The exec yawned. "Cripes, what a boring tour. I'd give my last bottle for just one sight of a good old Nip periscope."
"Or a Kamikaze," growled the captain sarcastically.
A radioman stepped out on the bridge, saluted, and handed the captain a flimsy. He read it, and frowned at the exec.
"Lead ship says we're about to pass over a submerged object—a derelict of some sort. The chief says to blast it. Menace to navigation and so forth."
The exec stepped to the squawk-box, and flicked the switch. "Attention. Attention. Y-gun crew report to stations—on the double. Y-gun—on deck."
As he stood there, waiting for the CPO commanding that detail to acknowledge and request orders, he let out a yawn, a prodigious mid-afternoon yawn that threatened to split his head.
The two Alarians floated motionless in the water of their lifeboat, each immersed in his own thoughts. Shaking off his lethargy, Ekrado began to make a routine check of the condition of the heat ray cannon. Mechanically, he went over the apparatus, his mind still on their problem. The cannon was, of course, in perfect condition.
"Clackety-clack-clack-clack," chattered the Konald detector.
"Metal!" exclaimed Ekrado in surprise.