians that normally made up a long-cruise explorer but clean-shaven, cropped-haired, and wearing identical coveralls.
It did not take Sten long to peruse the clearances. He snapped the fiche off and stood up from the small console in Deska's Spartan quarters.
"You see," Deska said. "That permission was personally requested and cleared by your own Tanz Sullamora. If you have not heard of the man—"
"I know who he is. One of our Imperial biggies," Sten said. "As a matter of fact, I know him personally."
Was there a slight flicker from Deska?
"Excellent," Deska said heartily.
"Interesting ship you have here," Sten went on. "Very clean."
"There is no excuse for lack of cleanliness."
"That's my theory, too. Of course, I'm not a civilian..." Sten changed the subject. "Your crew's sharper than mine. You run a taut ship, Captain."
"Thank you, Commander."
"I don't think you want to feel too grateful. This ship, under my authority as an officer of the Empire, is under custody. Any attempt at resistance or disregard of my orders will be countered, if necessary, by force of arms. You are instructed and ordered to proceed, under my command, to the nearest Imperial base, in this case Cavite, at which time you are entitled to all protection and recourse available under Imperial law."
"But why?"
Sten touched buttons on two small cased pouches on his belt. "Do you really want to know, Captain Deska?"
"I do."
"Fine. By the way, I just shut off my recorder and turned on a block. I assume you have this room monitored. Nothing else we say will be picked up, I can guarantee you.
"Captain, you are busted because I think you're a spy ship. No, Captain. You asked me, and I'm gonna tell you. Every one of your men looks like an officer—and you do, too. Tahn officers. If I were a sneaky type, I'd guess that you are some kind of high-level commander. And you came out here, with a pretty good forgery to cover yourself, to check out the approaches to Cavite. Just in case the balloon goes up. Am I wrong, Captain?"
"This is an outrage!"
"Sure is. But you're still busted. And by the way, even if you manage to convince Cavite you are innocent, innocent, innocent, all the hot poop your scanners have been picking up will be wiped before we release you."
Admiral Deska, second-in-command of Lady Atago's combined fleet, just looked at Sten. "You are very, very wrong, Commander. And I shall remember you for a very, very long time."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
"You did what?" Sten blurted. He did not even notice that he had forgotten to say "sir." Not that van Doorman needed an excuse to get angry.
"I did not ask you for a comment, Commander. I merely took the courtesy of informing you as to my decision. Since you are slightly deaf, I shall repeat it:
"After considerable investigation by my staff, supervised by myself, we have determined that the boarding of the Tahn Scientific Ship Baka was in error. Admittedly, they had accidentally entered a proscribed area of space, but their commanding officer, a Captain Deska, told me that their charts were out of date and in error."
"Sir, did you personally examine those charts?"
"Commander, be silent! Captain Deska is a gentleman. I saw no reason to question his word."
Sten, heels locked, stared glumly down at Doorman's desk.
"I also personally commend an apology to his superiors and to his company headquarters on Heath, which is the capital of the Tahn System."
Sten, once again, did not know when to keep his mouth shut. "Sir. One question. Did you at least have techs wipe the ship's recorder systems?"
"I did not. How could he have navigated home if I did?"
"Thank you, sir."
"One further point. You should consider yourself lucky."
"Sir?"
"Since it would prove an embarrassment to the officers and men of the 23rd Fleet if Imperial headquarters were to hear of this debacle, of course there is no way that I can place the correct letter of reprimand in your personal fiche."
Translation: van Doorman hadn't reported the incident to Prime World.
"I shall tell you something else, young man. When you were first assigned to my command, I had my doubts.
"The navy is a proud and noble service. A service composed of gentlebeings. You, on the other hand, were formed by the army. Necessary types, certainly. But hardly correct from the navy point of view.
"I hoped that you would change your ways from the examples you would see around you, here on Cavite. I was most incorrect. You not only have isolated yourself from your peers, but have chosen to associate with, and I am not exaggerating, scum from the lowest circles of our society.
"So be it. You came from the gutter... and choose to swim in it. At my first opportunity, the first time you make the most minor error, I shall break you, Commander Sten. I shall dissolve your entire unit, have you court-martialed, and, I most earnestly hope, send you to a penal planet in irons. That is all!"
Sten saluted, pivoted, and marched out of van Doorman's office, out of the hotel, and deep into the grounds—where, behind a tree, he laughed himself back into sanity. Admiral van Doorman probably believed he had stuck Sten's guts on a pole and waved them high overhead. He really should have taken lessons from the most polite Mantis instructor.
Scum Sten headed back for his ships. Not only did he want a drink, he wanted to find out—Alex would know—what the clot "irons" were.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
"Boss, you look like you could use a drink."
"Many," the Emperor said. "Drag up a pew and a bottle, Mahoney."
Building drinks was simple—it consisted of grabbing a bottle of what the Emperor called scotch from the old roll-top desk and half filling two glasses.
"What," Mahoney asked after slugging down his drink and getting a refill, "is burning Sullamora's tubes? He's stomping around the anteroom like you just nationalized his mother."
"Clot," the Emperor swore. "I told him I know he's innocent six times already. Of course the Baka's papers were forged. I went and told him very clear, I went and shouted in his ear."