"One."

"Two."

"Three."

The legionnaires began counting.

After a few moments, Brandy held up her hands and shouted, "Hold on! Freefall, you aren't supposed to count."

Freefall pouted. "But Sarge, I wanna count. I like counting. "

Brandy growled, "It doesn't matter; you're a squad leader. You don't have to count."

"I don't see why Freefall can't count," said another voice from the back of the group. "Counting is fun."

"If Freefall counts, it throws the count off," said Brandy, glaring at the recruit who'd interrupted. "Now, everybody count off by threes-except for Freefall."

Freefall sulked but remained silent while the others began to count again.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

"One."

"Two..."

Brandy held up her hands again. "Wait a minute! Mahatma, you're a squad leader, too! You don't count, either."

"You said everybody except for Freefall, Sergeant," said Mahatma, with his usual beatific smile. Brandy was convinced he practiced it in front of a mirror. "I was merely following orders."

"OK, you don't count, either," snapped Brandy. "Everybody except the three squad leaders, count off by threes. And get it right this time!"

"One."

"Two."

"Three..."

The count continued. This time, it came out right. Brandy sighed. It was days like this that made her think about the nice little nest egg she'd been building up since the arrival of Captain Jester (as Phule insisted on being called by his troops). On the other hand, here she was on a Galaxy-class resort planet, housed in a luxury hotel, eating three meals a day in a cordon bleu restaurant, and actually getting paid for the privilege. Crazy as it was to stay in this outfit, she'd be even crazier retiring. It had even crossed her mind that, when the time came around, she just might reenlist...and that was crazy.