“For cryin’ out loud, how long does it take them?”
The question burst almost unbidden from the lieutenant’s lips as he began his fiftieth circuit of the room.
The man on the sofa didn’t even glance up.
“It’s really not my place to say, sir.”
It was the first response to any of his muttering, and the lieutenant seized on the words as a focus for his irritation.
“Don’t give me that ‘subservient butler’ guff, Beeker! Since when have you ever not had an opinion on something or been hesitant to share it with me … asked or not?”
Beeker’s gaze shifted from his reading to the lieutenant.
“Well, actually you’ve been a bit more close-minded than usual since you joined the Space Legion, sir … or rather since you made up your mind to join. In this specific case, however, I was under the impression that what you voiced was a rhetorical question.”
“It was … but answer it, anyway. Come on, Beeker. Talk to me.”
With careful deliberation, the butler set his reader aside.
“Certainly, sir. Could you repeat the question?”
“What do you thinks taking them so long?” the lieutenant said, resuming his prowling, but more slowly now that he was verbalizing his thoughts. “I mean, I did plead guilty.”
“Forgive me for belaboring the obvious,” Beeker said, “but if the question of guilt has been settled, then what remains is the sentencing. It would seem the court is having some difficulty in deciding precisely what punishment is correct for your offense.”
“Well, what’s so hard about that? I made a mistake. Fine. I’m sure other Legionnaires have made mistakes before.”