She poked a finger in the center of his t-shirted chest. “I’m not ordering you, Ed. I’m reminding you of who you say you are and what you say you're doing.”
“You’re not known for your tact,” Chief Santana said, uncrossing her legs, “but that was uncalled for. You owe Mr. Townsend an apology.”
“Are you serious?” Ed blanched. “I don’t have to—”
“Forget it,” Lamont glowered at the short-statured technician. “We’re all on edge, ain’t we?”
“We’re members of the senior staff,” Amila insisted. “We set the example for the whole crew. Apologize, Mr. Spratt.”
“Or what?” Ed said defiantly, standing. “You can’t order me around, Santana.”
Amila rose smoothly from her chair. Diminutive as she was, her white heeled boots made her roughly the same height as the bespectacled technician, who at any rate was hunched in a defensive posture. She poked a finger in the center of his t-shirted chest. “I’m not ordering you, Ed. I’m reminding you of who you say you are and what you say you're doing.”
To Lamont’s mild surprise, this seemed to have an effect on the disgruntled Spratt. He stepped back and fumed for a moment. Then, he turned, straightened his back, and extended a hand toward Lamont. “That was wrong of me,” he admitted in a perfectly frank tone. “No hard feelings?”
“None whatsoever, mate,” Lamont agreed, shaking the hand bemusedly.
Amila nodded with satisfaction and returned to her seat, just as the door opened to admit Captain Carter.
“Daddy’s home,” Lamont muttered.
Francis, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual, regarded the two men with fatigue-darkened eyes. “Am I interrupting something?” He asked.
Ed released Lamont’s hand, rubbing his own on his shirt. “Monty was, er…”
“I was helping him up,” Lamont explained.
“We were just discussing the migration schedule,” Amila offered. She reached for her ever-present clipboard, which had been placed at the edge of the console. “I have my proposal here if you’d like to review it.”
Francis accepted the clipboard and focused on the top page with visible strain for some moments. “You’re suggesting a 50-50 mix of colonists and crew on each shuttle,” he observed.
“I’d like to avoid the impression that we’re simply…off-loading the colonists,” Santana suggested.
The captain nodded. “That’s a good call.” He turned his attention toward Spratt. “Ed, you said that there was an elevator with an unusual kind of control in the tower, yes?”
Ed nodded. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Francis sighed, handing the clipboard back to Amila. “We need to make sure the transplants get settled as smoothly as possible, but we can’t afford to send you off to play tour guide, Ed. Lamont, do you think you could work those controls?”
Lamont thought about it for a moment. “They are strange,” he agreed, “but they seem exceedingly simple in concept, don’t they?”
“Exceedingly,” Ed concurred dryly.
“I can do it,” Lamont concluded.
“Excellent,” Francis said. “You’ll be on the first transport out, then.”
Next: Coincidences
“Pleasure to be of service,” Lamont shrugged, looking at Ed pointedly.
0173: Exercises in Diplomacy
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