to shift the bulk of the responsibility for a task off his own shoulders, it effectively leaves the designated subordinate to, as they say, "twist in the wind," bearing the brunt of the blame for the methodology, as well as the results, of their efforts.
With my humble assistance, however, Lieutenant Rembrandt had completed her assignment prior to the company's arrival on Jewell, or, should I say, completed most of it.
Phule barely recognized his senior lieutenant as he disembarked from the shuttle at the Jewell spaceport. In fact, he might have missed her completely had she not been standing next to Beeker in the waiting area.
Rembrandt had forsaken her usual long-braided ponytail, and her dark brown hair now hung loosely almost halfway down her back. There was no sign of her customary black Legionnaires uniform, either, as she was dressed in a deceptively simple white blouse and dark skirt combination, topped off with a camel-colored sweater worn over her shoulders like a cape, with the arms tied loosely around her neck. Her wardrobe, combined with the stack of folders she was hugging with both arms and the pencil stuck behind her ear, gave her the appearance of the young assistant of someone in some branch of the entertainment field-which was, of course, what she was striving for.
"Lieutenant ... Beeker," Phule said, coming to a halt in front of them. "That's a new look for you, isn't it, Rembrandt?"
Rembrandt's normally pale complexion suddenly exploded with a bright pink blush.
"Sorry, sir. Becker said ... I mean, I felt ... Well, you said we shouldn't let anyone know I was with the Space Legion, so I thought ..."
"Whoa! Stop the music!" the commander said, holding up a restraining hand. "There's no need to apologize, Lieutenant. I was just teasing you a little. You look fine ... really. In fact, you look exceptionally good in that outfit. You should wear skirts more often."
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.
"Get them on the horn and tell them they're hired," he said firmly.
"Lieutenant," the commander cut her short, "I gave you this assignment because I trust your judgment. If you say these are the best candidates, then that's what we'll go with."
"But I'm not
With my humble assistance, however, Lieutenant Rembrandt had completed her assignment prior to the company's arrival on Jewell, or, should I say, completed most of it.
Phule barely recognized his senior lieutenant as he disembarked from the shuttle at the Jewell spaceport. In fact, he might have missed her completely had she not been standing next to Beeker in the waiting area.
Rembrandt had forsaken her usual long-braided ponytail, and her dark brown hair now hung loosely almost halfway down her back. There was no sign of her customary black Legionnaires uniform, either, as she was dressed in a deceptively simple white blouse and dark skirt combination, topped off with a camel-colored sweater worn over her shoulders like a cape, with the arms tied loosely around her neck. Her wardrobe, combined with the stack of folders she was hugging with both arms and the pencil stuck behind her ear, gave her the appearance of the young assistant of someone in some branch of the entertainment field-which was, of course, what she was striving for.
"Lieutenant ... Beeker," Phule said, coming to a halt in front of them. "That's a new look for you, isn't it, Rembrandt?"
Rembrandt's normally pale complexion suddenly exploded with a bright pink blush.
"Sorry, sir. Becker said ... I mean, I felt ... Well, you said we shouldn't let anyone know I was with the Space Legion, so I thought ..."
"Whoa! Stop the music!" the commander said, holding up a restraining hand. "There's no need to apologize, Lieutenant. I was just teasing you a little. You look fine ... really. In fact, you look exceptionally good in that outfit. You should wear skirts more often."
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.
"Get them on the horn and tell them they're hired," he said firmly.
"Lieutenant," the commander cut her short, "I gave you this assignment because I trust your judgment. If you say these are the best candidates, then that's what we'll go with."
"But I'm not
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