“Excuse me, Captain. Have you got a minute?”
Phule glanced up from his coffee to find two of his Legionnaires, Do-Wop and Sushi, fidgeting at his table. It seemed that his relaxing morning cup of coffee was not going to be so peaceful.
“Certainly. Would you like to have a seat?”
“This shouldn’t take long,” Do-Wop said, shaking his head. He was of medium height and weight, with a coarse complexion and black curly hair that always looked like it needed washing. “We were wondering if it was possible to be assigned different partners. I mean, there are still some of the crew who haven’t been assigned …”
“Both of you feel this way?” the commander interrupted.
“That is correct, Captain,” Sushi confirmed crisply. A full head shorter than Do-Wop, he was a slightly built Oriental who dressed and held himself with meticulous precision. “Our personalities and values are incompatible. I’m afraid that any permanent association between the two of us would prove to be detrimental to the smooth operation of the company.”
“I see.” Phule nodded grimly. “Sit down, both of you.”
This time, it was a command, not an invitation, that was voiced, and the Legionnaires grudgingly selected chairs.
“Now then, tell me more about these incompatible values you’re experiencing.”
The two men glanced at each other, each apparently reluctant to be the first to voice his complaints. It was Do-Wop who finally took the plunge.
“He’s always talkin’ down to me,” came the complaint. “Just because he knows a lot of big words …”