John couldn’t believe it. Archivus Major looked awesome. He turned to his two friends and saw that both Emmie’s and Kaal’s eyes were lit up with excitement.
“Do we have to go?” came a voice from John’s left.
The headmaster’s eyebrow arched again. He stared at the black-haired boy who had spoken. “Most people would consider it an honor just to be allowed to set foot on Archivus Major, Mordant,” Lorem said softly. “Only one group is allowed to visit at a time and the waiting list is years long. You may never have the chance to see its wonders again.”
Mordant shrugged. “That’s okay, I don’t mind,” he said. “My grades are perfect in Hyperspace History. I don’t need to visit some crumbly old museum.”
An edge of steel crept into Lorem’s voice. “To answer your question more directly, Mordant: yes, you do have to go. Everyone is going. No exceptions.”
“But I —”
“Ahh, of course.” A look of understanding gleamed in the headmaster’s eyes. “It’s the Intergalactic Vaporball Championship game in two days’ time and — if memory serves — you’re a fan, aren’t you, Mr. Talliver?”
“I’ve been waiting for this game all year,” Mordant said. “The Gargon Bruterippers are playing in the final.”
“You can watch the highlights when we return,” replied Lorem. It was obvious that as far as he was concerned, the argument was over.
A deep scowl crossed the half-Gargon boy’s face, and he crossed his tentacles angrily. The Serv-U-Droid floated at his shoulder. One of its tiny arms extended to flick a microscopic fleck of dust from its master’s uniform.
Suddenly, a chiming noise signaled the end of class. As a murmur of excitement ran around the room and students began picking up their bags, Lorem raised his hand for silence.
“Just a few more things,” he said. “Firstly, all your normal classes for the next two days have been changed.”
A few students cheered.
“Don’t get too excited,” Lorem said, smiling. “You’ll be doing extra work to catch up.” His smile grew wider as the cheers turned to groans. “Secondly, each of you will be traveling to Archivus Major in an individual spaceship — a Xi-Class Privateer, to be exact. It’s a ship you won’t have piloted before, so Sergeant Jegger will be giving you an intensive course starting in five minutes.”
“Wow,” John said to Kaal and Emmie, as the headmaster flashed back into the spinning ball of light and sped through the wall. “That woke me up.”
“My dad will never believe it,” said Kaal, starting toward the door. “He’s a history buff and has been trying to get to Archivus Major for years. He’s never even made it onto the short list. There are people who’ve died of old age waiting for their turn.”
“It does look pretty amazing,” Emmie chimed in as they reached the corridor. “And you know I’m not the greatest fan of Hyperspace History.”
“‘Pretty amazing’ doesn’t even begin to cover it,” gushed Kaal. “They have the skeleton of an actual Star Dragon — the only one in the universe — plus the original megasculpture of Intergalactic Emperor Gerinim the Vile and the ancient golden weapons of the C’perm Sun Tribe and —”
“And we really need to get down to the hangar,” John cut in. “You know what Jegger’s like about being late.” Sprinting down the passage, he called ahead, “Hey, Lishtig! Hold that TravelTube for us.”
Two minutes later John walked out onto Hyperspace High’s main hangar deck. Joining the end of a neat line of students, he stared about him. There were some things about Hyperspace High that he was sure he would never get used to, and the hangar deck was one of them. It was vast. Every time he stepped onto it, he felt like an ant in a football stadium.
Then there were the spaceships.
With a soft click and faint humming sound, the floor in front of the line of students dropped away. Beneath, a new compartment locked into place and the deck rose again. With it came sixteen black, egg-shaped spacecraft, each roughly the size of a large car. The Xi-Class Privateers, John guessed.
Standing among the ships was a three-legged alien with a patch over one of his three eyes, a ring of iron-grey hair around his head, and a moustache of the same color.
As the students snapped to attention, Sergeant Jegger ran his gaze down the line, counting. Finding every student had arrived, he gave a grunt of approval and continued. “The Xi-Class Privateer: it’s different from anything you’ve ever flown before. With eight neutrino-fueled LightFast engines, she’s sleek, fast, and powerful. A good ship.”
John raised his hand. “Why are we taking individual ships, Sergeant?” he asked. “Why not just go in a shuttle?”
“Headmaster’s orders,” replied Jegger curtly. “Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine.”
“Security’s tight on Archivus Major, isn’t it?” asked Lishtig, tossing back his purple tail of hair. “Maybe they shoot down any ship that’s big enough to carry serious weapons.”
“Or maybe it’s to prevent the Helvian Mammoths from escaping?” suggested Bareon, huge black eyes blinking in his triangular head.
“More likely so they can tell anyone they don’t like the look of to get lost,” said the rock-like Gobi-san-Art in his deep, gravelly voice. “Hey, Mordant, ten credits says you don’t last five minutes.”
As Mordant began to retort, Sergeant Jegger’s voice cut him off. “I thought I was running a flying class down here,” he snapped. “Not a gossip session. Shut your flapping mouths and stand by a ship. On the double!”
All the students knew exactly what the sergeant expected of them. In silence, they each made for the nearest Privateer and stood at the nose of the craft. As he approached a ship, John reached out to touch it. Beneath his fingertips the sleek craft felt like ice. John could see circular vents in the Privateer’s otherwise smooth shell.
The LightFast engines, he thought.
The other students were murmuring excitedly.
“Settle down,” barked Jegger. “I said the Xi-Class Privateer was unlike anything you’ve flown before and I meant it. Completely different controls to the t-darts you’re used to, so I want you to follow my orders very carefully.” The sergeant paused, pacing in front of the ships with his odd gait to make sure that everyone was paying attention. Satisfied, he continued. “Each craft has been programmed to respond to its new pilot. Speak your name to open the cockpit. Get in and fasten your safety harness.”
“John Riley,” said John. A crack instantly appeared in the shell of the ship beside him. Silently, a hatch opened. John stepped in, settling himself into a seat that molded itself around him. A thin harness dropped from above, its straps moving as if they had a life of their own, fitting neatly around his body.
The door slid closed again. “And again: wow,” John whispered to himself as he looked forward.
From outside, the Xi-Class Privateer had looked like it was made from solid, polished stone. Now, the shell was clear. He had a perfect view of the hangar. Sergeant Jegger stood a few feet away, adjusting his headset.
“All right, cadets. The first thing you’ll have noticed is that there’s no control panel in front of you.” The sergeant’s voice sounded in John’s cockpit, although he couldn’t see any speakers. “The Xi-Class Privateer is piloted using a mixture of voice commands and the controls on the pilot’s seat.”
John looked down. Sure enough, there were touchpads glowing green at his fingertips.
“Charts, maps, and any other information you need will appear directly on the ship’s Formalite skin,” Jegger continued. “Try it. Ask for your home planet.”
“Earth,” said John.
An image of planet Earth appeared in the curved shell, slightly to the right of John’s vision. He felt a tiny pang of homesickness. “Set course for Earth?” asked a confident male voice.
“Uh, no. No, thanks,” John said quickly.
Further conversation with the Privateer’s computer was cut off by Jegger’s voice again. “The computer will take care of long-distance navigation, but you’ll need to pilot for takeoff and landing and know some basic emergency maneuvers. Speed is at your left hand, direction is at your right hand. . . . ”
As the sergeant explained how the craft worked, John listened carefully. He’d become quite good at flying, but his first-ever attempt at piloting a t-dart had been a disaster, as he had ended up crashing into Kaal. Since then, he’d been taking extra lessons and had even saved his classmates’ lives by flying an old shuttle off the exploding volcanic planet of Zirion Beta. Learning to fly a completely new type of ship, however, was still nerve-shredding.
“It can take some getting used to, and there’s only one way to do that,” Jegger told the students. “When I say go, tell your computer to disengage docking locks, start engines, and display speed. Take your craft up slowly and circle the hangar at twenty miles per hour. Tarz. You first. Go.”
As John expected, the first ship took off smoothly. Emmie was a natural-born pilot who had an instinctive understanding of flying. For this reason, Jegger often chose her to demonstrate new moves or tactics. Emmie usually showed the rest of the class that whatever Jegger had asked of them wasn’t impossible, no matter how difficult.
“Talliver. Go.”
The second Privateer took off with a barely perceptible wobble. John had to admit that Mordant was as talented at flying as he was at everything else, except for making friends.
As he waited for his own turn, John wondered if that was the reason why Mordant’s parents had given him G-Vez. No one except the Serv-U-Droid was ever willing to spend more than a few minutes with the half-Gargon.
“Riley. Go.”
John’s fingertips trembled on the touchpads. Keeping his voice as calm as possible, he said, “Computer, disengage docking locks, start engines, and display speed.”
“Affirmative. Ready to launch, John Riley.” A large zero appeared in the shell to the left of John’s vision.
Following Jegger’s advice, and still biting hard on his bottom lip, John moved the index finger of his right hand. The ship rocked backward so that John was looking up to where the other two Privateers were already circling the hangar. He moved his left index finger, and the ship rose into the air. The number zero flickered until it reached thirty-five. John eased off on the speed button.
It wasn’t perfect — his trembling fingers meant the Privateer’s takeoff was less smooth than Emmie’s — but a few seconds later his ship joined the other airborne Privateers.
“Not completely awful,” said Jegger. “San-Art. Go.”
Once every ship was zooming around the ceiling of the hangar, the sergeant began giving instructions for maneuvers.
Before long, the egg-shaped ships were swooping around the hangar as the students’ confidence increased.
Jegger kept up a constant stream of comments: “Werril, you can go a little faster than that, cadet. What are you: a little old Wussian with some heavy shopping? Temerate, make your ship lean into the turns. Talliver, stop showing off!”
The last comment had barely registered when Mordant’s Privateer suddenly sped dangerously close to John’s. Mordant’s face leered at John for a moment, then his ship accelerated away to the far end of the hangar. Shaken, John’s fingers slipped on the touchpad, sending his own Privateer spiraling off wildly.
Seething with anger, John brought his ship back under control. For a second he caught himself wishing desperately that the Privateer had weapons that he could use to shoot down the half-Gargon. Fighting down the urge to give chase, and cursing under his breath, John returned to flying up and down the hangar, concentrating instead on getting used to the Privateer’s controls.
“Lishtig ar Steero!” Jegger shouted. “Why are you flying upside down? For goodness’ sake, boy, stop. That’s good — now use the right-hand control pad . . . the right . . . to flip. No, not all the way around, now you’re upside down again —”
As Jegger tried to right Lishtig’s ship, John executed a neat turn and zoomed off down the hangar again. He frowned. Mordant Talliver was once again heading directly toward him. John touched the control pad to swerve away. His mouth fell open as Talliver’s ship mirrored the move. With Jegger’s attention elsewhere, Mordant was playing chicken with him.
Desperately, John moved his fingers on the unfamiliar control pads, trying to get out of the way. His Privateer turned, skimming inches past Mordant’s ship just in time to avoid a crash. From the corner of his eye, John saw Mordant grinning and making a rude gesture with his tentacles. Suddenly, Emmie’s ship was right in front of his own. Mordant had forced him to fly straight into her!
For a split second, John saw Emmie staring at him, mouth moving in a shout of warning, eyes wide in shock.
“Riley. Riley. What in Trud’s name are you doing?” yelled Jegger, as John’s ship smashed into Emmie’s, then tumbled toward the deck.
Emmie recovered quickly; her ship flew off unharmed. John struggled to regain control, but the fall was too quick. His ship smacked into the deck like a dropped stone, bounced, and rolled into a corner of the hangar. Although the Privateer’s seat and safety harness softened the landing, John felt like he was in a washing machine. But worse was the shame, as he realized that once again he’d crashed a ship on Jegger’s deck. Closing his eyes, he let out a loud groan.
By the time he opened his eyes again, Emmie and Kaal’s Privateers hovered a few yards away. His friends peered down at him, concern on their faces.
Jegger was still bellowing into his headset. “Riley, report. Report now! Are you all right, boy? If you’ve damaged that ship, I’ll have you scrubbing the entire deck with a toothbrush.”
“Sorry, sir,” John replied at last, his voice shaking with shock and anger. Knowing that if he told the truth, it would look like he was trying to shift the blame, he continued, “I must have been going too fast.”
“Do you think so, Riley?” Jegger shouted, stomping across the deck on his three legs. His face was bright red and his mustache bristling. “I thought you were shaping up to be a good pilot, but it turns out you’re just a speed demon looking for thrills. Well, not in my ships, Riley. And not on my hangar deck.”
The tongue-lashing lasted several minutes, by which time the whole class had lowered their Privateers. Cheeks burning, John tried not to look at Mordant, wearing a grin so wide, it looked like the top of his head might flip off.
Eventually, the sergeant calmed down enough to give orders again. “Line up,” he told the class. “As some of you obviously want to crash every single one of my ships, the rest of the class will be devoted to emergency landings,” he croaked, voice ragged from shouting.
“Safety Code Violation.”
Every head swung around.
At the far end of the hangar a hovering shape was framed in the doorway of the TravelTube. Completely white, it looked like a white ball on top of a larger egg. Blank-faced, and with no trace of emotion in its electronic voice, the Examiner somehow managed to seem threatening. Even Sergeant Jegger was silent as the machine floated forward.
“John Riley,” the Examiner continued, making itself heard inside every Privateer, “you have failed to acquire the minimum flight competency required for the Archivus Major field trip.”
John gulped.
“Your status is under review. Failure will result in the cancellation of your participation.”
“Um . . . what?” John asked, still shaken by his crash and not following what the white machine was telling him.
“You crashed, John Riley. Now you must be examined,” the machine said, floating back toward the TravelTube. “On the morning of the trip to Archivus Major your flight skills will be tested. If you fail, you will be kept behind.”