by Zac Harrison
With a sinking feeling in his stomach, John whipped the control stick around again. A terrifying bolt of dark purple light sped past and disappeared into space.
“Charging again. Oh no, they’ve locked onto us. They’re going to destroy us. We’re going to d—”
“Captain Lassco, we surrender!” John shouted, slowing the Talios.
“They’re powering down weapons,” Mordant babbled. “I thought we were dead...” But his last few words were gibberish to John. The ship’s computer didn’t translate Gargon swearing.
The communications channel crackled. “Excellent choice,” the Galactic Fleet captain said drily. “Turn your ship around and and prepare to—”
“No! I demand to speak to Councillor Tarz,” John cut in. “Immediately.”
Chapter 14
“Listen, son,” said the captain, sounding angry. “You’ve just broken a Galactic Council quarantine order. You’re in no position to make demands.”
John clenched his fists, knowing the mission depended on convincing Councillor Tarz to let him and Mordant go. He’d met Emmie’s dad at the Space Spectacular, and was sure he could convince him. “We’re trying to save lives, Captain Lassco,” he insisted. “Let me speak to the councillor.”
“Turn your ship around and return to Hyperspace High. I don’t want to fire on you again.” From the tone in the captain’s voice, John knew this was his final word.
The communications channel crackled again. “I’ll speak to him,” said a new voice. “This is Councillor Tarz. What do you want, John?”
“Councillor Tarz,” John said quickly. “You have to let us proceed.”
“Our orders come straight from the Galactic President,” said Emmie’s father. “No ship is to approach, or leave, Hyperspace High. Even if I wanted to let you go, John, it’s out of my hands.”
“I understand, councillor.” John hesitated for a second, wondering whether to reveal his plan. It’s Emmie’s dad, he reminded himself. “But there are microbes at the core of the Zaleta Nebula,” he continued. “The headmaster thinks they might be a cure.”
“The headmaster has also told the council this. The information is under consideration.”
“And while the council considers, my friends are dying,” said John, with urgency. “Think of Emmie.”
“How is she? Is there any change in her condition?” asked Councillor Tarz. John heard the worry and fear beneath his calm tone.
“I saw her a couple of hours ago. She’s very sick, councillor. Our friend Kaal will be dead soon. Please let me try to help them. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”
For a few moments, the Sillaran councillor didn’t reply. Then slowly, he said, “You know I think highly of you, John. You’re a good friend to Emmie, and I believe you can complete this mission, but there are procedures we must follow.”
“With respect, sir, that’s not good enough,” John replied, trying his best to sound reasonable. “This is the only hope we have.”
Again, the councillor was silent. Seconds ticked by. “You don’t intend to land on any planet? There’s no risk that you could spread the infection?” he asked eventually.
“No, sir. We – Mordant Talliver and I – we’re going to collect the microbes and fly straight back again.”
“I see,” Councillor Tarz said quietly. “It is a dangerous scheme. The core of a nebula is not a hospitable place.”
“Sir,” Captain Lassco’s voice interrupted. “You cannot even be thinking about this. The president—”
“The president is not in command of this fleet, Captain Lassco,” said Councillor Tarz coldly. “I am.”
“But, sir—”
Councillor Tarz did not allow him to finish. “The Galactic President has said that no ship is to leave Hyperspace High. I hereby invoke Galactic Emergency protocol sixteen A to overturn that order. John, you may proceed.”
“Councillor Tarz, I must protest,” spluttered the captain.
“Your protest is noted, Lassco. Return to quarantine guard.”
“Aye aye, turning back.”
As John watched, the two blips on the scanner screen moved back in the direction of Hyperspace High. “Thank you, sir,” John said quietly.
“Leave now, John. By invoking protocol sixteen A, I have just declared the Galactic President unfit to lead and assumed command. I will be sacked within a few hours. It would be best if you had returned to Hyperspace High with the microbes by then.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Councillor Tarz’s reply cracked with emotion. “If you save Emmie, John, I will never be able to repay you. Now, go.”
* * *
“We’re approaching the Zaleta Nebula,” said Mordant an hour later.
“I see it,” John replied. Ahead was a great cloud of pinks, purples, and blues, shimmering with the light of newborn stars. “Dropping speed to hyperspace factor one-fifty.”
The Talios swept into the nebula. “How far to the core?” asked John.
Mordant pored over his charts. “About five light years, heading two-two-six-two-eight. Be careful, I’m already getting system interference.”
John looked around as he turned the ship to follow the new course heading. It wasn’t the first time he had been inside a nebula, but he would still never get used to the sight. Around him, suns burned among the delicate swirling clouds, orbited by spheres of denser gases and great balls of rock that might one day become planets. Directly ahead was the nebula’s glowing core.
“Temperature rising,” said Mordant. “Five hundred degrees plus.”
Smoothly guiding the ship past rocky space debris, John held the course. The glowing core grew larger in the middle of the viewing screen.
“A thousand degrees and rising.”
John nodded. He could feel the heat seeping through the hull of the Talios. Even beneath the flightsuit and quarantine suit, his skin was beginning to prickle.
“One thousand five hundred degrees. Keep her steady.”
The core of the nebula now filled the viewing window. The visor of John’s helmet darkened automatically to protect his eyes from the glare.
“One thousand eight hundred degrees,” said Mordant calmly. “Stopping in ten seconds.”
John pulled the control stick. The Talios skimmed past a comet.
“In five... four... three... two... one. Two thousand degrees.”
“Dropping out of hyperspeed,” said John. The Talios shrieked as jets came on line, rapidly reducing the ship’s speed until it came to a complete stop.
“At this temperature, the ship’s systems are going to start degrading in about thirty-five minutes,” said Mordant.
“That’s about the same time as the nebula-diver can withstand core temperatures,” said John, unclipping his harness and pulling off his helmet. “Let’s get to it.”
In the Talios’s small airlock, Mordant flipped open the hatch to the ship’s dock. Beneath was the interior of the nebula-diver. John peered into a small, dark space, just big enough for a single person. “Looks like a squeeze,” he said under his breath. “Hope I fit.”
Mordant’s head snapped up in surprise. “Who cares whether you fit,” he said. “I’m going.”
“Umm, no. I don’t think so,” John replied quickly. “I already checked, and my body should be able to withstand the environment, for a while at least. It might not be safe for Gargons.”
“Tough,” replied Mordant. “I’m going and that’s all there is to it.”
John groaned inwardly. This was not the time for Mordant Talliver to start behaving like his old self, and John realized he still didn’t trust him. Mordant might be intelligent, but John had seen him under pressure before and knew he might crack if he ran into difficulties.
John took a deep breath. “Look, Mordant,” he said, trying to s
ound calm. “We’ve worked pretty well together so far, let’s not start fighting now.” He stepped towards the hatch.
“No, let’s,” replied Mordant, putting a tentacle on John’s chest and pushing him back. “You’re not in command here. And you’ve never used a nebula-diver before.”
“Have you?”
“No, but I’ve studied them.”
Frustration building, John slapped away the tentacle. “We don’t have time for this.”
“Just let me go, then.”
John squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to remain cool. “Star, gas, laser?” he suggested, as he opened them again.
The half-Gargon hesitated, then dropped his tentacle. “Yeah, all right. Best of three.”
Dropping to their knees, the two students beat their fists on the surface of the pod. “One... two... three.”
“Star,” said Mordant, holding up a hand, fingers spread.
“Gas.” John showed a clenched fist.
“Stars burn gas. That’s one to me.”
“Go.”
“One... two... three... laser,” said Mordant, pointing two fingers at John.
John held up his fist again. “Gas clogs laser. One to me.”
Mordant scowled. “One... two ... three... gas.”
“Star,” said John, lifting his hand. “Bad luck.”
Swearing under his breath, Mordant stepped back.
With beads of sweat running down his forehead, John stepped through the hatch, kneeling inside the nebula-diver and reaching for the controls. They were the most basic he had seen on any spacecraft: what looked like small motorbike handlebars for steering, with a throttle for power, an ignition button, and a lever for the braking jets. Strapped alongside the tiny pilot space were six pressurized cannisters. The small navigation panel and a microphone were the only signs of electronics.
“Ready?” growled the half-Gargon, as John lay full length, his hands gripping the steering unit.
“Ready,” said John.
“Be back here in half an hour. Any longer and the radiation will kill you.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” replied John. “Glad to hear you care.”
“Yeah... well... good luck, I suppose.”
“And to yo—”
The hatch slammed shut.
John wriggled into the space. It was dark and there was barely room to move. With one hand, he powered up the navigation screen. Through a speaker by his head, John heard Mordant’s voice: “Disengaging dock.”
For a second John held his breath, trying to calm the rising fear. Part of his brain was raving that it was madness to fly into the burning heart of a nebula in such a tiny craft. But it was quickly followed by an image of Kaal laying in his hospital bed, skin sagging and changing colour. Letting out his breath in a hiss, John stabbed at the ignition button.
With a blast of rocket boosters, the nebula-diver moved away from the underside of the Talios.
John felt his stomach lurch. Through the small viewing window, he could see the fierce glow of the nebula’s core. Gritting his teeth, he headed towards the heat and radiation. There was no turning back now.
Chapter 15
John twisted the throttle, sending the nebula-diver rocketing towards the nebula’s core. Immediately, a swirling blast of gas caught the tiny, bullet-shaped craft, blowing it off course. Pulling the steering control this way and that, John struggled to regain control. It wasn’t easy. Flying the pod was nothing like piloting a normal spacecraft. The little machine felt as light as a feather and was totally at the mercy of the flurries of gas outside. And the heat was rising steeply, too. John’s fingers felt slippery and sweat ran down his forehead as he fought to steer the pod.
“Automatic temperature controls engaged,” said an electronic voice in his ear. Immediately, John began to feel somewhat cooler and he realized that the flightsuit he was wearing had inbuilt technology that adjusted to keep him comfortable in all environments.
John glanced at the navigation screen, which Mordant had remote programmed from the Talios. It showed a thirty-minute countdown and a flashing light marked the rendezvous point. John needed no help finding the core; its glare filled the pod’s small viewing window.
Suddenly, another gust of hot gas sent the craft tumbling back the way it had come. Giving the jets more thrust, John swerved crazily through the thick mist. Through the viewing screen, he caught a glimpse of Mordant Talliver in the pilot’s seat of the Talios, a smug look on his face as he touched the control panels.
Mordant’s arrogant look brought back a flood of memories. All the times the black-tentacled boy had schemed to get John into trouble hit him at once. As the pod surged back towards the nebula’s core, he felt a rising surge of panic, realizing that his survival depended solely on Mordant Talliver, who – only two weeks earlier – had tried to turn Emmie against him and sabotaged deadly Defendroid robots that might have killed him and Kaal at the Space Spectacular show. In his haste to get to the Zaleta Nebula, John hadn’t stopped to dwell on why Mordant had volunteered to come along. Now, it was quickly dawning on him how strangely the half-Gargon boy was behaving. Of all people, why would Mordant Talliver offer to join him on a life-threatening mission?
What possible reason would he have?
He’s trying to get rid of me.
“You’re doing OK, John,” said Mordant’s voice through a speaker by John’s head. “Follow your current heading. See you in twenty-nine minutes.”
An icy chill crept down John’s spine. Would Mordant be there when he got back? It would be easy for him to fly back to Hyperspace High, claiming that John had never returned from the nebula’s core. No one would ever be able to prove otherwise.
No, he wanted to take the pod himself, John reminded himself. He would have trusted me to stay for him. I have to trust him.
Pushing these fears to the back of his mind, John jerked the throttle. The tiny pod roared forward.
Another squall of gas hit, threatening to throw him off course once more. John wrenched the steering control around, breathing heavily and feeling more claustrophobic within the narrow space with every passing second. It’s like cyber jousting, he told himself. Just find the balance and trust yourself. Remembering the way that Emmie stayed on top of a ball with perfect poise, John turned the ship slightly, trying to ride the wind instead of battling against it.
It worked. The nebula-diver was still buffeted by streaming hot gases, but now it was travelling faster and staying on course.
“Flightsuit control systems degrading,” said the electronic voice in his ear. “Twenty minutes to failure.”
John glanced at the navigation screen. Twenty-three minutes before he had to get back. For the last three of those minutes, the flightsuit would offer no protection at all. Only the hull of the pod itself would protect him from the deadly heat and radiation. He twisted the throttle again, wringing every last ounce of speed from the little machine. Minutes passed. By now, the gas outside John’s viewing screen had become so dense that John could see nothing but a bright glare. The winds dropped, making flying easier. A read-out on the navigation display told him that the temperature outside was now over 5,000 degrees Celsius, as hot as the surface of the sun.
Seventeen minutes left.
Forehead lined in concentration, John sent the nebula-diver skimming onward. He could feel the heat building again, as the flightsuit’s systems began to collapse.
How will I know when to collect the microbes?
John gulped as the thought hit him. He glanced at the navigation panel. In less than two minutes he would have used up half of his time. If there was any chance of making it back to the Talios safely, he would have to start his return journey soon. He had to get the microbes and start heading back.
But if I’m not at the core, I’ll just be going back with canisters full of
useless gas.
A memory stirred. John was sitting in front of a ThinScreen in Hyperspace High’s library with Emmie, revising Galactic Geography. Zepp had been speaking while they both scribbled notes. In his head, John could hear Zepp’s voice: “The core of a nebula is surrounded by turbulent gas but, within the core itself, there is a steady gravitational force.”
John eased off the throttle. The tiny pod continued to slip through the dense gas smoothly. The wind outside had dropped to nothing.
I’m already inside the core.
John quickly fired braking jets, bringing the pod to a stop. He reached for the lever that would fill the empty canisters with the core’s precious gas microbes. Gripping the lever, he pushed.
Nothing happened.
John’s hands scrabbled across the tiny control panel, flicking whatever switches they touched. Still nothing.
Grasping the suction lever again, he pulled it. This time, a steady whirring sound began behind him. John wriggled, trying to create enough room to see over his shoulder. The six clear canisters were filling up quickly. Within each was a pale blue mist, tiny microbes sparking like miniscule suns. The mist became more and more dense until a buzz sounded, and a green light switched to red on the panel in front of him.
Full. Get me out of here.
“Flightsuit failure in fourteen minutes.”
With a shock, John realized he was panting. The pod was like an oven, and his skin was slick with sweat. Pushing the lever back to its original position, he sealed the canisters. With a last glance over his shoulder at the twinkling tubes of gas, he muttered, “You’d better work,” and curled his fingers around the throttle. A second later, the nebula-diver swept round, and began heading back the way it had come.
As the tiny diver made its way away from the core, John could feel the temperature rising sharply.
“Flightsuit failure in eight minutes.”
“Come on!” John gasped. Beads of sweat trickled into his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about them. Blinking, he silently urged the pod onward, keeping the throttle open to maximum, and glanced at the small navigation panel. He was less than a third of the way back to the rendezvous point. Breathing in the hot air, he twisted the steering control as a gust of gas hurled the pod sideways.