“Yes.” She drummed her fingers on the table, considering carefully. “Writing a book at all is an achievement, especially at your age,” she said, as if she wasn’t thirteen herself, too.
“Er . . . thanks,” I said.
“But it is quite overdramatic,” added Josephine.
“We nearly got blown up and drowned and suffocated and eaten!” I said, indignant. “On Mars! How am I supposed to make that . . . underdramatic?”
“I think you should have focused on the facts,” said Josephine.
“I did! You just said it was all true!”
“The facts of historical and scientific importance. Not the, you know . . .” She waved a disgusted hand. “Feelings.”
“Well, you write it your own way next time,” I snapped.
“I’m too busy,” said Josephine. This did not make me less irritated, but the strained look on her face reminded me she had been working stupidly hard lately.
“There’s not going to be a next time,” said Noel peaceably. “This is different. We’re on holiday. It’s not going to be historically or scientifically important.”
“It is going to be scientifically important,” said Josephine. “I have work to do.”
“Hey, Alice!” rang out the cheerfullest, perkiest, most relentless voice in the world.
The Goldfish sailed into the room, shiny and orange and beaming.
The teacher robot had gotten pretty battered while on Mars, and a year in Carl and Noel’s company hadn’t helped. Its left eye was still a little wonky and there was a crude seam down one plastic flank where someone had tried to mend a crack with some kind of filler. But it was, as it always had been, an undaunted, floating, blue-eyed American robot fish, on a mission to educate youth.
“Boy, it’s good to see you,” it said. “Isn’t this exciting? Isn’t the elevator nifty? Can you remember how many miles long the tether is? Can you tell me what geostationary orbit means?”
“Oh, god,” Carl moaned. “Why did we have to bring it again?”
“It was invited,” Noel said reproachfully.
“It’s like an honorary Plucky Kid of Mars,” I said, patting it. “It did help, Carl.”
“It shot me,” Thsaaa objected.
“Well, yes, there is also that,” I admitted.
“Remember we’re on holiday, Goldfish. No lessons,” Noel cautioned.
“Okay, gang!” agreed the Goldfish. “For now,” it added darkly. “Buuuuut . . . Thsaaa’s not on holiday! Are you, Thsaaa?”
“Aren’t you?” I asked.
“Morror children based on Earth are following the curriculum set by the Council of Lonthaa-Ra-Moraaa,” the Goldfish said. “And it’s still term time!”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Isn’t the internet a great source of information for all of us?” the Goldfish enthused. “Hey, gang! What’s your favorite thing you learned on the internet?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that,” Carl said.
“Say, Thsaaa! How’s your history going? Do you think the causes of the Velaraaa-ley-Hath-halawaaa War were primarily social or economic?”
“I have my own teachers, who have excuuuuused me from lessons,” said Thsaaa stiffly. “This is an educational trip in itself.”
“Sure, sure,” said the Goldfish innocently before dashing at Thsaaa so eagerly, it almost hit them in the face. “And I just bet you have to write a nice, long essay about it.”
“You once tried to murder me,” Thsaaa protested.
“Aww,” said the Goldfish. “Don’t be sore, Thsaaa.”
“I am going to my cooling chamber,” said Thsaaa, and swished away in an angry rustle of skirts.
“I think maybe you should actually apologize,” Noel told the Goldfish.
“You can help me if you want, Goldfish,” Josephine said abruptly, climbing out of the seating well.
“Ah, no,” moaned Carl. “Jo, this trip is supposed to be fun.”
“Learning is fun!” the Goldfish practically shrieked. “Sure, Josephine! What can I help you with?”
“I’m retaking my World Baccalaureate,” said Josephine. “Focusing on biochemistry and astrophysics, with a mini thesis in astroarchaeology.”
“Retaking it?” I said.
The Goldfish kept smiling because it could never stop smiling. But the light inside it dimmed and it sank a few inches in the air. “Ohh,” it said. “Well, that’s . . . a little out of my league, Josephine. I’m only programmed with grades five to nine, so . . . World Baccalaureate? Boy, you sure are ahead of the game! Gosh. That’s really super.”
Josephine frowned thoughtfully at the Goldfish. “Did you ever upgrade it at all?” she asked Carl accusatorily.
“Hey, that fish spends its whole life torturing me, I’m supposed to help it?” Carl asked.
Before anyone could answer, the ship played an angelic fanfare and the halo logos on the walls shone brighter. “Your attention. The Captain will be joining you on deck,” said the walls, in feminine and vaguely awestruck tones.
EDF training does funny things to you: even though we were definitely off duty, we all scrambled out of the seats and ended up in a stiff military row for inspection, except for Thsaaa, obviously, who remained cross colors and stood a resentful distance away from the Goldfish.
A man strode into the room. He was tall and fair, with a neat little blond beard and a grin slightly too full of square white teeth. He wore a narrow-fitting dove-gray suit even more extravagantly expensive than that of the gold-and-white American lady on the plane.
“Please, that’s not necessary,” he said, seeing our military posture. “Alice, Carl, Josephine, Noel, I’m Rasmus Trommler. As your Captain, it’ll be my honor to take you to the stars.”
“Oh,” I said. I hadn’t expected to encounter so many Trommlers in one day, or for any of them to be assuming such important roles. One of them had already talked about suing me.
“You’re a pilot?” asked Carl, skeptical.
“I have my wings, I assure you,” Rasmus Trommler said, baring his white teeth again. “Even I had to go through EDF training in the war. And I should know well enough how to fly the Helen. I built her.”
“Must be cool to fly your own ship,” Carl said wistfully.
“Tell you what,” said Mr. Trommler. “You’ve only flown little gnats like Flarehawks and Flying Foxes before, right? When we get clear of the Oort cloud, maybe you can pilot Helen for a while.”
The skepticism fled Carl’s eyes, and something like worship sprang up in its place.
“Any little thing like that you want, you just ask,” said Mr. Trommler, beaming. “We all know you earned it.”
“Could you tell me about how you developed Häxeri?” asked Josephine.
“You’re living in an amazing time, children. A new world awaits us,” said Trommler, who didn’t seem to have heard her.
“It’s the Morrors’ new world, though,” Noel pointed out.
“Yes, of course,” said Trommler, and then carried on. “You’re witnessing the birth of a new era. We’re breaking free of the solar system. With our new hyperspace technology . . .”
“Well, it’s really the Morrors’ hyperspace technology,” I said. This time Rasmus Trommler did not bother to stop.
“. . . . Despite how shortsighted the Coalition have been with their funding, despite the EDF’s failure of vision, the universe is open to humanity as never before. Ever since the Morrors invaded Earth, we’ve known that deep-space–faring races exist. We cannot afford to sit and wait again for them to come to us; we must assert our right to walk the skies in freedom. The stars belong to us, children. We’re not leaving home today; we’re going home. We are stepping out into our inheritance.”
By the end of this we were all pretty swept up in the idea of walking the skies in freedom, and we clapped. While we were still applauding, Dr. Muldoon sauntered in, long red hair blazing on her white lab coat, and perched on the edge of
the pool table.
“Valerie!” said Rasmus Trommler. “I had hoped you’d be here for my little speech.”
“The one about breaking free of the solar system? I’ve heard it a couple of times,” said Dr. Muldoon. “Hi, Alice. Nice book. So. I have a pointy nose, have I?”
I writhed, not only because I hadn’t meant to upset Dr. Muldoon, but because I’d been hoping no one would remind Rasmus Trommler that I’d written a book at all. I stammered, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. . . .”
Dr. Muldoon grinned. “Ah, stop squirming. If I didn’t like it pointy, I’d have grown myself a new one years ago.”
“Indeed so,” said Mr. Trommler, turning to beam at her. “I love to name my ships after beautiful women. How do you think the Valerie sounds?”
Dr. Muldoon stared at him. “Inappropriate,” she said.
“Ha ha,” said Mr. Trommler, undismayed. “Well, my Helen loves me, at least, don’t you, Helen?”
“Yes, I love you so, Captain,” sighed the voice from the walls.
“Wait, is the ship conscious and in love with you?” Josephine asked, horrified.
Trommler paid no attention to this. “Helen, beautiful? It’s time. Let’s go to the stars.”
Dr. Muldoon discreetly rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Captain. Course set,” agreed the ship happily.
And then the blue haze of Earth faded behind us, and the stars blazed ahead like a snowstorm. Then they began to change color, from red to orange to yellow to green and then they slipped through violet and vanished into blackness.
The Helen of Troy quivered and strained against something, an invisible membrane. And suddenly we burst through and were spat into hyperspace.
Wispy specks of pale light filtered out of the dark, gathering into smoky threads spooling past the ship, glowing brighter and brighter until the windows filled with so much light it was dazzling.
“What you’re seeing is not starlight,” said Dr. Muldoon. “That’s the background cosmic radiation of the universe. It’s always passing through you, but only in hyperspace can you see it. You’re looking at the aftermath of the Big Bang.”
“Wow,” breathed Carl. His hands curled in front of him as if resting on invisible ship controls. I hoped Trommler had been serious about letting him fly the Helen.
“If we were to come back into normal space now, we’d already be more than a million miles away from Earth,” Rasmus Trommler said.
“Oh, thank god,” I said. Even traveling at unnaturally high speeds, that was surely much too far for anyone to send me back.
“What?” asked Josephine.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” I hissed.
“These are the thoroughfares of humanity’s future,” said Rasmus Trommler grandly, standing framed in the glow of the universe, his jaw uplifted. There was a brief pause, and then we began politely applauding again. Mr. Trommler smiled and walked away.
“Get used to it,” said Dr. Muldoon when he was gone. “It’s a two-week trip.”
“He did invent Häxeri,” said Josephine loyally.
“That’s true,” said Dr. Muldoon. “I’d never have thought he had it in him.”
“But he’s invented lots of things before,” said Noel.
Dr. Muldoon shook her head. “Practically every other Archangel product was invented by someone else. He just put them in pretty packages and raked in the cash. Häxeri really is his baby, though. Well, I should go too; I’ve got some tests running in the lab.”
“I’ll be there later,” promised Josephine as Dr. Muldoon left.
“Jo,” complained Carl. “You don’t have to.”
“I have tests running as well,” said Josephine. “But anyway, Alice. What were you going to tell me?”
I tried to grimace at the Goldfish.
“Goldfish, we need some privacy,” said Josephine.
The Goldfish tilted doubtfully.
“It’s GIRL STUFF,” continued Josephine ominously. “. . . Which is okay for Noel and Carl to hear,” she added.
“Okay, kids!” said the Goldfish brightly. “See ya later!”
It bobbed away to the doors.
“So?” Carl asked.
“Well, my dad was never that thrilled about this trip,” I began.
“Say, kids!” squawked the Goldfish, coming back. “It looks like Thsaaa’s heading this way again. Shall I tell them you need some private human girl time?”
“Um . . . no, that’s okay!” I called.
“Oh,” said the Goldfish, sagging a bit in the air, and hovered away.
I winced.
“What is going on?” said Thsaaa, coming to join us at the no-longer-humiliated table.
“I’m kind of . . . not allowed to be here,” I said. And I explained what had happened.
“Ohhhh, mais c’est mal,” moaned Thsaaa, going black and amber and tossing their tentacles. “What if you have caused a diplomatic incident?”
“No one will be in any trouble except me,” I said.
“But what will the Council of Lonthaa-Ra-Moraaa say when they find out?”
“Well, don’t tell them,” I said. “Or the Goldfish,” I added, lowering my voice.
“You ran away to space?” asked Carl. “That’s awesome.”
“It isn’t! Her dad will be worried, and he’s already sick!” Noel exclaimed.
“No, that is pretty cool,” said Josephine decidedly.
I grinned. “I’ve missed you,” I said.
Something passed across her face that made me uneasy, and I opened my mouth to ask if everything was okay. But before I could, she said, “I’ve missed you too.”
“We are about to reenter normal space for a while,” said the Helen of Troy. “The science team has some tests they need to run. Passengers may want to watch the windows.”
We couldn’t exactly feel the Helen of Troy slowing down, but there was a faint quiver and a buzz that fizzed uncomfortably in our bones, and the strange light faded, and the stars reappeared. But that wasn’t all.
“Oh,” we all said, and dashed to the starboard window.
Jupiter filled the sky. It seemed close enough to touch, marbled with red and brown, feathered with curls of turquoise. The red spot large enough to swallow worlds.
Trommler’s voice spoke over the speakers: “Want to see something else cool?”
There was another deep whirring noise, one I recognized this time—the sound of an artificial gravity system being turned off.
“Eeeee!” squeaked Thsaaa as we all floated up into the air. And then we were gliding and somersaulting from wall to wall, the way I do in dreams. The pool balls, through some clever use of magnetism, stayed put, until we scooped them off the tabletop and started throwing them around and inventing Space Pool, which, I can tell you, is much better than normal pool. Though it doesn’t have many rules beyond “See if you can hit a floating pool ball with another pool ball, then float around and laugh.”
Dad, of course, does like pool, I remembered, and had another nasty pang of guilt. But no one who is floating in the air with an enormous planet hanging outside while colored balls and friendly tentacles float around them can be expected to think about that sort of thing for very long.
4
I woke early the next morning (although “early” and “morning” become confusing concepts when you’re in space) and lay watching the thready glow of the universe through my window before getting up and showering in every available variety of perfumed water from rose to tea tree.
Feeling extremely clean and smelling confusing, I wondered how far from Earth we were.
“Um . . . Helen?” I asked, wondering if I was again talking stupidly to walls. “Are you there?”
“Yes, Miss Dare. Good morning,” said the ship. “Do you need any assistance?”
I pulled my dressing gown tighter around me and hoped she hadn’t been looking at me when I didn’t have anything on.
“You can call me Alice,” I said. “Wh
ere are we now?”
“From the perspective of an observer in normal space, we are occupying several points in the universe simultaneously, Alice,” said the Helen.
“Um . . . ?”
“But on our present course, if we reentered normal space, we would have just passed through the orbit of Neptune.”
“Oh,” I said, equal parts awed and disappointed. “Maybe, on the way back, could we see Neptune?”
“Neptune’s orbit is nearly three billion miles across,” said Helen. “Besides, it is quite dark. The sun is so far away, it is little more than a bright star.”
“But it would be amazing to see something so huge just lit by starlight,” I said.
Helen seemed to consider for a moment. “Yes, I suppose you are right,” she said, sounding surprisingly wistful. “And apparently Neptune is a very bright blue. It would be well worth seeing. But the Captain sets the course.”
I opened the bedroom doors. No one was about. I set off down the passage, padding over the underfloor lamps in my fluffy slippers. I still had Helen for company.
“So he’s programmed you where to go, and you have to go that way—but he’s not . . . flying you right now?”
“That’s right,” Helen agreed.
“How can you see where you’re going? I mean, I know space is big, but what if we . . . knock into something?”
“We are passing through objects all the time!” said Helen happily.
“Oh!” I said, and shuddered.
“I know,” sighed Helen. “The Captain is such a genius.”
I was about to remind her that it was the Morrors who’d invented the technology, but then decided it wouldn’t be tactful.
“So long as we don’t come out in the middle of a star, I guess,” I said. “Or a Vshomu swarm.”
I’d never been in a spaceship big enough to get lost in before. I passed through a restaurant, a gym, a garden of orchids and tiger lilies. I stepped briefly into a Morror conservatory long enough to look at the strange tall spirals of the red and blue plants, and the globular tank full of rainbow swimming things with many legs, before darting out again, yelping at the cold.
It was all so empty. We were such a small group for a ship designed for hundreds of tourists.
Space Hostages Page 4
