"But I'll be the most expensive piece of meat he ever butchered."
Lanzotta, as if unconsciously, touched the assault badge on his breast.
"Now, I will give you the first four rules for staying alive and happy. First, you should think of yourselves as two stages below latrine waste. I will let you know when I think you are qualified to consider yourselves sentient beings. Right now, I don't think that will ever happen.
"Second, when a cadreperson addresses you, you will come to attention, you will salute, you will address him by his rank, and you will do exactly what he tells you to do."
He nodded sideways to Carruthers. The corporal ran forward to one recruit. "YOU!" she shouted.
"Yes."
The corporal's fist sank into the trainee's stomach, and he collapsed to his knees, retching. Carruthers took one step to the side. "YOU!" she screamed at the trembling woman.
"Yes…corporal," the trainee faltered.
"JUMP!"
The girl gaped. Carruthers' fist blurred into her chin, and she went down.
"THEY AREN'T LISTENING, SERGEANT." She sidestepped. "YOU!"
"Yes, corporal," the third trainee managed.
"JUMP!"
"Yes, corporal!"
The recruit started bounding up and down. "THATS NOT HIGH ENOUGH!" The trainee jumped higher.
Carruthers watched, then shook her head in satisfaction. She rank back to her position beside Lanzotta.
"Third," Lanzotta went on as if nothing had happened. "You will run everywhere except inside a building or when otherwise ordered.
"And fourth—" Lanzotta stopped. "The fourth rule is that everything you can do is wrong. You walk wrong, you talk wrong, you think wrong, and you are wrong. We are here to help you start doing things right" Lanzotta turned to Halstead.
"Corporal. Take this trash out of my sight and see if there's anything you can do to improve them."
"YES, SERGEANT." The corporal snapped a salute, then ran to one side of the formation. "Right…face!" he shouted.
Sten blinked as he found his body responding to hypno conditioning he'd been programmed with in the sleep lectures.
"Forward…harch!…double-time…harch!" The formation of trainees stumbled forward.
"This is your home, children," Halstead's voice boomed down the long squad barracks. Sten and the other recruits each stood next to a bunk.
"We give you a bed, which you'll be lucky to see four hours a night," Halstead went on. "You got one cabinet to put your equipment in. We will show you how to store it.
"I know most of you were brought up in a sewer works. You will keep this barracks clean. But it will never be clean enough."
Halstead walked to the door. "You have two minutes to gape around. Then fall outside to draw clothing and equipment."
The barracks door slammed shut. There was silence for a moment, then the excited buzz of conversation. Sten looked around the room at his fellow trainees. They looked fit, healthy, and terrified. He wasn't quite the smallest of the group, but close.
"Farmers. All farmers," the trainee beside the next bunk said. Sten looked at him. It was the young man from the tourist world. He held out a vertical palm to Sten. "Gregor."
Sten touched palms, and introduced himself. "Is there something the matter with farmers?" he asked curiously.
"Not a thing. Just what the Empire needs to make into heroes." Gregor might have curled a lip.
"But not you?"
Gregor smiled. "You are on it. Not me."
Sten lifted an eyebrow.
"Officer. That's the ticket. You hide and watch. When they start combing the losers out…" Gregor smiled again.
Halstead's whistle shrilled suddenly. Boots clattered as the trainees dashed for the door.
"YOU'RE TOO SLOW, CHILDREN. WAY…TOO…SLOW. THE LAST FIVE OUT ARE ON MESS DUTY!" Halstead bellowed.
"NEXT!" the corporal screamed. Sten, standing naked in the long line, wondered if Halstead could talk normally. Probably not, he decided. The trainee in front of Sten dashed to the large coffin, ran inside, put his toes on the mark, and Halstead banged the door shut.
He waited, then jerked it open. "OUT OUT OUT," he bellowed.
The man jumped out, and ran down the corridor to a dispenser trough that was already filling with packaged uniforms.
Sten pulled his head out of the ultrasonic barber. He ran his fingers dubiously over his suddenly bare skull.
Carruthers grinned at him and growled, "Yeah, you look even dumber than you feel."
"Thank you, corporal," Sten shouted, and ran back to the waiting formation.
Sten, the clumsy transport bag dangling from one shoulder, ran back toward the barracks.
"FASTER, FASTER," screamed Halstead. "THAT ONLY WEIGHS FORTY KILOS, SCUM."
Out of the corner of his eye Sten saw Carruthers kneeling on the chest of one recruit who'd gone down under the weight of the bag.
"You've got to understand," Carruthers crooned, "we're just trying to help you, skeek." She suddenly bellowed, without getting off the panting man, "NOW ON YOUR FEET!"
"Oooh," Lanzotta moaned as he walked down the long line of trainees. "You think you look like soldiers?"
He stopped in front of one trainee. Instantly Carruthers and Halstead were beside him. "Son, your tunic lines up with your pants fastening."
"DID YOU HEAR THE SERGEANT?" Halstead howled as he yanked the trainee's cap down over his eyes. "HE SAID YOU LOOKED LIKE DRAKH," Carruthers screamed in the boy's other ear. Lanzotta went on, as if the two bellowing corporals weren't there. "We want you to look your best." He shook his head sadly and walked on, as Halstead straight-armed the recruit back across his bunk, which collapsed sideways.
Lanzotta stopped in front of Sten.
Sten waited.
Lanzotta looked him up and down, then stared into Sten's eyes. A smile touched the corners of his mouth again, and he walked on.
There was a heavy whisper in his ear. "I think the sergeant likes you," said Carruthers. "He thinks you'll make a fine soldier. I do too. I think you ought to show us all just how good you are."
Pause.
"DROP! DO PUSHUPS! DO MANY, MANY PUSHUPS!"
Sten went down, caught himself on his hands, and started down. Carruthers sat on his shoulders, and Sten collapsed to the floor. "I SAID DO PUSHUPS," Carruthers shouted.
Sten fought to lift himself clear of the ground. Carruthers got up.
"ON YOUR FEET," she howled. Sten snapped up, back at attention.
"I THINK WE WERE WRONG. I DON'T THINK YOU'LL EVER MAKE A SOLDIER," Carruthers shouted. "YOU WON'T EVEN MAKE A GOOD CORPSE."
Sten stood motionless.
Carruthers glowered at him for a moment, then went on to the next victim.
"Your father didn't love you, did he, trooper?"
"NO, CORPORAL."
"Your mother hated you, didn't she?"
"YES, CORPORAL."
"Why didn't your mother love you?"
"I DON'T KNOW, CORPORAL."
"She hated you because she was losing business until she had you aborted. Isn't that right, recruit?"
"YES, CORPORAL."
"Who is the only person who loves you, trainee?"
"YOU ARE, CORPORAL."
Sten winced as Carruthers hurled the recruit against the wall.
"WHERE ARE YOU FROM, SCUM?"
"Ryersbad Four, corporal."
"WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
"Ry—Ryersbad Four, corporal."
"GET THAT TRASHCAN, RECRUIT."
"Yes, corporal."
"PICK IT UP. OVER YOUR HEAD."