“Incidentally I’m sorry we haven’t spoken before,” the commander said, still struggling to regain his composure.
“Again, no apologize, Captain. Know you busy. Do good job, too. Will help any way you want.”
Phule only listened to the Voltron’s response with half an ear, the rest of his attention being claimed by the stack of books in the stairwell.
“What were you doing here, anyway, Tusk-anini? Reading?”
The Legionnaire nodded, his head moving in exaggerated up-and-down motions like a horse fighting a bit.
“I no need much sleep, so read lots. Came here so roommate not have to sleep with light on in room.”
Phule had squatted down to examine the books and looked up with new speculation in his eyes.
“These are pretty heavy reading. How come you brought so many?”
“Will read whole stack tonight.”
“The whole stack?”
Again the Voltron tossed his head in agreement.
“Read fast. Humans have much knowledge. Joined Legion learn human knowledge. Want be teacher after duty tour over.”
The commander hastily revised his estimation of the Voltron. It was so easy to assume that because he was big and spoke broken English, his intelligence was somewhat lower than that of the average Legionnaire. Once one was thinking about it, though, the fact that the Voltron had mastered an alien tongue well enough to speak it, however clumsily, rather than resort to the translators used by the Sinthians, said something about his mental ability … and his pride! It was obviously a matter of some pride to Tusk-anini that he could speak a human tongue at all, even if he did it so crudely he gave the impression of being stupid.