Robert Asprin: M.Y.T.H. Inc In Action

"Not just yet. I want a little more time to think things through. In the meantime ..." I aims a playful punch at him which, bein' Nunzio, he takes without so much as blinkin'. "... let's occupy ourselves with somethin' easy... like disruptin' an army."

"We want to make you feel at home!"

L. BORGIA

"AH'D LIKE TO welcome you all to this man's army! The first thing you should know is that we're on a first name basis here ... and my first name is sergeant ... Do I make myself clear?"

At dis, the individual so addressin' our group pauses and glares at us. Naturally, there's no answer, as no one is particularly eager to call attention to themselves under dese circumstantials. It seems, however, dis was not the response the sergeant had in mind.

"Ah asked you a question!! Do you think Ah'm up here running my mouth 'cause Ah like the sound of mah own voice?"

It is clear that dis is a ploy to induce us new recruits into makin' a mistake which will further anger the sergeant, as at this point he has asked not one, but two questions callin' for opposite answers, and whatever answer is given is bound to be wrong. The other unfortunates in line with Nunzio and me seem to be unaware of this and blunder headlong into the trap.

"YES, SERGEANT!" they bleat eagerly.

"WHAT??!! Are ya'll tryin' to be funny?"

The sergeant, who I am glad I never had to compete against for a part in my old drama troupe, gives every impression of bein' on the verge of foamin' at the mouth and becomin' violent to the point of injurin' himself and anyone else in the near vicinity. Almost unnoticed, he has also asked a third question, placin' the odds of comin' up with an acceptable response well out of reach of the intellects in line with us.

"No ... Ahh" ... "Yes, Sergeant" ... "Ahh ... No?"

The attempt to shout an answer dissolves in a babble of confusion as the new recruits glance at each other tryin' to sort out what they're supposed to be sayin'.

"YOU!"

The sergeant's voice silences the group's efforts as he homes in on one unfortunate in the front row.

"What are you lookin at him for? Do you think he's cute??"

"No!"

"What?"

"Ahh ... No, Sergeant?"

"Ah can't hear you!"

"No, Sergeant!"

"Louder! Sound off like you got a pair!"

'NO, SERGEANT!!"

"That's better!"

The sergeant nods curtly, then turns his attention to the rest of the formation again.

Viewed correctly, dis is a fascinatin' study in group-type dynamics. By focusin' on one individual, not only has the sergeant let the rest of the group off the hook of tryin' to come up with an acceptable response to his questions, he has impressed on them that they really don't want to ever be singled out by him.

"My name is Sergeant Smiley, and Ah will be your drill instructor for the next few days. Now, right away Ah want you to know that there are three ways of doing things in this man's army: the Right Way, the Army way, and My Way ... we will do things My way! Do I make myself clear?"

"YES, SERGEANT!!"

The group is gettin' into the swing of things now, bellowin' out their responses like a convention of beat cops goin' after a jaywalker.

"AH right now, listen up! When I call out your name, sound off loud and clear so's I know you're here and not off wandering around somewhere. Understand?"

"YES,. SERGEANT!"

"Bee!':

"Here!"

"HERE WHAT?"

The kid what has just answered is so skinny it is surprisin' he can stand without assistance, but he licks his lips nervously and takes a deep breath.

"HERE, SERGEANT!" he shouts, but his voice cracks in the middle of it, makin' his declaration less than impressive.

"That's better," the sergeant nods, apparently satisfied with the youngster's effort. "Flie, Hyram!"

"Here, Sergeant!"

"Flie, Shubert!"

"Here, Sergeant!"

The sergeant looks up from his roster with a scowl.

"Bee? Flie? What is this, a freaking Bug Convention?"

"We're brothers, Sarge." one of the two Flies supplies unnecessarily, as the physical similarities between the two broad-shouldered individuals would be obvious even if their names didn't link them.

"That's right," the other put in. "You can call me Hy for short, and Shubert there would rather be called Shu, 'cause otherwise ..."

"DID I ASK?"

"No, sir."

"Sorry, sir."

"... AND DONT CALL ME SIR!!! I ain't no freakin' officer! It didn't take a grant from the crown to make me a gentleman ... I was born one!! DO VOU UNDERSTAND ME???"

"YES, SERGEANT!!"

"Drop down and give me twenty pushups just so you won't forget!"

"Umm ... is that ten from each of us, Sarge, or ..."

"TWENTY EACH!" Smiley roared. "... AND ANOTHER FIVE EACH FOR CALLIN' ME 'SARGE'! MY NAME IS SERGEANT SMILEY OR SERGEANT, NOT SARGE OR SIR! YOU GOT THAT, TROOPER??"

"YES, SERGEANT!!"

"THEN HIT IT!!"

The two brothers drop down and start pumpin' out pushups as the sergeant turns his attention back to his list.

"Shu Flie and Hy Flie! My aching back! My God! here's another one! Spyder!"

"Here ... Sarge."

Smiley's head comes up with a snap like he has been poked in the ribs ... which, of course he has. The use of the improper address so soon after it was forbidden might have either been by mistake or from stupidity were it not for the deliberateness with which it was uttered. As it was, however, there was no mistaking it for what it was: A challenge to the sergeant's authority ... which is to say, stupidity.

The challenger is a sight to behold. She probably would have stood out in the line in any case, bein' the only female-type in our group, though one might have had to look a couple times to notice, as she stood in a habitual slouch. Her hair, however, made her a real showstopper. Cropped to a medium, mane-type length, it was dyed ... somethin' I do not normally speculate on regardin' a skirt until we is on very close acquaintances, after which time I am too much of a gentleman to share such information with anyone who is not. In this circumstantial, however, I feel free to make said assumption, as hair, whether attached to a male or female-type bod, does not naturally come in that color ... or, to be entirely accurate, colors. Stripes of pink, white, blue, and green run across this broad's head from front to back ... and not in subtle tones. These colors glow with electric type vibrancy like they are bein' fueled by her glower, which would be truly intimidatin' if it were, perhaps, pasted on a homelier mug ... like, say my own. It has been some time since Nunzio and I hung out on the streets, but it is clear the type of punks they are currently breedin' is a strain mutated noticeably from our early days when "colorful" referred to our language, not our hair!

"Well, well," the sergeant sez, lickin' his chops a bit," what have we here? It seems we are to be a part of the army's experimental program which is specifically testing the truth in the saying that the only thing meaner than a fighting man of Possilturn is a woman! Now I want all you men to watch your language during training. We have a laaaadyyyy in our midst."

From the way the skirt bristles, it is clear she is not used to bein' referred to as a lady ... and doesn't care much for the idea. Smiley isn't through with her, however.

"Tell me, little lady, what is that you've got on your head? If it's something that crawled up there and died, I hope you've had your shots 'cause it doesn't look like it was any too healthy!"

"It's called 'hair,' Sarge! What do you have on your head?"

"It isn't what I've got on my head that's important, 'emit," the sergeant smiles, "it's what's on my sleeve!"

He taps the stripes that mark his rank.