Goetz nodded, not taking his eyes off the firing line.

"Sounds like we're in agreement there, Captain. If you don't teach 'em right to start with, they'll always rely on firepower and gimmicks instead of learning how to shoot."

The commander cranked his head around and stared at the police chief for several moments.

"Maybe I shouldn't ask this, Chief," he said at last, "but I can't help but notice that your attitude toward me and my Legionnaires has mellowed considerably since our first meeting."

"Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Phule. I may be hardheaded from time to time, but mostly I try to keep an open mind. Most of my beat patrolmen have been pretty open with their praise for your troops. It seems that somebody in your outfit has taken to monitoring the police band, and a few of your boys have shown up at some of the stickier calls we've had over the last few weeks. The way I hear it, they don't interfere or get in the way, but we both know there are times when having a couple extra uniforms around, no matter what color they are, goes a long way toward keeping a crowd from getting too rambunctious."

"That fits," the commander said. "I've always felt that most people have a basically good self-image. Once my troops are convinced that they can make a difference, it's not surprising that they try to make a difference for the better."

The chief held up a restraining hand.

"Now, don't get me wrong. Nobody's kidding anybody that your crew was in the choir over the stable at the first Christmas, but they've earned enough goodwill in the department to have me cut them-and you-a little bit of slack."

"Not enough slack, I notice, to keep you from filing reports with Legion Headquarters every time one of my crew puts on a command performance at the station," Phule observed wryly.

Goetz sighed and shrugged.

"That's the result of a direct request from your Headquarters, son. Came in about the same time you arrived. I don't mean to butt into your business, but it would appear that somebody in the Legion's upper echelons doesn't like you much. Leastwise, they're watching real close for you to make a mistake."

The commander frowned. "I didn't realize that. Appreciate the warning, though."

"Warning?" The chief's face was a picture of innocence. "I was just responding to an official request for information from one of the residents in the community I am sworn to serve and protect."

"Got it." Phule nodded. "Thanks, anyway... unofficially. I wonder if it would be possible for you to-"

"Captain!"

There was no denying the urgency in the voice that hailed him.

"Excuse me, Chief. What is it, Tusk-anini?"

"Spartacus going to shoot gun!"

A quick glance at the firing line was sufficient to confirm the information. The Sinthian was perched on his glide board, a shotgun tucked under his spindly arm, as Chocolate Harry explained the weapon to him with vastly exaggerated gestures.

"So I see," the commander said. "It seems, however, that the situation is being handled by-"

"Not know Newton's third law physics?"

Phule frowned. "What law?"

"Isn't that the one that..." Chief Goetz started, but the sentence was never finished.

KA-BOOM!

The Sinthian's skill on his glide board was such that instead of being knocked off the device by the shotgun's recoil, he spun violently around and around like a top... though, if asked, those in the near vicinity might have preferred the former option. Anyone who had not recent occasion to refer to or recall Newton's third law of physics was now graphically reminded that, indeed, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction! Educated or not, good marksmen or not, there was nothing wrong with the Legionnaires' sense of survival, and in a twinkling everyone present was either crouched behind cover or flat on the ground, including the observers in the bleachers.

Fortunately Spartacus was only firing single loads while testing the shotgun, so the mayhem was more comical than anything. Had he been utilizing the belt-feed auto-loader option, the results might not have been so humorous.

"Seems to me," Chief Goetz drawled, raising his head to look at Phule, "the kick on that weapon's a tad strong for that fellah-at least while he's standing on that board, anyway. "

"The same thing just occurred to me," the commander said, peering over the bleacher seat he was flattened behind. "It's a problem, though. The Sinthians' eyestalks keep them from using a weapon with enough accuracy to be effective. That's why we were trying them on shotguns. I'd say to hell with it and issue them fully automatic weapons, but I'm afraid that would only compound the recoil problem."

"What you need is something that doesn't have much of a kick." Goetz frowned. "Have you thought of trying them on splat guns?"

"Splat guns?"

"Compressed-air guns that shoot little paint balls. Some of the guys in the department use 'em in a weekend war-game club they belong to."

"Oh. Those things." Phule shook his head. "I always thought they were more expensive toys than weapons."

"Some of those 'toys' are fully automatic and have a muzzle velocity of over four hundred feet per second," the chief informed him.

"Really?" The commander raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I didn't know that. Still, I'm not sure what good it would do to hit someone with a paint ball in combat, no matter how fast it was going."

"Well-" Goetz grinned wolfishly, easing himself back onto his bleacher seat "I just might be able to run down a source for some HE paint ball loads."

"High explosives?" Phule was definitely interested now. "Are those legal?"

"It may come as a surprise to you, Mr. Phule, but every so often the police are aware of items available that do not conform exactly to the letter of the law."

"Uh-huh. And what is this information going to cost me?"

"Consider it a favor," the chief said. "Of course, it might be nice if you did me a little favor in return-like, say, maybe loaning the department that cook of yours for our annual banquet that's coming up next month?"

"I think we could clear that under Community Relations." The commander grinned. "In the meantime, I want to see if there isn't some way we can get those completely legal shotguns to work for us."

"If you don't mind," Goetz said, sliding off the seat to lie prone once more, "I'll watch your experiments from here."

As it turned out, Spartacus declined to make a second attempt at handling the weapon, preferring to stay with his beloved glide board rather than abandon it for firepower.

Undaunted, Chocolate Harry pressed the shotgun on Louie, the aristocratic Sinthian. Unable to match Spartacus' expertise on the glide board, Louie had long since abandoned his efforts to master the device, claiming it was beneath him, so the unstable footing provided by that vehicle did not present a problem. Anchored firmly on the ground, or, eventually, in the sidecar of Harry's hawg, he was more than able to control the weapon, or at least approximate control sufficiently for Phule to allow him to continue using it.

As a crowning touch, one of the Legionnaires found an antique German helmet and cut holes in the top for Louie's eyestalks. The picture they presented, Chocolate Harry astride his massive hover cycle with Louie perched in the sidecar, eyestalks protruding from the top of an old helmet and clutching his belt-fed shotgun, made more than one citizen stop in their tracks for a second look. In fact, Chief Goetz commented at one point that the appearance of that particular team at the scene of a crime was a greater deterrent than an entire squad of patrolmen.

Strangely enough, his new acceptance by the company seemed to ease Louie's distaste for his lower-class fellow Sinthian, to a point where he actually entered into a business partnership with Spartacus to introduce the glide boards to their home planet. Spartacus recorded a series of demonstration and instructional tapes, while Louie used his family's contacts and influence to cut red tape for the necessary licenses and business permits. The entire company chipped in for the start-up funding, a gesture nobody regretted as it was to earn them profits in the future far in excess to their initial investment.