BACK ON DECK, I FIND myself glaring at Cramer and at Paavo.
“She’s like a dog at the beach. Oh, hi, Captain!”
“How come you get to be the dogberry and Halfspike gets to be the Admiral?”
“Shut up. Sit.”
“Paw?”
“No thanks.”
We are just one day short of our rendezvous with the poodles’ ship. I have long known males to be the weaker s*x. Nonetheless, I failed to anticipate that I’d have to endure their Faraday cages, their aluminum hats, and their devices for blocking out electrophonic hearing. I still wonder why Paavo was placed on my ship’s roster and not in a care facility.
Cramer, who notices my unease, tries to distract me.
“Permission to stand, Ma’am?”
“No. Stay.”
Cramer slices and dices as well as does any among the hordes of taloned vermin on Planet Rodentia. What that hound
