Chapter 21

Public Relations! I can't get away from it! It's followed me halfway across the Nexus!

Anny looked out at the room full of young faces and couldn't help but think about her job back at Fort Vorolson. The setting might be an unimaginable distance from her home and the children Novo Pavean rather Barrayaran, but the task before her was still the same: keep people happy.

She spotted young Paulo sitting in the second row. He had a look of proprietary satisfaction on his face. Ever since their first meeting he seemed to have decided that Anny was his very own Barrayaran soldier. He'd actually sought her out one day at her base outside of town; just showed up at the gate and asked for her. She'd escorted him home immediately to a frantic and grateful mother, but that wasn't the last of him, oh no! Since then she'd seen him frequently and was becoming fond of the lad. It was rarely possible for her to coordinate her off duty hours with Jer or Alby or Patric, or even Chris, so he was actually a welcome companion. He'd shown her all around Milagres and introduced her to everyone he knew. Friends, family, the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker.

And his teacher.

Anny glanced over to where that teacher, Ines Da Silva, was standing. She was a short, dark-haired woman, perhaps ten years older than Anny. But she was friendly and had been very interested in meeting Anny and somehow she'd talked her into speaking before her class. Anny had been reluctant at first, but eventually agreed. But then when she'd asked Vorstang for permission, the request had been kicked upstairs where someone had remembered her old job at Fort Vorolson and before you could say photo op the request had not only been approved, it had been turned into an order. There was, in fact, a photographer from BEF HQ there to record the whole thing and she'd been told that the vid might well be seen all over Novo Paveo if it went well.

Da Silva saw Anny looking her way and made a little go on motion with her head. Anny took a breath, looked at her notes, and began. "Good morning everyone," she said in Portuguese.

"Good morning Lieutenant Payne!" shouted the class back at her in English.

Anny started her presentation. She'd worked on it for nearly a week and then had it translated and then she'd practiced her delivery with help from both Paulo and Da Silva. She knew her accent was still pretty thick, but her pronunciation wasn't too bad. The minimal number of giggles from the kids indicated she wasn't making too many goofs. She had a small, portable loudspeaker and microphone. The classroom appeared to have had built-in audio-visual equipment at some point, but it was gone now, leaving some ugly holes in the walls. Looted perhaps?

The content of her talk was straightforward enough: why we're here, why we are your friends and why you should be happy to cooperate with us. "And so," she said as she neared the end, "we Barrayarans have come to help you. The EnBees may have pretended to be your friends, but they are not. They want to turn Novo Paveo into an army base and all of you into soldiers so that you can attack your neighbors. This is not a good thing. Not a fair thing. You all deserve to have a future that you choose, not one that the lords on NuevoBrasila choose for you. Help us to drive out the EnBees forever and your future will belong to you."

There was some polite applause when she finished, but she could tell that many of the children were struggling to understand all that she'd said. Then came the question and answer session. Her grasp of the language was still too thin to handle that unaided, so she switched on her translator. Most of the questions were simple enough: stuff about her weapons and equipment and what Barrayar was like. She managed to field them without too much trouble. But then a girl stood up and she looked very nervous, with her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"P-please, Lieutenant Payne," she stuttered. "I have heard your words, but I am very confused. The things you say, that you Barrayarans are our friends and that the EnBees are not our friends. They seem to be the truth. The Barrayarans have given us help and the EnBees have done things that have frightened us a lot. But… but…" Here she faltered and she glanced at her teacher. Da Silva tensed. "Ms Da Silva has said things… things that are just the opposite of what you say! That the EnBees are our friends and that the Barrayarans and all the other Galactics are not! Please, I do not understand!" The girl stood there looking fearfully between Anny and her teacher.

Anny looked helplessly at Da Silva. What the hell do I say now? Da Silva's expression had gone utterly blank and she seemed frozen like a statue. A long, uncomfortable silence followed during which Anny heard the HQ vid guy mutter something about editing. Finally Da Silva stirred and took a step toward her class, her fists clenched. "Children, I… I have done you a great wrong," she said. "The things that Lieutenant Payne has told you today are the truth. The things that I told you before were lies. Lies. And I beg your forgiveness for having told them to you. When the EnBees came they told me, told all the teachers, what they wanted us to tell you about the war, about what was happening on our world. They said that if we did not do as they wanted they would… hurt people. So we lied to you. We told you the things that the EnBees wanted you to hear. But they were not the truth. What you heard today is the truth. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the truth before." She finished and turned away, fists still clenched.

The girl who had asked the question fell back into her seat, hands over her mouth. The other kids seemed similarly gobsmacked. Anny hesitated a moment and then cleared her throat.

"I think that your teacher has been very brave. Brave to protect all of you from the EnBees and brave to tell you the truth about it now. I'm a soldier, but I don't think I could ever be that brave. Ms Da Silva has been very brave, don't you think?"

The children pondered this for a moment and then suddenly Paulo thrust up his fist and cried: "Viva Ms Da Silva!"

Within seconds all the other children were shouting, too. "Viva Ms Da Silva!"

It took a good five minutes to restore order. But eventually they were quiet again and Da Silva dismissed them. The HQ guy departed, leaving Anny alone with the teacher. Da Silva came over to her, eyes glistening and said: "Thank you, Lieutenant, for everything."

"That must have been very hard for you. I'm sorry it happened."

"I'm not," said Da Silva, after a moment. Her English was very good. "Sooner or later, someone was going to ask the question that little Rosa did and I'm glad to not have to worry about it anymore. I'd been dreading the moment, but now that it's happened, it turned out far better than I'd dared to hope." She gestured to the chairs and they sat down. "Before this whole nightmare began, we teachers had a very strict curriculum, of course. Sent from Nuevo Brasilia, it hammered the same lesson into the children from the first day: love the Home World, obey the grandees, labor for the greater good—and the greater good was always Nuevo Brasila. I taught it and rarely questioned it. If I'd been the type to question it, I wouldn't have been allowed to become a teacher.

"But then the revolution started and the message it carried: Novo Paveo for the Novo Paveans was very powerful. The younger children didn't understand, but their older siblings drank it in like water to a man in the desert. But it put us teachers in a terrible position. What should we teach? What should we tell the children? Luckily the rebels didn't pay much attention to Tamborete. They only occupied the place briefly before they were driven out again. But even in that short time they did damage," she paused and gestured to the holes in the wall. "And they tried to introduce a new school curriculum. Some of the older teachers, ones who had been born on Nuevo Brasilia, protested and they… disappeared. I honestly don't know what I would have done."

"You could have gone into hiding," said Anny.

"Yes. Some did. But who would have looked out for the children if we'd all done that? But I wasn't forced to choose—that time. The loyalists returned, but they had changed, too. And the secret police came with them. The message we had to pass on now was much harsher, much stricter, and the punishments for disobedience much worse. I had no choice but to go along. I was already under suspicion simply because the rebels hadn't killed me. So I cooperated."

"And now we're here."

"Yes," said Da Silva gravely. "And now you are here."

"And we are insisting that you cooperate."

"Yes, and again I have no choice."

"We wouldn't…!" began Anny, but then she stopped herself. We wouldn't what? Kill her? Throw her in prison? Are you sure? She honestly didn't know. She hoped that ImpSec wouldn't just kill Da Silva, but they would surely never tolerate any teacher who continued to support the old regime. "We've put you in a very difficult position. I'm sorry."

"You are doing what you have to do just as I am. I feel confident that I can trust you, as a person, Lieutenant Payne, but I know you will follow orders. And I know that I've put my life into your hands today. If you leave and the EnBees return I will have to flee—or die."

"I'll try not to betray your trust," said Anny. "But I also know not to make any promises I can't keep."

"Fair enough," said Da Silva.

[Scene Break]

Garrison duty was boring and Alby Vorsworth was bored. He was still working for Captain Hopkins in Intelligence, but as far as anyone could tell, there just wasn't much happening on the island of Tamborete. The regiment had come to establish order and after two months things were just so darn… orderly.

Not that Alby was itching for action the way Rad Benin was, but it would be nice if there was something to keep his interest. Each day was pretty much like the day before. He would spend a couple of hours in the morning sifting through the reports coming up from the companies and another hour or so sifting through the reports coming down from brigade to see if anything was important enough to pass on to Hopkins or the Colonel. There rarely was. The company reports were mostly negative with the occasional lost child or strayed livestock to liven things up. The brigade reports were similarly negative, mostly from the engineers who were doing deep seismic sensor probes in hopes of finding underground EnBee bases. Everyone was convinced that they were down there somewhere, carefully screened from normal sensors. The fact that the Cetagandans had found just such a base on one of the other islands, using those very methods, had all the Barrayaran engineers bound and determined not to be shown up. But trying to probe the whole bloody planet a hectare at a time was the work of a lifetime or two. Alby was glad he hadn't gone into engineering.

This day's reports were just like all the others and Alby was finished well before lunch. Hopkins would probably find some make-work for him in the afternoon, but for right now he had some time free. He decided he really ought to write a letter to each of his girlfriends. It was odd and rather exhilarating to have two, when until fairly recently he'd never had even one. Abigail, back at the Academy on Barrayar, had been the first. She was Vor, not 'Old Vor' the way he was, but still of his class and a 'proper match'. They had become friends while Alby was in his third year at the Academy and he had hoped that it might become more than friendship. But the regulations didn't permit a real romance and while regulations had never stopped Alby from doing anything he really wanted to do, Abbie was far more straight-laced and she (reinforced by stern warnings from Anny and Jer) had made it quite clear that if Alby was truly interested in her then he could damn well wait until they both graduated (just the way Anny and Jer had—blast them). So he'd relented, but the long separation, and with Abbie now in her senior year and so busy, the relationship (whatever it was) had cooled significantly. He still liked her, but he wasn't sure what he would want to do once they were free to do what they wanted to do.

His relationship with Izabella was another matter! Izabella Cresswell-Jones was a commander in one of the Earth naval contingents. She was almost twice his age, although due to galactic medical techniques she looked far younger than a Barrayaran woman that old would look. She was far more experienced than Alby and with no regulations standing in the way she'd been perfectly willing to have a fling with him. Neither had the slightest expectation that it was a relationship that would endure beyond their deployment to Novo Paveo. But they had fun together and Alby liked her a lot. The actual time they could spend together was limited, but they'd made the most of what they had.

Izabella knew about Abbie, but the reverse wasn't true. At least he hoped it wasn't! He felt a bit guilty about it at times, but it wasn't as though he and Abbie were engaged or anything of the sort. They'd made no promises and what he did a zillion light years across the Nexus was none of her business, right? Right?

For his letter to Abbie, he pulled up a special bit of word-processing software he'd tinkered together. All mail home was censored by computers that automatically deleted anything that the programming decided was militarily sensitive. From a few of the samples Alby had seen, that included just about everything and reduced a typical letter to: 'Hi Ma! I ain't been shot yet. Luv Johhny.' But Alby would have none of that! Only a few hours' work had allowed him to produce letters that would bypass the censoring software and get sent unaltered. He wrote a pretty complete account of the assault on Tamborete and the ensuing occupation. "I didn't see any real action, being with regimental HQ, but Jer and Patric both did and Anny nearly got herself killed again. I don't know what I'm going to do with that girl." He paused and shivered despite the warmth in the office module. Jer had described to him the situation where he'd found Anny and it made Alby cringe. Anny got so damn crazy in combat! He thought back to the fight on Dounby. Anny had always been so driven, but he'd never see her like that before. And apparently it wasn't a one-time occurrence. If she kept that up… The thought of her being killed was… horrible. It was so odd, he liked Abbie and he lusted after Izabella, but the one person in the universe that he could truly say that he loved was Anny. In a brotherly-sisterly sort of way, of course. Well, sort of…

"Things have quieted down a lot now," he continued. "And while I don't mind the calm, I have to wonder if this is doing any good towards ending this mess and getting us all home. I've been analyzing all the intel coming through and it isn't yielding anything useful. Still, I have this nagging feeling that we are all overlooking something. Something right under our noses."

He stopped and frowned. Right under our noses… The thought that had been swirling around in the back of his head for days had crystallized on his comconsole screen. He put the letter to Abbie aside and called up his intel files and paged through them. Patterns, his specialty was detecting patterns. Were there any patterns here he hadn't caught? He looked over the reports for a half-hour and then snarled in frustration.

"Too many gaps! If they would just send us the whole bloody picture!"

But of course they hadn't. They being the BEF Intelligence section. Information, unlike water, flowed uphill. It went up the chain of command to the top, but little of it ever flowed back down again. The 'experts' at HQ decided what the lower echelons needed to know and a mere regimental headquarters S2 section didn't rate much of anything.

"What was that, Alby?" He twitched in surprise. He hadn't realized that he'd spoken his frustrations that loudly. Captain Hopkins had heard him. Well, since he had… he got up and walked down to the other end of the module. Hopkins looked up as he approached.

"Captain? Do you think there's any chance that HQ would give us access to more information? I'm trying to make sense of all this but we don't even have half the picture! Not even a tenth!"

Hopkins looked at him shrewdly. "Getting bored again, Alby? Well, I can probably find something that will keep you busy…"

"Please, sir, I'm serious. I've got a gut feeling that we're overlooking something. Something important. I might be able to find it if I only had the data to work with."

"Alby, they've got some of the best intel people in the Empire looking at all of that already…"

"And they aren't finding anything! Maybe… maybe a new set of eyes would help. You know… you know how good I am, sir."

Hopkins sighed. "Yeah, yeah I do. You really ought to be at HQ…"

"I don't want a transfer, sir!" said Alby in alarm. Leave the Regiment? Leave his friends?

"And I don't want to lose you," continued Hopkins. "But… well, I'll make some inquiries. Maybe I can get some more grist for your mill."

"I'd appreciate that, sir."

"Don't get your hopes up. And even if I succeed, it might take a while; I have to go through channels, y'know."

That was clearly the best he was going to get from Hopkins, so he went back to his cubicle. He finished up the letter to Abbie and wrote a short note to Izabella about their next rendezvous. But the earlier frustration was building in him again.

Channels! Our people are in danger and we have to go through channels!

He turned back to his comconsole and started typing.

"Hopkins might have to, but I don't!"

[Scene Break}

"That bastard's already got the sweetest piece of tail in the regiment and now he's building his own little harem right here!"

Jer paused in mid stride, mess tray in his hands. He didn't have to look to see who had spoken: Vorkerkas.

"Well to be fair, Adrien" said another voice, "he's got the only piece of tail in the regiment, so it's the sweetest by default."

"Although it is pretty sweet in its own right," said a third, getting a laugh.

"How would you know, Vorledge? Naddel sharing now?"

"Sadly no. But I saw her suiting up back at Vorolson a few times. Skin-tight undersuits don't leave much to the imagination." More laughs.

"But what are you bitching about, Adrien? You've got a batch of the local frills in your training company, too, don't you?"

"Ah, they don't like him, Hans! Works 'em too hard. No strength for any fun later on!"

"Work?" growled Vorkerkas. "Not likely! Laziest bunch of sods I've ever seen. How they expect us to make them into soldiers, I don't know."

"Naddel seems to get work out of them," said a new voice, Jer thought it was Lieutenant Haskel of F Company. "His company has got the best performance rating of any of them. And I don't think it's because he's sleeping with the women." This brought a few groans and snide remarks, but seemed to deflate the others.

Jer decided he'd been standing there out of sight long enough and he went on to find a table in the mess module to eat his lunch without looking toward Vorkerkas or the others. Inwardly he was fuming, but he let none of it show. Damn. It had been well over a year and some of the other officers still resented that he and Anny were lovers. Well, a few resented the fact that he was a Komarran too. They were very broad-minded in their prejudices, he'd give them that.

When he'd first decided to join the military, he knew he'd be facing discrimination from those who didn't like Komarrans. But at the Academy, much to his surprise, he'd managed to make some friends. Alby, Patric… Anny. They'd given him hope that he could do the same elsewhere. And he had made some friends in the 61st, like Sven Estaban, but so far he hadn't had much success in H Company. Vorkerkas disliked him because of his hatred for Anny and he'd managed to prevent any of the company officers from becoming friends with Jer. Captain Andronov was fair, but distant—as he should be with subordinates. Sergeant Shusterman was fair, but distant—as he should be with his superior. It wasn't bad, but it could have been so much better. He hadn't seen any of his friends in weeks and he was feeling lonely.

He finished up his lunch, checked the time, and headed outside. More training with his militia company, and today ought to be interesting. He saw them forming up at the edge of the drill field after their own lunch break. They'd finally been issued uniforms last week and they actually looked like soldiers now, although the simple green-brown fatigues lacked pretty much everything in the way of military flair. But the troops had been thrilled and that was all that really mattered.

His company had grown considerably as new recruits were added. While it was good to have the extra people, it had slowed down the training as the newbies had to be allowed to catch up with the rest. But the others had helped them along and observing just who was doing the best job at helping had shown him who was fit to be appointed as NCOs. He had a full complement of sergeants and corporals now and they were all shaping up pretty well. He grinned as First Sergeant Flora Levine spotted him and began shouting at everyone to get in line and shut up. "Companhia! Atencao!" she commanded as he arrived in front of them. Everyone snapped to and Levine saluted him and reported that all were present or accounted for.

Jer looked them over, but a lot of his attention was on Levine. Making her the first sergeant had been a risk. She had continued to flirt with him for a few weeks after the first incident until he'd shown her a holo of Anny and told her as plainly as the translator software would allow that he was a one-woman sort of guy. To his surprise, she hadn't gotten angry or sulky but instead had remained friendly and had thrown herself into the training and learning her duties and had become his best recruit. He still wasn't entirely sure what her motivation was, but she had earned her position. The risk was that her earlier flirtations had been pretty obvious and it was inevitable that some people—like Vorkerkas apparently—thought they had been successful and the first sergeant's position had been his reward to her for duty in bed rather than on the drill field. Still, the other people in the company seemed to respect her authority and that was what mattered.

He walked up and down the ranks, making small corrections of the way some were wearing their gear and giving small compliments where warranted. He was just killing time, but eventually several trucks pulled up on the edge of the drill field. He called everyone to attention.

"Well," he said through the translator, "the day you've been waiting for has arrived. Today you will be issued your weapons."

The expected cheer came, although it was delayed a few seconds by the translator. Levine moved to call for silence, but he put out his hand and stopped her. Let them cheer a bit. When they finally settled down he marched them over to one of the trucks where some of the ordnance people from regiment had set up a distribution point. Then came the rather tedious process of handing out the weapons and the accompanying combat helmets. Each soldier was issued a helmet and a rifle. The helmets had an elaborate array of sensors and communications gear and needed to be fitted and 'calibrated' to exactly match the soldier wearing it. Or at least that is what they told the soldiers. In actual fact, the helmets were taking DNA codes and retinal scans of their owners. The rifles were keyed to the helmets and the helmets were keyed to the soldiers.

One major worry about the militias had been that the equipment issued to them might end up getting 'lost'. Truly lost, stolen, sold, or most worrisome, given to people who might be in league with the EnBees. Even though each soldier had professed loyalty under fast-penta those statements could not account for future actions or future changes of heart. So, this equipment was designed so that the helmets would only work for the people they were assigned to and the rifles would only work in concert with those helmets. Both were fitted with tracking homers, too. It wasn't a foolproof system, but it was the best that could be concocted. In a combat situation a unit commander could switch off some of the safeguards, allowing anyone on the right side to use anyone else's gear, but for normal times it would (hopefully) make the stuff useless to anyone but the rightful owners.

It took half the afternoon to get everyone in his company equipped. Those that got theirs first were almost giddy with excitement and Jer had to order them not to fool around with their new toys until everyone had theirs and they could receive instruction. Eventually, it was all done and Jer led the company to a space under some trees.

"The Webley M-28 coilgun is a proven design, originally developed on Earth, but now in common use throughout the nexus," said Jer, holding up one of the weapons. "It fires a 2-millimeter dart with a muzzle velocity of up to three thousand meters per second. It is capable of punching through both light body armor and lightly armored vehicles at a considerable range. The sighting system is tied into the Heads-Up display in your combat helmets. The standard magazine holds 300 darts plus the disposable power pack that powers the weapon…"

"I do not have a magazine," said one of the troopers waving his hand. Several others said the same thing.

"Does it go here? In this slot?"

"You will not be issued ammunition today," said Jer, getting some groans of disappointment. "Today you will be instructed on how to care for your new equipment, how to keep it clean, and how to fix minor problems. Tomorrow you will be shown how to use it. Now, I want you to spread out and form a circle around me. Put your poncho on the ground and sit down…"

They spent the rest of the afternoon field-stripping the rifles and helmets. Fortunately, since the rifles had no moving parts whatsoever, maintenance was simply a matter of keeping dirt out of the barrel and the magazine slot. Any problem more serious would require the attention of an ordnance technician. The combat helmet was even simpler since all the electronics were built-in and sealed and never needed to be fooled with. Using all its features would take weeks or months of training, but other than that, its care was a matter of adjusting the chin straps and not letting the helmet get run over by a tank or something.

Finally, as the day neared its end, he put them back in ranks and went through the manual of arms for half an hour. Then it was off to the newly constructed armory where they would store their weapons and helmets when they weren't using them. The troops were chatting excitedly within seconds after being dismissed.

The next morning they reviewed what they had learned the day before and then it was off to the firing range. This was a large pasture that had been taken over (there being a lot fewer grazing animals around since the war started). One end was up against a small hill which would act as a back-stop; very necessary since the darts would fly for kilometers with lethal velocity if they missed their intended target. Several NCOs from his own platoon were already there waiting to help with the instructions.

After an hour of lectures and demonstrations, the troops were finally issued ammunition and allowed to try out their weapons. They took up positions along the firing line and were soon happily blasting away at the holographic targets at the far end of the range. The weapons made no noise except for the tiny sonic booms created by the projectiles themselves, but even those were no louder than a person snapping his fingers, so it was relatively quiet except for the joyful chatter the troops made. Jer's NCOs gave up after a while trying to keep them quiet. The Novo Paveans seemed almost incapable of keeping their mouths shut when they were excited.

Jer reflected that this was a lot different from his initial marksmanship training at the Academy. There, for tradition's sake, they still used rifles using chemical propellant firing lead slugs at paper targets. It had been noisy and very inefficient. Here, the troopers had built-in telescopic sights in their helmets and their hits and misses were recorded automatically. Jer could see how well each person was doing with a glance at his compad. For the most part they were doing very well—not that it was easy to miss with all the aids they had. But you still had to hold the weapon reasonably steady and a few troopers were having some trouble with that. Later, they would train against moving targets and with some of the more advanced targeting aids, but for right now it was familiarization and confidence building.

And safety. An angry shout from one of the instructors drew Jer's attention to the right end of the firing line. He strolled down that way. One of the NCOs, Corporal Haynes, was peeling a stripe off one of the troopers and even though the boy couldn't have understood one word in five, he was slowly melting into the ground. "What's the problem, Corporal?" asked Jer.

"Well, sir, this silly sod got so excited at hitting the bullseye, it seems, that he jumps up and nearly ran out into the line of fire to point it out. Then when he realizes what he's doin' he comes running back waving his gun around and pointin' it at everyone in sight. If it weren't for the safety features he mighta' murdered half the platoon—including me!"

"Ah," said Jer, nodding. The weapons were set on maximum safety and would only fire in the general direction of the targets right now. In combat they had a sophisticated IFF—Identification Friend/Foe—system to prevent friendly fire casualties. The things were as nearly foolproof as possible, but basic safety procedures—like not pointing a weapon at anyone you didn't intend to kill—had to be hammered into their heads until it was second nature. "Very well, carry on." As he turned away he caught the look of dismay on the trooper's face. Had he been expecting Jer to save him from the tongue-lashing? Well, he was going to be disappointed. This was too important for half-measures. Word of his miscue and the results would quickly spread through the whole company.

The rest of the morning went by without incident and by the time they were ready for the lunch break everyone seemed to be getting comfortable with their weapons. Jer had the company fall in and then they stacked arms and broke ranks and found spots to eat the field rations they'd brought with them. They were standard Barrayaran issue rations, but they were quite tasty considering what they were. Anny had once told Jer that they were produced by a company owned by Lord Auditor Vorkosigan's odd brother and that they were made from a bio-engineered food product produced by bio-engineered bugs. She had clearly expected him to go Ick! and she'd been disappointed when he hadn't. That sort of thing was entirely routine in Komarr's domes. So far he'd resisted the urge to tell the Novo Paveans not that it would be likely to bother them any more than it did him.

While he was eating, First Sergeant Levine came over to him. "Lieutenant? Have you a moment?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Sandro is very upset about what happened this morning. I am worried about him. Is there anything you can say to him?"

"He made a very serious mistake…"

"He knows that. And he feels very bad about it. Very bad. And some of the others are making fun of him. I am afraid he may quit the militia because of this."

Jer frowned. Yeah, that was true: these were volunteers and they could quit just the same as they had joined. It wasn't like the regulars where you had to take what was dished out whether you liked it or not. Here you couldn't push them too hard. But what to do? His mistake had been serious enough that it couldn't just be discounted or laughed away. But still… He took out his compad and looked over Sandro's record. It was good, but not spectacular, nothing to earn him any sort of commendation. He screwed up because he got excited about hitting the bullseye. How had he done overall in the firing drill? The computer quickly told him and Jer smiled. Not bad, not bad at all. The kid was in the top five and Jer could see that he would have been the top one or two except that he'd clearly been so rattled after his dressing down that he'd done poorly for quite a while before settling down again. Hmmm…

He got up. "Where is he now?" Levine pointed and they walked over that way. Sandro was sitting by himself and looking very glum. But he sprang to his feet and stood at attention when he saw Jer approaching. "At ease, private," said Jer. They stared at each other for a few moments. Jer made sure his translator was working and then said: "You made a serious mistake this morning, you realize that, don't you?"

"Yes, Lieutenant." The translator couldn't convey misery, but the boy's face was filled with it.

"Everyone makes mistakes. But when a soldier makes a mistake it could cost lives. A soldier must work harder than anyone else to avoid making mistakes. Do you want to be a soldier?" There was a pause while that was translated, but then Sandro nodded and said yes. Some of the other members of the company were gathering. Good.

"Will you make the mistake you made today again, private?"

"No, Lieutenant!"

Jer looked at the other watching troopers. "It is a mistake that could have happened to any of you. We have a saying on K… on Barrayar: 'The burned hand teaches best.' The private got burned today. Will you get burned again?" Jer wasn't sure how well that would translate, but it seemed to get through.

"No, Lieutenant!"

"I didn't think so. And you did very well with the shooting today. You are a very good marksman. Have you handled many guns before this?"

"No, Lieutenant, never. It just… it just seems easy to me."

"Natural talent. You are a natural marksman and your burned hand has taught you about the importance of safety. I have a job for you, private."

"Sir?"

"Yes. There is a section in the regulation about weapons safety. I know you have been required to read all the regulations, but there is so much to remember. I want you to read the safety regulations until you know them by heart. I am going to make you the company weapons safety inspector. You will help all of your comrades to stay safe. Can you do that for me, private?"

"Sir? Yes sir, I will try!"

"Good. I know you won't let me or your comrades down. Now, finish your meal, we fall in again in five minutes."

"Thank you, sir!" The boy's face was beaming.

Jer walked away. Levine was at his side.

"Thank you, sir! Sandro will not quit now!"

"No, I hope not. But keep an eye on him. He might take his new responsibility too seriously. He is still just a private. Don't let him think he can order people around."

"No sir, I won't let him do that. You can count on me."

"I know that. In fact, I think I can count on every one of you." He looked at Levine closely. "Flora, you have done very well in the first sergeant's position…"

"Thank you, sir!" the girl's face lit up. He wasn't sure if it was because of the compliment or because he'd used her first name.

"You've handled the responsibility and I've been impressed with your dedication. But you know that I won't be around to command the company forever."

Her face fell a little. "You… you have your own platoon in your regiment…"

"Yes I do and eventually the regiment will be moving on."

"Who will command our company then?" asked the woman.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. He truly hoped that political pressure wouldn't allow hacks from the revolutionary government to take control of the militia, but it might happen. "I don't know," he said again. "But until someone tells me, I'm going to act as though a new commander will be promoted from within the company." He continued to stare at her and her eyes grew wide and she gasped.

"Lieutenant! I could never…!"

"I think you could if you tried. I'm going to start giving you some special training and give you more responsibility with the company. We'll see how well you do."

Levine was blushing scarlet, but she eventually nodded. "I will do my best."

"I know you will."