“Don’t you know your regulations?” There was a snap in Thorvald’s demand which startled Shann. He glanced up, discovered the other surveying him critically. “You’re not in uniform—“
“No, sir,” he admitted. “I couldn’t find my own kit.”
“Where are your badges?”
Shann’s hand went up to the marks left when he had so carefully ripped off the insignia.
“My badges? I have no rank,” he replied, bewildered.
“Every team carries at least one cadet on strength.”
Shann flushed. There had been one cadet on this team; why did Thorvald want to remember that?
“Also,” the other’s voice sounded remote, “there can be appointments made in the field—for cause. Those appointments are left to the discretion of the officer-in-charge, and they are never questioned. I repeat, you are not in uniform, Lantee. You will make the necessary alteration and report to me at headquarters dome. As sole representatives of Terra here we have a matter of protocol to be discussed with our witches, and they have a right to expect punctuality from a pair of warlocks, so get going!”
Shann still stood, staring incredulously at the officer. Then Thorvald’s official severity vanished in a smile which was warm and real.
“Get going,” he ordered once more, “before I have to log you for inattention to orders.”
Shann turned, nearly stumbling over Taggi, and then ran back to the barracks in quest of some very important bits of braid he hoped he could find in a hurry.