"Spill it, chief," he invited. "Not orders, of course—I understand that perfectly. Requests or ... ah-hum ... suggestions."
"I will crown you with something yet, you whelp!" Haynes snorted, and Kinnison grinned. These two were very close, in spite of their disparity in years; and very much of a piece. "As you get older you will realize that it is good tactics to stick pretty close to Gen Regs. Yes, I have got a job for you, and it's a nasty one. Nobody else has been able to handle it, not even two companies of Rigellians. Grand Fleet Operations."
"Grand Fleet Operations!" Kinnison was aghast. "Holy ... Klono's ... brazen ... bowels! What makes you think I've got jets enough to swing that load, chief?"
"I haven't any idea whether you can or not. I know, however, that if you can't, nobody can; and in spite of all the work we've done on the thing we'll have to operate as a mob, as we did before, and not as a fleet. If so, I shudder to think of the results."
"QX. If you'll send for Worsel, we'll try it a fling or two. It'd be a shame to build a whole ship around an Operations tank and then not be able to use it; I'll see what I can do. By the way, I haven't seen my head nurse—Miss MacDougall, you know—any place lately. Have you? I ought to tell her 'thanks' or something—maybe send her a flower."
"Nurse? MacDougall? Oh, yes, the redhead. Let me see—did hear something about her the other day. Married? No, that wasn't it.... She took a hospital ship somewhere. Alsakan—Vandemar—somewhere; didn't pay any attention. She doesn't need thanks—or flowers, either—she's getting paid for her work. Much more important, don't you think, to get Operations straightened out?"
"Undoubtedly, sir," Kinnison replied stiffly, and as he went out Lacy came in.
The two old conspirators greeted each other with knowing grins. Was Kinnison taking it big! He was falling, like ten thousand bricks down a well.
"Do him good to undermine his position a bit. Too cocky altogether. But how they suffer!"
"Check!"