Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [9]
The Lieutenant started to say something, but Dr. Halsey walked away, then half jogged across the painted lines of hopscotch squares on the playground. A breeze caught her sundress and she had to clutch the hem with one hand, grabbing the brim of her straw hat with the other. She slowed to a trot and halted four meters from the base of the hill.
The children stopped and turned. “You’re in trouble,” one boy said, and pushed Number 117. He shoved the boy back and then looked Dr. Halsey squarely in the eyes. The other children looked
away; some wore embarrassed smirks, and a few slowly backed off. Her subject, however, stood there defiantly. He was either confident she wasn’t going to punish him—or
he simply wasn’t afraid. She saw that he had a bruise on his cheek, the knees of his pants were torn, and his lip was cracked. Dr. Halsey took three steps closer. Several of the children took three involuntary steps backward. “Can I speak with you, please?” she asked, and continued to stare at her subject. He finally broke eye contact, shrugged, and then lumbered down the hill. The other children giggled and
made tsking sounds; one tossed a pebble at him. Number 117 ignored them. Dr. Halsey led him to the edge of the nearby sandpit and stopped. “What’s your name?” she asked. “I’m John,” he said. The boy held out his hand. Dr. Halsey didn’t expect physical contact. The subject’s father must have taught him the ritual, or the
boy was highly imitative. She shook his hand and was surprised by the strength in his miniscule grip. “It’s very nice to meet you.” She knelt so she was at his level. “I wanted to ask you what you were doing?”
“Winning,” he said.
Dr. Halsey smiled. He was unafraid of her . . . and she doubted that he’d have any trouble pushing her off the hill, either. “You like games,” she said. “So do I.” He sighed. “Yeah, but they made me play chess last week. That got boring. It’s too easy to win.” He
took a quick breath. “Or—can we play gravball? They don’t let me play gravball anymore, but maybe if
you tell them it’s okay?” “I have a different game I want you to try,” she told him. “Look.” She reached into her purse and brought out a metal disk. She turned it over and it gleamed in the sun. “People used coins like this for currency a long time ago, when Earth was the only planet we lived on.”
His eyes fixed on the object. He reached for it. Dr. Halsey moved it away, continuing to flip it between her thumb and index finger. “Each side is
different. Do you see? One has the face of a man with long hair. The other side has a bird, called an eagle, and it’s holding—” “Arrows,” John said. “Yes. Good.” His eyesight must be exceptional to see such detail so far away. “We’ll use this coin in our
game. If you win you can keep it.”
John tore his gaze from the coin and looked at her again, squinted, then said, “Okay. I always win, though. That’s why they won’t let me play gravball anymore.” “I’m sure you do.” “What’s the game?” “It’s very simple. I toss the coin like this.” She flicked her wrist, snapped her thumb, and the coin arced,
spinning into the air, and landed in the sand. “Next time, though, before it lands, I want you to tell me if it will fall with the face of the man showing or with the eagle holding the arrows.” “I got it.” John tensed, bent his knees, and then his eyes seemed to lose their focus on her and the coin. Dr. Halsey picked up the quarter. “Ready?”
John gave a slight nod. She tossed it, making sure there was plenty of spin. John’s eyes watched it with that strange distant gaze. He tracked it as it went up, and then down toward
the ground—his hand snapped out and snatched the quarter out of the air. He held up his closed hand. “Eagle!” he shouted. She tentatively reached for his hand and peeled open the tiny fist. The quarter lay in his palm: the eagle shining in the orange sun. Was it possible that he saw which side was up when he grabbed it . . . or more improbably,