"Hey, yeah, that makes sense," said Slayer. The rest of the squad murmured its agreement, and Brandy relaxed.

Now she had a chance to regain control of the exercise. If only Mahatma didn't start up again.

"All right, people," she said. "Today we're going to talk about desert survival techniques. What's the first thing you need if you get stranded away from the camp?"

"Weapons;" said one voice.

"Nah, you need shelter;" said another.

"A map," said a third.

"That's all good stuff to have," said Brandy. "But none of it's going to do you much good without a supply of safe drinking water. I'm going to show you some ways to find water out in the desert..." From that point, the exercise went ahead as planned. By the end of the morning session, Brandy was actually pleased with the legionnaires' progress. Even Mahatma managed to keep from asking any more irrelevant questions. Not that she expected that to last long.

If there is any port in the Alliance where private space yachts might dock without undue flurry, it is undoubtedly Lorelei, a space station-that spends its every waking hour as a playground for the wealthy. So while the unannounced appearance of a Logan 350-one of the sleekest and most distinguished vessels available to a private citizen-caused the traffic control officers on duty at Lorelei to give their undivided attention to getting docked smoothly and without delay, it caused no comment. Its electronic signature, revealing a high level of quasi-military hardware on board, might have raised a few eyebrows on other worlds and stations, but Lorelei took it in without a blink. Nor were many eyebrows raised when the yacht unloaded a vintage hoverlimo. Rich people often brought their own transport vehicles to Lorelei.