“So, I guess we should tell Ms. Vartexia what really happened on Archivus Major before we get back,” said John.
As the words left his mouth, a light flashed on the Privateer’s display skin.
“Emergency distress beacon detected at coordinates eighty-four point twelve point eight two zero,” the computer announced. “A point-three FTL Jet. Identity codes confirm it is an Archivus Major craft. Instructions?”
Instantly, John forgot about Graximus Greyfore and the Comet Creative. He didn’t hesitate. During Space Flight Theory class, Sergeant Jegger had drummed emergency procedures into his students. Every pilot knew that a ship in trouble should be approached with extreme caution.
Putting aside all other thoughts, John immediately began the procedures Jegger had taught. “Scan for weapons, engine efficiency, and signs of damage,” he said automatically. “Establish a communication channel, code one, and prepare to intercept. Magnify.”
An image of a clunky-looking white spaceship with Archivus Major markings appeared on the screen. “Intercept course plotted,” said the computer. “No weapons. Engines and communication systems inoperative. Distress call level alpha.”
Opening a new channel, John said, “Ms. Vartexia, I’m receiving a distress call. A ship from Archivus Major.”
“We are all picking up the same signal,” Ms. Vartexia replied.
Her voice sounded clipped and efficient, but beneath, John heard a quiver of worry. He knew what was causing it. Without communications, there was no way of knowing what had happened aboard the distressed ship. Whatever it was might put the students in danger. But every pilot in the galaxy knew that a distress beacon could not be ignored. Seriously injured beings might be on board.
Ms. Vartexia appeared to reach a decision. Sounding more sure of herself, she began to give orders: “John Riley, you are two minutes closer than the next ship. Proceed to the coordinates and lock onto the craft with your tractor beam. Take it directly to Hyperspace High. The rest of us will take formation beta twelve around you and escort you in. All craft maintain a continuous scan. Keep communication channels open. At the slightest sign of unusual activity, every ship is to leave the vicinity of the damaged vessel immediately. Clear?”
“Yes, Ms. Vartexia.”
Switching navigation to manual, John increased his speed and turned away on a new heading. Within a few minutes, he no longer needed the magnified image of the crippled ship. It was dead ahead: a slowly spinning spaceship larger than the Privateer. It reminded John of a large camper van.
Cutting speed, he took his ship close. There was no sign of life and no clue to what had happened inside. Carefully, he turned the Privateer and brought it to a complete stop.
“Computer: tractor the distressed ship on my mark. Go.”
“Tractor beam engaged.”
John looked over his shoulder. The Archivus Major ship had stopped spinning. It was held fast by a glowing white energy field.
“Maintain constant scan and set course for Hyperspace High. Maximum speed.”
“Affirmative.”
Ms. Vartexia and the rest of the class brought their ships into tight formation around him. All communication channels stayed open but there was a tense silence as John pulled the mysterious ship through space.
* * *
“Approaching Hyperspace High,” the computer reported.
Ahead was the elegant sweep of Hyperspace High, blazing with light. With a slight shock, John realized how happy and relieved he was to see the colossal ship: it was almost like coming home. But the feeling faded quickly, replaced instead by alarm.
Soon he would have to land the Privateer, and he would have to do so with another ship in tow. He gulped nervously.
Alarm swiftly started turning to panic as he neared Hyperspace High. The open bay doors looked like the eye of a needle. Far too small to get a spaceship through.
Sergeant Jegger’s voice came through the intercom. As if he was reading John’s mind, the flight instructor said, “You’re going to be fine, cadet. I’ll talk you through the approach. On my command, cut your speed. . . . ”
Following Jegger’s instructions closely, John brought the Privateer around for a run into Hyperspace High’s main hangar.
Gritting his teeth, he flew dead center through the bay door, checking over his shoulder to make sure that the Archivus Major ship was still behind him.
Landing two ships was tricky. As the little Privateer dragged the larger aircraft behind it, John felt like he was trying to pilot a whale. Bumping to the ground, John felt the distressed ship smack into the deck behind him.
“Not perfect, but good enough. Well done, cadet,” said Jegger. “Stand by for compression.”
Once the other students had also landed their ships, the massive bay door slid shut. As the hangar deck filled with air, several doors opened at once.
The headmaster walked through one, Jegger at his side, both looking stern. A medical team came through another, while Examiners swarmed in from the rest. John had never seen so many Examiners in one place. Like the Omega-bots on Archivus Major, the robots immediately formed a protective ring around the mysterious ship.
John climbed out of his Privateer without taking his eyes off the craft he had just towed from deep space.
“Keep back,” said Lorem, as John walked toward it. He nodded at the headmaster and stepped back a pace or two. Kaal and Emmie fell in behind him, both gazing at the Archivus Major ship.
Its door opened with a hiss.
A short figure staggered onto the deck. “Help. P-p-p-please help!” yelled Graximus Greyfore, reaching his stubby hands toward the headmaster. “I have been —”
“It was him!” John shouted. Unable to contain himself, he ran toward the curator. “He used us to sabotage the Goran-Subo battlefield.”
“He nearly got us all killed!” shouted Kaal, rushing forward to join his friend.
“Why did you give me the Comet Creative?” demanded Emmie. “Why did you want to free the Subo and Goran warriors?”
“What?” squealed Ms. Vartexia. “What is everyone talking about?”
“John Riley, explain,” said Lorem quickly.
“Three days ago in the lecture hall, Greyfore gave Emmie a camera — he called it the Comet Creative — and told Emmie to take photos of the Goran-Subo battlefield,” replied John. “But when she used it, the stasis cube melted and the Goran and Subo immediately began fighting again.”
Surrounded by Examiners, Greyfore looked around in confusion. The whole class began talking, all trying to tell the story at once.
The headmaster clapped his hands. “Silence,” he said in a voice that could not be disobeyed. “Continue, John.”
John took a deep breath. Suddenly everything was becoming clear. “Headmaster,” he said. “When Graximus Greyfore visited Hyperspace High, he requested the Holo-registrations so that you would have to leave the room. While you were gone, he somehow made people do what he wanted in order for the Goran and Subo to be freed from stasis.”
“But I don’t understand. That couldn’t have happened. I just fell asleep for a little while,” said Ms. Vartexia, sounding faint.
“It’s all true,” said John firmly. “Ask him,” he said, pointing at the curator again.
“Perhaps we should hear what Graximus Greyfore has to say.” Turning to the curator, the headmaster lifted an eyebrow. “Well, Greyfore?” she said.
“I d-didn’t do a-anything,” stammered the little alien.
“You deliberately told me to eat the Elvian spaghetti at Optical Orbit, knowing it might keep me unconscious for hours,” said Ms. Vartexia in a thoughtful voice. “Now that I think about it, that was strange. I don’t particularly like Elvian spaghetti, but it was as if I couldn’t see anything else on the menu. Once I started eating it, I just couldn’t stop.”
“And you made sure that Mordant Talliver knew the Vaporball Championship was being held nearby,” added Kaal.
Lorem’s purple eyes widened. “Of course, that meant I would have to go after him, leaving the rest of the students unprotected.”
Pausing for a moment, Lorem gave Graximus Greyfore a chilly stare. “With myself and Ms. Vartexia unable to help, you made sure that once the Goran and Subo broke free from stasis, the class would be caught up in the battle. They would be killed, leaving no survivors to point the finger at you. Fortunately, it seems that my students were braver and more resourceful than you could have imagined. But how did you do it, Greyfore? And another, even more important question: why?”
At last the curator found his voice. “P-please listen,” he choked. “It-it wasn’t m-me.”
The shouting began again. Lorem held up his hand, a strange look on his face. “Go on,” he said. “I could sense that something was going to happen on Archivus Major, but my visions of the future are sometimes . . . unclear.”
“It w-w-wasn’t me,” Graximus Greyfore insisted, his voice sounding a little steadier. “None of it.”
The curator took a deep breath. “I was on my way to Hyperspace High when my ship was hijacked by a Subo craft. Before I could call for help, a Subo came aboard. He called himself Supretus VI and used a machine he had developed — an Xogram Impersonator — to take a sample of my DNA.”
“An Xogram Impersonator,” whispered Lorem. “But DNA-modifying technology is forbidden throughout the galaxy.”
“Then . . . th-then . . . ” Greyfore stuttered to a stop, a look of horror crossing his blotched face.
“And then?” the headmaster prompted.
“And then he turned into me. R-r-right in front of my eyes.”
“So, you’re saying that the Graximus Greyfore who came here was an impostor?” Lorem looked doubtful.
The curator nodded eagerly. “Yes. Not me at all,” he babbled.
“But why? Why go to all that trouble?”
“Supretus is a direct descendant of General Klort. For thirty thousand years his family has seen it as a dishonor that she was denied a victory over the Goran. He wanted to free his ancestor and restart the war. Supretus had a small hypnosis device that fitted into the palm of his hand. He bragged to me that when he touched someone with it, they would do whatever he suggested.”
“What a load of nonsense.”
A gasp ran around the hangar deck.
Standing in the doorway of the Archivus Major ship was another Graximus Greyfore.
This one was holding his head as if he was in pain. As everyone watched, he raised a hand and pointed to the first Greyfore, standing before the headmaster.
“It was him!” the new Greyfore said in a much deeper voice. “He is Supretus. He kidnapped me. I was tied up for days but I managed to free myself, disable the ship, and set off the distress beacon. In his rage, he knocked me unconscious.”
The first Greyfore stamped his foot in fury. “L-l-liar!” he screamed. “You imprisoned me in my own sh-ship while you impersonated me at H-hyperspace High! I don’t know h-h-how much longer I could have m-m-managed if no one had answered my distress b-beacon.”
“You are the liar. If I hadn’t stopped you —”
“Enough,” commanded Lorem, holding up his hand. “There is an easy way to settle this. Examiners.”
“Wait —”
The second Greyfore’s shout was silenced as Examiners moved forward. Green light flickered. Both curators were immediately held fast in a force field.
Red beams scanned the two short aliens.
“DNA scan complete. Identified. Graximus Greyfore of planet Dorfius t-Char. Head Curator of Archivus Major,” droned one of the white robots.
“Unidentified Subo. DNA modified. Reverting,” droned another.
John stared. Around him, students took a step back. Ms. Vartexia yelped in shock.
Where the second Greyfore had been standing was suddenly a Subo. Surrounded by a green haze, it could not move but still looked as fearsome as its ancient cousins had on Archivus Major. Its mouth, lined with sharp teeth, was open wide and its laser-horn was lowered, ready to fire a deadly blast.
A green light flashed. The Subo roared in frustrated rage. “Suboran should have won the war!” he raged in a deep voice. “Klort was robbed of victory. The Subo are the rightful rulers of the galaxy.”
“Enough of this madness,” said Lorem quietly.
A green light flickered again. The Subo was silenced.
“Intergalactic code violation,” droned one of the Examiners. “Supretus VI, you impersonated Graximus Greyfore to start a war. You placed Hyperspace High students’ lives in danger. Punishment: expulsion.”
John remembered the same punishment had been given to him upon his arrival at Hyperspace High.
He also remembered what happened next.
“Proceed to airlock three.”
A door opened. The Examiners’ force field effortlessly lifted the Subo from the ground. The creature floated across the deck and disappeared inside the airlock.
“Expulsion code eight five six three,” droned the Examiner.
“Decompression in five seconds,” replied a deeper voice. “Four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”
The last time John had heard these words, it had been him in the airlock. Then, Lorem had intervened at the last second. Now, the headmaster stood perfectly still, his face stony.
Underneath the calm, he’s angry, John thought. Absolutely furious.
Horrified and fascinated at the same time, John watched through the airlock’s small window. He heard a faint hiss, followed by a rushing sound as the oxygen in the airlock was snatched out into space.
With it went the screaming Subo, its scream dying as it disappeared into the void.