On the plus side, clearing out the musty carpet and padding took less than an hour. On the minus side, Mike did almost all the work. Woodrow and Tracy were neither interested in cleanup nor convinced that they needed to follow his orders. Mike kept telling himself that he would win them over at some point if he continued to provide direction and comport himself professionally, even though he suspected that plan to be grade A bullshit. He had thought his experience as a Sergeant might help. Unfortunately, the lack of institutional backing made the job near impossible for someone with his lack of charisma.

Srinivas showed up around noon. After brief introductions, he waved his hand at the house around them. “This is not good living, Mike.”

Mike shot Srinivas a pleading look. Come on, man, I need some support here . . . . His friend seemed to understand the silent message. “Well, you are boss here, Mike. Can we at least make more comfortable?”

You are a true friend, Srinivas, he thought. “Absolutely. We have a little over a thousand dollars from Marius. I have no idea how long he is going to be gone this time, but I want to make the cash last for two weeks. I’m planning fifteen dollars a day for food per person, so we can spend about two hundred dollars fixing this place up.”

“He is being cheap with the funding,” Srinivas muttered.

“Might be we need to get our own money,” Tracy said. “Did Marius have you guys pickpocket?”

"We can start worrying about money next week. For now, our priorities are setting up our base and training. As soon as Spencer shows up, I'm going to get camping supplies from the local WalMart and stock up on some food." Mike looked around the room. "Do any of you have food allergies or intolerances I need to be aware of?"

Woodrow crossed his arms over his chest. "What the hell are you going to feed us on fifteen dollars a day? Nothing worth eating, that's for sure."

"Let me handle food first week," Srinivas said. "I pay myself."

"If you're offering, I won't say no," Mike said. "Dealers choice."

Woodrow's scowl deepened. "He's not going to make us eat Indian food, is he?"

"That's up to him since he's the one paying. But knowing Srinivas, we'll probably have plenty of options. You can head out now for groceries. Keep in mind we don't have the ability to refrigerate anything here. The rest of us are going to be working the kinetic talent."

He began running Tracy and Woodrow through some heavy kinetic lifting drills. Essentially, lift as much as you could for as long as you could. While they went to work, Mike turned his attention to the clearing exercise Marius had suggested. Mike swirled precursor in his mind, pushing the residue around. As intuitive as clearing paths for raw precursor had been, the skill did not immediately lend itself to concentrating the residue into a singular stockpile. It was like using a water hose to move dirt around -- easy to clean a specific area, harder to collect the dirt in one place.

Mike took frequent breaks from his clearing to monitor the training of his students. They both accepted his directions with attitude. For Tracy, that came in the form of over-the-top passive aggressive thanks. For Woodrow . . . that meant sullen glares and a lot of huffing. Demonstrating his superior capacity for lifting things or juggling multiple items did not improve their demeanors. Mike suspected they were taking out on him all the frustrations Marius had caused them. He could understand that. At the same time, he couldn't let it continue. If Marius continued to drop off new recruits on a weekly basis, Mike would need respect -- legitimate or faked -- to keep order. Things could spiral out of control real fast otherwise.

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Towards the end of training his clearing exercise, Mike managed to increase the density of the residue to one side of his mind. A small measure of progress.

Spencer stepped through the door, ending the training session. "Hey. Sorry, it took me a while to find this place."

"I take it you are Spencer?" Tracy crossed her arms. "Tell me, are you comfortable with this Mike guy being in charge and making us live in this dump?"

"Uh . . . excuse me?" Spencer turned an inquisitive expression towards Mike. "What's going on here?"

"We're under orders from Marius," Mike replied. "We are going to live together and train together. Since the boss took off again and left me in charge, I made the executive decision that you and Srinivas get to continue with your day jobs."

Spencer shrugged. "I expected to be called upon to leave my life behind when I accepted training from Marius."

"Does that mean you want to live here?" Tracy waved dramatically at their surroundings.

"Look, Tracy, Marius put me in charge. That means I call the shots."

"That don't make you qualified to give orders," she said.

Mike clenched his hands into fists. "Would military experience qualify me? I have twelve years in the national guard."

From across the room, Woodrow snorted. "National guard? In my day, that's where people looking to avoid serving in Vietnam went. Bunch of pansies."

Mike's nostrils flared. "Well, when I was in, people in the national guard were getting blown to pieces by road side bombs in the desert." He hardly noticed Spencer's hand trying to restrain him as he stomped towards the old man. "So watch your damn mouth."

Woodrow drew himself up tall, lifting his chin to give the illusion that he was staring down at the taller Mike. "I don't think you deserve any respect from me."

"Apologize," Mike said, voice soft.

"No."

"It wasn't a request."

Woodrow lifted his hands into a schoolyard facsimile of a boxing stance, feet squared with hands too far from the face and too wide apart. "You have this coming, boy. I have been getting in street fights since I was twelve years old."

Jab to the face. Rear right roundhouse kick biting in two inches above the knees, causing a wobble that would shortly become a fall. Slip forward to the left to set up a mean shovel punch to the ribs above the liver, a punch halfway between an uppercut and a hook that slapped home just right. The other hand seized the back of Woodrow's head to guide it down in the right direction as Mike snatched up a guillotine choke with the other. He drove his lat down on the back of Woodrow's head as he locked in the choke, then walked his feet and hips in and lifted until Woodrow's feet left the ground.

The screamy gurgling brought Mike back to reality. He dropped Woodrow to the ground, where the man gasped for air, wide eyes fixated on Mike like a kid who had just been caught vandalizing school property by the principal. Mike glowered down at the older man. "This is the last time I'm going to say this nicely, so pay attention. You're in a military organization now. Orders aren't suggestions, they're the god damn gospel as far as you're concerned. And while I might not know what my rank is here, I know I'm in charge of you. So from now on, it is 'yes, sir', 'no, sir' when we interact. Do you understand?"

Woodrow nodded. "Yes, sir, I understand."

Mike rounded on Tracy. "Do you understand?"

She leaned away from him. "Damn, boy, you don't got to go all crazy on me. I'll behave."

"Good. Spencer?"

Whether from reflex or from conscious desire to model proper military bearing, Spencer had gone to the position of attention. "Yes, sir?"

"Unless Marius directs otherwise, you are third in charge of this army."

"Thank you . . . I think."

Mike turned back to their two newest recruits. "It's training time for real now."