Phule’s Paradise by Robert Asprin

Rather than looking relieved, Rembrandt’s blush deepened to the approximate red of a tomato in a seed catalog.

“Thank you, sir,” she mumbled, averting her eyes. “Beeker helped pick it out.”

Painfully aware that his efforts to lighten the mood were only making matters worse, Phule cast around desperately for a change in subject.

“So … what have you got for me there?” he said, looking pointedly at the folders Rembrandt was clutching.

“These are the resumes of the actors and my notes on them for your review, sir,” the lieutenant said, gratefully slipping into the more familiar military mode as she thrust her load at her commander.

“Excellent,” Phule said, accepting the stack and idly opening the top folder to glance at the contents. As he did, the three-dimensional holo-photo which was the inevitable inside cover of an actor’s portfolio sprang to life, projecting a miniature person who seemed to be standing on the folder. He ignored it, scanning the printed pages instead. “I assume they’ll be ready to load and board this evening?”

Rembrandt licked her lips nervously.

“I … those are only my final recommendations, sir. I’ve been holding off finalizing them pending your approval.”

The commander’s head came up with a snap.

“You mean they haven’t been notified to be ready for departure?”

“Well, I have them on standby, but I explained that you had to approve the final selection, so they’re-“

Phule slapped the cover shut on the top folder, squashing the actor’s image in the process, and handed the entire stack back, interrupting her in midsentence.