General Reuter had continued his nervous movements throughout the speech. For the first time, he spoke. "Good God, Tom, serve us a drink." He turned to Capt. Shaeffer. "A little drink now and then helps a man relax. I'll just have mine straight, Tom."
Old Tom studied Capt. Shaeffer. "I do not feel the gentle Master approves of liquor."
"Don't try to influence him," General Reuter said. "You're embarrassing the boy."
"I—" Capt. Shaeffer began.
"Give him the drink. If he doesn't want to drink it, he won't have to drink it."
Sighing, Old Tom poured two bourbons from the bar in back of his desk and passed them over. Martyrdom sat heavily upon his brow.
After a quick twist of the wrist and an expert toss of the head, General Reuter returned an empty glass. "Don't mind if I do have another," he said. He was already less restless.
"How's your ability to pick up languages?" General Reuter asked.
"I learned Spanish and Russian at TUT PS," Capt. Shaeffer said apologetically. "I'm supposed to have a real high aptitude in languages, according to some tests I took. In case we should meet intelligent aliens, TUT gives them."