“Thank you, sir. I’d rather stand.”
Armstrong, recruiting-poster correct in his parade-rest stance, barked out his response just as his counterpart’s rump was beginning its downward movement toward her chair. At his outburst, however, Rembrandt abandoned her maneuver, electing instead to stand beside Armstrong in a rough approximation of his posture. From her grimace and his smirk, it was apparent to Phule that this little game of one-upmanship was nothing new between them.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll try to keep this short.
“I’m probably going to be rougher on you two than on anyone else in the company … with the possible exception of myself. Being an officer is more than paying for your exam fee. As I said in the general meeting, this company needs leadership, and if we’re going to inspire and lead the Legionnaires, we’re going to have to stay one jump ahead of them. You two are going to be my stand-ins when I’m otherwise occupied, but though I’ll try to be understanding while you’re learning my priorities and style, I will not tolerate laziness. In fact, the only thing I detest more than sloth is thoughtlessness. I want you two to be thinking and analyzing all the time. For example … Lieutenant Armstrong. “
“Sir?”
“From your manner and performance reports, you fancy yourself to be a disciplinarian … a by-the-book man. Right?”
For a moment, Armstrong’s apparent confidence was shaken.
“I … that is …” he stammered, obviously unsure of what response was expected.
“Well?”
“Yes, sir.”