Thus far Piett hadn’t had to say more than a few words to anyone or make some noncommittal noises.
This was well because his current vocal abilities rated between the level of life long smoker and hangover whisper. He lifted a gloved hand and cautiously felt his lymph nodes again. Still as swollen as before.
If he could get through this shift he would be able to go back to his quarters, take a hot bath and go to bed.
And maybe that would satisfy the Lady who was not best pleased with him for ignoring her repeated nudges to see Henley. His data pad vibrated gently in his hand once more and he ignored it. She’d been sending him sullen images of sick individuals, and then articles she was pulling from the holo net regarding what happened to people who ignored colds for too long.
This was followed by scans she’d apparently filched from Henley’s records (nothing was sacred to his Lady apparently) showing him several different occasions when Piett had had a chest infection.
“I am aware , Lady of mine,” he hissed. “This is not that…” he broke off to cough as unobtrusively as possible and then strode to the viewport to head off any questions as to the cause of his cough.
The image she placed on the data pad was that of a smug faced woman.