<P>Collins didn't know what to say. He made a mental note to try to stay as far away from Manderley as possible from now on. "Yes, sir."
<P>
<P>He lingered in the doorway a moment before moving.
<P>
<P>"Out!"
<P>
<P>"Sir." Collins immediately slipped out into the hall.
<P>
<P>Manderley sighed. He lifted a tissue and wiped his forehead. Surrounded by incompetence, he thought. I'm completely surrounded. He turned his chair back to the holographic display and re-activated it. The figure popped back into view.
<P>
<P>"Sorry about that, Simons," he commented.
<P>
<P>--- --- --- ---
<P>
<P>Jaime Reyes sat nervously in his seat on the 747, row 7, seat A, near the window. Departing for Hong Kong. And twitchy as hell.
<P>
<P>The coffee hadn't helped. Neither did his unspoken fear of flying.
<P>
<P>Neither did his worries about getting his equipment through customs in Hong Kong.
<P>
<P>A flight attendant rolled a cart stacked with drinks up to his side, and looked at him, querying silently. If Jaime drank alcohol, he wouldn't even hesitate to demand a glass brim-full of it. But he didn't drink alcohol. Not ever. Canned beer was disgusting to him. No scotch, no vodka, not even wine. Soda, to him, was almost worse. It didn't quench your thirst. It just further dehydrated you.
<P>
<P>Water. He asked for water. Healthiest drink on the planet, he thought.