But at the moment, Rev was on a- mission. He strode down the corridor to a convenient exit and came out onto the parade ground a short distance from where the Zenobians were working. He walked over to them, humming a favorite melodic pattern. Dum, dumba dumba dum, aumbadumba dum... -"

Qual looked up at, the chaplain's approach. "Greetings, Crank!" said the Zenobian. Flashing his array of sharp reptilian teeth.

"Crank?" said Rev, momentarily confused. Then he realized it must be another of the apparently random mistranslations the Zenobian's autotranslator spit out from time to time. Try as they might, the Legion's techs had never been able to adjust Qual's translator to render the name of Omega Company's commanding officer as anything but "Captain Clown." A few members of the company privately suspected that Qual's mangling of human language was not entirely an artifact of his equipment... but they had never been able to prove anything, and since the little Zenobian was popular with the troops, nobody saw much point in making an issue of it.

Remembering his purpose, Rev said, "Good afternoon, Flight Leftenant Qual Do you have a moment to talk?"

"It is a long time since we converse" said Qual. "It would be my gratification." Rev relaxed-he'd been worried that the Zenobian officer might be too involved in his work to answer his questions. "You know, I have a kinda special job here," he began. "Sort of a mission, you might" say."

"Yes, I have seen that," said Qual. His two coworkers stood listening---evidently their officer's translator gave them the gist of what Rev was saying. (Rev worried that what they heard might be a very distorted version of his actual words, but again, there was very little he could do about it.) "You are an officer, but one who gives advice, not orders," added the Zenobian.