Major Botchup, on the other hand, had made it quite clear that this was one area in which he fully intended to change the Omega Mob’s image, and without delay. The major was personally rooting out every loose button, unkempt head, and slouching shoulder in the company, with the expression of a backyard gardener discovering vermin. And he was handing out reprimands at a record pace, spiked with blistering sarcasm. Next to him stood his adjutant, Second Lieutenant Snipe, smirking as he jotted down every demerit.
The newest recruits seemed to be particular targets of the major’s wrath. He stood in front of Roadkill for a good twenty minutes. “That’s not a military haircut,” he began. “You’ll report to the company barber immediately following inspection, and to my office as soon as he’s done, so I can determine whether you’re still in breach of regulations!”
“Uh, Major-” Roadkill began.
“No back talk, legionnaire!” the major barked. “Perhaps that’s an unwarranted compliment-I don’t see anything that looks like a legionnaire here-you or anyone else in this formation. What’s that hanging from your ear?”
“It’s my club ring, Major,” said Roadkill. “Back on Argus-“
“A club ring is no part of your uniform,” said Botchup.
He reached up as if to snatch it off the ear. Lieutenant Snipe snickered.
Roadkill got his hand to the earring first and managed to remove it quickly without damage. “I’ll leave it off,” he said with a grin he meant to be conciliatory.
“You’ll leave it off, what?” roared Botchup.