Sushi and Do-Wop had called together the original ridetesting squad from the days when Landoor Park was being built with the help and protection of the Omega Mob. With Mahatma, Tusk-anini, and Rube in tow, they'd taken a hoverjeep over to the gates of Dunes Park, where they were met by Okidata, the local friend who'd tipped them off about the new ride.

"Glad you all could make it," said Okidata, shaking Sushi's hand. "This looks like a really triff ride-not as hot as any of ours, but one you'll want to ride a couple of times."

"What's it called?" asked Do-Wop, who was perhaps the most avid connoisseur of thrill rides in the company.

"The Snapper," said Okidata with a shrug. "Dumb name, but you can't judge by that. Dunes Park always has dumb names."

Dunes Park was one of the older and smaller amusement parks on Landoor, a child's playpen in comparison to the gigantic parks that had grown up in more recent years, especially the ones built by the government and by the ex-rebels working with Phule. But the older parks were still popular with many of the locals, and they had made an effort to keep their audience with a string of new rides, of which the Snapper was the latest.

Do-Wop laughed. "Yeah, almost as dumb as some people's Legion names. Who makes 'em up, anyway?"

"Hieronimus Ekanem, the owner," said Okidata, rolling his eyes. "Guess the guy's got no imagination."

"So why doesn't he hire somebody?" asked Sushi. He pointed toward the park entrance. "Hey, we're wasting time. We can talk about this while we're waiting in line, if it's so fascinating."

"Sushi right," said Tusk-anini. "Can talk anywhere. But longer we talk here, longer line keeps getting and we aren't in it. Let's going."

The group headed through the gates, drawing stares from the other customers. The two aliens, Tusk-anini and Rube, were unusual enough to turn heads anywhere, but on Landoor, a world settled almost entirely by humans, a giant warthog and a human-sized cat couldn't walk the streets without being targeted for rubbernecking and finger-pointing by local youngsters. While the aliens in Phule's company were used to being singled out for attention, the humans in the group didn't like seeing their comrades treated as exotic specimens.

"Mommy, Mommy!" cried a small voice to one side. "Look at the monster!"

"Be quiet, Nanci, that's not a monster," said a woman in hushed tones. "It's an alien soldier."

"Hello," said Tusk-anini, waving. With his alien dentition, he couldn't manage anything a human would recognize as a smile, but he made his voice as friendly as he could manage. "Not soldier-we Space Legion. Better than soldiers!"

"Funny mans," said the child, sticking its finger in a corner of its mouth and smiling shyly. The mother smiled, too, and the legionnaires relaxed. The Volton couldn't change his fearsome looks, but that didn't mean he thought it necessary to go around frightening babies, either. Tusk-anini had learned that talking to children could let him cross the line from "monster" to "man," and become something to smile at. He waved again, and the group headed on toward the rides.

The line for the new ride was already long. Landoorans considered thrill rides their national art form, and a new one was always an event. It looked as if a fair number of the locals had taken days off from work and pulled the kids out of school, as well. There was probably going to be nearly an hour's wait for the ride. But the park's management sent a series of strolling entertainers to work the line jugglers, clowns, antigrav dancers, musicians, thimbleriggers, and snack vendors-so the crowd wouldn't notice its slow progress. Strategic glimpses of the ride-usually as the cars plunged down a steep incline, bringing excited squeals from the riders-helped build the anticipation.

The legionnaires were nearly to the front of the line when Do-Wop said, "Look, there's Rev. What's he doing in the park?"

"Goofing off, same as you," said Sushi, elbowing his partner.

"Chaplains ain't supposed to goof off, they're brass," said Do-Wop. "I gotta give him a hard time." He grinned and punched Sushi in the arm, then waved to catch the chaplain's attention. "Yo, Rev," he called. "Yo, over here! We caught ya!"

Several passersby turned their heads, but when they saw who was waving, they went about their way. The one who looked like Rev passed within a few paces of them and looked directly at Do-Wop. Becoming aware that he was the one being called, he stopped and spread his hands apart. "Sorry, you must be making a mistake. That's not my name." If his words hadn't been enough, the thick Landooran accent made it perfectly clear this wasn't Rev.

"Whadda ya mean? Cut the jive, Rev," demanded Do-Wop as the passerby turned to leave, but Sushi put a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Do-Wop," said his partner. "That's some local guy who looks like Rev, is all."

"I guess you're right," said Do-Wop. "Damn, he's a dead ringer, though."

"Hey, it could be worse," said Sushi.

"How's that?" asked Do-Wop, frowning.

"The guy could look like you, " said Sushi, grinning. He ducked as Do-Wop threw a punch in mock indignation. Just then, the line moved up, and the laughing group of legionnaires edged closer to their ride.

Journal #492

My employer had thought he was filling an important void in his people's spiritual life by requesting that a chaplain be assigned to the company. But the doctrines of Reverend Jordan Ayres had given him second thoughts. Not that the chaplain had in any way attempted to undermine what he was doing, but the influence of his doctrine on the legionnaires did take one confusing direction.

"Captain, this has got to stop. It's driving me crazy," said Brandy. "Don't get me wrong-I don't have anything against the chaplain. Rev's done a pretty good job, building morale. But you can't expect me to do my job when I can't tell one of my people from another."

"I can't see any big problem, Captain," said the chaplain. "You know we ask our disciples to emulate the King, on account of he's such an inspiration. A poor boy, climbed right to the top, without no help from anybody...Why, that makes me feel like I can do the same myself. Ain't that exactly the kind of spirit that makes a good legionnaire, now?"

"Maybe it makes a good legionnaire, but if enough of your disciples look alike, you're going to make one crazy sergeant," said Brandy, crossing her arms. She stared at Rev, who had arrived at the company already made over to resemble his sect's prophet: a dark pompadour with long sideburns, a classic profile, full lips with a tendency to an ever-so-slight sneer.

Phule fidgeted with a pencil, looking back and forth between his top sergeant and the chaplain. "I see your point, Brandy," he said. "But the chaplain's got a point, too. The company's morale is the best it's ever been. And there is that clause in the Legionnaire's Bill of Rights..."

"Why, thank you, Captain," said the chaplain. "I didn't want to have to mention that clause myself. A feller shouldn't haul out the heavy artillery first thing out of the box, y'know. But it certainly fits, if you look into it. We've got plenty of precedents on our side."

"So I've got to train and evaluate a batch of recruits that all look exactly alike?" Brandy put her hands on her hips and leaned over Phule's desk. "Maybe I'm going to have second thoughts about that early retirement option."

"Now, Brandy, don't blow this out of proportion," said Phule, rising to his feet. "How many of our legionnaires have had their appearance altered, anyway? It surely isn't more than three or four, is it?"

"Eleven," said Rev proudly.

"Eleven?" Phule asked, suddenly dubious.

"Eleven," said Brandy. "And two more have applied for it."