“Yeah, I guess so, Mother,” said Phule. “Who is it?”
“Headquarters is sending us a medic,” said Mother. “How about that?”
“A medic,” Phule said. “Now, that’s interesting. I wouldn’t think a company-sized unit rated a medic. Considering what the brass thinks of us, I’m surprised they let us have an autodoc.”
“Considering the company’s safety record, I’m surprised they don’t station us in an emergency ward,” said Mother, dryly. “But there’s one more wrinkle you ought to know about, sweetie. Who do you think our new medic is?”
Phule frowned. “Good grief, Mother, how am I supposed to guess that? All I know is that it’s someone in the Legion, a female, and that she’s trained as a medic…”
Beeker, who’d been quietly working at his Port-a-Brain computer while Phule spoke to Mother, suddenly sat straight up in his seat, and exclaimed. “By Jove! You can’t mean… It couldn’t possibly be…”
Phule stared at him in confusion. “Gee, Beeks, do you know somebody who fits that description? I can’t for the life of me come up with any good guesses.”
“It’s not a guess, sir. It’s a near certainty,” said Beeker, swiveling his chair round to face his employer. “Perhaps you recall the circumstances of our departure from Lorelei. I came aboard the shuttle with a last-minute refugee…”
Phule turned an uncomprehending look on his butler. “A last-minute refugee?” he asked. Then his eyes opened wide. “Laverna?”
“Laverna,” said Beeker, nodding slightly.
“You got it, boys,” said Mother. “But don’t call her that; her Legion name is Nightingale.”
“How do you know it’s her, then?” said Phule.
“Silly, they sent her personnel file, with a holo,” said Mother. “I don’t care what name she’s using, there’s nobody else with that face.”
“Nightingale,” said Beeker, softly. Hearing the tone in his butler’s voice, Phule looked over at Beeker with raised eyebrows. A stranger might not have noticed anything. But to Phule, who’d had the butler in his employ for the better part of a decade, the softness seemed completely alien to Beeker’s normal brisk inflections.