‘And if this school does below par in the exams, you three will have a one-hour after-school detention every day for the remainder of the year. Do you understand?’ he asks.
‘Yes, Mr Skroop.’
‘Now, as a show of unity with the rest of your schoolmates, I would like you to rub heads with the new boy.’
I look at Skroop, not believing what I have heard. This is not the way deputy principals are supposed to behave. But Mr Skroop is not your everyday deputy principal. He is a deeply disturbed individual.
‘Go on,’ he says. ‘Chop-chop.’
‘But . . .’ I look around to some of the teachers, waiting for them to step in. But none of them does. A few parents have gathered at the side and rear doors. They watch on—teachers, kids, parents—all hungry to see our public downfall.
I look at Lewis’s hair. It is alive with nits, like a tree full of small birds. I can’t do this. I’m going to run. It’s the only way.
But, before I do, Skroop grabs Jack’s head and my head and smooshes them into Lewis’s hair. My ear is pressed against Lewis’s ear. I swear I can feel those filthy little minibeasts scurrying onto my scalp. The kids erupt in applause and I realise, at that moment, that humans are sick.
Skroop releases his grip and Jack and I spring away from Lewis. Everyone watches on, silent once more.
I feel a slight tingling, then a definite itch at the back of my head. But I refuse to scratch. I won’t give them the satisfaction.
Now it’s really itchy on top. And the sides. And my eyes start to water. The whole world is watching me and my head is ready to explode. I can’t take it any more. I scratch like mad and the crowd goes crazy, like their team just scored.
‘Dis-missed!’ Skroop announces. ‘Have an enjoyable day!’
G-FORCE
GEORGE
by
Lollie Barr
FIVE KIDS and ONE TALKING CHIMP IN SPACE. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?
The numbers on the digital clock in the cockpit of Space Shuttle Adventure dialled down towards zero. ‘Hold on to your underpants, kid astronauts,’ said George ‘G-Force’ Stott into his headset from the top of NASA’s Kennedy Space Centre Launchpad 39A. ‘We’re at T-minus five minutes to blast off!’
G-Force gripped the joystick of the space shuttle as though he was strangling it. He had five lives in his hands. It was a lot of responsibility for a 12 year old!
‘Relax G-Force, you’re not choking a chicken,’ said six-time space veteran Commander Horatio ‘Nogs’ McNoggin. He looked so laid back he could have been chillaxing at the top of a tree with a banana, instead of sitting on top of two giant rockets that could blast his butt into infinity. Nogs patted the breast pocket of his spacesuit three times for good luck. Inside was a picture of his great-grandfather Ham, the Astro Chimp—the first chimpanzee and, indeed, the first American ever to cross into outer space in 1961. Nogs knew that blast-off was critical— monkeys and humans had died trying to get to space.
G-Force sucked a lungful of air through his ventilated helmet and released it slowly to steady his nerves. ‘I’ve got this, Nogs!’ he replied, his blue eyes set in steely determination.
‘I know, G-Force,’ nodded Nogs, as his extended brow line softened. ‘That’s why you are strapped into the pilot’s seat.’
G-Force glanced over his shoulder to the other astronauts sitting behind him. ‘All cool, kid astronauts?’ he asked the other four members of the first-ever mission to the International Space Station (ISS) to be manned solely by kids under 14—and one highly evolved talking space chimp. ‘Hyper to go to hyperspace?’
Thirteen-year-old aeronautical flight engineer Wolf Schnabel from Germany, 13-year-old mission specialist Zchang Ping from China and 11-year-old astrophysicist Dr Aarav ‘Triple A’ Singh from India gave G-Force nervous smiles and the thumbs-up.
When the search for NASA’s first-ever children’s space crew had been announced, practically every kid on Earth—even those scared of missing their parents—had applied. After a worldwide search, including endless torturously mental and excruciatingly physical tests, five had made it.
After two years of intense training, G-Force and his crewmates were now as tight as a party of partying protons packed into an atom’s nucleus.
But the fourth kid astronaut’s eyes remained focused on something hidden in his chunky astronaut gloves.
‘Logan! Is that a video game?’ asked G-Force. ‘You’re wearing massive flame retardant gloves! You can’t even play it.’
‘I’m on level 24 of Mutant Alien Space Invasion 4. If I turn it off then I’ll lose the level,’ said Logan Bratwurst III, whose billionaire dad had paid a reported 70 million bucks so his son could be a part of space history. ‘Anyway I need something to do. All this waiting, waiting, waiting. It’s so boring.’
‘Non-transmitting electronic devices also emit electromagnetic radiation. You should know that. It’s not rocket science,’ said Ping, a rocket scientist, her helmet fogging up with disapproval.
‘Use of unauthorised electrical devices is against protocol,’ said Wolf, a hulk of a baby-faced boy who had very good manners. ‘Put it away, now, please. Thank you.’
‘Make me,’ taunted Logan, scrunching up the fat pink lips he had inherited from his super model mum, just as Triple A dug him in the ribs with her pointy elbow.
‘Ow!’ he said as he took off a glove and reluctantly turned off his game. Nobody messed with Triple A. She finished university at ten, and also managed to become India’s Under 12 Karate Champion at the same time.
G-Force rolled his eyes. Logan was a giant pain in Uranus. But, like it or not, he was part of their team. And their team was only as strong as its weakest member as Nogs said.
‘Adventure. Over. This is Mission Control. Over,’ said the flight controller at Mission Control. ‘Are you kids fighting? We are T-minus two minutes to blast-off.’
‘A little focus here, people,’ said Nogs, baring a full set of very white teeth in annoyance. Then his tongue found a morsel of pepperoni at the back of his teeth, leftover from lunch. Nogs sighed. He’d really miss pizza on this month-long mission.
‘Counting down,’ said Mission Control.
‘10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
and . . .
BLAST-OFF!’
As soon as he heard the words, G-Force wrenched back the joystick. There was a deafening growl and a groan, like a bomb going off. In fact, it was a hydrogen bomb going off.
Then the Space Shuttle Adventure lifted and everything and everyone on board, including the bones, brains and internal organs of the kid astronauts, shook like washing machines on spin. G-Force started hiccupping as he tensed every muscle in his body as per his training and manoeuvred the vehicle upwards, tearing through the bright blue sky at 28,000 kilometres per hour.
The force of gravity was so intense that G-Force’s cheeks blew out, his lips stuck to the bottom of his chin and his eyelids seemed to be somewhere beneath his cheekbones. It felt as if someone was trying to vacuum his face off. But he held a steady course.
G-Force was used to g-force. He’d grown up crisscrossing the Australian outback with his dad, a pilot for the Flying Doctor Service. He’d been an aerial stunt pilot, so he was always performing daredevil manoeuvres, which drove his Flying Doctor mum nuts.
In the centrifugal training centre at NASA, G-Force had withstood nine g’s. Even the best fighter pilots could barely handle that amount before they lost consciousness as their blood struggled to reach their brains. The NASA scientists nicknamed him G-Force. Now the only person to call him George was his Nan back in Australia.
• • •
The bone-rattling vertical journey up to the stars took nine long minutes.
Then, the engines quieted and the Space Shuttle found orbit. G-Force patted his body just to check he w
as still alive. He was. Just.
‘Congratulations, Homo sapiens,’ said Commander Nogs, taking off his helmet. ‘We’re now at zero gravity!’
‘Who are you calling Homo sapien?’ said Logan.
‘You, you Neanderthal,’ said G-Force, looking over his shoulder and feeling a fresh burst of anger that Logan was even on board. Who did this kid think he was?
‘Kid astronauts,’ said Nogs. ‘Feel the moment and look where we are.’
G-Force turned around and looked awestruck into the black vastness of the universe, lit by bespeckled bright stars. He knew that there are 100 billion stars in our Milky Way Galaxy, and 100 billion galaxies beyond. He felt as if he was a part of something so much bigger than himself, but he also felt so small.
‘The universe goes forever. Like googolplexian times infinity,’ said Ping, citing the universe’s biggest number. Her eyes filled with tears at the celestial beauty before her. But because tears can’t fall in space, they gathered in clumps of water around her eyeballs.
‘Wow! Look at the Earth,’ cried G-Force as the shuttle rotated on its axis and a big ball of blue came into view, filling up the whole windshield. ‘Can you believe seven billion people call that round ball home?’
‘Factoid!’ corrected Triple A, who had an encyclopedic knowledge of just about everything. ‘It’s currently 7.361 billion and the Earth isn’t actually round. It has a slight bulge towards the equator, so it’s called a geoid shape.’
The continent of Australia suddenly came into view and G-Force thought of his parents’ final ribcracking, three-way hug and the tears that had soaked into his red hair, including snot from his dad. It felt disgusting but it was understandable, because his son was about to embark on a lifethreatening mission to space.
‘The United Nations are considering renaming the Earth “Bratwurstearth” because my dad virtually owns the planet,’ said Logan staring at Triple A. ‘Factoid!’
‘Nobody owns the planet, Logan,’ said Ping watching the great oceans, snow-covered mountains, massive icebergs and land masses. In space, all geographical boundaries dissolved into nothing.
‘That’s what you think!’ said Logan, leaning forwards. ‘This mission would never ever have happened if Bratwurst Industrial Complex hadn’t put up the money. If it weren’t for me, none of you would even be here.’
Everyone was silent. Unfortunately, this was true. If it hadn’t been for an epic tantrum due to Logan’s FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out), the project wouldn’t have gotten off the ground.
‘Anyone care to join me for an anti-gravity party?’ said Nogs, trying to calm the situation. ‘Meet me on the roof in ten seconds.’
G-Force unclipped himself from the confines of his seat and began to rise, followed by Ping, Triple A, Wolf and Nogs. Logan was jabbing and pulling at his harnesses. ‘Someone’s been messing with my seat,’ he said, looking up to the roof of the spaceship, as the crew high fived and rolled forwards and backwards with all of the joy of baby birds discovering flight.
Nogs left the anti-gravity party and descended downwards. He pressed a series of buttons and levers and Logan rose immediately, only to crack his skull on the top of the ship. ‘Now you’ve made me smash my head,’ he said, as he tried to get his balance. Antigravity wasn’t as easy as it looked.
While it took only ten minutes to get into space by rocket ship, now came the real work: catching the ISS, which was travelling at more than 27,000 kilometres per hour in a circular orbit around Earth. Trying to catch anything moving that fast, whether in space or on the ground, was like snatching at flies with your hands.
Over the next four hours, Mission Control gave Ping and Wolf the relevant coordinates, while Triple A hunched over her computer screen as infinite columns of numbers scrolled rapidly in front of her. This was a game of cat and mouse.
‘This is never going to happen. We’re going to be trapped floating around forever at this rate,’ said Logan, occasionally looking up from his video game. ‘It’s impossible.’
‘Take the “im” out of “impossible” and it’s done,’ said Wolf, as G-Force tried to ignore Logan. ‘Just play your video game please and let him concentrate, thank you.’
‘Okay, you’ll be in range in three minutes,’ said Mission Control from Earth, as everyone focused on their tasks.
‘Coordinates set,’ said Ping.
‘Standing by for contact and capture momentarily,’ said Nogs, his eyes fixed on the screens in front of him. ‘Got it, G-Force?’
‘Roger that,’ said G-Force.
The ISS loomed in front of them, like a giant piece of Lego in space.
‘I’ve locked on. Hold on tight, we’re going in,’ replied G-Force, as he manoeuvred the shuttle closer and closer. He banked right, held steady and then finally locked onto the left-side port.
‘Well done,’ said Mission Control, and G-Force could hear massive cheers through his headset. There was no time to join in, however, as the crew had to check for pressure malfunctions.
Once all the systems had been checked, Wolf and Nogs opened the hatchway connecting the shuttle to the space station.
‘This is it,’ said G-Force. ‘We’re making history.’
Ping smiled at him and got ready to float up the tunnel to the ISS, as per their mission plan. Every step of the procedure had been planned and rehearsed thousands of times.
Just then, Logan came hurtling across the shuttle like an asteroid hell-bent on a mission of destruction. ‘First kid on the space station! First kid on the space station!’ he shouted as he raced past them, knocking Ping over.
‘More like first idiot ever on the space station!’ said G-Force, helping Ping to her feet.
‘What a lunatic,’ said Triple A. ‘So much for being a team.’
‘Yeah, there’s no “I” in team,’ said Wolf.
‘I think someone forgot to tell Logan that,’ said G-Force.
‘It’s not really his fault,’ said Nogs. ‘His dad told him that if you want anything in life, you take it. So he does. It’s our job to teach him about teamwork.’
G-Force exchanged a worried glance with Triple A. He knew what she was thinking. He was thinking it too. Space is dangerous enough without a rogue maniac kid astronaut. If Logan carries on like this, he could get us all killed.
• • •
Days and nights on the ISS passed quickly and soon they had been there for two weeks. There were 16 sunrises and sunsets in a day because the space station orbited Earth every 90 minutes.
The crew spent as much time as they could glued to the windows, marvelling at the stars, the moon, the planets and the galaxies, but they also had work to do. Triple A studied black holes and dark matter, while Wolf, G-Force, Ping and Nogs did station maintenance.
Logan spent most of the days and nights in a sleeping bag attached to the wall, playing games.
At least he’s out of the way, thought G-Force, as Nogs tried to get Logan to join in. Logan even asked his dad to fund a rescue mission because he was so bored.
His dad said it was too expensive. NASA said it was impossible.
On day 16, G-Force was in Pod 11 (also known as the kitchen) rehydrating a yummy curry from India. Ping was already eating her lunch from its silver sachet and was chasing a piece of chicken that was floating in the air.
Suddenly, OK Computer, the space station’s mainframe computer, wailed its alarm and emergency warning. ‘Integrity breach, Cargo Lock 3. Integrity breach, Cargo Lock 3.’
‘What the heck?’ G-Force said to Ping. ‘Integrity breach?’
That could mean only two things—something or someone was on board, or more likely, OK Computer wasn’t so okay, after all.
Logan floated in, his hands covering his ears. ‘Can’t you shut that alarm up?’ he demanded. ‘I’m trying to rest.’
Wolf, Nogs and Triple A floated in after him and everyone started speaking at once.
‘No other country has the authority to visit the International Space Station,’ s
aid Wolf. ‘And, anyway, how would they get here?’
‘It must be a false alarm,’ said Ping.
‘ISS. Over. This is Mission Control. Relax, everybody. We’re guessing it’s a malfunction. There is nothing in our data to suggest there is a security breach.’
‘Security alert, B Deck. Integrity breach, integrity breach,’ said OK Computer. ‘Integrity breach, B Deck.’
‘Like humans, computers are prone to meltdowns too,’ said Nogs, checking out Ping’s curry. He was hungry.
‘Security breach, Pod A,’ screamed OK Computer as the kid astronauts looked around and sighed in relief.
‘We’re in Pod A,’ said Triple A, ‘and there’s no one here who isn’t supposed to be.’ She looked at Logan but he was already floating back to his sleeping bag.
Then, the lights flickered and extinguished completely. As darkness descended, a misty gas began to seep through the room.
‘Gas alert,’ shouted G-Force. ‘Cover your noses and mouths. Quickly!’
The kid astronauts went into emergency evacuation mode just as a blazing red beam appeared amid the mist, radiating a burning hot heat.
‘What the hell?’ yelled G-Force as his skin began to fry.
‘To the escape pods,’ yelled Nogs. ‘NOW!’
But it was too late. G-Force froze and stared in disbelief as shapes emerged from the red beam— three gun-bearing lizard-like beings with skin so thin you could see their veins pumping slimy, green-pond blood. They were wearing fluorescent orange dungarees emblazoned with the word DREGS.
There was a bulbous lump of scaly flesh above their mouths, from which their slimy forked tongues snaked in and out, while their brains flashed the colours of the rainbow.
Nogs floated protectively in front of the kid astronauts, preparing to make the first alien contact. ‘Commander Horatio McNoggin, NASA, Earth,’ he said extending his hairy monkey hand. ‘On behalf of Earth, I’d—’
The lizard leader ignored Nogs’s outstretched hand. If he’d had a nose, he would have turned it up. ‘I. Don’t. Communicate. With. Primates,’ he replied, his voice rattling like a drawer full of cutlery.
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