“There, you see, sir?” Kettle growled. “What’s she doing here?” “Whatever it is,” Grimm mused, “I think we can safely assume it is unlikely to make our sleep more restful.” “Could be we have a problem with that new number three gun, skipper,” Kettle suggested darkly. “Maybe it goes off completely by mistake. Blows that bitch clean out of the sky. Terrible accident, sincere regrets, we all go to the funerals.” “Now, now, Mister Kettle. You know I would never condone such an action.” He glanced aside and added in a whimsical undertone, “At least, not when it could be traced back to Predator.”
