by Zac Harrison
Maybe having his family around tomorrow would help. But that just made John think of the Space Spectacular, and the fact the team was still hopeless.
Tarope couldn’t hold a LaserPro, and Dyfi could barely even lift a SonicArrow. What was he supposed to do with a team like that?
John reached his dorm and threw himself onto his bed. “Zepp, I’ve got a challenge for you.”
“Go on,” Zepp said.
“Can you make it sound like it’s raining? It never rains in space; I miss it.”
The soft patter of raindrops filled the room. John sighed heavily, as he imagined rain running down the windows of his bedroom.
“Is that any better?” Zepp asked. “I can add thunder if you wish.”
“No, thanks. Just the rain is fine.”
John lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, letting the imaginary rain wash the frustration out of his head. He let out a deep sigh.
“Is that loud exhalation a human expression of frustration?” Zepp asked, perceptive as ever.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said John. “It’s just not fair. I’m stuck with being the leader, trying to pull this useless Galactic Battle team into shape. And even if by some miracle I manage to, my parents won’t even be here to see it! So what’s the point, huh? Is there even a point? Why bother?”
“Why bother?” echoed Zepp. “Because when you do pull it off, you’ll remember it for the rest of your life, that’s why!”
“Don’t even joke,” John said. “Why on Earth did they make me leader?”
“Because they honestly believed you could do the job,” Zepp said seriously. “And you can. You’re a natural leader. You’ve got all the traits and abilities that a good leader needs.”
“Then how come I’m not getting anywhere?” John asked.
“You’ve been given a tough job,” said Zepp. “If everything a leader had to do was easy, how would they ever find out what they were really capable of?”
“It’s too tough,” said John.
“But not impossible,” Zepp pointed out.
“We’re all so different,” said John. “Tarope can’t hold a LaserPro, and I can’t throw a SonicArrow straight . . .”
“Hmmmm,” said Zepp. “Those are good observations, John. But maybe you should focus on your team’s strengths instead of its weaknesses.”
“Well, Monix and Kaal were pretty handy with the LaserPros, and Kritta was awesome with the SonicArrows.” John quickly started feeling a bit more positive.
“Now you’re starting to sound like a leader,” said Zepp.
John started thinking about famous leaders from Earth he’d learned about at his old school. Some of the greatest heroes had won victories despite being the underdog. Zepp was right: good leaders didn’t give up on their team.
John’s mind started running through famous historic battles. The ancient Greeks beating the better-armed Persians . . . Wellington crushing Napoleon’s army at the Battle of Waterloo . . . the outnumbered Union Army defeating the Confederates at the Battle of Gettysburg . . . What I need is a strategy that plays to the team’s individual strengths, John suddenly realized.
“So you really think I can turn this team around?” he asked Zepp.
“Affirmative,” Zepp said, without a second’s hesitation. “But you have to truly believe it. Because your team won’t believe in you unless you believe in yourself first.”
“Wow,” John said. “Thanks, Zepp. I feel a lot better now.”
It was amazing what a few well-chosen words could do. Perhaps what his own team needed was a pep talk, just like Zepp had given him. He began to go over what he’d say to them.
Just as he was about to head back out, he noticed a box on his bedside table. He peered in and saw that it was full of hairy, blackish-blue objects. They looked — and smelled — like rotting pistachios.
“Neptune nuts,” he read aloud from the side of the box. “Yuck. How did they get there?”
He turned the box around, remembering the one and only time he’d ever tried them. They had filled his mouth with horrible, salty foam, like chewing bath fizzies.
Kaal must have left them here, he decided, and went back to join his team.
Whistling happily on his way to the Sonic Sports Hall, John called up Ton-3 from the team sheet to see which weapon they’d be practicing with that afternoon.
“Hot Shots!” the hologram announced, swaggering through the air in a long, black suit and twirling a pistol on her extended finger. “These triple-barrelled pistols are the hottest weapon around! One easily replaced thermal clip loads you up with eighteen heat pellets — enough for six scorching, metal-melting triple shots! And if you need supreme firepower in a hurry, just flick the switch all the way to rapid fire!”
“Awesome,” John said. “The team’s going to love these.”
Then Ton-3 began to babble in a much quieter voice. “Always ensure that the safety setting on your Hot Shot is properly activated, as the manufacturer accepts no responsibility for improper use. Hot Shot is for use only in approved combat and sporting environments. Do not attempt to eat heat pellets. Do not use Hot Shot to clear blocked sinks —”
John looked down at the team sheet and found the mute button. Ton-3 was still chattering, but now silently. “Yeah, yeah, I get the picture,” he said.
Dyfi met him in the doorway, brandishing a Hot Shot. “John, look! A weapon I can actually hold!”
“These are even better than the LaserPros,” Tarope was saying.
Even Monix looked excited.
They were helping themselves to Hot Shot guns and fistfuls of thermal clips from an open silver box that stood against the wall. But Kaal and Kritta were nowhere to be seen.
“I guess Kaal’s not out of detention yet?” John asked.
“And Kritta’s still in the medical wing,” Dyfi said sadly. “I hope she gets out in time for Cyber-Karaoke night. It’s supposed to be a blast.”
Once again, the sports hall had been set up especially for them. The walls had shifted, forming a huge dome. Hovering in the air in the center of the room was a group of star-shaped targets, outlined with red, blue, and green light. The red ones were about the size of John’s head; the green ones the size of his whole body. He guessed they had different point values, based on how difficult they were to hit.
He depressed the mute button, and Ton-3 was audible again. “Ready to get started?” she asked. “Okay! You need to stand in a circle and fire at the targets in the middle of the room. The smaller the target, the more points you score.”
Knew it, John thought.
“Are you sure?” Monix said, sounding alarmed. “If we miss the target, we might hit the person standing on the opposite side of the room!”
“Don’t you worry about that!” said Ton-3. “We’ve thought of that, trust me.”
“Okay, does everyone have plenty of ammunition?” John asked.
“Locked and loaded!” Dyfi trilled.
“Cool! Before we start, I just wanted to say a few things.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “We are going to rock this Space Spectacular. Sure, we’ve had a rough start, but I bet there are other teams out there who wish they could change places with us! And we’re getting better every time we practice. Monix kicks butt with a LaserPro now, and Tarope’s doing better with SonicArrows than even he expected! Right?”
“Right!” yelled Tarope, giving John a thumbs-up.
“So, let’s fire it up, team! Get to your places, and when you hear the signal, start blowing away those targets!”
“Woooo!’ yelled Dyfi and Tarope, sprinting across the room. Even Monix looked excited, as she lined up her first shot.
Now we’re starting to look like a team, thought John.
The signal went off, sounding a blare like a triumphant war horn.
“Open fire!” John ordered.
Suddenly, the room lit up as if a box of fireworks had been accidentally set ablaze. The Hot Shots fired streaming, comet-like fireballs that exploded in showers of sparks when they struck a target. Waves of heat rippled in the air.
John gripped his weapon firmly, aimed for one of the high-scoring red stars, and fired. It erupted with crimson light, flashed 100 PTS, and reset itself.
I hit it! came the stunned realization. Bull’s-eye!
Encouraged by his success, he aimed and fired at a few more. Two hits and one near-miss! It was a lot like playing laser tag back home on Earth, running around with his friends in a dark arena, taking shots at one another.
Dyfi was racking up hundreds of points, too. Now that she finally had a weapon she could hold properly, she was making up for lost time with a vengeance. John watched her slam heat pellets into target after target, without missing once.
“Aargh!” yelled Monix. “Can’t we go back to using the LaserPros? I can’t hit a thing with this stupid gun!” And as if to prove it, she let off a volley of shots that flew wide, missing the target and heading toward Dyfi.
Just as it seemed Dyfi would be obliterated, the target swiveled around and sucked the stray shots up into itself, using some sort of gravity field.
“Phew,” John said with relief. “Ton-3 was right. They did think of that.”
Tarope was doing badly, too. He’d only scored a few points and was getting frustrated, like he had with the LaserPros. “These targets are too small! How are we supposed to hit them?”
“Okay, you two,” John said to Tarope and Monix. “Let’s go over the basics again. The important thing is to take your time. Breathe steadily, sight down the barrel, and . . .” He stopped.
Something smelled like it was burning. It was like when his dad left the bacon on the stove and forgot about it while he was doing the crossword in the paper.
“Can you smell that?” he asked Monix.
“Yes! Something’s on fire . . . Oh no! TAROPE!”
“What?” Tarope said. “What’s wrong?”
John stared, horrified, as little orange drops like runny candle wax fell from Tarope’s arm. “Your skin’s melting!”
“Aaaargh! Help!” Tarope squealed, dropping his Hot Shot and running around in a circle. “I need cooling before my whole skin peels off!”
“Zepp, send Meteor Medics to the Sonic Sports Hall. It’s urgent!” called John.
In no time, two Meteor Medics charged into the room. Tarope was quickly scanned, lifted onto a force-field stretcher, and rushed to the door.
One of the medics paused for a moment. “Should I reserve hospital beds for the rest of you?” it asked darkly. “Two casualties in two days. I sense a dangerous pattern emerging.”
“Will Tarope be okay?” asked Dyfi anxiously.
“Tarope is a Mucosian,” the medic explained. “Extreme heat can trigger their skin-shedding cycle too early. They don’t feel it, so it’s more the shock than anything else. He’ll be fine once we’ve dunked him in some chill-gel. But explain: how did he get exposed to extreme heat in the first place?”
“I know why,” Monix said, holding up Tarope’s Hot Shot. “The safety on his weapon wasn’t on.”
“Ton-3 should have told us —” started Dyfi.
“No,” John said hollowly. “I should have checked them. I’m the leader. It’s my fault.”
Dark thoughts swirled in John’s mind, as he watched Tarope being taken away. I let my team down again.
CHAPTER 9
“Thank you, everyone!” said Ms. Vartexia, her huge blue head gleaming in the spotlight. “That was Loviata Quarmeen from year three, giving us her unforgettable rendition of last year’s smash hit, ‘Warpgate to My Heart.’ Show your appreciation!”
The students gathered in the Center all applauded. Loviata, who seemed to be made entirely from shifting shadows, took a bow and left the stage. Kaal had once told John in fearful tones that she only became visible in her sleep, and nobody who had seen her true shape would ever forget it again.
John had barely noticed the singing; he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts. If he was honest, he wasn’t really in the mood for this, but he hadn’t wanted to walk out on the team — the team he somehow had to pull together by tomorrow. The team that could not afford to get any more detentions.
He thought of the parents arriving by the hundreds, and the palms of his hands began to feel sweaty.
“That was awesome!” Dyfi said. “I can’t believe I’ve never been to one of these before!”
“I love Cyber-Karaoke nights,” said Kritta, obviously enjoying herself, despite her bandaged foot. “They really bring the school together, don’t you think?”
“I wish,” John said ruefully.
Although the Galactic Battle team was all together again, gathered at the Center along with everyone else for an evening of robot-assisted karaoke, he still hadn’t seen Emmie anywhere.
Kritta looked concerned. “Still worried about Emmie?”
“Yeah.” John hated knowing that something was wrong, but not knowing how to fix it. “She’s convinced Kaal and I did something to upset her, something dangerous. She won’t talk to either of us. And now she doesn’t turn up to a Cyber-Karaoke event? It’s just not like her.”
Kaal agreed. “It doesn’t seem like a real Cyber-Karaoke night until Emmie gets up and sings. I haven’t heard her sing ‘Phosphene Girl’ in forever. I raced over here from detention so I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Okay! Next up is Lishtig ar Steero!” announced Ms. Vartexia.
Lishtig came bounding up to the stage, his huge mass of purple hair trailing behind him. He grabbed the microphone as if it were a LaserPro. “Cue up ‘Decimator’ by Neutron Decay,” he instructed. “Playtime’s over. It’s time to get heavy!”
Kaal quickly passed around a bag of chewy proton pieces.
“No, thanks,” Dyfi said. “I don’t like the taste.”
“Oh, they’re not for eating,” Kaal said. “They’re to stick in your ears.”
Dyfi looked confused. “Why would anyone want to —”
At that moment, a howl of feedback ripped through the room that made SonicArrows seem like whimpering puppies by comparison.
“Oh no,” Tarope said, and put his head between his knees as if he were bracing himself for a crash. “Here we go. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Lishtig flung back his hair and made frenzied air guitar motions. “Yeeeeeeaaaaahhhhhhh!” he yelled. “One, two, three, FOUR . . .”
“Quick, give me some proton pieces before he starts singing,” Dyfi said. She got them in her ears just in time.
“I’M A SPACE-FUELED DECIMATOR AND GALACTIC TERMINATOR. SO DON’T ROCK THIS PLANET DEVASTATOR OR I’LL BE AN ETERNAL DOMINATOR!” roared Lishtig. The sounds blasting out of the Cyber-Karaoke speakers were like hurricane winds blowing through a sawdust factory. All around the Center, students covered their ears and made agonized expressions.
“I think I’ve gone deaf!” Kritta shouted over the noise.
Lishtig whipped his hair around, belting out the lyrics: “AS MIND ERASER AND LASER BLAZER, THIS COSMIC MASTER WILL BE YOUR PLASMA BLASTER . . .”
There was nothing they could do but wait for the horrible noise to end. It was uncannily like being trapped in the Defendroid containment cell. Eventually — in a thunderous, hair-thrashing crescendo — the song finished, leaving Lishtig standing alone on stage in the spotlight with his fist raised.
The students looked on in total silence, too stunned to clap. John and his team extracted the squished-up sweets from their ears.
“Thank you very much,” Lishtig’s words echoed through the silent Center. “Check out my band, Max Destructo and the Sonic Death Armada, live in concert in the engineering bay next week. Peace out!”
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br /> Looking slightly dazed, Ms. Vartexia returned to the stage. “Well, I think we can all agree that was . . . different. Next up is Dol!”
As the dolphin-like P’Sidion girl took the microphone, Kritta gave John a nudge. “You should give it a try, too.”
“I don’t think they have any Earth music,” he said. “I suppose I could ask, though.”
The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Maybe some Earth music would make him feel better — and maybe embarrassing himself on stage was a small price to pay for a taste of home.
Dol blew some bubbles in her fishbowl-like helmet, which John suspected was her way of clearing her throat. “This song is called ‘Tik Tiki-kikkik, Ta Tikik Skeee Tik,’” she said. “And if you know the chorus, join in, everybody! Don’t be shy!”
Strange sloshing, booming sounds gushed from the speakers, as if the microphone had been lowered into a washing machine.
Dol began to squeak and click, her eyes closed with emotion. John saw that Kritta had joined in, swaying gently from side to side and making clicking noises of her own.
Everyone seemed to be enjoying it, except John. He didn’t even have a clue what the song was about.
That settled it. I need to hear something I like, he decided. I’ve had more than enough of all this weird alien music! There has to be a song I can sing. Something that reminds me of home, that really puts its finger on how I’m feeling right now . . .
He thought back to his dad’s CD collection and the songs they’d sung along to in the car. And he realized he knew the perfect song. It was staring him in the face.
The next few moments passed in a blur. He seemed to go from sitting with his team to talking to Ms. Vartexia to being up on stage in no time at all. The next thing he knew, he was standing in a dazzling spotlight with the microphone in his hand.
The piano chords began, almost unbearably sweet and familiar, and suddenly he was singing the opening lyrics to “Rocket Man” by Elton John.
It sounded so strange and simple after all that electronic, unearthly music, but to John it was like waking from a dream and finding himself back home. He closed his eyes — he knew the words by heart, anyway — and saw the familiar sights of home so clearly: his street, his house, his own room.