“I see. How much does their mutual dislike affect their performance?”
“Actually they’re pretty civilized about it,” Rembrandt said. “It’s not like they get violent or anything. They just avoid each other when possible, and maybe glare and mutter a bit when they can’t. At least, I think that’s what they’re doing. Between their eyestalks and the translators, it’s a little hard to tell.”
“The bottom line, though, Captain, is that I don’t think they’ll object to being assigned other partners.” Armstrong grinned.
“Fair enough.” Phule ticked off an item on his list. “All right. Who’s next?”
The mood of the meeting had relaxed considerably when the commander finally called a halt to the proceedings. All three officers were punchy with fatigue and tended to giggle disproportionately at the lamest attempt at humor.
Phule was pleased with the results as he ushered his junior officers to the door. The long meeting had drawn them closer together, where it could just as easily have put them at each other’s throats.
“Sorry again about losing track of the time,” he told them. “Tell you what. Sleep late tomorrow and we’ll pick it up again at noon.”
The two lieutenants groaned dramatically.
“And hey! Nice work … both of you.”
“’Nice work,’ he says,” Armstrong said, making a face at his partner. “I didn’t think we were going to get a pat on the back until we fell over from exhaustion. Of course, tomorrow we get to pick up where we left off.”
94
“He’s just saying that because we knew some things he didn’t,” Rembrandt countered owlishly. “Once he’s squeezed us dry, we’ll be cast aside and forgotten.”