The second-tier cadre, who'd marched them in, formed up to one side. All wore at least one chevron on their sleeves. In front of the recruits stood the company's first-tier cadre-commissioned and noncommissioned officers. Like the recruits, they'd just arrived, but been bussed to the company area. A step in front of them stood a large, thick-bellied, fiftyish marine retread, with three stripes and three rockers on his sleeve. "All right, recruits," he bellowed, "listen up. I am Master Sergeant Henkel. To you I am god. You are not part of the 587th Infantry Training Regiment, as originally informed. Instead you are Company B, 2nd Infantry Regiment, First New Jerusalem Infantry Division. If any of you goddamn sonsabitches can't remember that when asked, you're in deep shit. So I'll repeat it once: this is B Company… 2nd Infantry Regiment… 1st New Jerusalem Infantry Division."

A voice called from the ranks, loud, clear, and righteous. It was the student speaker of the books, Esau realized, the guy who'd told him about grabbity. "Master Sergeant Henkel, sir," the youth called, "in addressing us, you have twice taken God's name in vain and used several obscenities. Offending everyone, and more serious, offending God. You-"

The sergeant interrupted, his voice soft but easily heard, and dominating. "What's your name, recruit?"

"Isaiah Vernon, sir."

"Come up here, Recruit Vernon."

The young man did so.

"Do you know what pushups are, soldier?"

"Yessir."

"Good. Drop down and give me fifty."

"Fifty, sir?" Vernon sounded unbelieving. He'd never been much for sports or exercise.

"Make that a hundred, for backflash."

"For… but… I can't do a hundred!"

The voice almost purred. "Make that a hundred and fifty, and start NOW!"

Suddenly realizing his situation, Vernon dropped to the ground and started. In Luneburger's relatively modest gravity-1.25 gees compared to New Jerusalem's 1.42-he managed to squeeze out fifteen, then collapsed. To lie there looking up at Henkel. The sergeant's voice became almost kindly.

"Recruit Vernon, you are guilty of backflash, disrespecting a superior, and refusing an order. Considering how green you are, I can overlook your ignorance. But not your stupidity. Common sense should tell you you don't mouth off like that to a superior. And here, anyone with a stripe on his sleeve or an insignia on his collar is your superior. Tonight, report to the orderly room at 2200 hours, to receive company punishment. Now, on your feet."

Pale-faced, Vernon struggled to his feet while Henkel scanned the recruits. When the sergeant spoke again, his voice was no longer soft. "Look at you!" he bellowed. "You look like some goddamn dog shit you out! STAND STRAIGHT!"

Every recruit straightened. Esau's eyes sized the sergeant up. He could, he told himself, throw down the big tub of lard and sit on him, but he doubted the satisfaction would be worth the punishment.

The sergeant turned sharply to the company commander and saluted. "Sir," he said, "with your permission, I will have the men shown to their quarters."

"Do so," the captain said mildly.

Before getting a break, they were shown to their huts, two squads per hut; assigned cots and open-faced wall lockers; given a guided, familiarization tour of the company area while marching in ranks; then issued bedding, field uniforms, and boots. Finally they were taken to the drill field, where they practiced close-order drill for an hour. Esau wondered what possible good close-order drill was.

Finally they were released to use the latrine and wash for supper. The company latrine was a shed with two long parallel rooms, one with two rows of washbowls and mirrors, the other with a row of commodes, and long, troughlike urinals. At one end of the building was the shower room, about twenty by thirty feet, with showerheads at thirty-inch intervals all the way around, and wooden duckboards on the floor.

Most of the recruits headed directly for the latrine. Others went first to the huts, to get towels and soap. Jael went to their platoon sergeant, above whose left shirt pocket "SFC Hawkins, A." was indelibly printed. What SFC meant, she didn't know, but she already knew the three chevrons, and guessed that the two rockers below them stood for increased authority. "Sergeant," she said hesitantly, "where do I go?"

"Go?"

"To-relieve myself."

He regarded her mildly. "There is only the latrine," he answered. "If you are willing, you can use it when the others do. Otherwise you can wait till they're done."

She looked at him with dismay. Dismay and pain, it seemed to him. He made a decision. "Come with me," he said, turning, and led her to the orderly room. There Master Sergeant Henkel ruled. When Sergeant Hawkins stepped to his desk, Henkel looked up at him. "What can I do for you, Sergeant?" he asked.

"Sergeant, I need to speak with the company commander."

"Bypassing your platoon leader?"

Hawkins' voice took an edge. "This is urgent."

Henkel gestured. "Go ahead."

The plaque on the door read CO. Hawkins went to it and knocked, leaving Jael standing in the middle of the orderly room. Through the door, a voice called, "Come in." Hawkins went in and closed the door behind him.

"Sir," he said, "something has come up that needs your attention."

"And what is that?"

Hawkins explained.

Captain Martin Mulvaney Singh's red eyebrows rose. "You've already presented her the options, such as they are, but it's not really practical for her to wait. She'll just have to use the latrine when the men do."

"I realize that, sir. But these Jerries are fundamentalist Christians. It may require some setting up. To lessen embarrassment and avoid incidents."

Mulvaney frowned. His briefing on the Jerries hadn't covered situations like this. "Being a Jerrie, she'll find it embarrassing enough anyway," he said, then paused. "Call her in." Hawkins opened the door to the orderly room and ordered her in. She stood before the captain sturdy but forlorn, and with pain that was more than psychological.

I wonder how old she is, Mulvaney thought. Seventeen? Eighteen? "Sergeant Hawkins explained your difficulty to me," he said mildly. "He has already told you the alternatives, such as they are. But it will seldom be practical for you to wait, so for the most part you'll have to use it when the men do. However, the company will muster before supper, and I will set certain rules of behavior. Which-" His face turned stern. "Which they will obey, as you will, or receive company punishment."

She nodded. Her answer was little more than a whisper. "Yes, sir."

He gestured to a door in the back of the room. "Meanwhile, just this one time, you may use mine if you wish."

"Thank you, sir," she repeated. Her gratitude was too heartfelt to be hidden by her embarrassment.

When she'd entered his little toilet and closed the door behind her, the captain spoke quietly to Sergeant Hawkins. "What is she doing in this company?"

"Sir, there's another Wesley in the platoon. Recruit Esau Wesley. I believe they're husband and wife."

"Ah. What does he look like?"

"Bigger than most Jerries, sir, and looks-like no one to fool with."

"Um-hmm. Good. And Jerries are supposed to be pretty straitlaced. All right, stay here till she comes out. Then take her outside and dismiss her."

Shortly afterward she emerged, and left with Sergeant Hawkins. Which reminded Captain Mulvaney of something he needed to do. Getting to his feet, he stepped to the orderly room door. "Sergeant Henkel," he said, "come in here please," then returned to his desk and sat down.

Henkel came in and stood at attention. He'd spent thirty years around officers. He could smell when something was wrong. "Yes, sir?"

"Sergeant Henkel, the Sikh style of command is different than yours. Therefore I am reassigning your command duties. That will give you more time for your administrative tasks, which in any case have been very much your main duties."