corral among the trees, and a building that had a wall from about two feet off the ground to about seven feet, and about three feet higher an open-gabled roof. This held lockers and showers.
It was only here on the Third Level that you could appreciate the size of the Ship. Everywhere else there were walls at every hand, but here your view was all but unimpeded. It was fully miles to the nearest point where roof above and ground below met shipside. The roof was three hundred feet up and it took a sharp eye to pick out sprinklers and such as individual features.
Behind us, the shuttle tube rose out of the station and disappeared blackly into the roof far above. The cross-level shuttle tube went underground from the station so that it was not visible.
It was still before two, so the kids who were there already were standing under the trees by the corral and watching the horses. I recognized Venie Morlock among them. I wasn’t surprised to see her there since she was only one month older than I and I had expected that we would wind up in the same Trial group.
Others were arriving behind us and coming out of the shuttle station. Jimmy and I moved over to join the others watching the horses. I suppose I might have learned to ride when I was smaller just as I had learned to swim, but for no good reason in particular, I hadn’t. I wasn’t afraid of horses, but I was wary of them. There was another girl who wasn’t. She was reaching through the fence and teasing one, a red roan mare.
A tall, large-built boy near us looked at her and said, “I can’t stand children and that Debbie is such a child.”
A moment later there was a metallic toot as somebody blew on a whistle. I looked at my watch and saw that it was two exactly. There were two men standing on the single step up to the locker building. One had a whistle. He was young, perhaps forty-five, and smooth-skinned. He was also impatient.
“Come on,” he said, and beckoned irritatedly. “Come on over here.”
He was about medium height and dark-haired, and he had a list in his hand. He looked like the sort of person who would spend his time with lists of one sort or another. There are people, you know, who find no satisfaction in living unless they can plan ahead and then tick off items as they come.
We gathered around and he rattled his paper. The other man stood there rather quietly. He was also medium height, but slighter, older, considerably more wrinkled, and much less formally dressed.
“Answer when your name is called,” said the young man, and he began reading off our names. He started with Allen, Andersson and Briney, Robert, who was the large boy who was unenthusiastic about children, and he ended, with Wilson, You, and Yung. There were about thirty names.
“Two missing,” he said to the other when he was done. “Send them a second notice.”
Then he turned to us and said, “My name is Fosnight. I’m in charge of coordinating all Trial and pre-Trial programs, and that includes survival classes. There are, at present, six classes in training, counting this one, meeting in various areas of the Third Level. This class is scheduled to meet regularly from now on, here at Gate 5, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons at 12:30. Third Class is here on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. If the meeting times conflict with school, tutorial sessions, or anything else, you’ll have to find a way out. Reschedule, perhaps—the other, of course, not this—or skip one or the other. That is strictly up to you to settle. It is strictly up to you whether or not you decide to attend, but I can guarantee that almost anyone will find his chances of coming back from Trial alive infinitely improved if he attends Survival Class regularly. Your group is somewhat smaller than the usual one, so you should do very well. You are also lucky to have Mr. Marechal here as your instructor—he’s one of our six best chief instructors.” He smiled at his little joke.
Mr. Fosnight’s manner was brisk and businesslike, as though he were checking his mental items off. Now he turned to Marechal and handed him the whistle. “Whistle,” he said. He handed him the list. “List.” Then he turned back to us standing in a bunch in front. “Any