Phule took a deep breath, then blew it all out, puffing his cheeks in a near-silent whistle.
“That’s true,” he said. “But they were unhappy.”
“Forgive my asking, sir,” Beeker continued mercilessly, “but wasn’t that what you expected? Considering the effort you’ve put into building camaraderie and a sense of family within the company, it seems to me only natural that they would react with shock and panic when confronted with an assignment which requires their splitting up.”
Despite himself, Phule’s face twisted into a wry smile as he cocked his head at his butler.
“Are you trying to tell me I did too good a job, Beek?”
“Not exactly, sir,” the butler returned blandly. “I am suggesting that you should keep doing your job. At the moment your company needs a leader to make firm decisions, however unpleasant … not an overly sensitive debutante who worries about popularity polls … sir.”
“Ouch.” Phule grimaced. “Ouch and touché. All right, Beek. I’ll shut up and soldier. You don’t mind if I whine once in a while, though? When the schedule permits?”
“That is your prerogative, sir. I shall let you know when and if I find it excessive.”
“I’m sure you will.” The commander laughed. “And Beeker? Thanks.”
“Just doing my job, sir,” the butler said. “If you have recovered from your ordeal, however, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you … if you have a moment.”
Reflexively Phule glanced at his watch. “Well, the volunteers don’t seem to be beating down my door … not yet, anyway. What do you have, Beek?”