Free Old Man's War Boxed Set 1 by John Scalzi Page B

hours, I was placed in a rec room with several dozen other people and told to do whatever I wanted. I shot some pool. I played a game of Ping-Pong. God help me, I played shuffleboard.
    At no point did I even break a sweat.
    “What the hell sort of army is this, anyway?” I asked the Old Farts at lunch.
    “It makes a little bit of sense,” Harry said. “Yesterday we did basic intellect and emotion. Today was basic physical movement. Again, they seem interested in the foundations of high order activity.”
    “I’m not really aware of Ping-Pong being indicative of higher order physical activity,” I said.
    “Hand-eye coordination,” Harry said. “Timing. Precision.”
    “And you never know when you’re going to have to bat back a grenade,” Alan piped in.
    “Exactly,” Harry said. “Also, what do you want them to do? Have us run a marathon? We’d all drop before the end of the first mile.”
    “Speak for yourself, flabby,” Thomas said.
    “I stand corrected,” Harry said. “Our friend Thomas would make it to mile six before his heart imploded. If he didn’t get a food-related cramp first.”
    “Don’t be silly,” Thomas said. “Everyone knows you need to power up with carbohydrates before a race. Which is why I’m going back for more fettuccine.”
    “You’re not running a marathon, Thomas,” Susan said.
    “The day is young,” Thomas said.
    “Actually,” Jesse said, “my schedule is empty. I’ve got nothing planned for the rest of the day. And tomorrow, the only thing on the schedule is ‘Concluding Physical Improvements’ from 0600 to 1200 and a general recruit assembly at 2000, after dinner.”
    “My schedule is finished until tomorrow, too,” I said. A quick glance up and down the table showed that everyone else was done for the day as well. “Well, then,” I said. “What are we going to do to amuse ourselves?”
    “There’s always more shuffleboard,” Susan said.
    “I have a better idea,” Harry said. “Anyone have plans at 1500?”
    We all shook our heads.
    “Swell,” Harry said. “Then meet me back here. I have a field trip for the Old Farts.”

    “Are we even supposed to be here?” Jesse asked.
    “Sure,” said Harry. “Why not? And even if we’re not, what are they going to do? We’re not really in the military yet. We can’t officially be court-martialed.”
    “No, but they can probably blow us out an air lock,” Jesse said.
    “Don’t be silly,” Harry said. “That would be a waste of perfectly good air.”
    Harry had led us to an observation deck in the Colonial area of the ship. And indeed, while we recruits had never been specifically told we couldn’t go to the Colonial’s decks, neither had we been told that we could (or should). Standing as we were in the deserted deck, the seven of us stood out like truant schoolkids at a peep show.
    Which, in one sense, was what we were. “During our little exercises today, I struck up a conversation with one of the Colonial folks,” Harry said, “and he mentioned that the Henry Hudson was going to make its skip today at 1535. And I figure that none of us has actually seen what a skip looks like, so I asked him where one would go to get a good view. And he mentioned here. So here we are, and with”—Harry glanced at his PDA—“four minutes to spare.”
    “Sorry about that,” Thomas said. “I didn’t mean to hold everyone up. The fettuccine was excellent, but my lower intestine would apparently beg to differ.”
    “Please feel free not to share such information in the future, Thomas,” Susan said. “We don’t know you that well yet.”
    “Well, how else will you get to know me that well?” Thomas said. No one bothered to answer that one.
    “Anyone know where we are right now? In space, that is,” I asked after a few moments of silence had passed.
    “We’re still in the solar system,” Alan said, and pointed out the window. “You can tell because you can still see the constellations. See,