He knocked on Lepidolite’s door because he expected the same from others, but waited for permission to enter only because he had no idea what Lepidolite got up to on his own time and wasn’t always eager to find out. Aquamarine had long suspected much of Lepidolite’s work ended up on Axinite’s desk. Maybe it was simply misplaced. Maybe Axinite took it upon himself out of an intense, all-consuming sense of duty. Maybe Lepidolite sent it Axinite’s way on purpose. Whatever the truth was, Aquamarine did not necessarily expect Lepidolite would be working.
What he might be doing instead was anyone’s guess.
“Sir,” Aquamarine said upon entering, which he did with much less bluster than last time. He had no files with him, no steel in his voice or fire in his eyes. He came now with no more than curiosity and the faintest trace of unease.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he added in the tone of voice that indicated he was sure he wasn’t but said it anyway because he was a General and Lepidolite was a Sovereign, and that was the sort of thing that was expected. Deference. Politeness. Two things Aquamarine could certainly express, though most of it was reserved for another.
The Space Cauldron
