The Split

by Hannah Hopkins

  "I don’t know," Will shrugged."Try speaking to it?"

  "EXCUSE ME!" he yelled at the robot. "SHE’S A VEGETARIAN!"

  Emily burst into a fit of laughter.

  “You don’t have to shout at it Will, it can understand you,” she said with amusement.

  "Is there a problem, Miss?" one of the robots asked her, regarding her with empty, grey eyes.

  “I’d like the vegetarian meal please," Emily replied.

  The robot removed the plate of shepherd’s pie, putting it back in the shutter. There was a click, and the robot swiftly produced a plate of cheese pasta.

  "Thank you," Emily said graciously.

  “You are welcome, Miss. Please, enjoy your meal,” the robot replied.

  "You won't have to ask them to change it every time, will you?" Will asked her, glancing with concern at the build-up in the queue they had caused with their interruption to the serving.

  "No,” she answered confidently. “They would have scanned my image and committed it to memory. They’ll recognise me now and will remember.”

  Will blinked.

  "How do you know that?" he asked her in awe.

  “It’s very basic technology,” she assured him, though Will was not convinced.

  Together, they carried their meals towards one of the drinks machines at the end of the service station.

  "Right then technical whizz," Will teased Emily,"how does this one work?"

  She regarded the machine for a minute, rubbing her fingers under her chin as she considered its appearance.

  “It’s just a touch screen,” she shrugged, tapping on it and producing two ice-cold glasses of apple juice. They placed the drinks on their lunch trays and made their way over to the nearest free table, sitting down and tucking into their food ravenously. A few minutes into their meals, a pair of older students approached them, carrying a box full of peculiar looking devices that Will had never seen before.

  “Welcome fellow students!” exclaimed the boy on the right, waving his hands in the air in an exaggerated fashion. Emily jumped, spilling some of her juice into her lap.

  “My name is Ant,” he announced, “and this is Sam.”

  He gestured to the boy next to him who was carrying the heavy box, balancing it on his knee and struggling not to show the strain of carrying its weight.

  “We are two of your school Prefects and we are here to deliver you your SPs,” Ant continued, pausing to await their reaction. They stared back at him blankly.

  “It stands for Student Planners,” Sam explained, heaving the box onto the table and puffing through red cheeks. “They were going to name it the “Space Academy Device” but abbreviating the name to “SAD” created far too many jokes about the students in the Technology Club who created it.”

  Sam and Ant exchanged a brief smirk, causing Will to strongly suspect that they were responsible for the origin of said jokes.

  “Here you are,” said Ant, pressing a device firmly into Will’s hands while Sam passed one to Emily. Will looked at the oblong object with curiosity. It was a similar size to his Personal Device but felt much heavier to hold, its thick, silver casing making it look far older than the technology he was used to on the Mayfly. At the centre of its face sat a rectangular black screen that was currently blank and empty. Will turned it over in his hands, in search of an ‘on’ button.

  “To turn it on just press your finger into the middle of the screen,” Ant instructed him, noticing his confusion. He did as he was he told and the screen blinked and flickered into life, an hour glass icon appearing as it attempted to load its functions.

  “This reminds me of the computers I’ve seen in the Museum on the Mayfly,” Emily laughed.

  “Oh, give it a chance!” Ant replied with mock indignation. “The Tech Club spent almost an entire school year working on them, you know.”

  “As if they’d let anyone forget,” Sam rolled his eyes.

  A moment later, a holographic projection sprung out of the screen, suspending the image of a piece of paper in front of them, the image so realistic that Will was sure he could reach out and touch it.

  “Wow,” Emily said, poking her fingers through the hologram.

  “Not bad, is it?” said Ant.

  “I didn’t expect that,” Emily admitted.

  “The image you’re seeing in front of you is your timetable. It’ll give you all the information you need about your lessons as well as tell you which class you’re in. Anything you need to know about the school will be on this device. Keep it with you at all times,” Sam instructed them.

  “Anyway, we better be going, we’ve got to hand these out to all the newbies,” said Ant. “Good luck with your first week.”

  With that the pair of them headed off, leaving Emily and Will to inspect their timetables in peace. Will read the top of the piece of the paper carefully.

  “It says I’m in a class called ‘Alderin,’” he told Emily, stumbling over the pronunciation of the word.

  “I’m in that class too!” Emily replied. The two of them beamed at each other for a moment, unable to supress their happiness, then looked away quickly.

  Will scanned down the page to follow the timetable. He located Monday and let out a loud groan as he read the name of the day’s first lesson.

  “We have Arithmancy first thing on a Monday,” he informed Emily begrudgingly. “I didn’t think we’d have to study Maths here! I hated it when I was tutored.”

  “I quite like Maths,” Emily admitted. “We probably have to study it because its the same no matter what planet you’re on. It’s like the Universal language.”

  “Well, you can help me with the homework then,” Will replied with deflation, miffed that such a mundane subject had made it into the Space Academy’s famed curriculum.

  He continued reading his timetable in hopes of finding more exciting subjects to learn. After Arithmancy was break, followed by Civilisations followed by Technology and then lunch. Will’s heart leapt when he read the section for Monday afternoon, which was filled up by double Rocket Control lessons. He could hardly believe his luck that his first day at the Academy would involve rockets and he began wolfing the remainder of his food down at record pace. He was just in the middle of wondering whether they’d be allowed to fly in their first lesson, when a shrill voice interrupted his pleasant thoughts.

  “Alderin,” the voice squawked across the hall. “Alderin first-years here please.”

  By now, the second and third years had begun to filter their way into the Dining Hall, making it hard to locate the whereabouts of the speaker. Thankfully, Emily noticed the familiar faces of some of their peers that were weaving their way through the crowds of older students. The pair of them followed onto the trail and found the small gathering of their new classmates congregating nervously around a female Prefect.

  She was a stern looking girl, her tight bob groomed to absolute perfection without a single hair daring to fall even slightly out of place. Her strong jaw was set into a firm and unwavering stance of severity and her face projected an expression of deep contempt upon seeing the first-years gathered around her. Will noticed that she was wearing a light blue fitted jacket with a golden “P” embroidered on the left breast. He supposed that the “P” stood for “Prefect” but a quick scan around the hall confirmed that she was the only one wearing it. He wondered in a moment of genuine depression if she had gone to the trouble of fashioning it for herself just so she could appear more important. He watched her adjust the jacket sleeves so that they were at the exact same length on either arm and felt as though his question had been answered.

  “My name is May Parsons and I am the Head Prefect here at the Space Academy,” the girl announced.

  “No-such-thing,” coughed Ant as he walked past her to exit the Dining Hall. There was a murmur of giggles amongst the group which were soon silenced by May’s cold stare.

  “I am here to escort you to your first lesson since it appears that none of you can
be trusted to find your way around without making pests of yourselves,” she sneered. Will felt a shudder of dislike pulsate around the entire class.

  “Follow me,” she demanded, swivelling on her heel and sticking her nose into the air as she sauntered towards the exit. Will and Emily raised an eyebrow at one and other and then proceeded to follow the throng of students that would become their class for the rest of the year. As he scanned the faces around him, Will was ashamed to feel a surge of relief that Spencer and the other boys from his old tutor group were not present. Though they had never wronged him in any way, he looked forward to being able to have his own ideas and interests without their snide comments and scathing opinions to put him down. He did, however, notice Lois amongst the group, looking remarkably out of place without her Floor One counterparts.

  They walked across the Reception Hall, careful not to obstruct the smattering of older students that were beginning to mingle around the school, some of them heading to the Dining Hall and others making their way jovially to their first lessons, heading towards shortcuts they had memorised long ago. Will caught snippets of their conversations as they lined up to use one of the lifts, casually eavesdropping with the aim to find out more about the Academy.

  “I heard Mr. Krecher nearly got sacked last year for letting a Runhorn loose in his class! My brother was there and he said half the students nearly got impaled,” he heard one boy ecstatically tell his friend.

  “No way,” his friend replied, waving his hand dismissively. “Allance didn’t even sack Ms. Dido for leaving the Resources Biodome unlocked the night Riley Fitch got lost. He’d never get rid of Krecher.”

  “You reckon they’ll ever find Riley?” Will heard the boy ask before the pair moved out of earshot.

  When the lift arrived, Alderin class piled in, finding it to be deceptively spacious. They rode to the top floor where they disembarked, following May down a long corridor. TV screens mounted the steels walls on either side, displaying the school’s internal temperature, the current time and a countdown to when the first lessons were due to begin. At the end of the corridor was an interactive map of the grounds that was several metres long. It displayed every building in satellite view, featuring multicoloured dotted lines that demonstrated the quickest way to get from one to another. A group of students were stood in a cluster around the far end of the map, pressing on the image of what Will assumed was the Resources Biodome and enlarging it to reveal a series of notices relating to the subject.

  “Awesome!” a boy said upon reading the information. “Resources Club starts again on Friday.”

  He began typing with speed into his Student Planner, which informed him in an electronic voice that a reminder had been set. Will was eager to search for details on Rocket Racing try-outs but May had become impatient with the younger student’s fascination with the school map.

  “Yes, yes, it’s all very interesting,” she snapped. “But we can’t stand here all day. I have classes to get to as well you know.”

  May turned on her heels and the first-years followed her into the next corridor, which featured gigantic hangings of inspirational quotes printed onto great blue plaques. The words passed in a blur as Will walked beneath them, but he managed to discern one memorable phrase along the way.

  “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”.

  Eventually, they reached their destination, with May coming to such an abrupt halt that several of Will’s classmates bumped into each other with the shock.

  “For those of you who’s reading ability exceeds that of a five-year-old’s, you will see that we are at the Launch Bay,” May sniffed, gesturing impatiently to the tall lettering that labelled the door she was stood in front of. “This is where all your Rocket Control lessons will take place. Never enter the Launch Bay without proper authorisation and never attempt to fly any rocket outside of class without holding the proper licencing. Now, as terribly sad as it is, I must leave you and get to my own lesson. Mr. Zeppler will be out shortly to collect you.”

  She made to leave and then turned back, adding as an afterthought;

  “Try not to make too much of a nuisance of yourselves.”

  The moment that she was out of sight, the entire class erupted into a buzz of excited conversation, unable to contain themselves with the anticipation of their first official lesson at the Academy. Will, however, was too agitated to speak to anyone, ignoring even Emily who was forced to talk instead to a pair of giggling girls in light of his new-found mutism. He rubbed his fingers together repetitively as he twitched with impatience, watching the door so intently that his vision began to blur.

  Just when he was beginning to feel that he may burst if he had to wait for another moment, a clicking noise from beyond the door commanded silence over the babbling students and they turned in unison towards the source of the noise. The doors swung open, revealing a young-looking man with long auburn hair that swung down to his waist. He smiled coyly, his hands casually placed on his hips as he took in the awed face of the class that stood before him.

  “Well then,” he grinned. “Who’s ready to fly some rockets?”

  6.

  The Ragged Boy

  Finley was going to be late. He ran down the corridors, his breath coming out in wheezes as he willed his legs to carry him faster. He cursed himself for allowing this to happen. He had been desperate for his first day to go well- and that meant attracting as little attention as possible. So far, it hadn’t gone to plan. It seemed the more he tried to blend in, the more people seemed to notice him. At lunch, he had tried his hardest to ignore all the whispers that were buzzing around his ears like angry flies. He had been confused by the robots at the serving station and was rather alarmed when one of them started speaking to him in a loud, monotone voice. It had taken him every ounce of restraint he had to stop from jumping backwards in shock and embarrassing himself irreparably. Once he had taken his meal, he had found that he was unable to use the fancy drinks machine, which was much more up-to-date than anything he was used to at home. The idea of asking another student for help and revealing himself to be even more of an alien than they already thought him was unthinkable, and so he had loitered about as inconspicuously as possible until he had gathered how it worked.

  By the time he had sat down to eat, most of the other first-years had finished their meals and were beginning to head out of the Dining Hall. He shovelled his food into his mouth, burning his tongue as he tried desperately not to be left behind. He might have caught up in time, had he not been further delayed by a pair of Prefects, who came to his table to give him a device they called a “Student Planner”. They did their best to keep their attitude friendly and their tone light, but Finley could still feel their eyes burning with curiosity as they scrutinised him between sentences, wondering, just like everybody else, what the boy from Floor Seven was doing here.

  It took him several minutes to locate his timetable on the somewhat mesmerising Student Planner, which informed him that he was in ‘Alderin’ class. He looked up to discover that the Dining Hall had filled up with older students and was unable to see anybody he recognised from the Shuttle. Panic rose in his throat as he leapt to his feet, crashing into the table and searching the hall for a familiar face. Eventually he gave up, realising he had no choice but to ask the two Prefects for help.

  “Excuse me,” he called as he approached them. “My timetable says I have Rocket Control next, but I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

  “No problem mate,” replied the taller, dark-haired boy. “I can download you a map onto your Student Planner if you want?”

  He flashed his best helpful smile, but Finley couldn’t help but notice how taken aback he was at having heard him speak. He wouldn’t have been surprised if most of the students at the Academy had grown up thinking that people from the lower floors spoke a different language, or could only communicate through the medium of interpretive dance.

  “Don’t worry about downlo
ading anything,” Finley said urgently, desperate to get to his first class on time. “Could you just give me directions?”

  The Prefect looked at him strangely then shrugged.

  “Okay, are you sure you’ll remember?” he asked.

  Finley nodded. When he was a small boy, his father had been forced to take him to work while his mother was doing her shifts as a maid one Floor One. His dad worked as a maintenance man, and had taught Finley to memorise the directions back out of the service tunnels in case they ever got separated. The tunnels ran like a labyrinth beneath the main body of the Mayfly and without knowing how to get around, it would be possible to become lost for days - or even weeks. Finley felt confident that a few simple directions around the school would be much easier to follow.

  The Prefect gave him his instructions and he set off, repeating the Prefect’s words silently in his head. He rode the lift up to the correct floor and then departed at a brisk run, turning the heads of students and teachers alike as he passed. He had been here less than two hours and he had already failed at his goal of blending in. He could only hope his lateness wouldn’t be a mark against him academically - for he was certain his education was all he had now - his hopes of making any friends at the Academy firmly squashed.

  He must have been a faster runner than he realised, for he rounded the corner and reached the arched door labelled “Launch Bay” just as the last members of his class had disappeared inside it. Taking a few seconds to catch his breath, he smoothed his trousers down and tucked his shirt in to hide its fraying edges. Once he felt he had made his appearance as satisfactory as it could be, he mustered all of his courage, stood up as straight and tall as his body would allow, and walked into the class.

  For one brief and magical moment, Finley forgot himself completely as he took in the room around him with awe. He had entered into a giant hangar, filled from corner to corner with spacecrafts of every shape, size and design imaginable. The entire back wall was covered by a large window of re-enforced glass that perfectly showcased the millions of stars that surrounded them in deep Space.