"Wh-what?" sputtered Phule. "I don't understand..."

"Sir, I think we'd best get out of the inspectors' way and let them do their work," said Beeker. "And next time you receive an environmental impact questionnaire, I suggest you give it to someone other than Tusk-anini to fill out."

Phule nodded, understanding at last "In that case, I think we'd best head back to camp. Inspector Snieff..."

"Chief Inspector Snieff, thank you," said the woman.

"Yes, of course, Chief Inspector," said Phule. "If there's anything you need from my people, please let me know. We'll be happy to cooperate."

"I certainly hope so," said Chief Inspector Snieff. "The law provides very hefty penalties for obstruction of an environmental inspection."

"We don't have anything to hide," said Phule. "You'll see when you arrive at our guest quarters..." .

"Oh, no," said Snieff. "Regulations prohibit us from accepting accommodations with a suspected violator. We'll be setting up our own camp, Captain. I think you'll find it an instructive example of a minimal-impact inhabitation.

Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to finish unloading."

"Of course," said Phule.

"Excuse me, ma'am," came Gears's voice. "If you'll just call off your dog..." Snieff ignored him as she plastered a bright orange sticker to the door of the hoverjeep. It said in block letters, "IMPOUNDED FOR POLLUTION."

"Woof!" said Barky, the Environmental Dog. "Woof woof, woof woof woof!"

Legion boot camp was like nothing Thumper (as Zigger now called himself) had ever seen before. For one thing, the population was predominantly made up of humans although there were enough members -of other species to keep him from feeling completely outnumbered. "He was the only Lepoid on the base, though, at least the only one he'd seen in his bewilderingly rapid trip through the initial processing area.

That had been an experience he'd just as soon forget.

Luckily, it had gone quickly enough that it seemed to be over almost before it started. But not before he'd been poked and prodded by doctors, and the autodoc had jabbed his arm with at least a dozen inoculations for diseases the Legion thought his race might be susceptible to on distant planets. (The doctors had spent a good half hour looking him up on the base's medical expert system before deciding which inoculations he was likely to need and which were likely to be more danger than help. He'd still been woozy most of the next day-maybe a reaction to the shots, maybe something else.) All the humans were given ultrashort regulation haircuts. Being of a short-furred species, Thumper was spared that indignity, at least. But he was issued a black Legion jumpsuit at least three sizes too large, and combat boots that no imaginable breaking-in would ever make comfortable for his elongated feet. He was all ready to protest this treatment, but he realized that none of the other new recruits' uniforms were the right size, either. Half an hour of searching and trading found him a jumpsuit that fit him better, and his was the almost right size for another recruit...-a lanky, bespectacled human who had adopted the Legion name "Spider." Nobody in the outfit had a pair of boots that fit Thumper. Since appearing without boots was defined as being out of uniform, a serious offense against Legion discipline, that was going to be a problem.

But Thumper had - plenty of other problems to distract him from the boots. Prime among these was his drill instructor, Sergeant Pitbull, who seemed to be of primarily human origin, although there were whispers that he was at least part something else. Exactly what that something else might be, none of the recruits was willing to say-at least not where the sergeant might hear it, which was apparently everywhere in the barracks. At least, the sergeant had an uncanny ability to storm into a room immediately after one of the recruits had said something mildly critical of Legion discipline and to chew out the offender in terms none of them had dreamed of before they had joined the Legion.

It was on their third night of training that Thumper and his new comrades simultaneously realized that the Legion recruiters had actually told them the truth about one thing: Legion boot camp wasn't going to be easy. "By St. Elrod and all powers, I never knew there were so many places I could hurt," said Sharley, lying flat on his bunk, just after lights out.

"That ain't nothing," said Spider. "I never knew there were so many different wrong ways to wear a uniform. Seems like I jes' can't do it right, nohow." Thumper nodded. Even having found a uniform that fit - properly, he was still having trouble getting it to look right-or so the sergeants seemed to think. "I guess they want us to pay attention to all the details;" he said. "When you're in a hostile environment, one little detail could make the difference..."

"Oh, bull," said Spider. "Tell me what difference it gonna make how I fasten my sleeve button!"

"That's not what I mean," said Thumper. "The point is, they want to train us so we don't overlook anything. Then, when you're in a combat situation, you're less likely to overlook something that could kill you..."

"Ain't nobody ever been killed by a sleeve button that I heard of," insisted Spider.

Thumper was about to try his explanation again when somebody hissed "Pitbull!" and the entire bunkroom fell silent in fear of the sergeant's wrath. For once the sergeant - didn't materialize; but by the time the recruits realized it was a false alarm, half of them were asleep, and nobody else seemed inclined to take up the thread.

The one part of Legion life that Thumber found congenial was the healthy dose of physical activity: drill; exercise, hard labor, and more drill. Perhaps this was because he had come to the Legion not as a last chance to escape from an intolerable existence back home; but as an actual lifelong goal. Running, marching, and doing endless calisthenics shouldn't bother someone who had kept himself in good physical condition, he kept telling his buddies. Most of the time, they were too exhausted to answer him. But the looks they shot in his direction were eloquent, had he only been able to read them.

At last, even his friend Sharky, whom he'd met on the space liner that brought them to Legion boot camp, warned him that he was getting "too gung ho." They'd ended up in the same recruit platoon by the simple expedient of showing up at the processing center at the same time.

"What's wrong with being gung ho ?" asked Thumper.

"You're making the other guys look bad," said Sharky.

"We're all in this together, you know. It ain't good if you show up your buddies."

"I'm not trying to show anybody up," Thumper protested. "I've always wanted to be a legionnaire. Now that I am one, why shouldn't I try to be a good one?"

"Cause you make things harder for the rest of us," Sharky explained. "If most of us want to punk out after a hundred push-ups and you keep on going, the sarge is going to get on our asses to keep up with you."

"Gee, I never thought of that," said Thumper. "But don't you want to be all that you can be? If you do more pushups, you'll get stronger. That could be important when the crunch comes..."

"Crunch? What crunch?" Sharky scoffed. "The Alliance hasn't been in a real war since my grandpa was a kid."

"No, but that doesn't mean it won't happen..."

"Against who?" Sharky demanded. "Every time we meet a new race, they want to join up with us on account of the trade advantages. Like those lizards out on Zenobia." Thumper shook his head.

"There was a civil war on Landoor..."

"Sure, and that wasn't much more than a food fight, from what I hear tell," said Sharky. "Nobody except the locals got hurt. All the Legion did was go in to mop up, and they spent more time lying on the beach than anything else.