"Working?" Snipe stared at the group. "You'd better be working. This isn't a leisure club, you know."

"Man's a genius," muttered somebody just out of Snape's direct line of sight.

Snipe decided to ignore the sally, which after all might be interpreted as a compliment of sorts. "Exactly what sort of work are you doing?" he asked.

A young, round-faced legionnaire with old-fashioned eyeglasses answered him. "That is an excellent question, Lieutenant. Perhaps if we all inquire carefully, we will learn the answer."

"What do you mean by that,"-Snipe peered at the legionnaire's name tag-"Mahatma?" Snipe looked took a closer look. The name and face seemed familiar now. Wasn't this the legionnaire who'd been impertinent at inspection? "Are you saying that you people don't know what you're doing?"

"Does any of us really know what we are doing?" asked Mahatma, a faint smile on his face. "The simplest action has consequences no one can foresee."

"Deep, Mahatma, deep," murmured Street, nodding appreciatively and rubbing his hands together.

"This is the Legion," said Snipe, directing what he hoped was a steely gaze toward Mahatma. "It's your officers' job to think about consequences. Your job is to follow orders, and if you do, everything will be fine." He left it to the legionnaires' imagination to conjure up what would happen if they didn't.

Snipe had not reckoned on Mahatma's imagination, which was more than equal to the task. "Lieutenant Snipe, may I ask a question, sir?" Mahatma was holding up his hand, like an eager schoolboy. It was almost impossible to ignore him.

"What is it, Mahatma?" asked Snipe. He frowned, vaguely aware that the confrontation was leading away from his original purpose. Well, he'd get it back on course quickly enough, once he'd dealt with this digression.

Mahatma asked, with a very serious expression, "Lieutenant Snipe, should we not know who is giving us an order so we can determine whether it is correct to follow it?"

Snipe favored Mahatma with a glare and said, "I don't see how that applies-"

"Oh, but it does very much apply, sir," said Mahatma, so polite it was impossible to find fault with him. "It is not always easy to tell one person from another, and what if one of those persons is an officer and another is not? If a person we do not know comes and says he is an officer, should we obey him, or should we learn what his authority is before following his orders?"

"Oh, no, you won't catch me on that one," said Snipe with a ferocious grimace. "The major was given command of this unit by Legion Headquarters. He showed his orders to Captain Jester."

"But Captain Jester was not here when the major came," Mahatma pointed out. "He did not show the captain his orders, and yet he assumed command immediately. How do we know his orders were legal?"

"Yeah, Mahatma makin' sense," murmured the other legionnaires. "Deep, man, deep."

Snipe felt a slight tingling at the back of his neck. Were these men trying to work up a justification for mutiny? Should he try to talk them back into line or go inform the major and let him take whatever measures were necessary?

"Your other officers have accepted the major's authority," said Snipe, temporizing.

"I know they did, and that is why we have continued to obey orders," said Mahatma calmly. "But that was before the captain returned. Now, what if the captain tells us to do something? He is still an officer, is he not?"

"Captain Jester has been relieved of command," said Snipe, aware of a trickle of sweat on his forehead. "What is more, the major has placed him under arrest, pending investigation of his conduct in command. His authority is temporarily suspended."

"That is what we had heard," said Mahatma. "Does this mean we should not follow his orders?"

"You-" Snipe had opened his mouth to answer when he sensed another trap in Mahatma's question, and he bit off the answer. "That depends," he said, retrenching. "If his orders are legal, of course you should follow them. But if his orders go against the major's, you should not."

"Very good, sir, that is clear," said Mahatma, his smile even more beatific. "But one more question, please, Lieutenant Snipe. How do we know whether the captain's orders are legal until we know the major has approved them?"

"That's a good question," said Snipe. "I think, under the circumstances, that you should ignore Captain Jester's orders until you know that they have received the major's approval."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," said Mahatma. "I think I understand everything, now."

"Good. As you were, then," said Snipe, and took advantage of the opportunity to make his getaway.

Later, he was to regret not having stayed around to see the consequences of his advice. But of course, having little experience of either the Omega Mob or of Mahatma, he couldn't have been expected to foresee what they would make of it.

The Reverend Jordan Ayres blinked as he entered the lighted room and saw who was waiting for him. Armstrong and Rembrandt sat together on the couch, and Brandy was perched on its arm. "Have a seat, Rev," said Chocolate Harry, who'd called him to this clandestine meeting.

"Thanks, don't mind if I do," said the chaplain, pulling a straight-backed chair up to face the couch; Chocolate Harry perched his bulk precariously on the opposite arm of the couch from Brandy, making the two oversized sergeants bookends to the pair of lieutenants. Rev looked at the four faces staring back at him and said, "Must be somethin' important to bring all you together at once. Y'all gonna tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?"

"I think you already know what our main problem is," said Rembrandt, taking the lead as the senior officer present.

"The major," said Rev, and the four heads nodded in unison. Rev nodded; but after a pause, he shrugged and said, "Well, I can sure sympathize with that, but I don't know what anybody here can do about it. The Legion done sent him, and I reckon we gotta put up with him."

"Ordinarily, I'd agree with you, Rev," said Armstrong. "He's our properly appointed superior officer, and if he has different ideas from what we're used to, we can either shape up or ship out. Especially since his ideas are strictly by the books."

"That's jes' the way I see it, Lieutenant," said Rev solemnly. "When the King got called into the Army, he done what he was told, like any other boy that went to be a soldier. No special favors for him. He even got his hair cut, and that wasn't no small sacrifice. If he could take it, I guess we can."

Rembrandt nodded. "That's a reasonable attitude to take," she said. "Our life would be easier if more legionnaires saw things that way. But, to tell you the truth, I don't know if it's what we need right now."

"Well, ma'am, I don't know whether I can accommodate you, then," said Rev. He stood up from his chair. "The King might have seemed like a rebel to some folks, but deep down inside, he was a great respecter of authority. Why, he even went to pay his respects to a man that-"

Brandy cut him off. "Sit back down, Rev. Let's get one thing straight. We don't need you to stir up the troops against the major. He's doing a pretty decent job of that all by himself. If they had any encouragement at all, they'd be doing everything they could to make him want to get transferred out. But the only man who could make them take that risk isn't saying anything, and until he does, they're afraid they'll hurt him more than they will themselves."

"You mean the captain," said Rev. He was still on his feet, but his hand rested on the back of the chair.

"That's right," said Brandy, fixing Rev with her gaze. "This whole company-officers, noncoms, right down to the newest rookies-would jump into a black hole for the captain. But as long as they're worried that they'd be hurting him, they won't take the first step. And the captain's acting pretty strange, in case you haven't noticed."