Chapter Thirty-Five
The Royal Egg Sandwiches
“A sandwich tastes better cut in triangles.”—The cook
DBO stared at the magnified illustration of Vegas’s apparatus up on the screen.
“What is that?” she said, jolting the footman awake. He rubbed his eyes and peered at the illustrations.
“Ma’am, it is but an apparatus for making a woman smile.”
“You sure it’s not a drill?” she said.
“A drill, ma’am, would not be so colorful.”
“I don’t understand, how could a drill make a woman smile?”
“As I said, ma’am, it is not a drill.”
“Looks like a drill.”
The footman shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Perhaps you could source a film from Earth, there are plenty on the subject.”
“What?” said DBO.
“A film, a mere fabrication of events, but best describes said instruments.”
The footman rose to
