Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [14]
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