Phule’s Paradise by Robert Asprin

“It’s hard to see where anything positive will come from your current stance … in my own, humble opinion, sir,” the butler confirmed mercilessly.

Phule gave another sigh, running a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe water from it, and seemed to deflate back into himself.

“Sorry, Beek,” he said. “I seem to be running tired these days. You know, when I was giving the crew going under cover their final briefing, Armstrong had to point out to me that I was getting redundant-that I had reviewed the procedures on their new communicators three times even though there hadn’t been any questions. Can you believe that? Armstrong? Keeping me from making an idiot of myself in front of the troops?”

“Lieutenant Armstrong has come a long way,” Beeker observed, “but I see your point. I think, however, that your troops, like myself, will be inclined to worry rather than be critical over minor flaws in your performance.”

“Yeah. Well, that still doesn’t change the fact that I’m not functioning at peak efficiency, especially in the manners department. What can I say other than I’m sorry?”

“You could try saying the exact same thing-only to Lieutenant Rembrandt,” the butler said. “After all, it is she and not I who is the offended party in this situation.”

“Right.” Phule nodded, glancing down the corridor again, as if expecting to see his senior lieutenant appear at the mention of her name. “Maybe I can catch her before-“

“As for myself,” Beeker continued, “what I would probably most like to hear is that you plan to take some time to catch up on your sleep … sir.”