SECTION II
BOOT
CHAPTER FOUR
0530 Hours, September 24, 2517 (Military Calendar) / Epsilon Eridani System, Reach Military Complex,
planet Reach
“Wake up, trainee!”
John rolled over in his cot and went back to sleep. He was dimly aware that this wasn’t his room, and that there were other people here.
A shock jolted him—from his bare feet to the base of his spine. He yelled in surprise and fell off the cot.
He shook off the disorientation from being nearly asleep and got up.
“I said up , boot! You know which way up is?”
A man in a camouflage uniform stood over John. His hair was shorn and gray at his temples. His dark eyes didn’t look human—too big and black and they didn’t blink. He held a silver baton in one hand; he flicked it toward John and it sparked.
John backed away. He wasn’t afraid of anything. Only little kids were afraid . . . but his body instinctively moved as far away from the instrument as possible.
Dozens of other men roused the rest of the children. Seventy-four boys and girls screamed and jumped out of their cots.
“I am Chief Petty Officer Mendez,” the uniformed man next to John shouted. “The rest of these men are your instructors. You will do exactly as we tell you at all times.”
Mendez pointed to the far end of the cinderblock barracks. “Showers are aft. You will all wash and then return here to dress.” He opened a trunk at the foot of John’s cot and pulled out a matching set of gray sweats.
John leaned closer and saw his name stenciled on the chest: JOHN-117.
“No slacking. On the double!” Mendez tapped John between his shoulder blades with the baton.
Lightning surged across John’s chest. He sprawled on the cot and gasped for breath.
“I mean it! Go Go GO!”
John moved. He couldn’t inhale—but he ran anyway, clutching his chest. He managed a ragged breath by the time he got to the showers. The other kids looked scared and disoriented. They all stripped off their nightshirts and stepped onto the conveyor, washed themselves in lukewarm soapy water, then rinsed in an icy cold spray.
He ran back to his bunk, got into underwear, thick socks, pulled on the sweats and a pair of combat boots that fit his feet perfectly.
“Outside, trainees,” Mendez announced. “Triple time . . . march! ”
John and the others stampeded out of the barracks onto a strip of grass.
The sun hadn’t risen yet, and the edge of the sky was indigo. The grass was wet with dew. There were dozens of rows of barracks, but no one else was up and outside. A pair of jets roared overhead and arced up into the sky. Far away, John heard a metallic crackle.
Chief Petty Officer Mendez barked, “You will make five equal-length rows. Fifteen trainees in each.”
He waited a few seconds as they milled about. “Straighten those rows. You know how to count to fifteen, trainee? Take three steps back.”
John stepped into the second row.
As he breathed the cold air he began to wake up. He started to remember. They had taken him in the middle of the night. They injected him with something and he slept for a long time. Then the woman who had given him the coin told him he couldn’t go back. That he wouldn’t see his mother or father—
“Jumping jacks!” Mendez shouted. “Count off to one hundred. Ready, go.” The officer started the exercise and John followed his lead.
One boy refused—for a split-second. An instructor was on him instantly. The baton whipped into the boy’s stomach. The kid doubled over. “Get with the program, boot,” the trainer snarled. The boy uncurled and started jumping.
John had never done so many jumping jacks in his life. His arms and stomach and legs burned. Sweat trickled down his back.
“Ninety-eight—99—100.” Mendez paused. He drew in a deep breath. “Sit-ups!” He dropped onto the grass. “Count off to one hundred. No slacking.”
John threw himself on the ground.
“The first crewmen who quits,” Mendez said, “gets to run around the compound twice—and then comes back here and does two hundred sit ups. Ready . . . count off! One . . . two . . . three. . . .”
Deep squats followed. Then knee bends.
John threw up, but that didn’t buy him any respite. A trainer descended on him after a few seconds. John rolled back over and continued.
“Leg lifts.” Mendez continued like he was a machine. As if they all were machines.
John couldn’t go on—but he knew he’d get the baton again if he stopped. He tried; he had to move. His legs trembled and only sluggishly responded.
“Rest,” Mendez finally called. “Trainers: get the water.”
The trainers wheeled out carts laden with water bottles. John grabbed one and gulped down the liquid. It was warm and slightly salty. He didn’t care. It was the best water he’d ever had.
He flopped on his back in the grass and panted.
The sun was up now. It was warm. He rolled to his knees and let the sweat drip off him like a heavy rain.
He slowly got up and glanced at the other children. They crouched on the ground, holding their sides, and no one talked. Their clothes were soaked through with perspiration. John didn’t recognize anyone from his school here.
So he was alone with strangers. He wondered where his mother was, and what—
“A good start, trainees,” Mendez told them. “Now we run. On your feet!”
The trainers brandished their batons and herded the trainees along. They jogged down a gravel path through the compound, past more cinderblock barracks. The run seemed to go on forever—they ran alongside a river, over a bridge, then by the edge of a runway where jets took off straight into the air.
Once past the runway, Mendez led them on a zigzagging path of stone.
John wanted to think about what had happened, how he got here, and what was going to happen next . . .
but he couldn’t think straight. All he could feel was the blood pounding through him, the ache in his muscles, and hunger.
They ran into a courtyard of smooth flagstones. A pole in the center flew the colors of the UNSC, a blue field with stars and Earth in the corner. At the far end of the yard was a building with a scalloped dome and white columns and dozens of wide steps leading to the entrance. The words NAVAL OFFICERS
ACADEMY were chiseled into the arch over the entrance.
A woman stood on the top step and beckoned to them. She wore a white sheet wrapped around her body.
She looked old to John, yet young at the same time. Then he saw the motes of light orbiting her head and knew she was an AI. He had seen them on vids. She wasn’t solid, but she was still real.
“Excellent work, Chief Petty Officer Mendez,” she said in a resonant, silk-smooth voice. She turned to the children. “Welcome. My name is Déjà and I will be your teacher. Please come in. Class is about to start.”
John groaned out loud. Several of the others grumbled, too.
She turned and started to walk inside. “Of course,” she said, “if you prefer to skip your lessons, you may continue the morning calisthenics.”
John double-timed it up the steps.
It was cool inside. A tray with crackers and a carton of milk had been laid out for each of them. John nibbled on the dry stale food, then gulped down his milk.
John was so tired he wanted to lay his head down on the desk and take a nap—until Déjà started to tell them about a battle and how three hundred soldiers fought against thousands of Persian infantry.
A holographic countryside appeared in the classroom. The children walked around the miniature mountains and hills and let the edge of the illusionary sea lap at their boots. Toy-sized soldiers marched toward what Déjà explained was Thermopylae, a narrow strip of land between steep mountains and the sea. Thousands of soldiers marched toward the three hundred who guarded the pass. The soldiers fought: spears and shields splintered, swords flashed and spilled blood.
John couldn’t take his eyes off the spectacle.
Déjà explained that the three hundred were Spartans and they were the best soldiers who had ever lived.
They had been trained to fight since they were children. No one could beat them.
John watched, fascinated, as the holographic Spartans slaughtered the Persian spearmen.
He had eaten his crackers but he was still hungry, so he took the girl’s next to him when she wasn’t looking, and munched them down as the battle raged on. His stomach still growled and grumbled.
When was lunch? Or was it dinnertime already?
The Persians broke and ran and the Spartans stood victorious on the field.
The children cheered. They wanted to see it again.
“That’s all for today,” Déjà said. “We’ll continue tomorrow and I’ll show you some wolves. Now it’s time for you to go to the playground.”
“Playground?” John said. That was perfect. He could finally just sit on a swing, relax, and think for a moment.
He ran out of the room, as did the other trainees.
Chief Petty Officer Mendez and the trainers waited for them outside the classroom.
“Time for the playground,” Mendez said, and waved the children closer. “It’s a short run. Fall in.”
The “short run” turned into two miles. And the playground was like nothing John had ever seen. It was a forest of twenty-meter tall wooden poles. Rope cargo nets and bridges stretched between the poles; they swayed, crossed and crisscrossed one another, a maze suspended in the air. There were slide poles and knotted climbing ropes. There were swings and suspended platforms. There were ropes looped through pulleys and tied to baskets that looked sturdy enough to hoist a person.
“Trainees,” Mendez said, “form three lines.”
The instructors moved in to herd them, but John and the others made three rows without comment or fuss.
“The first person in every row will be team number one,” Mendez said. “The second person in each row will be team number two . . . and so on. If you do not understand this, speak up now.”
No one spoke.
John looked to his right. A boy with sandy hair, green eyes, and darkly tanned skin gave him a weary smile. Stenciled on his sweat top was SAMUEL-034. In the row beyond Samuel was a girl. She was taller than John, and skinny, with a long mane of hair dyed blue. KELLY-087. She didn’t look too happy to see him.
“Today’s game,” Mendez explained, “is called ‘Ring the Bell.’ ” He pointed to the tallest pole on the playground. It stood an additional ten meters above the others and had a steel slide pole next to it. Hung at the very top of that pole was a brass bell.
“There are many ways to get to the bell,” he told them. “I leave it up to each team to find their own way.
When every member of your team has rung the bell, you are to get groundside double time and run back here across this finish line.”
Mendez took his baton and scratched a straight line in the sand.
John raised his hand.
Mendez glared at him for a moment with those black unblinking eyes. “A question, Trainee?”
“What do we win?”
Mendez cocked one eyebrow and appraised John. “You win dinner, Number 117. Tonight, dinner is roast turkey, gravy and mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, brownies, and ice cream.”
A murmur of approval swept though the children.
“But,” Mendez added, “for there to be winners there must be a loser. The last team to finish goes without food.”
They children fell silent—and then looked at each other warily.
“Make ready,” Mendez said.
“I’m Sam,” the boy whispered to John and the girl on their team.
She said, “I’m Kelly.”
John just looked at them and said nothing. The girl would slow him down. Too bad. He was hungry and he wasn’t about to let them make him lose.
“Go!” Mendez shouted.
John ran through the pack of children and scrambled up a cargo net onto a platform. He raced across the bridge—jumped onto the next platform, just in time. The bridge flipped and sent five others into the water below.
He paused at the rope tied to the large basket. It ran up through a pulley and then back down. He didn’t think he was strong enough to pull himself up in it. Instead, he tackled a knotted climbing rope and scrunched his body up. The rope swung wildly around the center pole. John looked down and almost lost his grip. It looked twice as far down as it had looked from the ground. He saw all the others, some climbing, others floundering in the water, getting up and starting over. No one was as close to the bell as he was.
He swallowed his fear and kept climbing up. He thought of the ice cream and chocolate brownies and how he was going to win.
John got to the top, grabbed the bell, and rang it three times. He then clasped the steel pole and slid all the way to the ground, falling into a pile of cushions.
He got up and ran smiling all the way to the Chief Petty Officer. John crossed the finish line and gave a victory cry. “I was first,” he said, panting.
Mendez nodded and made a check on his clipboard.
John watched as the others made it and up rang the bell then raced across the finish line. Kelly and Sam had trouble. They got stuck in a line to get to the bell as everyone bunched up at the end.
They finally rang the bell, slid down together . . . but they crossed the finish line last. They glared at John.
He shrugged.
“Good work, Trainees,” Mendez said, and he beamed at them all. “Let’s get back to the barracks and chow down.”
The children, covered in mud and leaning on each another, cheered.
“—all except team three,” Mendez said, and looked at Sam, Kelly, and then John.
“But I won,” John protested. “I was first.”
“Yes, you were first,” Mendez explained, “but your team came in last.” He then addressed all the children. “Remember this: you don’t win unless your team wins. One person winning at the expense of the group means that you lose.”
John ran in a stupor all the way back to the barracks. It wasn’t fair. He had won. How can you win and still lose?
He watched as the others stuffed themselves with turkey, white meat dripping with gravy. They spooned down mountains of vanilla ice cream and left the mess hall with chocolate encrusting the corners of their mouths.
John got a liter of water. He drank it, but it didn’t have any taste. It did nothing to fill his hunger.
He wanted to cry, but he was too tired. He collapsed in his bunk, thinking of ways to get even with Sam and Kelly for messing him up—but he couldn’t think. Every muscle and bone ached.
John fell asleep as soon as his head hit the flat pillow.
The next day was the same—calisthenics and running all morning, then class until the afternoon.
Today Déjà taught them about wolves. The classroom became a holographic meadow, and the children watched seven wolves hunt a moose. The pack worked together, striking wherever the giant beast wasn’t facing. It was fascinating and horrifying to watch the wolves track down, and then devour, an animal many times their size.
John avoided Sam and Kelly in the classroom. He stole a few extra crackers when no one was looking but they didn’t dull his hunger.
After class, they ran back to the playground. Today it was different. There were fewer bridges and more complicated rope-and-pulley systems. The pole with the bell was now twenty meters taller than any of the others.
“Same teams as yesterday,” Mendez announced.
Sam and Kelly walked up to John. Sam shoved him.
John’s temper flared—he wanted to hit Sam in the face, but he was too tired. He’d need all his strength to get to the bell.
“You better help us,” Sam hissed, “or I’ll push you off one of those platforms.”
“And I’ll jump on top of you,” Kelly added.
“Okay,” John whispered. “Just try not to slow me down.”
John examined the course. It was like doing a maze on paper, only this one twisted and turned into and out of the page. Many bridges and rope ladders led to dead ends. He squinted—then found one possible route.
He nudged Sam and Kelly then pointed. “Look,” he said, “that basket and rope on the far side. It goes straight to the top. It’s a long pull, though.” He flexed his biceps, uncertain if he could make it in his weakened state.
“We can do it,” Sam said.
John glanced at the other teams; they were searching the course as well. “We’ll have to make a quick run for it,” he said. “Make sure no one else gets there first.”
“I’m fast,” Kelly said. “Real fast.”
“Trainees, get ready,” Mendez shouted.
“Okay,” John said. “You sprint ahead and hold it for us.”
“Go!”
Kelly shot forward. John had never seen anyone move like her. She ran like the wolves he had seen today; her feet seemed barely to touch the ground.
She got to the basket. John and Sam were only halfway there.
One boy beat them to the basket. “Get out,” he ordered Kelly. “I’m going up.”
Sam and John ran up and pushed him back. “Wait your turn,” Sam said.
John and Sam joined Kelly in the basket. Together they pulled on the rope and raised themselves up.
There was a lot of rope—for every three meters they pulled, they only rose one meter. A breeze made the basket sway and bounce into the pole.
“Faster,” John urged.
They pulled as one person, six hands working in unison, and accelerated into the sky.
They didn’t get there first. They were third. Each of them got to ring the bell, though—Kelly, Sam, and John.
They slid down the pole. Kelly and Sam waited for John to land, and then together they ran across the finish line.
Chief Petty Officer Mendez watched them. He didn’t say anything, but John thought he saw a smile flicker across his face.
Sam clapped John and Kelly on their backs. “That was good work,” Sam said. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “We can be friends . . . I mean, if you want. It’d be no big deal.”
Kelly shrugged and replied, “Sure.”
“Okay,” John said. “Friends.”