"It's my club ring, Major," said Roadkill. "Back on Argus-"
"A club ring is no part of your uniform," said Botchup.
He reached up as if to snatch it off the ear. Lieutenant Snipe snickered.
Roadkill got his hand to the earring first and managed to remove it quickly without damage. "I'll leave it off," he said with a grin he meant to be conciliatory.
"You'll leave it off, what?" roared Botchup.
"Off my ear," said Roadkill. "That's where it was, wasn't it?"
"Off my ear, sir! And wipe that smirk off your face!" Botchup shouted. "Hasn't anyone taught you how to address a superior officer?"
"Sure, but they didn't bust balls about it," said Roadkill. He looked at Botchup as if deciding whether he could take him in a fight. "At least not until you-"
"You better forget anything you learned before I got here," said Botchup. "I'm the commanding officer, and you're going to do things my way-starting now. Is that clear?"
"Yeah, I hear what you're asking for, Major," said Roadkill with a most unmilitary shrug. "They've been asking for ice cream in Hell for some time now, too. Doesn't mean they're getting any-"
"Sergeant, this man is confined to base for ten days," said the major, turning to Brandy.
"Yes, sir," said Brandy. She refrained from pointing out that there was no place outside the company perimeter worth visiting.
After nearly an hour of nonstop nitpicking and browbeating, Major Botchup finally stomped away from the troops and mounted a reviewing stand he'd ordered built the evening before. Chocolate Harry's supply squad had worked into the wee hours getting it ready.
He stood and glared at the troops for a minute. Finally, he barked, "There's an enemy out there, and we're going to go hunting for him." For the moment, the legionnaires, standing in formation, made no response. Botchup didn't expect any. He'd made it amply clear by now that the only response he wanted from them was unthinking obedience. Perhaps he might have gotten that from most other Legion companies, but this was Omega Mob. Its members might not do much thinking, but they were not in the habit of obedience.
Lieutenants Rembrandt and Armstrong, standing beside the major, looked out at the formation. It would have been impossible to tell, by looking at Armstrong's face, what he thought of his new commanding officer. Then again, his face did not reveal a great deal of emotion in any circumstances. Rembrandt's expression, in contrast, was one of ill-concealed dismay. Botchup's failure to notice this might have been no more than youthful arrogance; in any case, it was ample proof that General Blitzkrieg had chosen the perfect anti-Phule to undo his predecessor's work.
"For a change, this company is going to do things the Legion way," Botchup continued. "You people have been coddled and pampered, living like a bunch of playboys. Well, there's no room for that in the Legion."
"Where is there room for it?" came a voice from the back of the formation. "We wanna go there!"
"Who said that?" snapped Botchup. There was no answer.
"Who said that?" Botchup leaned forward on the podium, a snarl on his lips. When nobody responded, he continued, "First Sergeant, I want the legionnaire who said that brought forward to be disciplined." Lieutenant Snipe pulled out his notebook again and stood poised to enter the offender's name.
"Begging the major's pardon, but I haven't the faintest idea who said it," said Brandy.
Botchup was incredulous. "You don't know the voices of your own troops, Sergeant?"
"Not all of them, sir," said Brandy. "We have new recruits in the company."
"A good while since, if I recall," said Botchup, frowning. He shook a finger at the sergeant. "You should know them by now."
"Yes, sir," said Brandy, spitting out the words as if they were burning her tongue. Her face was as expressionless as Armstrong's, but even a new recruit would have spotted her blazing eyes, and-if he valued his hide-proceeded to make himself scarce. Very scarce.
An experienced officer ought to have spotted the eyes, too. But if Major Botchup was aware of Brandy's eyes-or of what they might suggest-he gave no sign of it. Instead, he said, "If you can't find the individual who spoke out, I'm going to order the entire company punished. A breach of discipline reflects on everyone, after all."
"Yes, sir," said Brandy, clenching her jaw. "What punishment does the major wish to impose?"
"Extra guard duty," said Botchup. Snipe duly noted it in his little book. "Make it nighttime guard duty-and they'd better all stay awake, Sergeant. I've been known to make surprise inspections to make sure the troops are on their toes. If I catch someone asleep-well, this is a war zone, Sergeant. You know what that means."
"Yes, sir," said Brandy, coming to rigid attention and snapping off a brittle salute. "Understood entirely, sir."
"Now, if the individual responsible wants to confess, he can save his comrades the punishment..." said Botchup, with an unpleasant smile.
"I did it, sir!" A voice came from the ranks-perhaps the same voice, perhaps not. Brandy and the major turned to see Mahatma stepping forward.
"Ah, so, you're at least loyal to your comrades, if a bit stupid," said Botchup. "You're going to the stockade, boy-for ten days."
"Yes, Major," said Mahatma with his usual smile. "I didn't know we had a stockade yet. Am I going to have one built for me?"
"That kind of impertinence will get you an extra ten days, legionnaire!" Botchup barked. Behind him, Snipe scowled.
"He's full of crap, Major," said another voice. "I'm the one you're after."
"Who said that?" Botchup whirled to look at the other legionnaires standing in formation.
Six legionnaires stepped forward. "We did, sir," they chorused.
"No, it was me," came a synthesized voice, and a Synthian slid forward on a glide-board. "Put me in the stockade, Major!"
Botchup turned to Brandy. "How do you explain this rank insubordination, Sergeant?"
Brandy favored him with a cool stare. "I don't, Major. Never had any problem with it before. They usually look for ways to stay out of the stockade."
"I believe that, at least," said Botchup, frowning at the legionnaires who had stepped forward. Then, as if he was worried that the entire formation would step forward if he keep watching, he turned his back and pointed a finger at Brandy.
"I'm going to leave you to sort this mess out, Sergeant," he said. "I don't care how you do it, as long as the legionnaire responsible is properly disciplined. I'll expect a report. And the entire company is confined to the post until further notice!"
"Yes, sir!" said Brandy stiffly, but the major had already whirled around and stalked off, with Lieutenant Snipe close behind.
Somehow, all the legionnaires managed to keep serious expressions on their faces. Except for Brandy. She didn't have to try.
Chief Potentary Korg looked carefully at the list Phule had given him. Prepared in both Zenobian and Standard English, it represented an agreement for the Zenobians to supply the Legion company with certain essentials during its stay on the planet, as well as specifying the details of delivery. "Yes, this is all in order," said Korg. The wattles at his throat shook as his head nodded-a gesture the Zenobians and humans had in common. "I will see to it that the first deliveries arrive at your camp within two cycles of the primary."
"Excellent," said Phule. "This will give us greatly improved logistics. Being dependent on material brought in from off-world is never ideal. We're lucky that our two industrial bases are similar enough for us to exchange products."