by Zac Harrison
Still no answer.
“This is no time to worry about privacy,” he muttered to himself. Raising his voice again, he shouted, “Emmie, I’m coming in!” He put his hand to a panel.
The door slid open.
John dropped to his knees, a sob in his throat.
Emmie had collapsed on the floor, her skin glowing with golden light. As John watched in dismay, she suddenly shifted position. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and groaned.
Chapter 8
“Zeep!” John yelled. “Meteor Medics to Emmie’s room, NOW. She has the flu.”
It took a second for the computer to reply. “No Meteor Medics are available at this moment,” it said.
“None? What about Examiners?”
“All Examiners are currently occupied.”
“All of them?” John gasped. “What on Earth is going on?”
“Zhaldarian Flu has spread. Hyperspace High’s emergency systems are at full capacity.”
John cursed under his breath. He had to get Emmie to Dr Kasaria, and there was no time to waste. That left only one option. Slipping his arms beneath Emmie, he cradled her to his chest and lifted her. She was hot, her skin slippery with sweat, but she was easy to carry. For a moment John wondered how his friend, who was always so full of energy and surprisingly strong, could weigh so little. Holding her tenderly, he raced out of her dorm room.
“Keep away. Get back to your rooms!” he shouted at the students who were still chatting in the lobby. “She’s contagious.”
The hall cleared in seconds. Clasping Emmie tightly, John carried her to the TravelTube. “Medical wing,” he said. “Fast.”
The lift shot sideways. John lurched on his feet, half-turning to protect his friend from slamming into the wall. “Emmie,” he said, his voice cracking. “Can you hear me? You’re going to be all right. I’m taking you to Dr Kasaria. She’ll make you feel better.”
Emmie’s eyelids flickered. For a split second, her navy-blue eyes, full of pain, looked up at him. “John,” she whispered. “Not feeling so...” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes closed again.
John was already calling for Dr Kasaria as the TravelTube door opened. Bellowing for help, he raced through the doors to the medical wing and skidded to a halt.
Hover stretchers were floating everywhere, each one occupied by an unconscious student. Through the clear screen, John could see the quarantine ward had been enlarged massively. Now, Kaal lay in the first of a long line of beds. Meteor Medics rushed from one patient to the next, their thin metal fingers glinting under the lights as they took samples and scanned every new arrival.
Dr Kasaria stalked through the chaos, stopping every so often to comfort the patients that were still conscious. Her hands touched complicated medical computers while she gave instructions to the Meteor Medics in her efficient tone. “Make sure all patients are securely strapped down,” she ordered. “We cannot risk them attacking each other.”
As quickly as new patients were moved into beds, more arrived. Behind John, a queue of hover stretchers was forming, each carrying another Zhaldarian Flu victim.
“Dr Kasaria!” John called. “I need help.”
The doctor glanced at him and then down at Emmie in his arms. “The poor girl,” she murmured. Then she was all efficiency again. “Carry her to an empty bed, John,” she said. “We will see to her soon.”
“Can’t I stay? There must be something I can do.”
“No, you’ll get in the way.” The doctor turned away, already issuing new instructions as she took the pulse of a red-skinned boy whose chin reached to his waist. “We need more beds,” she said briskly. “Zepp, can you help?”
“There are some in the storage holds, Dr Kasaria,” the computer answered immediately. “I will have the droids bring them up.”
“Carry her to an empty bed and then get back to your dormitory, John,” Dr Kasaria repeated over her shoulder.
John laid Emmie on one of the few empty beds. Gently wiping her face with a cool flannel, he whispered, “You’re the strongest person I know, Emmie. Don’t let this sickness beat you.”
* * *
There was no music when Zepp woke John the next morning. In a grave voice, the computer told him that more than one hundred cases of Zhaldarian Flu had been reported. “Examiners have left quarantine suits outside every dormitory. You are to wear yours at all times.”
“But Dr Kasaria said I’m immune,” John protested.
“You may be carrying Zhaldarian Flu germs,” Zepp replied. “The suit will stop you spreading them.”
In silence, John washed. Without Kaal, the dormitory seemed big and lifeless. In an attempt to fill the emptiness, he flicked on the entertainment ThinScreen.
“...reports are reaching us of an outbreak of Zhaldarian Flu on Hyperspace High,” said a two-headed newsreader. “The first outbreak of the killer disease for more than two hundred years. Lorem, the school’s headmaster, has confirmed that more than a hundred students have been taken ill. The Galactic Council has sent an emergency team of Meteor Medics to the school and placed it under strict quarantine. A fleet has surrounded the famous school under the command of Councillor Tarz, whose own daughter is among the flu victims. Any unauthorized ship approaching or leaving Hyperspace High will be destroyed...”
Flicking off the screen, John opened the door. Outside was a neat parcel with the words “Quarantine Suit” printed on the wrapping. As the door slid closed, he pulled off the cover, revealing a large lump of what looked like clear jelly.
“What’s this, Zepp?” he asked, confused. He had been expecting some sort of surgical suit, not a jelly-like blob.
“Put your hand inside to activate the suit,” the computer instructed him.
John wriggled his fingers into the rubbery lump. At his touch, it seemed to come alive. Wide-eyed, he watched as the clear rubber crawled up his arm, quickly spreading across his chest and down his legs, leaving them covered in a thin gel. When it reached his face, he almost panicked, raising his hands to pull the creeping material away.
“Stay still,” Zepp told him as the rubbery stuff covered his mouth. “It will allow you to breathe, but filter the air so that no infections can get in or out. In a few moments you won’t even know you’re wearing it.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said John, blinking as the quarantine suit formed bubbles like swimming goggles over his eyes.
But Zepp was right. The suit was clear and weightless. John could breathe normally and see perfectly. He looked in the mirror. His usually tousled hair was pressed down flat against his head, but apart from that it was difficult to tell he was even wearing the quarantine suit at all.
“What about eating?” he asked, pulling his school uniform on over the top of the quarantine suit. The elastic gel stretched over his mouth as he spoke.
“The suit is semi-intelligent,” Zepp replied. “Nano-sensors detect when you wish to eat and the suit will create an opening around your mouth. On the subject of food, I suggest you go to the Centre. Your Hyperspace History exam begins in less than half an hour.”
“No way!” gasped John. “There’s a flu epidemic. You said yourself that people are dropping in the corridors.”
“The headmaster has said that the school routine will continue as normal for those not affected by the flu.”
A strange stillness had settled over Hyperspace High. As John walked from the dormitory level to the Centre, he met a few quarantine-suited students talking in whispers in the corridors but there was none of the usual lively chatter. Twice, he saw students collapse. Their friends sobbed quietly, as Meteor Medics carried the new victims off on hover stretchers. Approaching the Centre, he caught a glimpse through the viewing window of the emergency medical ship the Galactic Council had sent. The bulky grey craft, piloted by and only carrying robot
s, had docked against one of Hyperspace High’s wings. At least there are plenty of Meteor Medics on board now, he told himself, remembering the scenes in the understaffed medical wing the night before.
After eating his bowl of Vita-Soup, John followed Lishtig, Bareon, and Gobi-san-Art to the examination hall, feeling oddly calm. This time he had no butterflies in his stomach. With Emmie and Kaal both ill and staff and students collapsing around him, the exams seemed irrelevant.
Many of the examination cubes were empty. John noticed with a sinking heart that another of his classmates – Raytanna – was missing. John knew it had to be the flu – only serious illness would stop studious Raytanna from taking an exam. He took his seat quietly. In the next cube, Bareon looked thoughtful. Along from him, Lishtig had lost his usual good-natured grin.
“Examination commences,” the computer suddenly announced. John’s attention snapped to the ThinScreen on the small desk ahead of him. “You have one hour. Identify the following historical events and place them in chronological order.”
An image flashed onto the screen: a desert battle between orange-skinned lizard creatures and what looked like flying jellyfish. “The Arvuna War; six point seven six two Galactic Era,” said John automatically. Reaching out, he touched the screen, making the image smaller and dragging it to slot into a grid.
As image followed image, John’s concentration increased. The test was a welcome escape from thinking about Zhaldarian Flu and his friends in the medical wing. “The Palace of Galactic Unity is completed...” He paused, unable to remember exactly when the vast building with its elegant silver spires had been built. He dragged it to a space in the grid. As he did so, he glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen, realizing with a jolt that there were only twenty minutes left until the exam finished. More than half the grid remained to be filled.
“Come on, John,” he muttered to himself. “If you get thrown out of here, you’ll never see Kaal and Emmie again.”
As quickly as he could, John placed more images. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead when he realized he had put the Arvuna War after the coronation of Shim Emperor R’eshed the Unholy. His fingers flickered across the screen as he rearranged the order.
Five minutes left, he reminded himself, looking in horror at the many blank spaces. John heard a thump on the clear wall next to him. He spun round. Bareon was standing, clutching his triangular head in his long, grey fingers, and was staggering around inside his cube.
In an instant, John had kicked open the door to his own cube. “Ms Vartexia,” he yelled at the Elvian teacher supervising the exam. “Call the Meteor Medics. It’s Bareon—”
“Stay calm, I will deal with the emergency,” the tall, blue-skinned teacher replied. Louder, she called out, “Meteor Medics to examination hall eight immediately.”
By now, other students were standing outside their cubes. More doors opened.
“All of you, finish your exam,” Ms Vartexia ordered. “Help is on its way.”
But John didn’t take any notice. He tore open the door to Bareon’s cube. Staggering out, the triangular-headed boy collapsed into his arms.
Meteor Medics rushed into the room.
John gazed down at the flickering eyelids of the boy in hs arms. Who cares any more about that stupid test, he thought.
Bareon groaned.
“Don’t worry,” said John.
A chime sounded. Holding up Bareon, John glanced over his shoulder. On the ThinScreen in his own cubicle, the grid – with all its blank spaces – disappeared.
The test was over.
John knew that he had probably flunked his history exam. But the lives of his friends were in the balance. It wasn’t just his time at Hyperspace High that could be coming to an end – the Zhaldarian Flu might signal the end of the school for ever.
Chapter 9
Certain that his stay at Hyperspace High would soon be over, John was determined to spend as much time as he could with his best friends. He pushed through the crowd of students and followed the hover stretcher that was rushing Bareon to the medical wing.
There, John found that the situation had grown worse since the night before. In the corridor, beings from across the universe were curled up on hover stretchers, glowing gently. Pausing to lay a hand on Bareon’s shoulder for a moment, he picked his way through hover stretchers, recognizing several patients – Tarope, a frog-like being with orange skin who had been on John’s Galactic Battle team a few weeks earlier, and Emmie’s room-mate, Queelin Temerate, the stubby feelers on her forehead drooping.
Inside the medical wing, the scenes were even more chaotic. By the entrance, the black bulk of Doctor Graal lay on a stretcher, a dark red glow shimmering across her skin, her tentacles wrapped tightly around herself.
Dr Kasaria was leaning over the Gargon teacher, her forehead lined with strain as she took a sample of black blood. “Zepp!” she called out, passing a hand across her brow, “this is the last patient we can fit in. Is there any room available on the ship where we can open an emergency ward?”
“Affirmative,” Zepp’s voice replied. “The headmaster asked for the 4-D cinema to be prepared.”
“Good,” said the doctor quickly. “Is it ready?”
“Droids are setting up beds now. I have established a quarantine zone.”
“Excellent,” said the doctor, standing straight and waving over an Examiner. “Redirect new patients to the 4-D cinema,” she told the white robot. “I will follow soon.” Spotting John by the door, she snapped, “What are you doing here again? As you can see, we are very busy.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Dr Kasaria,” John replied. “I was hoping to check in on Kaal and Emmie...” His voice trailed off as he saw the glare that the doctor was giving him. A glare that told him that she didn’t have time to look after visitors. He blushed and shuffled his feet.
Seeing the look of concern on his face, Dr Kasaria’s narrow shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, John,” she said, sounding weary. “Of course you are worried about your friends. Wait here. I will be back once I have Doctor Graal settled.”
Finding a small corner of the medical wing that wasn’t crammed with hover stretchers, John stood quietly while Meteor Medics began moving patients back through the doors, heading for the new emergency ward. Through the clear screen, he watched Dr Kasaria push the Gargon teacher into the quarantine ward. The room was now jammed with beds. Many of the patients were straining against the straps that held them down, screaming. An Examiner used its force fields to move Graal into the last remaining bed, while the doctor reset monitors and began inserting tubes into the Gargon teacher’s tentacles.
Soon, the medical wing’s reception room had emptied. John looked around as the door hissed open again, expecting to see a Meteor Medic. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with a grim-looking Mordant Talliver, G-Vez bobbing, as usual, around his shoulders. John blinked in surprise. He didn’t look ill, but it was difficult to imagine that Mordant Talliver cared enough about anyone to visit the medical wing.
Maybe he’s come to see Emmie.
John scowled as the thought occurred to him. He had always suspected that Mordant had a crush on his beautiful friend. The half-Gargon boy constantly picked on Emmie and tried to bully her. John had seen the same behaviour at school on Earth and knew that bullies often had feelings for their targets that they were too ashamed to admit. Although, thought John, that doesn’t explain why Mordant was always so horrible to him.
For a moment the two boys stared at each other. Mordant obviously hadn’t expected to find John there, either. He took a step backward.
“What are you doing here?” John asked in an icy voice.
Mordant simply stared, his face blank.
“If you’re trying see Emmie, you can get lost.”
“What makes you think that young Master Talliver would wish to visit the
Sillaran,” G-Vez interrupted in its drawling electronic voice. “He has come to—”
“Shut up, G-Vez,” snapped Mordant.
“I wished only to correct the Earthling’s idea that you, of all people, would want to see—”
“I said, shut up. Now.”
“So, why are you here?” John repeated. “You don’t look ill.”
Mordant took a sharp breath. Turning on his heel, he walked back through the door.
John stared in surprise as Mordant strode away. Normally, the black-haired boy would never have let a chance to insult him slip by, but he had walked away without a word. For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he had misjudged Mordant. Then he remembered the boy’s glee while taunting him and Emmie about Kaal’s illness. I haven’t misjudged him. He probably just came up here to laugh at the sick people, he told himself.
“John?” Dr Kasaria’s voice startled him.
“What is it?” he asked. “Is something wrong with Kaal and Emmie? I mean, are they worse...?”
“Emmie is stable,” Dr Kasaria said softly, gazing at him gently with her large, black eyes. “I have every hope that she will eventually recover.”
A chill gripped John’s heart. “And Kaal?” he whispered.
“The Zhaldarian Flu seems to have mutated. Kaal is displaying symptoms that I have never seen before. None of the normal treatments are working. His condition is critical. I have moved him to another room.”
“What symptoms? How critical? He’s going to get better, isn’t he?” John blurted.
The doctor rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Would you like to see him?” she asked.
John gulped and nodded.
“Since you are immune and wearing a full quarantine suit, it cannot do any harm,” Dr Kasaria said. “The aggressive stage of the disease has passed. Kaal is in a coma, but it is possible that he can still hear what is going on around him. If so, I’m sure it would be a comfort for him to hear your voice. Follow me.”
Shaking, John followed as the doctor led him along a corridor lined with doors that led onto smaller, private rooms. Each held a single patient with a Meteor Medic hovering by their bed. Without being told, John knew that these were the most serious cases.