She hadn't really been all that sad, leaving home. She had no father, and mother was always off at the Institute doing medical work of some sort - when she was home, it was mostly to insure that her daughter was making satisfactory (read: outstanding) progress in her
studies. Ms. Reynolds was a firm believer in discipline and order in a child's life, rather at the cost of personal affection. Most of the time, though, a private tutor had raised Jennifer, ensuring that she met the requirements for entry to Battle School. It had never even been a
question; she was to go as soon as she was able. Her father he was never spoken of in the house, and as a matter of fact, Jennifer's mother had disapproved of any male presence. As such Jennifer
had been raised as much as possible by women. She knew of the existence of males in much the same way a housecat is aware of people: a presence on the outskirts of experience, but with little
direct affect on her life. After she had finished breast feeding, physical affection was all but nonexistent in her life.

Jennifer was one of those girls cursed from an early age with that bland form of cuteness that never really goes away - she would never be a beauty, no, but neither could she be called plain. It was a certain childlike look that would stay with her long into adulthood: thin; medium length straight brown hair with a hint of blonde; a small, slightly upturned nose; lightly freckled cheeks; dark brown eyes, pale skin and thin straight lips that rarely smiled. In a word, cute.

Within moments of debarkation her Launch Mother, Lieutenant Something-or-other - she had already forgotten his name - was
attempting to marshal them together and lead them to their launch barracks, number 3334. He was not having an easy time of it. Eight-year-olds being what they are, no matter how brilliant, they were easily distracted and difficult to keep in line for any length of time. Jennifer, however, conditioned to obey authority, found herself wandering docilely over and forming up where he gestured, which proved fortunate for it was at that moment that his patience snapped and he began to yell. The sudden violent outburst had
the desired effect, and, with scattered whimpers, whispers and giggles, the children finally fell in line.

"Right!" said the lieutenant, "We'll have no more of that, do you hear? NO TALKING IN RANKS!" and he cuffed a boy upside the head before continuing. "Now then," and his voice softened, "I'm here to help you adjust. So do what I say, and you'll be just fine, ok? Now, follow me to your new home."

***

The barracks was a Spartan affair. Bunks lined either wall, with a foot locker at the end and a standing locker on the wall. They entered in file, but as soon as everyone was in, there was a mad stampede for bunks, to the sound of high-pitched chattering and laughter. Jennifer merely stood in the center of the room, until the chaos died down, then calmly selected the last open bed, a bottom bunk, four down from the door.

"I suggest you take this time to get to know each other," their launch mother said, and then turned and walked out the door. As soon as he was gone, children started opening lockers and pawing through the gear inside, eagerly examining every piece of equipment. Jennifer sat on her bunk for a while, watching, then slowly got up and moved to her foot locker. Inside she found a regulation blue uniform (a little large for her, she judged), a desk, a pistol of some sort and an odd-looking jumpsuit. She carefully put everything back in its proper place, and then recommenced observing her fellow launchies.

Most of them were running around, getting to know each other, comparing childhoods, speculating on what lay in store for them,
and so on. Most, but not all. Scattered throughout the room she saw individual children sticking to themselves; some blubbering, some looking lost, others, like her, merely observing. What captured her attention most were those poor souls who shed tears for their lost home and family. She simply couldn't understand such sentiment; it was alien to her. She wanted to ask them why they cried so much - she felt almost nothing about the move - it never even occurred
to Jennifer that other children would have had different sorts of upbringings than she did. She lay back on her bunk, puzzling over this problem, resolving to ask one of these whimperers why she cried (she never even thought about approaching a boy) when all at once she was walloped with the fatigue of the journey. It was as if the hours and hours of traveling had just dropped without warning onto her eyelids, pushing them inexorably down. Jennifer yawned hugely and with vague resolutions to get up in just a few minutes, she drifted off to sleep amid the squalor.

***