CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Journal #244
Despite the ominous turn events had taken, the next several days passed without incident. Although this proved to be merely the quiet before the storm, it nonetheless gave my employer the opportunity to indulge in a few of the more civilized elements of life.
I refer here to eating, which to me requires specifically sitting down to eat rather than simply wolfing down a sandwich, a hamburger, or some other form of “energy pellet” fast food while continuing with one’s duties. This was a luxury I noticed my employer allowed himself less and less of late.
I had long since abandoned any effort to convince him that it might be desirable for him to sleep more than one or two hours at a time.
“I’ve really got to get going soon,” Phule declared, glancing at his watch again. “I’m overdue to check on the troops.”
“Relax, Captain,” Sydney said, reaching for the wine bottle once more. “Those roughnecks of yours are more than capable of taking care of themselves without you hovering over them … or they should be. Besides, I thought the whole point of those snazzy communicators you wear was so they could get in touch with you if anything important happened.”
“I suppose you’re right,” the commander said, though he glanced involuntarily at the restaurant door even as he spoke. “I guess I’ve been edgy ever since Tiffany and Doc got jumped, and I’m not particularly confident that the troops will always check with me before they swing into action, as you well know.”
“Don’t remind us, Willard,” Jennie Higgens said, wrinkling her nose slightly as she held her own glass out to her cameraman for a refill. “I mean, we’ve accepted your apology and all, but don’t push your luck. You know, I can’t help but feel we’d still be cooling our heels under guard if you hadn’t remembered I had been to nursing school before signing onto the glamorous world of broadcast news. How is Harry, by the way?”