Jon phrased his thoughts carefully. He visualized a double row of Boogers, five to the row, before him. Go get the rest of them, Booger, he thought. Booger quivered, and then like snapping off a light tube, he was gone.
Within ten seconds, he popped back. Beside him a twin materialized, then two more.
Finally all ten of them were there, in two rows of five.
"Squad, Right Face!" ordered Jon. "Forward MARCH! HALT! Hey, dress up those ranks there." The right-end sphere in the front rank was at least two meters out of position. Booger broke ranks without orders and trundled swiftly to the side of the offending one, wheeled in a short arc and vigorously hunched him into position. Jon applauded with space-gloved hands.
"Squad, Right Face! Forward MARCH! HALT!"
"All right, Booger, you win. You are hereby promoted to Corporal of the Drake Irregulars. Now let's see some snappy close-order drill."
They drilled for some minutes, and then in a particularly tricky maneuver, the squad went to pieces. Two of them simply vanished. Three of them squatted—that was the only word Jon could find to fit—into hemispheres, and the rest either stopped or trundled about aimlessly.