“At normal house odds?” the wife snapped, breaking her silence. “Don’t be silly, young man. We aren’t gamblers. Do we look stupid?”
“No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”
“Lieutenant Armstrong!”
Emerging from the elevator, Armstrong glanced around at the hail to find the company commander walking toward him. Without hesitation, he snapped into a stiff, parade-ground position of attention and fired off his best salute.
“Yes, sir!”
When the captain had taken over the company, one of his main projects had been to get Armstrong to “loosen up” a little, to be more human and less a recruiting-poster caricature. Now it had become a standing joke between the two men. This time, however, the commander seemed distracted, simply returning the salute with a vague wave rather than either smiling or rolling his eyes as had become the norm.
“Anything to report?” he said, scanning the lobby uneasily. “How is everything going so far?”
“No problems, sir,” the lieutenant said, relaxing on his own now that his attempt at humor had been ignored. “We’ve sent four busloads back to the space terminal so far and are just about ready to wave goodbye to a fifth.”
“Good,” Phule said, walking slowly with his head canted slightly down, staring at the floor as he concentrated on his junior officer’s report. “How about the showroom? Should I be expecting another visit from Ms. Watkins?”
“The first show went off without a hitch,” Armstrong said, falling in step beside his captain. “In fact, word is she got a standing ovation and three encores.”