Rite of Passage

PART III: A UNIVERSAL EDUCATION

14

There are basically two ways of facing Trial — the turtle method and the tiger method. The turtle mpthod means that you dig yourself a hole and stay in it for a month, looking for no trouble, looking for nothing, simply sitting. The tiger method means that you prowl, investigating, seeing what there is to see. There is no doubt that the tiger method is more dangerous. On the other hand, there is also no doubt that it is more lively. None of our instructors was ever presumptuous enough to recommend one course or the other, and there was no official stigma attached to being a turtle, but certainly there was more prestige in being a tiger. We used to talk about it sometimes. Riggy was determined to be a turtle.

“I want to come home again,” he said, “and I’ve got a better chance if I’m a turtle.” It just shows you what happens when a rash boy starts thinking.

Att wouldn’t talk about his plans, but Jimmy said that he was going to be a tiger. When I was thinking in terms of going with Jimmy, I was thinking of being a tiger. When I decided that I was going by myself, I toned my projected tigerhood down by about sixty percent. Call me a reluctant tiger.

I got up early on the morning of the first of December and went out to get myself breakfast. I found both Daddy and breakfast waiting for me. We ate a subdued meal.

When I was ready to go, Daddy said, “Goodbye, Mia. Your mother and I will be there waving when you come home.”

I kissed him and said, “Goodbye, Daddy.”

Then I took the shuttle down to Gate 5 on the Third Level. I was wearing sturdy shoes, pants, light and heavy shirt. I had my knife and my handgun, my bubble tent, my bedroll, some personal things, changes of clothes, a green, yellow and red cloth coat, food, and, most important, my pickup signal. This, a little block three inches by two, was my contact with the scoutship. Without it, without a signal from me at the proper time, I might as well be dead, and as far as the Ship was concerned I would be. Silent or dead — either way you didn’t come home.

I collected Ninc, my stalwart and stupid pony, and his gear and loaded them on a transport shuttle. Then I helped Rachel Yung do the same, and we went down together to First Level and the scoutship bay. We loaded our stuff and went outside to wait.

There were no bands playing. There were just the scoutships standing quietly over their tubes, men working in a businesslike fashion in the great rock gallery, and us. We were ignored — we might not come back, you know.

One by one the kids came, loaded their stuff aboard, and then came outside to join us in standing around. We weren’t making much noise, except for Riggy, who told a joke and then laughed at it, his voice echoing. Nobody else laughed.

We were to leave at eight. At quarter to eight, Mr. Marecirni came in, wished us luck, and went on his way. His new class was to have its first meeting that afternoon and I think he was probably already memorizing names.

There were sixteen of us girls, and thirteen boys. David Farmer and Bill Nieman were missing, still recovering from the tiger hunt. They would have another chance in three months, though I didn’t envy them the wait at all. Especially after we came back and were adults, and they weren’t.

Just before eight, George Fuhonin and Mr. Pizarro arrived. George was quite bright and cheerful in spite of the early hour. I was standing near the ramp and he stopped.

“Well, the big day at last,” he said. “I’d wish you luck if I thought you needed it, Mia, but I don’t think I have to worry about you.”

I don’t know whether I appreciated his confidence or not.

Mr. Pizarro went about halfway up the ramp and then turned and waved for attention. “All right,” he called. “Everybody aboard.”

We took our seats in the bull-pen. Before I went in, I paused at the head of the ramp and took a good long look at home, possibly the last look I would ever have. After we were settled, George raised the ramps.

“Here we go,” he said over the speaker. “Ten seconds to drop.”

The air bled out of the tubes, the rim bars pulled back, and then we just… dropped. George didn’t have to do that. He would never have dared to do that with Daddy aboard. My stomach flipped a little and then settled again. George has an odd sense of humor and I think he thinks it’s fun to be a hot pilot when he can get away with it.

Att was sitting near me and he turned then as though he had finally gotten up the nerve to say something difficult.

“Mia,” he said, “I wondered — do you think you might want to go partners?”

After a moment I said, “I’m sorry, Att, but I guess not.”

“Jimmy?”

“No. I think I’ll just go by myself.”

“Oh,” he said, and after a few minutes he got up and moved off.

I guess it was my day to be popular, because Jimmy came over, too, a little later. I was busy thinking and I didn’t see him come up. He cleared his throat and I looked up.