Thumper's introduction to Omega Company was progressing at whirlwind speed. In the short time he'd been at the company's Zenobia Base, he'd already met the first sergeant, who'd shown him to a comfortable barracks room and explained how Omega Company did things. He was going to be paired with one of the other legionnaires on base, not just as a roommate, but as a partner. This was one of Captain Jester's innovations, though Thumper didn't quite understand the reason for it. But eventually he'd get it, he knew. He was a smart Lepoid, and had the grades in school to prove it. Things hadn't gone quite so well in basic training, but that had been his first exposure to mass human psychology. Now he had a better idea what was going on. Or so he thought...
The mess hall was open for the evening meal beginning at 1700 hours, the same as in basic. Here, though, the legionnaires apparently had the option of going to eat at any time between then and 2030, instead of being assigned a set (and usually too short) time slot during which they had to report for their meal. Having had his last meal just before the human hunters' shuttle landed on Zenobia, Thumper was starved. He finished stowing his gear, washed his paws and combed his whiskers, and stepped out into the corridor, hoping the mess hall was close by and easy to find. It was. At the end of the short corridor leading to his barracks room, Thumper turned left and almost immediately saw the double doors of the mess hall in front of him. There was a small group of legionnaires standing around chatting just outside the doors, while a stream of their comrades walked through. Not really knowing anyone yet, Thumper stepped past them and took a tray. He was unavoidably conscious that the conversation in the group behind him had stopped just after he had passed, then resumed in a lower tone. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had caused it.
New guy, they were undoubtedly saying. New guy. Well, he was a new guy, here at least. Before long, he'd get a chance to show them just what kind of guy he was. And if he'd learned anything from his last talk with Sergeant Pitbull, he thought they'd be glad to have him on board. Meanwhile, his stomach reminded him, he hadn't eaten in hours.
There was a food service line ahead of him, with absolutely wonderful aromas wafting out to the nostrils of the waiting legionnaires. Thumper stepped into line and took one of the trays-which, he was surprised to see, was not the ugly standard-issue plastic that everyone in Legion basic had used. Instead, these trays came in a variety of pastel shades with geometrical designs that might actually enhance the user's enjoyment of eating. Even more surprising, they all managed to be attractively clean, rather than unappealingly sterile. Thumper hadn't been in the Legion very long, but he already knew enough to recognize that this wasn't typical of mess halls. He stepped into line behind a tall legionnaire-almost all of them were a lot taller than he was, but he was used to that, too-and peered over the edge of the counter at the food. There was a selection of raw vegetables, the kind the humans called "salad." He took a large helping of that, and an equal amount of cooked greens-which, for the first time since he'd joined the Legion, weren't boiled beyond recognition. He wondered how Omega Company got enough fresh vegetables to supply the mess hall; he hadn't noticed a garden patch on his way into the base. But that didn't mean there wasn't one away from the route he'd traveled. It was just a real treat to see fresh veggies once again. It almost felt like home. Best of all, there was no sergeant standing there to tell him what to take, or how much, either. Omega Company apparently let its legionnaires eat whatever they wanted. That was a really triff idea, thought Thumper. He couldn't remember a time when there wasn't somebody telling him what to eat, beginning with his mother. He was ready for a change. He looked around the room for a place to sit-he'd only met a couple of members of the company so far, so he had nobody in particular to look for. Plenty of table had empty seats, so he had his choice of dinner companions. Then he caught a whiff of something he hadn't in his fondest dreams expected to find this far away from home. Carrot cake-his favorite dessert! Thumper followed the delicious aroma to its source, a serving station piled high with desserts of all kinds. He recognized some of them as distant relations of the offerings in the mess hall back in basic training-obviously far more palatable, even to his nonhuman taste buds. But it was the carrot cake that he craved, that promised his taste buds all the delights of home. He was so intrigued by the aroma that he didn't even notice when the "trouble started.
"Well, boys, it looks like we're not makin' a whole heap o' progress with this," said Rev, setting down his glass. "I reckon we ought to call a halt and go get some food in our bellies." Do-Wop knocked back his half-full glass of beer and set it down with a wistful look. "If you say so, man," he said.
"Hey, 1 was just gettin' started. But a little chow don't sound so bad, when you come right down to it." Sushi, who'd had only one drink, stood up and said, "I'd even settle for a big chow, but 1 don't think Escrima cooks that recipe. 1 suspect some of the guys would vote to put Barky in the stewpot, though."
"Now, now, son," said Rev. "The King wouldn't like to hear you talk that way about a fellow star, 'specially not a dog. You talk nice about Barky, y'hear? That lil' ol' pup's a surefire hit anytime he's on a vidscreen."
"Star or no star, he better stay away from me," said Do-Wop. "C'mon, if we're gonna stand around and jabber, I'm gettin' me another brew."
"Hey, I've been ready," said Sushi, punching Do- Wop in the shoulder. "Come on, let's go find out what Escrima's cooking." The three of them entered the dining hall together, took trays, and made their selections. Rev and Sushi went for chicken (there was a choice of Southern fried or curried) with rice, while Do- Wop loaded up his plate with butterfly pasta in a rich alfredo sauce and crisp broccoli tips.
The trio were on their way to the drink station when the trouble started.
Sushi was the first to notice anything out of the ordinary. "Who's the new guy over there?" he asked, pointing to the dessert line. The others turned their heads to see what he was talking about. There was a small figure in a regulation Legion jumpsuit, considerably less dashing than the special uniform Captain Jester had ordered for Omega Company to wear. Sushi just barely had time to notice that the new company member (he assumed that was what the newcomer had to be) had long floppy ears when a familiar sound came from behind them.
"Woof! Woof!" said Barky, the Environmental Dog, baring his fangs and charging full speed in the direction of the little legionnaire.
Chief Inspector Snieff leapt up and called out, "Barky! Sit! Bad dog! Sit!" But nobody, least of all the Environmental Dog, was paying much attention to her at this point. The three Legionnaires made an altogether praiseworthy effort to get out of the dog's way, but (inhibited by full trays of food) they were nowhere near nimble enough. As Barky's well-fed bulk crashed into his shins, Do-Wop's tray tilted, then tipped directly over, dumping a plateful of steaming hot pasta with alfredo sauce on his legs, the floor, I and onto Barky's bare, back. That set off a chorus of woeful howls-from Do- Wop and Barky both.
Barky spun around to find whoever was attacking him. But the wet floor offered no traction, and so the famous Environmental Dog slid full speed into Sushi's legs. That, inevitably, sent Sushi tumbling into Rev, and both men went down in a heap. At the same time, their trays hit the floor, scattering chicken and rice in all directions. There were gasps and shouts from those within range of the flying food, and all over the mess hall heads turned to see what the disturbance was about. They hadn't missed anything to speak of; the chain reaction was just beginning to pick up momentum.