Andromeda's Fall (Legion of the Damned) by William C. Dietz Page A

via some sort of behavioral software?
    She would have put money on the second possibility, but it raised more questions. If the PRs were being evaluated using a personality matrix, what sort of behaviors were considered good ? Teamwork was an important part of any military enterprise—so maybe the Legion was looking for the kind of individuals who could get along with others.
    On the other hand it would be logical to suppose that the Legion placed a high value on aggressiveness. And by watching people interact with each other in the tank, the staff might be able to identify the PRs most likely to lead a charge up a hill. Or follow someone else up a hill. Then there was the possibility that the command structure wanted to recruit and retain a blend of personality types.
    There were so many variables that McKee knew she wouldn’t be able to game that part of the system and turned her attention to what she could influence, which were the tests that the PRs took each day. Some were physical in nature, and it didn’t require a genius to know that the Legion was looking for recruits who were in good condition.
    So McKee strove to deliver every push-up, every sit-up, and every jumping jack required of her. She couldn’t, of course, since she hadn’t been working out much, and the targets were set high. But she tried . And if McKee was right about the cameras and their purpose, then someone knew that. And was aware of the extra push-ups she was doing as well.
    Unlike the measures of physical fitness, the electronically administered personality and aptitude tests could be gamed. Or so she assumed. And having completed a degree in cybernetics before setting out on the grand tour, she was an expert at taking tests. The key to success lay in simple multiple-choice questions such as, “Would you prefer to: (a) carry a stretcher, (b) operate a com set, or (c) perform maintenance on a crew-served weapon.”
    None of the those choices got at what McKee really wanted to do, which was learn to fight. But it was a pretty safe bet that those assigned to operate crew-served weapons had to maintain them as well, so by choosing C , McKee was indicating a preference for a combat specialty, and the training that went with it. Wherever she could, she skewed her answers accordingly.
    Once the tests were over, the PRs were left with a significant amount of unstructured time. Roughly half of each day was spent napping, shooting the shit, or playing improvised games. One of which was called slave. It involved throwing a pair of dice that someone had smuggled in. Rather than wager money they didn’t have, the players could bet five-minute periods of time during which the loser, or “slave,” was required to do whatever the winner, or “master,” wanted.
    Did the people in charge of the tank know about “slave”? They had all of the necessary camera shots at their disposal. But for reasons unknown, the activity was tolerated. And that wasn’t a problem for the most part because the demands put forward by most masters involved personal errands, silly antics, or slave contests. One of the favorites was who could eat the most rock-hard fruit bars in the shortest period of time.
    But occasionally a master would insist on something darker. And such was the case one afternoon as she and the rest of the PRs finished their lunches. As usual, McKee was sitting by herself, worrying. There hadn’t been any sign of the synths so far. But the medics had taken blood more than a week earlier. That meant the Legion had her DNA. Would they share it with the new government? Or would the Legion’s stubborn insularity protect her from a cross match? The Legion was full of people who were on the lam, and if the organization ceased to be a place of refuge, the supply of volunteers would dry up.
    Such were McKee’s thoughts as a PR named Larkin won a series of throws thereby enslaving a young woman named Melissa Reese. And rather than order Reese to duckwalk