The beeper on his wrist communicator interrupted him in midsentence-the shrill Emergency Page that’s pitched to grate against the nerves of any intelligent being in the known universe. Phule silenced it the only way the circuits would allow, by opening communication.
“Yes, Mother?”
“I really do hate to interrupt you at breakfast, Big Daddy, but there’s a Colonel Battleax on the holo from HQ. She wants to talk to you real bad.”
“On the way,” Phule said, rising from his seat. “Jester out.”
“Like the lady said,” Beeker quipped, “your public awaits!”
Following the pattern set during their penthouse HQ days, the communications equipment had been installed in a room next to the commander’s office. The new location had not improved the quality of the holo projections received, however, or the content of their messages.
“What kind of a silly-ass stunt is this, Captain?”
The image of Colonel Battleax hovered a few feet above the carpet, though in her vibrant anger it might not have been an error in transmission. The disheveled condition of her uniform, even more than her distraught manner, was an indication that she was transmitting without her usual preliminary preparations.
“Silly-ass stunt?”
“Don’t give me that, Jester! I’m talking about the pictorial on your girls in this god-awful T&A magazine!”
“Oh … that!” Phule said, mentally blessing the marvels of modern magazine distribution. “Yes, ma’am. What seems to be the problem?”
“What’s the problem? Don’t you realize what this does to the dignity of the Legion?”