"Interesting," the commander murmured thoughtfully. "I'll have to try to talk with her myself."

Armstong grimaced. "Lots of luck, Captain. If you can get her to say half a dozen words, it'll be more than she's said since she arrived."

"Speaking of the nonhumans," Phule said, "I wanted to bounce a thought off the two of you. Specifically I want to split the two Sinthians when we assign team pairs. I figure it's hard for humans to relate to and interact with nonhumans. If we team the two of them, it will only make them that much harder to approach. The only problem is, I'm not sure how the Sinthians will react to being separated. What are your thoughts?"

"I don't think you have to worry about them complaining, Captain." Armstrong grinned, winking at Rembrandt. "Do you, Remmie?"

"Well," his partner replied in a mock drawl, "I don't expect it'll be a problem."

The commander glanced back and forth at the two of them.

"I get the feeling I'm missing a joke here."

"The truth is, Captain," Rembrandt supplied, "the two of them don't get along particularly well."

"They don't?"

"The way it is, sir," Armstrong said, "is that apparently there's a real class prejudice problem on their home world. Both of them headed off-world to get away from conditions."

"Their names kinda say it all," Rembrandt continued. "One of them, Spartacus, is a product of the lower class, while Louie, which I believe is short for Louis the XIV, is rooted in the aristocracy. Both of them joined the Legion thinking they would never have to deal with someone from the hated 'other class,' and you can imagine how overjoyed they were when they both got assigned to this outfit."

"I see. How much does their mutual dislike affect their performance?"

"Actually they're pretty civilized about it," Rembrandt said. "It's not like they get violent or anything. They just avoid each other when possible, and maybe glare and mutter a bit when they can't. At least, I think that's what they're doing. Between their eyestalks and the translators, it's a little hard to tell."

"The bottom line, though, Captain, is that I don't think they'll object to being assigned other partners." Armstrong grinned.

"Fair enough." Phule ticked off an item on his list. "All right. Who's next?"

The mood of the meeting had relaxed considerably when the commander finally called a halt to the proceedings. All three officers were punchy with fatigue and tended to giggle disproportionately at the lamest attempt at humor.

Phule was pleased with the results as he ushered his junior officers to the door. The long meeting had drawn them closer together, where it could just as easily have put them at each other's throats.

"Sorry again about losing track of the time," he told them. "Tell you what. Sleep late tomorrow and we'll pick it up again at noon."

The two lieutenants groaned dramatically.

"And hey! Nice work... both of you."

"'Nice work,' he says," Armstrong said, making a face at his partner. "I didn't think we were going to get a pat on the back until we fell over from exhaustion. Of course, tomorrow we get to pick up where we left off."

94

"He's just saying that because we knew some things he didn't," Rembrandt countered owlishly. "Once he's squeezed us dry, we'll be cast aside and forgotten."

Phule joined in their laughter.

"Go on, get some sleep. Both of you. You're going to need your strength before I get done with you."

"Seriously, Captain, what's the rush?" Rembrandt said, propping herself against the wall. "What happened to our relaxed, informal sessions of note comparing?"

"You put your finger on it a minute ago," the commander told her. "You two know some things about the troops that I don't. I want to get as much information out of you as I can before we run everybody through the confidence course day after tomorrow-well, tomorrow, actually."

He glanced up from his watch to find the lieutenants staring at him, all trace of humor gone.

"What's wrong?"

Armstrong cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, Captain. Did you say we were running the confidence course the day after tomorrow?"

"That's right. Didn't I mention it to you?"

Phule tried to focus his mind to separate what he had and hadn't said during the last several hours.

"No, you didn't."

"Sorry. I thought I had. I told the construction crew to give top priority to completing the new confidence course, and the word is that they finished work on it today."

"You mean you expect our company to run a confidence course?" Rembrandt seemed to be hoping she had heard wrong.

"Of course. We've got them looking like soldiers. It's about time we started working toward getting them to act and feel like soldiers, don't you agree?"

For the first time that night there was no automatic chorus of assent. Instead, the two lieutenants just stood looking at him as if he had grown another head.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Journal File #087

For those of you who are like me, which is to say dyed-in-the-wool civilians, and therefore unfamiliar with the stuffy quaintness of military jargon, you should at least be made aware that it is a fantasy language all its own, specifically designed to hide its activities and attitudes beneath officious blandness. (My own personal favorite is referring to casualties as inoperative combat units.) Such is the case with the so-called confidence course.

What it is, is a path strewn with obstacles at regular intervals which the soldiers are to traverse in the least possible amount of time. In short, it's what normal people would refer to as an obstacle course. It is no accident, however, that military personnel are never referred to as "normal people." Somewhere in their hidden past (you notice no one in the military ever writes about it until after they've retired, or shortly before) it was decided to change the image of the old obstacle course. Rather than change the course, they opted to change the name. The theory was that it would be more acceptable to those it was inflicted upon if they understood its function, which is "to increase the soldier's self-confidence by demonstrating to him (or her) that he (or she) can function successfully under adverse conditions."

This, of course, assumes that said soldier is able to successfully negotiate the prescribed course.

Personally I would have questioned the wisdom of my employer's use of the confidence course as a means of establishing or reestablishing the self-esteem of the individuals under his command... had I been asked. After reviewing their files, not to mention experiencing the dubious pleasure of viewing and meeting them in person, I would have had serious doubts as to their ability to successfully tie their own shoelaces, much less negotiate an obstacle-excuse me, confidence course. From what I have gleaned of their comments on their first attempts at this exercise, my appraisal was not far from accurate.

Uncomfortable silence reigned in the small group of observers watching the company run the confidence course... or attempting to. Of the four, only the commanding officer seemed to be studying the scene with a neutral intensity. Brandy, the Amazonian first sergeant, stood in a relaxed parade rest, openly sneering her disdain at the antics on the course, while the two lieutenants alternated between averting their eyes in embarrassment and exchanging uneasy glances, united by their mutual discomfort, at least temporarily.

Surely the captain had known what would happen when he ordered this exercise... hadn't he? He had every warning that his troops habitually performed at a level far below even the loose standards of the Legion. Still, he had given no indication that his expectations were anything but high. He had even issued new orders modifying the conditions under which the course would be run. Rather than the time being recorded for each individual as they were run through in small groups of half a dozen, the unit would be judged and rated on their performance as a whole. That is, the timer would be started, and not stopped until the last Legionnaire crossed the finish line. What was even worse, he insisted that the Legionnaires run the course in full combat gear, complete with weapons and packs, an announcement met with a mixture of horror and grumbling by the company. Already aghast at the idea of having to run the course at all, the new conditions robbed them of whatever energy and enthusiasm they might have been able to muster. For the moment, at least, their minds were one, even if the binding thought was the delightful fantasy of lynching their new CO.