came to the realization that Sheridan wasn't just going to go away quietly into that good night. She momentarily toyed with the possibility of sending him in that direction with a firm shove of her boot, but that seemed potentially counterproductive, and it was a superb way to get her and her entire operation booted off the station.
Five days. As if that meant anything.
She'd dealt with these military types before. Their entire thought process was geared in campaign mode. They wanted everything moving on a precise schedule, wanted every breath drawn during every minute of every hour of every day accounted for, predicted, and clocked in. She couldn't blame them, really. It was how they were trained. If their minds didn't work that way, they'd probably be lousy at their jobs.
But the frustrating thing was that the military life was Sheridan's job, and scientific exploration was hers. She wouldn't have dreamed of telling him how to wage a war. Why did he insist on riding her every step of the way when she was involved in a project of her own?
There was only one way to deal with this type of mentality: explain things in the simplest, most straightforward manner possible-preferably with as many one-syllable words as possible-make it clear just who is the scientist, and let him know that she would not be stepped on or run roughshod over just for the purpose of his mindless dedication to schedules.
"Five days, yes," she agreed, making no effort to keep the impatience from her voice, "and we've barely scratched the surface. Look, Captain, with all due respect, this isn't your area of expertise. It's not like you can push a button on the back of that thing and a manual pops out explaining what it is and how it works. I could study that thing for five years, let alone