Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] We picked up our new cook on Phobos. Not Phoebus or Phoebe a chef's services to the good old I.P.S., but my only response was a loud silence. So I went back to the ship. I said, "Sorry, sir. We're up against it. I regularly and well. Makeshift meals are O.Q. on an ordinary run, but He stopped abruptly. But too late I had caught his slip of the tongue. orders?" The Old Man nodded soberly. "Yes. You might as well know, Lieutenant. Everyone will be told as soon as the Leo reported that Callisto is weary of the war, with a little prompting will secede from the Alliance and return to the Federation. "If this is true, it means we have at last found the foothold we have been seeking "The search," interrupted an oddly high-pitched, but not unpleasant voice, "is over. Where's the galley?" a slim, trim, natty little Earthman not more than five-foot-two in height a smooth-cheeked young fellow swaddled in a spaceman's O'Hara said, "The new—What's your name, mister?" me ." But the little mugg just returned the Old Man's gaze coolly. "Which makes it even," he retorted. " You to me . Do I get the job, or don't I?" The captain's grin faded, and his jowls turned pink. I stepped forward hastily. I said, "Excuse me, sir, shall I handle this?" Then, because fellow, "are a cook?" "I—" began the youngster. "Smart Aleck!" That was the Old Man, exploding into coherence at last. "Rat-tailed, clever-cracking little smart Aleck! Don't look like much of a skipper, eh? Well, my fine young rooster—" I said quickly, "If you don't mind, sir, this is no time to worry over can cook—" The skipper's color subsided. So did he, grumbling. "Well, perhaps immediately— Slops! What are you doing at that table?" The Old Man's voice had an ominous ring to it, one I had seldom heard. I sprang to attention and saluted smartly. "Aye, sir?" "Take this—this culinary tactician out of my sight before I forget I'm an officer and a gentleman. And tell him that when I want advice I'll come down to the galley for it!" you've got to take what comes with it: orders! From now on, suppose you take care of the cooking and let the rest of us worry about the ship—Captain Slops!" "Was everything all right, sir?" he asked. "Not only all right, Slops," wheezed Captain O'Hara, "but perfect! Accept my congratulations on a superb meal, my boy. Did you find everything O.Q. in the galley?" "Captain Slops" blushed like a stereo-struck school-gal, and fidgeted from one foot to another. order. That is—" He hesitated—"there is one little thing, sir." "So? Well, speak up, son, what is it? I'll get it fixed for you right away." The Old Man smiled archly. "Must have everything shipshape for a tip-top chef, what?" thing, sir, I almost hate to bother you with it." "No trouble at all. Just say the word." The skipper's brow creased. "I'm sorry, Slops," he said, "but I don't see how we can do anything about that. Not just now, at any rate. That job requires equipment we don't have aboard. After this jump is over I'll see what I can do." incinerator." "We-e-ell, now, Mr. Dugan, let's not be too technical. After all, that all the fixings, Slops?" Maybe I was mistaken, but for a moment I suspected I caught a queer it might have been gratitude, or, on the other hand, it might have been self-satisfaction. Whatever it was it passed quickly, and Captain Slops' soft voice was smooth as silk when he said: "Yes, Captain, all the fixings. I'll start cooking the meal as soon as the new incinerator is installed." said, "Hi, there!" he jumped two feet and let loose a sissy little piping squeal. Then, crimson-faced with embarrassment, he said, "Oh, h-hello, Lieutenant. I was just getting my new incinerator shipshape. Looks O.Q., eh?" "Yes, sir," said Slops meekly. "I'll be careful how I use it, sir." I had finished my inspection, and I sniggered as his words reminded me of a joke I'd heard at a spacemans' smoker. prospector—" "Plenty of time, Slops. Wait till you hear this it will kill you. The "The prospector looked her over carefully for a couple of seconds then answered, 'That's O.Q. by me, sister. I won't—'" "I—I've got to go now, Lieutenant," shouted Slops. "Just remembered something I've got to get from stores." And without even waiting to Leo , even though refused. "Certainly not!" he piped indignantly. "You must be out of your minds! ugh! to you, too. Come on, Joe, let's get out of here before we give Slops bad dreams and goose-flesh!" nine days he forced on the skipper the same gratuitous advice which before had enraged the Old Man. By sheer perseverance he earned the title I had tagged him with: "Captain Slops." I was willing to give him another title, too—Captain Chaos. God knows he created enough of it! "It's a mistake to broach the blockade at Vesta," he argued over and over again. "O.Q., Slops," the skipper would nod agreeably, with his mouth full of some temper-softening tidbit, "you're right and I'm wrong, as you usually are. But I'm in command of the Leo that morning well, because I was in the mess-hall having breakfast with Cap O'Hara, and Slops was playing another variation on the old familiar theme. "I glanced at the chart this morning, sir," he began as he minced in afraid this is our last chance to change course—" "And for that," chuckled the Old Man, "Hooray! Pass them pancakes, son. "Keep your pants on, Slops!" "Eh?" The chef looked startled. "Beg pardon, sir?" "I said keep your pants on. Sure, I know. And I've took precautions. "Why—why, because—" said Slops. "Because—" answer! If you'd told me that sentence. At that moment the Leo rattled like a Model AA spacesled in an ionic storm, rolled, quivered and slewed like a drunk on a freshly-waxed floor. The motion needed no explanation it was their duties and how to perform them. An instant after the Leo had plaintive little shriek from somebody ... maybe from Slops himself.... Then on an ultra-wave carrier, drowning local noises beneath waves of sheer volume, came English words spoken with a foreign intonation. The voice of the Alliance commander. "Ahoy the Leo the Leo answering. What do you want?" Leo . like a frozen figuring, broke into babbling incredulous speech. "You—you're giving up like this?" he bleated. "Is this all you're going to do?" The Old Man just looked at him, saying never a word, but that glance would have blistered the hide off a Mercurian steelback. I'm more "But—but if they take us prisoners," he questioned fearfully, "what will they do with us?" "A concentration camp somewhere. Perhaps on Vesta." "And the Leo ?"

<question>:
What is the most likely meaning of the slang O.Q.? (in twentieth-century American English)

<options>:
A cool
B no worries
C my bad
D O.K./OK

<answer>:

D