"Maybe we can, at that. Maybe we can." He leaned back with his eyes half closed. His aide knew better than to interrupt him. Ten minutes later, he opened his eyes.
"Make arrangements to have Commander Morgan take command of Base Q as soon as possible. Within two days at the outside." His manner was curt and clipped. "And bring him here to me before he leaves."
"Yes, sir. But may I say, sir, I do not understand?"
"You're not supposed to."
"Yes, sir."
The aide was a competent man. Orders were written that afternoon, in complete disregard of normal red-tape. Base Q was advised of the imminent shift. Commander Stanley Morgan boarded a jet plane on the Australian desert that night. The next morning, he was shown into the Old Man's office.
"Commander," the Old Man said after the preliminaries were taken care of, "as you are well aware, you have been in considerable disgrace, recently, for getting too close to the Venusian-Combine war, in defiance of orders. It has been felt, in certain quarters, that you might have caused a serious international crisis."
The junior officer started to speak, but the admiral waved him to silence.
"You could, if you like, point out that the crisis has come, anyhow. As a matter of fact, I never felt that that phase of your action was too important. I did, however, deplore your disregard of orders—and still do." He paused a moment, while his steel gray eyes studied the younger man. "You are about to receive new orders. It is absolutely imperative that these orders be obeyed explicitly." His pointing finger punctuated his words with slow emphasis.