Just as Zepp had predicted, John felt more positive after a good night’s sleep. The breakfast that appeared from the food dispenser at his table in the cafeteria also helped: ice-cold orange juice and a fruit salad, followed by scrambled eggs and toast.
By the time he took a place between Kaal and Emmie on a MorphSeat in lecture hall A, he was beginning to think he might actually get to Archivus Major. After all, as Emmie had pointed out over breakfast, he was shaping up to be a good pilot. If Mordant Talliver hadn’t caused the crash the day before, he would have flown the Privateer as well as anyone in the class.
Laying his ThinScreen on the small desk in front of him, John looked down toward the lecturer. A short being with an enormous, blotchy head stood talking to the headmaster. John’s first impression was that the new arrival looked nervous. His hands moved constantly, patting his head and loose robes as if to check that they were still there. John shrugged and turned his attention elsewhere. He was getting used to seeing the aliens of many different worlds and knew the twitchy movements might be completely normal for the small being.
With only one day to go before the field trip, excitement was running high. Many of the students had been reading about the exhibits on the museum planet, and each one wanted to see something different.
“I’m going to the tomb treasures of Gormib the Reaper,” said Bareon, a few seats down from John.
“Sheesh, who wants to look at a pile of old jewels,” cut in Queelin Temerate. “I want to see the space galleon Corsair.”
“No way, it’s got to be the Star Dragon,” Kaal insisted.
Only Mordant looked less than pleased, John noticed as he looked around. The half-Gargon was leaning back in his chair, tentacles behind his head and a scowl on his face. G-Vez bobbed about him, lights flashing. John couldn’t hear what it was saying, but whatever it was made Mordant’s scowl deepen.
“A very good morning to you all,” said Lorem, stepping forward and addressing the students with his usual cheer. As the room fell silent, he continued. “It is my great honor to present to you Graximus Greyfore, the head curator of Archivus Major and the only living resident on the planet. He will be giving you some very important information this morning, so please listen carefully.”
Stepping back, the headmaster gave the being a small bow.
Graximus Greyfore coughed. “Ahh . . . y-yes . . . w-well now . . . ” he stammered in a high, squeaky voice, before stopping to cough again. “G-g-good morning.”
The curator seemed to realize he wasn’t making a good impression and took a deep breath. “As your headmaster says, I am G-Graximus Greyfore . . . yes, Graximus Greyfore,” he continued, sounding only very slightly more confident. “I am here to instruct you on how to b-behave on Archivus Major. First, you must not touch anything. . . . ”
“Perhaps you might start by telling the students why these rules are so important,” Lorem interrupted gently.
“A-ahh, yes. Of course,” Greyfore stuttered. “Th-the rules are not only to make s-sure that our exhibits are not damaged, but also to ensure your own s-safety. Most of our artifacts are ancient and very d-delicate. Many are extremely d-dangerous. One touch in the w-wrong place could have disastrous consequences. H-hideously mangled bodies, killer viruses released, destruction raining down . . . ”
At last, Greyfore began warming to his audience. John listened with rapt attention, as the large-headed curator listed the terrors that might be unleashed on Archivus Major.
“I think they get the message,” said Lorem firmly, as Greyfore began detailing some of the more horrific ancient weapons displayed on the planet.
“Security is extremely t-tight on Archivus Major,” Greyfore continued, changing tack. “As y-your headmaster s-said, I am the only l-l-living being on the p-planet, but I frequently t-t-travel to acquire new collections. I w-w-will not be there when you v-visit, but everything is c-completely automated to p-prevent contamination. No one lands without pre-approval, and all approaching visitors are DNA ch-checked. Once on the planet, you will find a force of Omega-bots, whose job it is to p-protect the exhibits. They will not h-h-hesitate to remove you from the planet if the rules are breached. Rule one: you must not t-touch anything unless given permission to do so. Rule t-two: the Omega-bots must be obeyed at all times. Rule three . . . ”
For the next hour, the strange curator outlined the planet’s rules. There were hundreds. Despite having had a full night’s sleep, Greyfore’s speech was beginning to make John feel drowsy. Finally, he said, “As you can see, we take s-s-security very seriously. S-so, it is crucial that you remain alert at all t-times.”
“Thank you, Graximus,” said Lorem. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to take some questions from the students?”
The curator nodded his enormous head. “Certainly, H-h-headmaster. And b-b-before I forget, for security reasons, I will need to see the Galactic Fleet Holo-registrations for all the ships t-t-traveling to Archivus Major.”
“Of course,” Lorem said. “I will just have a word with Sergeant Jegger. Students, I’m sure you will show our guest every courtesy while I step out.”
The curator’s eyes followed Lorem, as the headmaster flashed into a ball of energy and sped away. Then Greyfore turned back to the students.
“Before I take your questions, perhaps you would allow me to ask a few of my own.”
John looked up, surprised at the small curator’s change of tone. He shrugged. Perhaps the headmaster had made him nervous, or perhaps he was more comfortable now that his speech on Archivus Major was finished.
“First, is there anyone here who likes vaporball?”
Several students looked at each other. “Weird question for the curator of Archivus Major to ask,” John whispered to Kaal.
“Maybe he’s a bit, you know, eccentric,” Kaal replied. “He does live on that planet all by himself.”
Mordant Talliver’s tentacle was up in the air in a flash. “I love vaporball,” he said.
“Excellent,” said Greyfore with a chuckle, stepping down from the podium and walking over to where Mordant was sitting. Taking a hand out of his pocket, he placed it on the half-Gargon’s shoulder. “I’m sure you know the Intergalactic Vaporball Championship is being held on Plarz.”
“Yes, I know that,” replied Talliver.
“Plarz is only a few light-years away from Archivus Major. You’d like to go there instead of Archivus Major, wouldn’t you?” Greyfore said intensely, staring straight into Talliver’s eyes — any trace of his stutter had disappeared.
“Yes, I would like to go to Plarz.”
To John, Mordant’s voice suddenly sounded strangely flat.
He glanced at Kaal, but the Derrilian was making notes on his ThinScreen and didn’t seem to have noticed.
The curator removed his hand from Mordant’s shoulder. “Such a shame you’ll be visiting our exhibits instead,” he chuckled. “Now, who would like to earn extra credit?” he asked, reaching into his robes and pulling a small device from his pocket.
Emmie’s hand was in the air instantly. “Extra credit,” John heard her whisper. “If anyone needs that around here, it’s me.”
Me too, John thought, wishing he’d been quick enough to get his hand in the air first. However, Graximus Greyfore was already standing next to Emmie, one hand on her shoulder, the other showing her the device.
“As you know, photography has never been allowed on Archivus Major,” he said, looking around the class. “However, we have just developed a device that will capture 4-D images without interfering with any artifacts.” Holding up the small black cube, he continued. “We call it the Comet Creative. This student will be the first to photograph our exhibits. The images she takes will be the first ever taken on the planet’s surface.”
Greyfore paused for a moment and stared deeply into Emmie’s eyes. “This prototype will only take a few pictures. Make sure you only photograph the Goran-Subo battleground. It’s our most famous exhibit. People will want to see it first. Have you got that?”
“I will only photograph the Goran-Subo battleground,” Emmie promised in a flat voice, taking the Comet Creative.
“Let’s keep it a secret for now,” the curator said with a chuckle. He patted Emmie’s shoulder and looked around at the other students. “Imagine how surprised and proud your headmaster will be when he finds out your classmate’s images will be seen by the whole galaxy.”
“Yeah, right,” sneered Mordant. “Emmie Tarz is as dumb as a box of Lorpsnails. You’ll probably get two hundred pictures of the inside of her pocket.”
“Very clever, Master Talliver,” G-Vez said in its haughty voice. “Huurl himself would be dazzled by your sharp wit.”
John ignored the small machine. “Shut your mouth, Mordant,” he snapped, fingers curling into fists. “At least she’s not —”
“Please, please,” said Greyfore, holding up a hand for silence. “Thank you, Ms. . . . ahh . . . Tarz, is it?”
Emmie nodded.
“I’m sure you’ll do very well,” the curator said, smiling as he made his way back to the podium. “Ahh, H-headmaster,” he said, as the door opened and Lorem entered with Ms. Vartexia.
Lorem was holding the Holo-registrations. “Forgive me for taking so long, Graximus, but I wanted to introduce my travel companion for this excursion. May I present Ms. Vartexia.”
The curator bowed to the Elvian instructor, then looked over the glowing registration certifications.
“G-g-good, good,” Greyfore said, nodding his head. “Everything looks to be in order.” John noticed that the curator’s voice sounded high and squeaky again, and his stutter had returned. “Now, I’ve an urgent m-meeting with our artifact c-collectors on Crigon, but I d-do have time for one or t-two more questions.”
Kaal’s hand was the first up.
“Y-yes,” Greyfore stuttered. “What would you l-like to know about Archivus M-major?”
“What is the Goran-Subo battleground?” Kaal asked.
“Ahh, our most famous exhibit,” Graximus Greyfore said, nodding again. “It is the last battle of the Goran-Subo war. The longest, most glorious war in galactic history. A war that lasted a thousand years.”
“And threatened the extinction of hundreds of species,” Lorem murmured, loud enough for the class to hear.
“When you say it’s the last battle, do you mean it’s, like, a full-scale replica?” Bareon cut in.
“No, I mean it’s the actual battle,” replied Greyfore gravely. “The magnificent Subo Army was on the verge of finally crushing the Goran once and for all —”
“Actually, the two armies were evenly matched.” Ms. Vartexia cut in.
Greyfore glanced at the Hyperspace History teacher. “The Goran line was about to be shattered by a Subo attack —” he continued.
“An attack led by the most ruthless general in the Subo Army,” Ms. Vartexia interrupted again.
For a moment, Greyfore looked like he might explode. With obvious effort, he collected himself. “General Klort was a hero,” he said curtly.
“She lost every battle she was involved in,” Ms. Vartexia said.
Anger again flashed in Greyfore’s eyes, then he flapped his hands as if waving away Ms. Vartexia’s words.
“As I was saying,” he growled, “a galactic peacekeeping force arrived at the climax of the battle. Using advanced technology, it froze the entire battlefield. All of the soldiers have since been kept in one huge stasis cube exactly as they were at that time. We will never know how the battle would have ended.”
“However, the Subo and Goran have lived in peace on their neighboring planets ever since,” said Lorem lightly.
“Indeed,” said Greyfore, in a voice that was almost a bark. “Now, I am s-sorry but I really must leave if I am to b-be on time f-for my m-meeting.”
“Well, I’m sure I speak for all the students when I thank you for your visit,” replied Lorem politely.
“Of course. I-it’s always good to m-meet interested young historians,” Greyfore said. “I hope you all have an e-excellent visit to Archivus M-major.”
Glancing up at Ms. Vartexia, he added, “An Elvian, eh?” He reached out and touched Ms. Vartexia on the arm, staring up into the tall teacher’s eyes. “You must try the Elvian spaghetti at Optical Orbit in the evening. It’s very good. You will want to keep eating it all night.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Lishtig, thrusting one of his hands into the air. “Are we staying overnight?”
“Well, of course we’re staying overnight,” said the headmaster, as Graximus Greyfore hurried out of the lecture hall. “There’s far too much to see in a single day. I thought you would have guessed. That’s why you will each be taking a Xi-Class Privateer. Every ship will double as a bed pod.”
Despite Graximus Greyfore’s strange behavior and all the curator’s rules, the trip was sounding like more and more fun.
Gritting his teeth, John reminded himself that first he had to pass the Examiners’ test.