"They're still wearing civvies," the tall boy said. "They'll get their game issue tonight, though, and their equipment, along with us. Trucks drop it off at each barracks, and then it's given out by each section leader. I guess there must be tons of the stuff." "Where they going now?" As the youngsters poured from the _Mikol VII_ they were grouped into formations by adults who had come from the huge, golden building. "Why, to their barracks, just like everybody else does. They ate before they landed, and their barracks assignments were made at headquarters on Earth before they even took off." "On Earth?" "Sure, didn't you know that? Believe me, it has to be efficient. The Quadrates and their staffs work all year at headquarters getting things lined up for the games. They don't show up here until the day things start. The Director's here, but you only see him once, at the opening ceremonies. As far as the games are concerned, he ranks everybody--except the Prelate General, of course. He signs the orders that split us up into our quadrants." "Hey, Jon...." "You better call me lance-sergeant out here. Somebody could get the wrong idea." "Sure, sarge! Is that what the gold star means?" "Uh huh. You get 'em if you volunteer. Like I did, before I was ten. Sets a good example, you know." "Gee. Is everybody here our age?" "Nobody can be more than a month over ten. That's the law. That is except for volunteers, who are younger, and those who get tossed back for insufficient conditioning and have to stay for the games all over again, like me. I was twelve a couple months ago. I like it though." "But say, what'd you mean about Earth?" "Well, that's where all the plans and everything are made before you even leave. You didn't think all that stuff was done here on Venus, did you?" * * * * * As Jon had said, the trucks came with the loads of equipment for each barracks that night after supper. They were large, long trucks and Terry wondered why they didn't make the awful racket that trucks always made. There wasn't the stink of burned Diesel fuel. The huge vehicle just rolled up outside soundlessly, and Terry watched for the driver to get out. None did. He tried to look into the front of the vehicle, but it was too dark to see what was on the other side of the long, narrow windows. "Nothing in there," Jon said. "Those are just for maintenance inspection. It'd be a mess if the robot-control ever went out of whack, believe me. Better start help unloading." The unloading took less than fifteen minutes, and then the truck moved on to the next barracks. The rude, wooden crates were heavy, but not large. There were three for each of the hundred bunks. When the last was placed at the foot of Jon's bunk, he stood on the largest one and told them what to do.