Lisa waited by the airlock with her arms crossed while Brax and Doc went through decontamination. The procedure took no more time than usual, but it felt like it did. She was anxious to hear their report.
"Any problems?" she asked when the door finally opened. "You were gone longer than I expected."
"No, no problems," Doc said. "Milton said he could get us what we need. He has something of a personal issue, though. I'm going to talk with Sims to see if there is something we can do to help him."
"A personal problem? Like a doctor/patient kind of thing?"
"More of a boy/girl kind of thing," Brax said.
"And you're going to help him? You mean counseling? I didn't know you were a psychiatrist as well as an MD."
"I'm not, but I think what he really needs is a nudge in the right direction to get him thinking. They all do. I'm just going to try to provide that."
He turned to leave.
"Hey! Wait a minute. You haven't given me any details. What about the jars or whatever and the people to tie the orcs?"
"Milton has some clay pots that are suitable for what we need. He said he could have them here in the next couple of hours. He also said he was sure he could arrange for troops. That's essentially it. Other than that, we just visited."
"And had tea and croissants," Brax added.
"Don't tell me. The orc made them, right?"
"Yeah. They were good, too."
"And you didn't bring any back for the rest of us?" Sandra said, approaching from the direction of the galley.
Brax smiled. "We were being considerate. I know how much women worry about their figures."
Sandra slapped him on the arm hard enough to make him wince. "You're a Neanderthal. You know that, right?"
"I think it's time for me to make a tactical withdrawal," Doc said, inching down the corridor. "Call me when Milton gets here with the pots."