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"Is that an order, Sergeant?"
"This is a really bad time, Mahatma."
"But Sergeant, I just wanted to know..."
"Not now, Mahatma!"
The silence was deafening. Brandy glared at her recruits, but nobody seemed willing to risk a
She turned to the table behind her, which was covered with a large tarp. She pulled back one corner far enough to get a grip on one of the items lying there, and turned back to show it to the recruits. "This is the Phule-Proof Model SR-1," she said. "The factory says it's the first real advance in nonlethal weaponry in decades. I'd say it's more than that-as far as I'm concerned, it's the first nonlethal weapon I've ever seen that's worth a damn. By which I mean it's the only one you can use to stop somebody who wants to kill you without killing him."
That wasn't strictly true: If you stu
Brandy raised the weapon to display it. "Now, you'll each get one of these in a few minutes. But first I'm going to show you its parts. I expect all of you to be able to name every part of the weapon and tell me its purpose. We'll start at the business end. This is the front sight. Some of you may have fired a rifle, where you have a very tight target area. You'll see that this sight is much larger. That's for two reasons. First, the beam's effective area is the entire body, even an extremity. You can catch your target in the foot and still gain the desired effect. The second factor is the Variable Beam Spread Adjustment, or VBSA, which is controlled by the Variable Beam Spread Adjustment Control, which I'll get to in a moment..."
Brandy droned on, and the recruits' eyes began to glaze over as she moved through a long and frequently redundant catalog of the weapon's various parts. Normally, she would have insured their attentiveness by throwing snap questions at anyone who seemed in danger of dozing off during the lecture. But today...
There was a sudden flurry of movement as a masked figure with a vibroblade in one hand leapt into the pack of recruits. It threw a hefty forearm around the neck of a young woman who'd chosen the service name of Brick, although Brandy suspected her comrades had a softer nickname for her. "Nobody move," rasped the intruder, waving the vibroblade inches from the captive's face. The recruits let out a collective gasp, and most of them stepped back-although the Gambolts, Brandy noted, held their position and assumed postures that suggested they might leap if they saw an opening.
"One false move and the girl pays in blood," said the intruder, turning his hostage to shield himself from Brandy. "I'm not afraid of your gun."
"Good," said Brandy, and pressed the firing stud.
The beam caught both the intruder and Brick. They fell limp to the floor, without a sound. The vibroblade clattered harmless to the side.
In an instant, one of the Gambolts had leapt on the intruder and pi
"He ought to look familiar," said Brandy. "He's one of us. This is Gears, from the motor pool-he volunteered to play the bad guy so I could show you how this weapon works. You can get off him now, Rube. He won't hurt anybody."
Rube got off of Gears and stood up. The rest of the recruits gathered around to look. While both Gears and Brick were lying limp on the floor, it was evident that both were breathing normally, and they showed no other signs of injury.
"I wanted you all to see that this weapon can be used in a tight situation, where your target is mixed in with a lot of people you don't want to hurt," said Brandy. "With a conventional weapon, you'd hold your fire-and if the target is sufficiently determined, you might end up taking casualties because you were afraid to take that risk. But Gears has been hit by this ray before, and he volunteered to let me zap him again so you could see how it works."
"That's right," said Gears, who had recovered sufficiently to raise his head and speak. "Flight Leftenant Qual used one of these things to save my life. So I'm a pretty big fan of this weapon. I let the Top zap me with it to show you how quick it takes down a target, without really harming him."
"It'll still be a few minutes before he can stand," said Brandy, "so you'd have plenty of time to disarm a real enemy. And you don't have to worry about hurting your own people, if they're in the line of fire. How's Brick doing?"
"I'm all right, Sarge," came Brick's voice, a bit faint. "My arms and legs feel weird, but nothing hurts."
"Take those two over to the wall and prop 'em up so they can sit," said Brandy. "I'd hate to delay the rest of the demonstration while they recover. And now that you've all seen what this weapon can do, we're going to let you all have one to work with."
The recruits were noticeably more interested, and the rest of the session passed rapidly. Brandy considered it an unusual success-especially since even Mahatma was so fascinated by the SR-1 that he never got around to asking his question.
12
Journal #376
A peacekeeping mission by its very nature is an admission that the local government is unable to keep the peace. Thus, it was no surprise that the government of Landoor looked at Omega Company as a necessary evil on the level of game wardens and dogcatchers. My employer's overtures to the government, offering to lend his people to various public works projects, met with blanket refusals. The government made it clear that, in their opinion, Omega Company could justify its presence only by exterminating the rebels-the remnants of the former government, and their supporters.
The ordinary citizens, on the other hand, appeared to have no animosity against the Legion. On the captain's instructions, the legio
"Hey, lookit the big guy with the fu
Tusk-anini stopped and peered at the group of local children. A few short blocks from the hotel, the neighborhood had changed rapidly, clearly showing its previous identity as a factory district. The dilapidated building in front of which the children stood bore a sign a
"Hello," he said. "My name Tusk-anini. You live here?"
The children were whispering to one another, as if uncertain what to do now that they had attracted this strange creature's attention. One of them, bolder than the rest, stepped forward and asked, "Are you a soldier?"
"Not soldier," said Tusk-anini. "Space Legion-we better than soldiers." He strolled across the litter-strewn street, doing his best to appear nonthreatening. For someone who closely resembled a seven-foot-tall warthog, this was somewhat difficult. But the captain had briefed the company about the importance of being friendly with the natives of this world, and Tusk-anini was willing to do his part.