"No! Oh no, sergeant," the captain protested. "I've taken a Rubberjack prisoner ... he'll jam the hull doors for us—"
"Don't trust him nor you neither. The both of you stay put. Here goes—"
"No, Sergeant Chong! I relieve you of command. Article thirty-seven, Patrol Regulations. Stand fast, now!"
He smiled apologetically. "My field commander is impatient. But hurry, Cobb. My marines are straining at the leash."
Cobb moved off hastily. Moments later came a subdued clamor of voices, scurrying feet, grating noises. Captain Welnicki peeped through the screening shrubbery just in time to see the ramp pull in and the ponderous cargo doors swing shut.
He called Chong: "Enemy alerted ... fortunes of war ... stiff upper lip ... resume command, Sgt. Chong."
Chong exploded. "Situation militarily hopeless ... stop playacting and surrender ... your baby, captain, and look to its napkin."
Captain Welnicki stood stiffly erect and raised his chin.
That darkest hour ... inexorable hunger on this star-lost planet ... guile now ... keen intelligence of the spaceways.... Captain Welnicki called his subordinates to a council of war.