One of them waved a gauntleted hand. Automatically, Peterson waved back. The fire watchman’s head was turned in his general direction, so he assumed the wave was for him. He might have been wrong. Trying to judge what a man meant when you couldn’t see his face wasn’t easy.

He laughed out loud. “What’s funny, sir?” asked a repair-crew man in a red jersey.

“I was just thinking I’d like to wear one of those goddamn fire suits the next poker game I get into,” Peterson answered. “Long as I keep the faceplate closed, who’s gonna know I’m raising on a busted flush?”

The sailor contemplated that, then grinned. “Don’t tell those firewatch bastards. They’d up and do it.”

“Who’d play with ’em if they did?” Peterson asked.

“Sir, we got us somewhere close to three thousand men on board,” the sailor replied. “You don’t figure some of ’em are suckers?”

“Well, yeah, but you’re not supposed to say so out loud. Otherwise, you will keep ’em out of the games,” Peterson said. They grinned at each other.

Peterson looked out to sea. A fresh breeze blew his sandy hair back from his face. The air was the freshest in the world. He didn’t consciously notice the salt tang of the sea, but it braced him even so. Off to port, a cruiser kept station with the Enterprise. A couple of destroyers prowled ahead, alert for periscopes-and, with their listening gear, for subs lurking below the surface.

A couple of gooney birds glided by on wings that seemed almost as long as a Wildcat’s. The big birds bred on Midway and some of the other islands in the northwestern part of the Hawaiian chain. In the air, they were nonpareils. On land… They came in as if they’d blown both tires and had a wheel go out from under them. They were almost as ungainly taking off, too. They needed a headwind and a long running start. Otherwise, they couldn’t get airborne at all.