The Sky Drifter

by Paris Singer

  Pi, who sat to my left, whispered, “Psst, did you do the preparatory homework for today?”

  Keeping one eye on the teacher, I leaned in, and replied, “No, I had Sphere practice yesterday and I forgot.”

  “Misters 314 and 7,” began Mr. Clarus, facing away from us, “perhaps you would be kind enough to answer a simple question, assuming you did the required work for today’s class.”

  In that moment, all eyes turned silently toward us in expectation as Pi and I froze, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

  Turning finally to face us as a sea of numbers and words continued surrounding and whizzing past him, Mr. Clarus asked, “What is the operator to measure spin along an arbitrary axis direction, gentlemen?”

  I felt light-headed as all the eyes I felt on me weighed heavily on my blank mind. I looked across at Pi, who, judging by the scared look in his eyes and his open mouth, hadn’t done the homework, either.

  “Ooh, gentlemen,” began Mr. Clarus, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “A simpler question there couldn’t be.” He let out a theatrical sigh, and looking around at the other students and asked, “Does anyone know?” Various hands went up, and the teacher randomly picked one. “Yes, 202, if you please.”

  A leafy Brattean over to the right answered, “S equals h-bar/2 ( u_x sigma_x + u_y sigma_y + u_z sigma_z ).”

  “Well done, 202, well done! Yes, indeed.” Turning back to us, Mr. Clarus said, “Make sure you do your homework next time, gentlemen, yes?”

  “Yes, sir,” we drawled in unison, feeling deflated.

  I spent the rest of the class being as quiet and invisible as I could be, in case the teacher decided to ask me another question I’d have no answer for.

  After the class ended, Pi and I walked out into the bustling hallway as students of all shapes, sizes and colors hurriedly went to their lessons. Standing by the stairway, we made plans to meet in the canteen for lunch before Pi ambled down the stairs to his class and I climbed to the fifth floor where I had my Strategy class.

  On the first day of academy, a series of tests were devised to sort us into different classes of specialisations like navigator, engineer, race relations, and interpreter. Strategist, however, was so specialised only very few were selected for it. There were, in fact, a total of ten students throughout the entire academy who attended Strategy class. I was one of them, and, unfortunately, so was One.

  I entered the large class and saw him already standing behind his station as the teacher, Ms. Photuris, stood behind her own, watching us with her oval black eyes as we flowed in and settled. She looked as proper as always with her high-necked, long black coat with yellow trim. There was something about the yellow-green light that glowed inside her that was so calming, where everything seemed to fade away until the only thing that remained was the Strategy class to focus on.

  I walked over and then stood behind my station, which was adjacent to One’s. I turned the vertical panel above it on by passing my hand just over the pad on the console in front of me and then turned to face Ms. Photuris to await her instructions. After everyone had turned their stations on, the two long antennae on her pale forehead twitched, and I suddenly heard her deep, elegant voice inside my mind.

  Good morning, my children. Today, we have a new battle simulation program for you. Your opponents will be randomized. As always, speed and efficiency will earn you more points. You may turn to your screens, where the simulation will begin momentarily.

  With that, I turned back and saw the display on my screen change to a three-dimensional mountainous range, the base of which was a flat, barren landscape. The display zoomed in until it hovered above a multitude of attack vessels of different shapes and sizes, facing away from it. On the far opposite side were other vessels. These also varied, but their shapes and designs were different. Both sides faced each other, ready for battle.

  Tapping rapidly on her own console, Ms. Photuris announced, You may now begin. The program started.

  My first move was to send the four heavy artillery ships from the back left and right flanks charging ahead on the far sides of the field, drawing immediate fire from my opponent’s long-range reserves.

  “You’re mine,” whispered One opposite me.

  Focusing on the battle again, I deployed the front light-infantry ships and my reserves behind them toward my adversary, ahead of the flanking artillery ships, which had taken much damage and had stopped. This prompted them to deploy their own light-infantry toward mine.

  “Got you!” scoffed One quietly almost to himself.

  Just as they were set to collide, however, I retreated both infantry and reserves back toward home territory. As predicted, my opponent followed with his own infantry and reserves, hungry for victory.

  As their ships drew closer, I sent my infantry ships racing ahead while my reserves split left and right, creating a “U” shape. Just as their ships were in the center of the “U,” my own turned and fired, trapping them. Their ships abandoned formation in desperation and I sent my heavy artillery, which I’d made them believe were destroyed, charging toward their own. Their mind being on the enormous damage their infantry and reserves took, my heavy artillery quickly disposed of them, and soon the battle was over.

  Expertly done number 7. Full marks, began Ms. Photuris as the glowing light inside her gradually dimmed and then stopped. 1, your efforts are as impressive as always, though your rash decisions continue to impede your progress. You shall all, as always, find the recorded files of this class on your personal academy pads. I highly suggest you take some time to study 7’s methods.

  I dropped my head to look at the console, feeling it becoming hotter and hotter. I wished Ms. Photuris wouldn’t keep using me as an example. While my other classmates didn’t seem to resent me, it was still embarrassing.

  I glanced up briefly to see One standing completely still, his fists clenched on his station console, and I understood that it’d probably been him whom I’d just faced. While I’d been paying attention to my own screen, it was possible for anyone to look over at anyone else’s. His reaction and evident anger toward me suggested he’d looked over at mine. He hated losing to me, and I knew later that day he’d do everything he could to make me pay.

  Aside from playing Sphere, Strategy class was my favourite thing to do, and I always had the highest grade in the class, with One usually being second. Despite not being able to see the look on his face, I felt the rage still seething inside him. Even if I hadn’t been able to, however, the very colorful adjectives he’d used to describe me after class as he shoved passed me and then out of sight would have been enough of a clue.

  After I walked out of class, I headed downstairs to the rumbling sounds of my stomach. I negotiated through the crowds of equally hungry students, which at times proved to be challenging.

  The academy was a multi-species environment and accommodated students of all shapes and sizes. Winding around races like the Eris was easy enough, given their small size, albeit carefully due to the multitude of spikes on their backs and arms. Belluas, however, were much trickier, if not impossible, to overtake. So big were they that should two of them walk side by side the entire hallway would look like an impenetrable slow-moving, gray wall.

  Once I finally managed to fight my way to the far right side of the academy, I entered the wide, high-ceilinged canteen, which was already bustling with the sounds, songs, and growls of students.

  The six-legged, black Langors were already standing motionlessly in line under the nourishing light that shone from the glass above. The colorful, shapeless Pingos made their usual mess by throwing liquid globs of themselves at each other, leaving blotches of paint everywhere. And the tall Umbras, who, when sitting together, created a circular pitch darkness around them.

  Pausing to scour the many circular tables around, I finally saw Iris and Pi, sitting near the back, and then headed over to them. It never ceased to amaze me how, despite his relaxed, languid way of walking (and of d
oing everything else), Pi was always first to reach the canteen. I’d tried various times to make it to his class on time to catch him leaving, but he had always, somehow, eluded me. Whenever I asked him how he did it, he always replied with a simple, “I was hungry.”

  I reached them and sat on one of the chairs while Pi complained to Iris about something as he stuffed his face with wriggly tineas, which were a type of worm he loved.

  “Mmfmf…But…mfmf…He…always pickin…mfmfm…on me.”

  “Well, I don’t know, Pi,” replied Iris with slight irritation in her voice, her attention mostly directed on the hand-held Equinox console she held. “Maybe he has a point. If you keep falling asleep in his class, he’s bound not to think very highly of you, is he?”

  “I was…Mfmfmf…real…mfmf…tired!”

  Her brow furrowed. Iris was now fully immersed in the game and didn’t reply to him.

  “Hi,” I said to Pi, knowing full well Iris wouldn’t hear or reply to me, so engrossed was she in the game.

  “Iri…Mfmf…is mean…mfmfmf.”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that,” I half-joked as I chose the lunch menu I’d have that day from the clear display screen on the table.

  His bowl of tineas finished, Pi sat back, resting his hands on his stomach with a satisfied look on his face, and asked, “Sooo, did you beat No Face again?”

  “Don’t I always?” I replied as I finalized my order and pressed “send.”

  “He’s going to let you have it when you play Sphere later, you know.”

  “This I know, Pi. This I know. He more or less told me so as we left class, using colorful language to describe exactly what he intends to do to me.”

  “Don’t worry about it. All you have to do is beat him,” he replied, drumming his fingers on his stomach as he looked around the room.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I griped. “You’re not the one who’ll have a swinging metal ball thrust at him, are you?”

  “Nah, you’ll be fine. You worry too much.”

  “Sigh” I conceded. Pi was just too laid back to argue with.

  A service bot pulled up beside me. The panel in its mid-section swished open and then a tray slid smoothly out of it, revealing my lunch. “Please take your order,” stated the bot in a metallic voice, which I rapidly did before placing the round plate onto the table. As soon as I’d done so, the service bot thanked me and hovered quickly away.

  “Why won’t you die?” exclaimed Iris in utter frustration at the game, briefly looking up. “Oh, hi. When did you get here?”

  “Just now,” I replied.

  “Help me kill this guy?”

  “Gladly,” I answered, plunging my hand inside my bag and then pulling out my Exodus. Just as I turned it on and found the game, I heard the all-too-familiar sound of Pi sniffing.

  “Hey, what do you have there?”

  “Hands off, Pi. It’s a burger. Nothing you’d like,” I told him, doubting my own words.

  Still sniffing, Pi looked around again, and said, “I’m hungry.”

  “How can you be hungry again?” exclaimed Iris. “You’ve had four bowls of those worm things—”

  “Tineas, thank you,” interrupted Pi.

  “Of those things,” continued Iris, obviously slightly annoyed Pi had interrupted her. “Where does it all go?”

  “Let me tell you a little something about my species,” began Pi as I took a big bite of my chicken burger, worried he might swipe it “We need to eat a lot. It’s what makes us strong,” he stressed.

  “If you say so.” Iris sighed, turning her attention back to the game just as I started playing.

  At that moment, I heard some raised, indignant voices behind me, and as I turned, saw the two Morex I’d previously encountered clearing a path for One, who was headed straight for me. Once he reached our table, I was momentarily surprised that they stopped about three feet from it, but then I realized they’d done so because Pi was there.

  “May I help you?” I asked, maybe a little more cockily than I would have allowed myself if Pi hadn’t been there.

  “Do you think you’re funny, Simian? You wouldn’t be so brave if your hairy friend wasn’t sitting here,” he spat, nodding at Pi, who sat comfortably back on his chair with his eyes closed.

  “You shouldn’t underestimate Iris, either,” I retorted, signalling to her with my head as she continued to play the game, oblivious as to what had happened.

  “Come on, Simian,” continued One, “you think you’re so clever. Let us settle it right now. Follow me outside by yourself.”

  “Seven! What are you doing? Are you even playing?” snapped Iris, suddenly looking up. “Oh, what do you morons want?”

  “It’s okay, Iris—” I started.

  “I doubt it,” she quipped. “Whatever it is you want, we don’t care, so leave.”

  “Shut your mouth, princess, and know your place.”

  A dark veil of disbelief fell over Iris’ face. “What did you say?” she spat furiously.

  “Don’t talk to her like that, Imago,” I warned.

  “Or what? You’ll get your twinkling girlfriend to teach us a lesson?”

  Iris and I simultaneously stood as she threw her drink at One, hitting one of the Morex instead, who briefly recoiled before lunging toward me with his enormous fist. As it was almost about to land on my face, however, a bigger, hairier hand caught it, and we all turned in unified surprise to see to whom it belonged.

  Pi stood, a look of grumpy sleepiness on his face, as he looked from Morex to Morex to One.

  “You woke me up and insulted my friends,” he began, applying sudden pressure to the fist he gripped, making the Morex yelp in pain and crouch on one knee. “You should probably leave now.”

  After releasing his grip on the Morex’s hand, Pi sat back down, keeping his gaze fixed on One as he did so.

  “This isn’t over, Simian,” said One bitterly. “I’ll see you at Sphere.” With that, he turned and left the canteen with the two Morex in tow.

  “Urgh, I can’t stand him,” exclaimed Iris, sitting back down.

  “I know. I don’t know what his problem with me is,” I added.

  “Guys,” started Pi, “there always has been, and there will always be, creatures like him wherever you go. There’s no point stressing about them. Just be cool, keep to yourselves and be happy,” he stated, stretching his long, muscular arms. He yawned and closed his eyes again.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” mumbled Iris while she and I resumed playing.

  The rest of lunch went by uneventfully. Iris and I defeated the boss in the game (thanks to my quick thinking, I might add), and Pi devoured another two bowls of slimy tineas after I scolded him for trying to steal my half-eaten burger.

  Once the melodic voice over the loudspeaker announced it was the end of lunchtime, Iris and I headed to our Interplanetary Ecology class as Pi ambled sleepily away to his cooking class (this was his favourite class, and the only one he gave his full, serious attention to, so much did he love it).

  We negotiated the long, shiny halls that, with the bustle of students hurriedly going to their various classes, looked like canvases splashed with living paint of every color you could imagine.

  As we crossed a walkway, whose long windows exposed the picturesque purple and green gardens outside, Iris asked, “Are you excited about the day trip tomorrow? I hear the planet is one big forest! There should be so many interesting things to see!”

  “Are you joking?” I asked in a pessimistic tone. “There’s never anything exciting to see in the places they take us. It’s always ‘cute’ little species or oddly-shaped trees, plants, or rocks. It’s always the same boring stuff they show us.”

  I turned to face Iris, whose eyes, staring somewhere in the distance, practically shone. Her open mouth curled into a dream-like smile, no doubt relishing all the cute beings she’d probably see the following day. As tough and quick-tempered as she was, she just couldn’t res
ist cuteness, especially if big, “adorable” eyes were involved. I shook my head and smiled. There would be no convincing her.

  Soon after, we reached the Interplanetary Ecology classroom, which was, by far, the most entertaining one of them all. Dark purple Radix clung and twisted all the way up the left wall, spreading in every direction over part of the ceiling. Its tips, like fingers, dangled above, and at the end of each, perfectly spherical, multi-colored eyeballs unblinkingly watched everything below and around them.

  Yellow and burgundy leaves clung to the right and back walls with their many legs, occasionally spelling out words in various idioms or taking the shape of and mimicking our teacher, Mr. Sylva, out of boredom. Around the edges of the large, yet cramped, room there stood various glass display cabinets and cylindrical glass jars, inside which an extensive variety of flora from different planets in sundry galaxies were displayed.

  In the center of the room stood the desks and chairs, which, despite technically being white, were covered by layers of dirt and moss, some immobile, some not, which sometimes made it difficult to turn on the display screens, especially when one of them was asleep right on top of the pressure pad.

  A large, round protuberance of leaves, dirt and moss with a dark hole in its center was stuck on the wall behind the teacher’s desk. Being a Nemus, Mr. Sylva had to have constant contact with soil otherwise he’d rapidly shrivel up and die. To ensure that didn’t happen, he’d built his home within the classroom itself, remaining there for the majority of the day, unless his duties required him to leave. As we all sat and I carefully lifted some orange moss from the pad to turn on my screen, Mr. Sylva’s green expansive hair (which reminded me of my native planet’s head of broccoli) popped out from the hole in the horizontal mound. Two light gray roots followed on either side, and as his fingers applied pressure to the hardened soil they gripped, he pushed himself outward until his entire body was revealed. He unceremoniously thumped to the floor, and a thin cloud of dust rose around him. The sight of the teacher dropping like that always made most of the class giggle, Iris included. Mr. Sylva slowly stood, and without a hint of expression on his face, briefly dusted himself off and then casually sat on his desk.