But the times, even in retrospect, appeared golden.
Perhaps, for Sten, an element was his love affair with Brijit. But that was only one element.
Perhaps the linkup with Wild was another part of it. The smuggler was very conscious of his end of the bargain. Sten decided that he and the others were eating better than when he had been assigned to the Emperor's own court. In fact, he was, for the first time in his life, wondering if maybe he was getting fat.
Another factor might have been that there were none of the troubles that Sten and Alex had expected from their pickup crew. Even Lieutenant Estill seemed to be fitting in perfectly. What few problems came up were handled quickly by a fat lip applied sensitively by Mr. Kilgour, who had taken on the personal role of flotilla master-at-arms.
But the real reason was that the four tacships, and the people who volunteered for them, were doing exactly as they wanted and as they were supposed to—without anyone shooting at them.
Sten kept his ships off Cavite as much as possible. Even for a major teardown his ground crews would be sardined into the ship they would be tearing down and taken to a completely deserted beach world. Major inspections were regarded as nightmares, and no one in Cavite's yard could understand why the engine and hull specialists were coming back with tans and happy smiles.
Sten was an instinctual flier—but the sensation that had struck him was that of speed, of flying low-level with some relatable objects veering up and past him. Now, on those long slow watches, he found another joy.
The tacships spent long shifts just observing, hanging above a planetary system's ecliptic, possibly correcting starcharts, possibly monitoring Tahn ship movements, possibly evaluating those worlds as Tahn outposts. Sten should have been bored.
He never was. Alex had modified one of the Gamble's Goblin missiles, removing the warhead and replacing it with extra fuel cells.
It was Sten's joy, offwatch, to put on a spare control helmet and float "his" Goblin out into deep space. He knew that the perceptions of a star being "above" or a planet "below" him were the false analogues provided by computer. He also knew that his feelings of heat from a nearby sun, or cold from an iceplanet, were completely subjective. But he still reveled in them. To him, this was the ultimate form of the human dream of flight. It was even better, because he knew that if anything happened, he was really safely on board the Gamble.
The shifts and days drifted past. Sten frequently had to check patrol time by the ship's log. If the supplies would have held out, Sten thought he might have remained in space forever, beyond human reach or response.
It was after such a fugue that Sten encountered the Forez for the first time, and Admiral Deska for the second.
The Kelly and the Gamble had been attempting to plot a meteor stream's track. Lieutenant Sekka had insisted that the meteors came from a single exploded planet. Sten had argued that merely because the boulders were somewhat oversize didn't necessarily indicate anything. But, in amusement, he had authorized a backplot on those rocks.
Every alarm siren in the universe brought the fun and games to an end. Alex and Sten, on the Gamble's command deck, and Lieutenant Sekka, on the Kelly, stared at the screen.
"Wha' we hae here," Kilgour finally said, "is the biggest clottin' battlewagon Ah hae ever seen. Imperial or Tahn. An' tha's nae entry in Jane's f'r it."
"Stand by, emergency power," Sten said. He checked their position. They were supposedly in a neutral sector, although Sten had a fair idea that if the Tahn were feeling feisty, that wouldn't help.
There was a com blast that sent the readings into the red. "Foreign ship. Identify or be blasted."
"Impolite clots," Kilgour muttered.
Sten went to the closed circuit to Sekka. "Kelly, if the shooting starts, get out of it."
"But—"
"Orders."
He changed channels.
"Imperial Tacship Gamble receiving."
The screen cleared. It took Sten a moment to recognize the Tahn officer, in full-dress uniform, standing behind the communications specialist. But he did.
"Captain Deska. You've gotten a promotion."
Deska, too, was puzzled—and then he remembered. He did not seem pleased at the memory. He covered nicely. "Imperial ship... we are not receiving your transmissions. This is the Tahn Battleship Forez. You have intruded into a Tahn sector. Stand by to be boarded. You are subject to internment."
"I wish," Sten said to Alex, "we had Ida with us."
Alex grinned. Their gypsy pilot in Mantis Section had once hoisted her skirts, with nothing underneath, after hearing a similar command.
Sten, not being good at repartee, shut down communication. "Kelly. Return to Cavite at full power. Full report. Keep it under seal for forty-eight E-hours or until my return, whichever comes first."
"I did not accept command in order to—yessir."
That got one worry out of the way—the Kelly was several light-minutes behind Sten's ship, and Sten figured there was no way that Sekka could get caught.
He thought for a moment. "Mr. Kilgour."
"Sir."
"I would like a collision course set for this Forez."
"Sir."
"Three-quarters power."
Someone on the Forez must have computed Sten's trajectory. The emergency circuit yammered at him. Sten ignored it.
"Lad, thae hae a great ploy. But hae y' consider't we may be ae war already? Tha' Tahn'd know afore we did."
Sten, as a matter of fact, had not. It was a little late to add that into the equation, however.
"New orbit... get me a light-minute away from that clot... on count... three... two... now!"
An observer with systemwide vision would have seen the Gamble veer.
"Tahn ship appears to have weapons systems tracking," Foss said.
"Far clottin' out. Foss, I want that random orbit of yours... on count... two... one... now!"
Foss had come up with a random-choice attack pattern that Sten had used to train the Fox antimissile crews. Foss swore it was impossible for anyone, even linked to a supercomputer, to track a missile using such an orbit.
There were two considerations: The Gamble, no matter how agile, could not compare to a missile. Also, its effects on the crew, despite the McLean generators, were unsettling.
Sten took it as long as he could. Then he had a slight inspiration. "New trajectory... stand by...I want a boarding trajectory!"
"Sir."
"Goddammit, you heard me!"
"Boarding trajectory. Aye, sir."
The two ships bore toward each other again.
"Mr. Kilgour, what honors do you render a Tahn ship?"
"Clot if Ah know't, Skipper. Stab 'em in tha' back ae tha' be a Campbell?"
Sten swore to himself. It would have been a great jape. He had never worried about the Forez. At least not that much. First, he thought that if war had been declared—or had even begun sans declaration—Admiral Deska would have ground Sten's nose in it. Second, he assumed that the Forez's missiles were probably larger than the Gamble herself. And third, tacships do not attack, let alone reattack, battleships.
The Forez and the Gamble passed each other barely three light-seconds apart. It was not close enough, in spite of Kilgour's claims, to chip the antipickup anodizing on the Gamble's hull.