Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [13]
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