by Zac Harrison
With a massive surge of energy, he threw himself at the droid again. It dodged to avoid the blow, but misjudged John’s target. This time John wasn’t aiming for the droid itself, but for the globe in its hand.
Striking like a football player, John caught the Earth globe on his foot, launching it straight up into the air. The droid spun round angrily, unsure how to respond to this new attack. John ignored it. He was already running backward as he landed, his eyes following the globe as it flew upward, up towards the top of the shelves. Then it stopped and began to drop.
On thrashing wings, Kaal rocketed into the air.
“YES. GO ON, KAAL!”
Green hands reached out and held the globe. And like a goalkeeper, Kaal hugged it to his chest, hanging in the air on flapping wings.
John ran back towards the flames, back towards Emmie. “TO ME!” he bellowed over his shoulder.
Kaal darted forward, soaring over John’s head and dropping the globe into his friend’s outstretched hands.
“Too small,” John muttered to himself as his hand moved across the surface. Instantly, the globe grew to the size of a large beach ball. “Still not enough.” He passed his hand over it again, lifting the swirling globe above his head to balance it. Now continents could be seen clearly, rippled with mountain ranges. Clouds swirled beneath his hands. He made it larger still.
“HURRY, JOHN!” In the centre of the blazing inferno, Emmie screamed.
“I’m coming, Emmie!” he shouted back. Keeping the enormous ball balanced on one hand, he looked up. Beneath his fingers was the map of Britain. Quickly, John tapped on the Pacific Ocean, focusing in on it until the ocean’s grey waters filled the globe. Taking two steps, he flung the huge sphere with all his strength. The massive ball spun in the air for a moment.
“I hope you’re right about this, Emmie!” John shouted, as he watched it fall.
With a crash that shook the ground, the Earth shattered at the centre of the flames. Water flooded from its broken shell in a tsunami-like crash. The Thames emptied in a rushing wave that smashed along the shelves, drowning the fire and smashing the few globes that remained. John braced himself as the wave swept towards him.
The torrent of water swept him off his feet, pulling him underwater. Another shelf stopped him – painfully. Clambering to his feet, John strained forward to remain upright, as the water dropped to chest height, then waist height. Great clouds of steam hissed upward, creating a thick, hot mist. The damage was terrible. As the water settled into an knee-deep pool and the mist cleared, John saw ruined empty shelves, blackened by fire and now dripping wet.
“EMMIE!” he spluttered, coughing water as his senses returned in a rush. Splashing forward, he found her huddled at the centre of the wreckage. With one hand, she still held grimly onto the unconscious warlord’s arm. Her wet uniform clung to her; her hair hung in soaked strands over her face.
“Emmie. Are you OK?” John panted, grabbing her shoulder.
Emmie lifted her head. With her free hand, she brushed hair out of her eyes. “Like I said, you’re lucky to live on a planet with so much water,” she said, grinning.
“That was a brilliant idea!” John shouted. You are brilliant, Emmie. Brilliant!”
“You weren’t bad, either,” she told him. “A bit slow on the uptake, but not bad.”
Around them the water was rapidly disappearing. Like the other smashed globes, the contents of the Earth had become a thick multi-coloured liquid before evaporating into nothing.
Beneath Emmie’s knees, Ogun stirred. “What?” he croaked in a dazed voice. “What’s happening?”
“You’re finished is what’s happening,” John replied, furiously. “Thanks to Emmie, the fire’s out. You’ll be staying right here while we wait for the Galactic Council fleet to arrive. I’m guessing there’s a prison cell somewhere with your name on the door.”
“Never. The Galactic fleet will never take me alive.” The warlord began struggling. John dropped, quickly twisting Ogun’s other arm up his back.
“Curse you!” shrieked the warlord. “I am Ogun, emperor of six worlds. I will never be defeated.” He snorted, trying to breathe fire. A few pathetic puffs of steam trailed from his damp nostrils.
John and Emmie looked at each other.
“I don’t know about you, Emmie,” John said, “But I can’t believe I ever thought this guy was terrifying.” He added, “Plus, I’ve got a feeling he might be wrong about the whole never-be-defeated thing.”
Emmie nodded. “Yeah, from where I’m sitting – which is on his back holding him in an armlock – he looks totally defeated.”
A few metres away a droid crashed to the ground, sparks hissing from its ripped armour. “Sorry about that,” Gobi said. He nodded at the two of them sitting on Ogun’s back. “That looks like fun. Can I have a turn?”
John looked up at the craggy boy, eyes wide. In the excitement of drowning the flames, he had forgotten the rest of the class was still fighting the remaining droids. Relief flooded through him as he saw what was happening further along the row of wrecked shelves. Behind Gobi, Lishtig held a soldier droid in a tight grip from behind, while Mordant ripped out its wires with strong tentacles. Not far from them, Kaal’s heavy muscles bulged as he ripped a soldier droid’s head from its body.
“That was the last one,” Kaal said with satisfaction in his voice, as the metal remains clanked to the ground. “Good work, everyone. That’s game and match to Hyperspace Hi—”
The sentence went unfinished. Once more, the sound of a wailing alarm filled the air.
Chapter 14
The students looked at each other in horror.
“Oh no. What now?” John groaned.The alarm cut off abruptly. Clustering around John and Emmie, as they pinned the helpless warlord, the students looked around nervously.
“Can, I just say,” said Lishtig quietly, “if another warlord’s landed, this time I’m voting with Mordant.”
“Shut up, Lishtig. I can hear something,” hissed Emmie. “Something’s coming. It sounds like clapping—”
She closed her mouth, as Aristil appeared around the end of the row of shelves. Free of her bonds, the scholar was clapping her six hands together. Hyperspace High’s old headmistress no longer looked hunched and bent. She walked tall: ancient, but still full of life and energy. Behind her was the rest of the scholars. They were all applauding. A few at the back began cheering.
John looked around and saw in the faces of his classmates the same confusion he was feeling. Kaal shrugged. “I guess we did save them from the clutches of an evil warlord,” he said. “That’s probably worth a round of applause.”
Beneath John, Ogun shifted position. “Umm... guys,” he said. “This armlock really hurts, could you – you know – let go now?”
“We’ll let you go when the Galactic fleet gets here,” Emmie snapped back. “Do you think we’re stupid?”
“It’s quite all right,” Aristil said. “Emmie, John: please release your prisoner.”
“No. Ogun’s dangerous.”
“Please, Emmie,” said Aristil. “We are completely safe. I promise you.”
Slowly, John and Emmie let go of the warlord’s arms. Standing, they stepped back as Ogun rose to his feet, rubbing his shoulders. He winked at Emmie. “That’s quite some grip you have,” he said, chuckling.
Confused, John turned to face Aristil and the still-clapping scholars. “What... what’s happening here?” he asked.
Socrat moved forward to stand beside Aristil. “A test,” he said. “The invasion of Kerallin was a test we created to see how each of you would react in a situation that demanded courage, physical fitness, leadership, teamwork, and applying your knowledge in extreme circumstances.” Reaching out, he took Ogun’s hand and shook it warmly. “Thank you so much for coming, Ray-ool. It has been a pleasure to see you again after all t
hese years. Your acting skills are a marvel to watch. Amazing. We will have to make use of you again next time if you can find the time.”
Emmie looked up at Ogun, bewildered. “You’re not a warlord?” she asked.
“Ray-ool Kalaam, at your service,” replied “Ogun”, bowing with another chuckle. “I’m an actor: star of Oravia’s favourite soap opera, Nebula Zone Twelve. It’s been a pleasure working with you all.” Stepping forward, he clapped enormous talons onto John and Emmie’s shoulders. “No hard feelings, I hope.”
John fought a sudden urge to break out of the actor’s grip and run. Looking up at into the scaled, dragon-like face with its twisted horns and great golden crest, it was difficult to believe he wasn’t a fearsome intergalactic warlord. “So, none of it was true?” he gasped.
Ray-ool Kalaam grinned down at him, wisps of smoke curling from his nostrils. “Well, I’m not a warlord, but I did go to Hyperspace High,” he answered. “I remember my own test very well. The scholars ‘accidentally’ turned a twenty-metre Danarian Murderbeast loose and we had to recapture it. Of course, it was one of Silva’s clever robots, programmed not to actually harm anyone, but we didn’t know that. If you thought Ogun was bad, you should try staring down the throat of a howling Murderbeast!”
John looked from the actor, to the scholars, and back again. His jaw moved up and down, but no words came out.
“But we were in real danger,” Kaal said, sounding angry. “The droids had guns. Some of us were hurt. Queelin’s arm was broken. We could have been killed in the fire!”
“Your classmates have been watching your progress on holo-screen in the canteen,” said Aristil softly. “Queelin Temerate was completely healed two minutes after you all left for the library. The lasers were weak, just red light really, though no one was going to notice that in the heat of battle. Meanwhile, we were monitoring the situation closely at all times. If any of you had been in serious danger, the test would have been stopped immediately.”
“But... but...” stammered Kaal.
“Did you really expect only to answer a few questions and give a presentation?” asked Aristil. “Hyperspace High is the greatest school in the universe. We demand more from you than the ability to repeat what you have learnt in your lessons.”
“Thousands of years ago, the scholars found that the only accurate way to assess students was to put them in a situation where they did not know they were being tested. For that reason, and to protect the Scholars’ privacy, we ask that you never speak of what happened here.”
“Did we pass?” Emmie asked abruptly. “After putting us through all that, you could at least tell us whether we’ve passed or not.”
Aristil’s wrinkled face lit up with a grin. Her eyes glittered. “The results of your test will be given to the headmaster,” she said. As the students started to protest, she held up a hand. Her grin widened. “But I think we might be able to give you a clue.”
As she finished, the old scholars burst into applause once more. A few cheers turned into a gale. John felt sharp talons digging into his shoulder. He and Emmie looked up at the actor. “Well done,” said Ray-ool Kalaam. “I think you passed.”
As the cheering subsided, Aristil smiled at Emmie again. “This doesn’t mean you can neglect your Hyperspace History studies, though,” she said.
Emmie returned her grin. “Fighting Ogun, nearly being burnt alive, and then drowned was much easier than your questions,” she said. “I’m going to have nightmares about standing on that stage in front of the scholars of Kerallin for a very long time.”
“Oh, we’re not that bad once you get to know us,” laughed Aristil. “Come on, let’s find you some clean clothes and get some food inside you.” Taking Emmie’s arm, she led her towards the library exit, chatting as if she and Emmie were old friends. John could hear his friend giggling as they walked out into the sunshine.
John looked down to see Thushlar standing beside him. “Professor Dibali, your mathematics teacher, is an old pupil of mine,” the scholar said. “Now and then he writes to me. His last two letters have been full of praise for the talents of a certain young Earthling he teaches. I wondered if we might talk?”
John blushed. “Umm... ” he stuttered. “Thank you, sir,but I wouldn’t want to bother you.”
“Tsh,” the old scholar wheezed. “We old people love to poke our noses in where they don’t belong. And when your nose is as big as mine, it gets a lot of practice.”
Laughing, John walked into the bright sunlight with the hunched old scholar cracking jokes alongside him. Glancing behind, he saw that Kaal was already deep in conversation with Deem, Lishtig with a scholar whose skin was made up of multi-coloured patches, and Mordant with Ulara Forshart. As he watched, all the students were swamped by friendly scholars asking eager questions.
Socrat clapped his hands together. “Please!” he shouted in his creaking voice. “The students will be hungry and thirsty. We should continue chatting in the canteen.”
Twenty minutes later, John was sitting in a MorphSeat at a long wooden table inside one of the towers. The stone walls were pierced with holes allowing rays of sunlight to flood into the room, lighting vases of flowers from Kerallin’s gardens.
With a promise that he would be taking an interest in John’s future, Thushlar had reluctantly let go of his arm long enough for John to take a Sonic Shower and change into a fresh uniform. A Meteor Medic had taken care of his cut, dabbing a colourless paste into it with its slender robotic fingers. John ran a hand over his cheek. The skin was smooth, and looked as though it had never been touched.
Scholars walked around the table, putting glasses of goldberry juice and bowls of grey mush in front of each student. Taking a sip of the juice, John looked at the contents of the bowl and wrinkled his nose. After everything that had happened, he had been hoping for something more appetizing, preferably his mum’s macaroni cheese.
“Hey, John,” Lishtig laughed across the table. “You should have seen your face when Socrat told us the whole attack had been a test. You looked like you’d been hit by a meteorite.”
“He wasn’t the only one,” said Emmie from the seat next to John’s. “I never thought for a second that dusty old scholars could be so... so... devious and sneaky.” Looking up, she caught Aristil’s eye. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“That’s all right, dear,” Aristil said with a grin. “I don’t mind being devious and sneaky, but a little less of the ‘old’ and ‘dusty’, if you don’t mind.”
“It all seemed so real,” said Kaal. “I’d never have guessed that Ogun wasn’t really a warlord.”
“Well, I am a great actor,” said Ray-ool Kalaam at the end of the table. “You should read the reviews of the last 4-D film I was in.” He pulled out a ThinScreen and started scrolling down pages. “In fact, I think I have them here.”
Seeing the looks he was getting, the actor put his ThinScreen away. “Only joking,” he grinned. Dipping a spoon into his bowl of grey mush and turning to Aristil, he continued, “The food is even better than last time I was here, Aristil. Perfectly cooked Hortfish supreme with Vacheese.”
“What’s he talking about?” John whispered to Kaal.
“The food. Haven’t you tried it yet?”
“No, it’s just grey mush. Looks awful.”
“Well, looks can be deceiving,” Kaal answered. He nodded towards Ray-ool. “Like him. I’m still not completely certain he isn’t an evil galactic warlord.”
John dipped a spoon in the bowl and forced himself to try a mouthful of the mush. As soon as his lips closed around it, he sat up straighter, eyes wide with shock. Swallowing, he yelped, “My mum’s macaroni cheese! It’s my mum’s macaroni cheese. But how?”
Passing behind John’s chair, Socrat passed to pat him on the shoulder. “Remember. The scholars do not choose to pass on all their knowledge,” he said, three of his
eyes winking.
“Pay no attention to Socrat,” said Aristil. “We call it comfort food. It’s a simple invention that tells your brain that whatever food you are craving most is in your mouth. The only reason we haven’t shared it with the universe is that we don’t want everyone supposing that we think about our bellies all day. The Scholars of Kerallin are supposed to think about serious things.”
“Well, this is seriously good,” John replied heaping his spoon with comfort food.
“So, what did you think of our test?” Socrat asked the table.
“Scary,” said Werril. “I haven’t been so terrified since we crash-landed on Zirion Beta. Or that time we got caught up in the Subo-Goran battle on Archivus Major.”
“It was painful,” said Queelin, flexing her arm.
“Thinking about it, those soldier droids were pretty easy, though,” said Gobi-san-Art. “I could have taken them all out on my own.”
“Thanks for leaving us some, Gobi,” said Lishtig. “Droid fighting was the best bit.”
“I told you, Silva. Didn’t I tell you?” wheezed Thushlar. “I could have made better droids in my lunch hour. You always make them too easy.”
Silva looked up from a conversation he was having with Raytanna. Sunlight glittered on his metal mask. “Every year we have this argument, Thushlar,” he said. “The droids were based on the standard WarDrone model, and I’m sure Queelin didn’t think they were easy to beat. If we let you make them, the students would never have a chance.”
Soon, the whole table was laughing and arguing about whether the soldier droids had fought well.
“MY DROIDS FAILED ME,” boomed Ray-ool, sounding like Ogun. “With better servants, I could have CONQUERED THE GALAXY.”
“Well, I’m with Werril,” said John eventually. “When I first saw Ogun, I thought my knees were going to give way. I was terrified the whole time.”
“Me, too,” said Emmie. “Especially when he threw Aristil against the hoverbus. Didn’t that hurt?”