Space Hostages (5 page)

“Come and look around,” said Carl. “The views are amazing.”

“The
labs
are amazing,” Josephine added.

“There are many empty rooms,” said Th
saaa
, in faintly uneasy colors.

“Well, it'll be mostly used as a cruise ship now that Morrorworld's finished,” said Carl.

“I guess,” said Josephine dubiously. “But I wonder how many people are going to be able to afford this kind of thing.”

The
Helen of Troy
was much more luxurious than anything I'd experienced in space before. When Josephine showed me into my cabin on the
Helen
, it was bigger than my room at home, smelled of jasmine, and had its own bathroom with a spa bath and a shower with power, steam, and sonic settings.

Out in the main passenger lounge, there were pleasantly squishy seats around gently glowing tables set into oval wells in the softly carpeted floor. There was a low stage opposite the bar, which made me worry about whether this trip was likely to include much singing. And there was a pool table. The pool balls also glowed, which probably doesn't help with pool particularly but did look pretty. Enormous windows took up most of the walls, wrapping us in sunlight and stars.

Carl plunged into the nearest well of seating and started whacking the little icons on the tabletop to
see what would happen. A menu on a virtual screen appeared in midair, and he began ordering burgers and banana hotcakes. Meanwhile, the glowing tables pulsed in different colors in a vaguely
Paralashath-
like way. I don't know if this was intended to please Morror passengers, but if so it kind of backfired. Th
saaa
went nauseated colors at the sight of them and muttered, “I cannot eat off furniture that appears to be
humiliated
.”

Josephine slid into the seat beside Carl and did something to the table that made it stop glowing.

“So, I guess . . . from what you said to Christa, you read the . . . book . . . thing, then,” I said to her, feeling suddenly shy and weird about it again. “I wasn't sure if you had.”

“Yes.” She drummed her fingers on the table, considering carefully. “Writing a book at all is an achievement, especially at your age,” she said, as if she wasn't thirteen herself, too.

“Er . . . thanks,” I said.

“But it is quite overdramatic,” added Josephine.

“We nearly got blown up and drowned and suffocated and eaten!” I said, indignant. “On
Mars
! How am I supposed to make that . . .
under
dramatic?”

“I think you should have focused on the facts,” said Josephine.

“I did! You just said it was all true!”

“The facts of historical and scientific importance. Not the, you know . . .” She waved a disgusted hand.
“Feelings.”

“Well, you write it your own way next time,” I snapped.

“I'm too busy,” said Josephine. This did not make me less irritated, but the strained look on her face reminded me she
had
been working stupidly hard lately.

“There's not going to be a next time,” said Noel peaceably. “This is different. We're on holiday. It's not going to
be
historically or scientifically important.”

“It
is
going to be scientifically important,” said Josephine. “I have work to do.”

“Hey, Alice!” rang out the cheerfullest, perkiest, most relentless voice in the world.

The Goldfish sailed into the room, shiny and orange and beaming.

The teacher robot had gotten pretty battered while on Mars, and a year in Carl and Noel's company hadn't helped. Its left eye was still a little wonky and there was a crude seam down one plastic flank where someone had tried to mend a crack with some kind of filler. But it was, as it always had been, an undaunted, floating, blue-eyed American robot fish,
on a mission to educate youth.

“Boy, it's good to see you,” it said. “Isn't this exciting? Isn't the elevator nifty? Can you remember how many miles long the tether is? Can you tell me what
geostationary orbit
means?”

“Oh, god,” Carl moaned. “Why did we have to bring it again?”

“It was invited,” Noel said reproachfully.

“It's like an honorary Plucky Kid of Mars,” I said, patting it. “It
did
help, Carl.”

“It
shot
me,” Th
saaa
objected.

“Well, yes, there is also that,” I admitted.

“Remember we're on holiday, Goldfish. No lessons,” Noel cautioned.

“Okay, gang!” agreed the Goldfish. “For now,” it added darkly. “Buuuuut . . . Th
saaa
's not on holiday! Are you, Th
saaa
?”

“Aren't you?” I asked.

“Morror children based on Earth are following the curriculum set by the Council of Lonthaa-Ra-Mo
raaa
,” the Goldfish said. “And it's still term time!”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Isn't the internet a great source of information for
all
of us?” the Goldfish enthused. “Hey, gang! What's your favorite thing you learned on the internet?”

“I don't think you want me to answer that,” Carl said.

“Say, Th
saaa
! How's your history going? Do you think the causes of the Vela
raaa
-ley-Hath-hala
waaa
War were primarily social or economic?”

“I have my own teachers, who have excuuuuused me from lessons,” said Th
saaa
stiffly. “This is an educational trip in itself.”

“Sure, sure,” said the Goldfish innocently before dashing at Th
saaa
so eagerly, it almost hit them in the face. “And I just
bet
you have to write a nice, long essay about it.”

“You once tried to murder me,” Th
saaa
protested.

“Aww,” said the Goldfish. “Don't be sore, Th
saaa
.”

“I am going to my cooling chamber,” said Th
saaa,
and swished away in an angry rustle of skirts.

“I think maybe you should actually apologize,” Noel told the Goldfish.

“You can help
me
if you want, Goldfish,” Josephine said abruptly, climbing out of the seating well.

“Ah, no,” moaned Carl. “Jo, this trip is supposed to be fun.”

“Learning
is
fun!” the Goldfish practically shrieked. “Sure, Josephine! What can I help you with?”

“I'm retaking my World Baccalaureate,” said Josephine. “Focusing on biochemistry and astrophysics, with a mini thesis in astroarchaeology.”

“
Re
taking it?” I said.

The Goldfish kept smiling because it could never stop smiling. But the light inside it dimmed and it sank a few inches in the air. “Ohh,” it said. “Well, that's . . . a little out of my league, Josephine. I'm only programmed with grades five to nine, so . . . World Baccalaureate? Boy, you sure are ahead of the game! Gosh. That's really super.”

Josephine frowned thoughtfully at the Goldfish. “Did you ever upgrade it at
all
?” she asked Carl accusatorily.

“Hey, that fish spends its whole life torturing me, I'm supposed to help it?” Carl asked.

Before anyone could answer, the ship played an angelic fanfare and the halo logos on the walls shone brighter. “Your attention. The Captain will be joining you on deck,” said the walls, in feminine and vaguely awestruck tones.

EDF training does funny things to you: even though we were definitely off duty, we all scrambled out of the seats and ended up in a stiff military row for inspection, except for Th
saaa
, obviously, who remained cross colors and stood a resentful distance
away from the Goldfish.

A man strode into the room. He was tall and fair, with a neat little blond beard and a grin slightly too full of square white teeth. He wore a narrow-fitting dove-gray suit even more extravagantly expensive than that of the gold-and-white American lady on the plane.

“Please, that's not necessary,” he said, seeing our military posture. “Alice, Carl, Josephine, Noel, I'm Rasmus Trommler. As your Captain, it'll be my honor to take you to the stars.”

“Oh,” I said. I hadn't expected to encounter so many Trommlers in one day, or for any of them to be assuming such important roles. One of them had already talked about suing me.

“You're a pilot?” asked Carl, skeptical.

“I have my wings, I assure you,” Rasmus Trommler said, baring his white teeth again. “Even I had to go through EDF training in the war. And I should know well enough how to fly the
Helen
. I built her.”

“Must be cool to fly your own ship,” Carl said wistfully.

“Tell you what,” said Mr. Trommler. “You've only flown little gnats like Flarehawks and Flying Foxes before, right? When we get clear of the Oort cloud, maybe you can pilot
Helen
for a while.”

The skepticism fled Carl's eyes, and something like worship sprang up in its place.

“Any little thing like that you want, you just ask,” said Mr. Trommler, beaming. “We all know you earned it.”

“Could you tell me about how you developed Häxeri?” asked Josephine.

“You're living in an amazing time, children. A new world awaits us,” said Trommler, who didn't seem to have heard her.

“It's the Morrors' new world, though,” Noel pointed out.

“Yes, of course,” said Trommler, and then carried on. “You're witnessing the birth of a new era. We're breaking free of the solar system. With our new hyperspace technology . . .”

“Well, it's really the Morrors' hyperspace technology,” I said
.
This time Rasmus Trommler did not bother to stop.

“. . . .
Despite
how shortsighted the Coalition have been with their funding,
despite
the EDF's failure of vision, the universe is open to humanity as never before. Ever since the Morrors invaded Earth, we've known that deep-space–faring races exist. We cannot afford to sit and wait again for them to come to us; we must assert our right to walk the skies in
freedom. The stars belong to us, children. We're not leaving home today; we're
going
home. We are stepping out into our inheritance.”

By the end of this we were all pretty swept up in the idea of walking the skies in freedom, and we clapped. While we were still applauding, Dr. Muldoon sauntered in, long red hair blazing on her white lab coat, and perched on the edge of the pool table.

“Valerie!” said Rasmus Trommler. “I had hoped you'd be here for my little speech.”

“The one about breaking free of the solar system? I've heard it a couple of times,” said Dr. Muldoon. “Hi, Alice. Nice book. So. I have a pointy nose, have I?”

I writhed, not only because I hadn't meant to upset Dr. Muldoon, but because I'd been hoping no one would remind Rasmus Trommler that I'd written a book at all. I stammered, “I didn't mean it in a
bad
way. . . .”

Dr. Muldoon grinned. “Ah, stop squirming. If I didn't like it pointy, I'd have grown myself a new one years ago.”

“Indeed so,” said Mr. Trommler, turning to beam at her. “I love to name my ships after beautiful women. How do you think the
Valerie
sounds?”

Dr. Muldoon stared at him. “Inappropriate,” she said.

“Ha ha,” said Mr. Trommler, undismayed. “Well, my Helen loves me, at least, don't you, Helen?”

“Yes, I love you so, Captain,” sighed the voice from the walls.

“Wait, is the ship
conscious and in love with you
?” Josephine asked, horrified.

Trommler paid no attention to this. “Helen, beautiful? It's time. Let's go to the stars.”

Dr. Muldoon discreetly rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Captain. Course set,” agreed the ship happily.

And then the blue haze of Earth faded behind us, and the stars blazed ahead like a snowstorm. Then they began to change color, from red to orange to yellow to green and then they slipped through violet and vanished into blackness.

The
Helen of Troy
quivered and strained against something, an invisible membrane. And suddenly we burst through and were spat into hyperspace.

Wispy specks of pale light filtered out of the dark, gathering into smoky threads spooling past the ship, glowing brighter and brighter until the windows filled with so much light it was dazzling.

“What you're seeing is not starlight,” said Dr.
Muldoon. “That's the background cosmic radiation of the universe. It's always passing through you, but only in hyperspace can you see it. You're looking at the aftermath of the Big Bang.”

“Wow,” breathed Carl. His hands curled in front of him as if resting on invisible ship controls. I hoped Trommler had been serious about letting him fly the
Helen
.

“If we were to come back into normal space now, we'd already be more than a million miles away from Earth,” Rasmus Trommler said.

“Oh, thank god,” I said. Even traveling at unnaturally high speeds, that was surely much too far for anyone to send me back.

“What?” asked Josephine.

“I'll tell you in a minute,” I hissed.

“These are the thoroughfares of humanity's future,” said Rasmus Trommler grandly, standing framed in the glow of the universe, his jaw uplifted. There was a brief pause, and then we began politely applauding again. Mr. Trommler smiled and walked away.

“Get used to it,” said Dr. Muldoon when he was gone. “It's a two-week trip.”

“He
did
invent Häxeri,” said Josephine loyally.

“That's true,” said Dr. Muldoon. “I'd never have
thought he had it in him.”

“But he's invented lots of things before,” said Noel.

Dr. Muldoon shook her head. “Practically every other Archangel product was invented by someone else. He just put them in pretty packages and raked in the cash. Häxeri really is his baby, though. Well, I should go too; I've got some tests running in the lab.”