“Really?” Phule said. “What odds?”
Armstrong blinked and glanced at Rembrandt, who admitted her own ignorance with a shrug.
“I … I don’t actually know, sir,” he sputtered. “It’s just something I’ve heard. Why? Is it important?”
“Well, if the payback’s big enough, I just might put some money down myself, then rake in the whole pot-if you know what I mean,” Phule said through a yawn.
There was no response, and he glanced at his lieutenants, only to find them staring at him.
“Hey! It’s a joke. Okay?” he clarified. “You know I don’t fool around with women under my command-or you should know it by now.”
His junior officers rallied gamely, though their late laughter was a little forced.
“Of course”-Rembrandt grinned-“as one of the subcontractees, it could be argued that Big Red isn’t really under your command.”
“For the duration of this assignment she is,” Phule said grimly, “and if she wants to do any chasing after that-“
A knock at the door interrupted them, and they looked up to find Tusk-anini framed in the doorway.
“Excuse, Captain,” the giant Voltron rumbled. “Must talk to you … soon.”
Phule waved. “Come on in, Tusk. We were just finishing up here. Say, how’s your new partner-what’s her name-Melissa working out?”
“Nice girl. Very smart,” the Legionnaire said. “But not fighter like Super Gnat. Not worry, Captain. I watch out for her.”
“I’m sure you will,” the commander said. “So what brings you calling? Is it all right if the lieutenants hear it, or is it personal?”
“Not personal … company business.”