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

<passage>:
men on ships think about, talk about, bitch about their food. It's what was day-before-yesterday's table-scraps and jakes-water. The Ship's Cook, the man who accomplishes the daily miracle of turning offal into eatables, is in many ways the most vital man aboard a spacer. He can make morale or foment a mutiny. His power is paramount. Slimeheads remember the H. M. S. aboard the Registry minimum of six men and three officers. Ship's Surgeon was myself, Paul Vilanova. Our Captain was Willy Winkelmann, the hardest man in space and very likely the fattest. Ship's Cook was Robert Bailey. dietetics and sewage engineering. It's the Cook's responsibility to Though I'm signed aboard as Ship's Surgeon, I seldom lift a knife in space. My employment is more in the nature of TS-card-puncher extraordinary. My duties are to serve as wailing-wall, morale officer, guardian of the medicinal whiskey and frustrator of mutual murder. Generally the man aboard who'd serve as the most popular murder-victim is the Cook. This trip, the-man-you-love-to-hate was our Captain. If the Cook hadn't problems enough with the chemical and psychic duties of his office, Winkelmann supplied the want. Captain Willy Winkelmann was the sort of man who, if he had to go into space at all, had best do so alone. If the Prussians had a Marine Corps, Winkelmann would have Earth was hardly large enough to accommodate a wart as annoying as Willy Winkelmann. Cheek-by-jowl every day in a nacelle the size of a Pullman car, our Captain quickly established himself as a major social hemorrhoid. The Captain's particular patsy was, of course, young Bailey the Cook. you are feeding me." Captain Winkelmann blotted his chin "Doc, do you like Winkelmann?" the Cook asked me. "Not much," I said. "I suspect that the finest gift our Captain can to live with him. He's a good man at driving a ship." "His plumpness is an unwitting tribute to your cooking, Bailey," I the good work, though, and you'll keep our Captain fat." Bailey nodded from his one-man cloud of gloom. I got a bottle of rye from Medical Stores and offered him a therapeutic draught. The Cook waved my gift aside. "Not now, Doc," he said. "I'm thinking about Bailey stared across the dining-cubby toward Winkelmann, silently imploring the Captain's ratification of his masterpiece. The big cycler-salt." "You seem able enough to choke down Bailey's chow, Captain," I said. I "Yes, I eat it," the Captain said, taking and talking through another the ship—cannot be coaxed to work on hog-slop. You understand me, Belly-Robber?" Bailey, his hands fisted at his sides, nodded. "Yes, sir. But I really with the "Yes, sir," Bailey said, his face a picture of that offense the British followed him. "Captain," I said, "you're driving Bailey too hard. "Bailey will have some fifty thousand dollars' salary waiting when we ground at Brady Station," Captain Winkelmann said. "So much money buys many discomforts. That will be all, Doctor Vilanova." "Crew morale on the ship...." I began. "That will be all, Doctor Vilanova," Captain Winkelmann repeated. Bailey grew more silent as we threaded our way along the elliptical path to Mars. Each meal he prepared was a fresh attempt to propitiate by that heartless man. Bailey began to try avoiding the Captain at mealtimes, but was frustrated by Winkelmann's orders. "Convey my compliments to the Chef, please," the Captain would instruct one of the crew, "and ask him to step down here a moment." And the Cook would cheerlessly appear in the dining-cubby, to have his culinary genius "We are not amused," said Captain Winkelmann, accepting a second they were in addition gratified that the battle between their Captain and their Cook served to feed them so well. Most spacers embark Captain that he curtail his diet for reasons of health, a bit of advice his rank and responsibility merit, the Captain is allowed double this him while away the hours between the planets. Bailey, I knew for a fact, had used up his weight-allowance in bringing aboard a case of texture steak-like. Do you understand, Sir?" our food," the Captain said, his jowls settling into an expression of "Try it," he urged the Captain. kind word from the Captain bettered the ruffles-and-flourishes of a bottle on the table for all my future meals, Belly-Robber." "But, Sir...." Bailey began. "You must realize, Belly-Robber, that a dyspeptic Captain is a threat to the welfare of his ship. Were I to continue eating your surrealistic "Captain, you've gone too far," I said. Bailey, his fists knotted, was scarlet, his chest heaving with emotion. "Doctor, I must point out to you that it ill behooves the Ship's Surgeon to side with the Cook against the Captain," Winkelmann said. "Sir, Bailey has tried hard to please you," I said. "The other officers and the men have been more than satisfied with his work." "That only suggests atrophy of their taste buds," Winkelmann said. "Doctor, you are excused. As are you, Belly-Robber," he added. Bailey and I climbed from the mess compartment together. I steered him to my quarters, where the medical supplies were stored. He sat on my bunk and exploded into weeping, banging his fists against the metal therapy, Bailey," I told him. He poured the fiery stuff down his throat like water and silently held out his glass for a second. I provided it. After a few minutes Bailey's sobbing ceased. "Sorry, Doc," he said. "You've taken more pressure than most men would," I said. "Nothing to be ashamed of." vis medicatrix naturae , the healing power of nature. Half an hour later I strapped Bailey into his bunk to sleep it though daring him to comment. The Captain lifted a spoonful of the now strong enough to withstand the Captain's fiercest assaults of theory of forcing a Cook to make bricks without straw. The Captain of salt, and went largely undrunk. The men in the mess compartment were vehement in their protests, blaming the Captain, in his absence, for the decline in culinary standards. Bailey seemed not to care. He served of cicadas chirping and green grass underfoot, of the pop and hiss of canned beer being church-keyed. "He's done it, Doc!" one of the "Then he's beat the Captain at his game," I said. "The Dutchman won't want to mess ketchup on these steaks," the crewman good ." "Thanks, Doc," Bailey said. I smiled and took another bite. "You may not realize it, Bailey but this is a victory for the Captain, too. He drove you to this triumph you couldn't have done it without him." Captain may be a hard man, Bailey but he did know how to coax maximum performance out of his Ship's Cook." Bailey stood up. "Do you like Captain Winkelmann, Doctor?" he asked. I thought about his question a moment. Winkelmann was good at his job. He persuaded his men by foul means, true of the ship and his crew. "Do I like Captain Winkelmann?" I asked,

<question>:
Which is the best description of the relationship between the Doc and the captain?

<options>:
A They are old friends and the Doc is happy to let poor behavior slide
B The Doc respects the captain's position but say something if he thinks he goes too far
C The Doc never puts up with the captain, which makes their relationship very tense
D The Doc is the official mediator between the captian and the rest of the crew

<answer>:

B