Seventh Grade vs. the Galaxy Page 15

  “Pay attention,” the Elvidian orders, as he swipes a hand across the picture.

  It springs to life. The planets and moons begin revolving and ships start moving to and from their destinations. He grabs the outside of it again and tilts it seventy or eighty degrees, like he’s turning a globe. Next he squeezes his palms together, zooming in on a small speck toward the outer orbit of Ganymede.

  “That’s us,” I realize.

  “Yes,” he says, zooming out just a bit so we have a better view.

  He waves an arm at the hologram and sets the display on fast-forward. The 118 orbits a spinning Ganymede, day after day after day. Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset. A time-lapse video of space.

  “I told him,” the Elvidian explains, as the weeks march on inside the cloud, “that if he was discovered, consequences would ensue. But he wouldn’t listen. And I couldn’t explain fully, in case someone was listening in. There were only so many messages I could send undetected. Eventually, it became too dangerous and I had to cut off the connection.”

  “But what were you trying to warn him about?” Becka asks.

  “This,” he says. “The Quarantine.” Suddenly, another ship materializes next to the 118, blotting out the view of Ganymede behind it. It’s enormous, and its black hull shimmers like it’s made of a pool of translucent ink. The Elvidian waves his arm the other way and the scene slows again. It’s back to replaying the recording in real time.

  “That’s what attacked us?” I ask.

  He nods and continues: “I will make this as simple as I can: The Minister is the ruler of our system. But that is not all she controls. She is extremely powerful, and she has extremely powerful allies. Think of them as a committee.”

  As he’s speaking, the alien vessel passes directly in front of Jupiter. Against the background of that massive and colorful planet, we can make out the ship’s silhouette more clearly—like a giant sea urchin, with sharp black tentacles reaching out in every direction. A miniature, flying version of Elvid IV. Suddenly, the vessel glows brightly for a moment, flooding space with light that explodes outward like a shockwave in every direction. When the light hits the 118, it tumbles away from Ganymede, out of control.

  “The dark matter required to prime the Quarantine is too unstable to release in a single moment. When the Quarantine vessel arrives, it disperses an initial shockwave to commence the process and then—over a period of several minutes—floods the target area with energy sufficient for its purpose.”

  I only understand a little of that, but enough to know the only question that really matters: “And what is its purpose?”

  “Think of the Quarantine as a security system of sorts,” he answers, “designed and operated by a secret committee of system leaders. Its purpose is to make sure the galaxy remains a peaceful place.”

  Becka raises an eyebrow.

  “At least, that’s what the committee claims. The members pretend that it’s about keeping us safe—when in reality, it’s about keeping themselves in power. Preventing new races from joining the galactic community. Maintaining the status quo.”

  “Not sure I’m following,” Becka says.

  “The committee has spies everywhere, monitoring not just our League of Independent Systems but also the primitive races like yours. There has not been an awakening for many years. Not because there are no young species left. But because when the committee discovers that a primitive race is close to developing the technology needed to travel the stars, they use the Quarantine to prevent the awakening from taking place.”

  We hear a faint echo of a voice coming from inside the image: “QUARANTINE IN FIVE MINUTES.”

  “You know the rest,” the Elvidian says, as he fast-forwards the scene again. We watch as the 118 hurtles helplessly away from Ganymede and listen as the familiar robotic voice counts down.

  “But not really,” I point out. “We activated the light speed engine before the Quarantine actually kicked in. What would’ve happened if we’d stuck around?”

  Bale Kontra gestures at the hologram. “What you are looking at is the most powerful teleportation device ever created. It grabs hold of the supposed threat and sends it to a far-off star system that functions as the committee’s dumping ground.”

  “And where’s that?” asks Ari.

  He shakes his head. “I have no idea. The Quarantine is a closely guarded secret. It took me many years to even learn of its existence. Many details are still unknown to me.”

  I think about how my dad was down on Ganymede. If the Quarantine was going after the “threat,” it might have been targeting more than the 118 and its light speed engine. It could’ve also been targeting my dad—the guy who made the light speed engine. Which would mean . . .

  The countdown concludes: “THREE. TWO. ONE.” And we watch as the 118 vanishes into nothingness and darkness blots out the whole projection.

  “Can you rewind a few seconds?” I ask the Elvidian. “Rewind and zoom out, and slow it down a little?” My voice comes out kind of strangled. I’m hope my hunch is wrong, but—

  The image zooms out and the scene reverses, back to before we jumped away. He plays it again, more slowly. And I watch as, milliseconds after the 118 disappears, the darkness fills the space where it once was, plus all the space around it, blanketing Ganymede—its atmosphere, its surface, everything—with its energy.

  “Did the Quarantine target everyone on Ganymede?” I whisper. That sounds impossible—but that word just doesn’t mean as much as it used to.

  “I’m afraid,” says Bale Kontra, “you were the only ones to escape.”

  The light fades. And the image dissolves into dust that congeals back into the golden sphere, which falls back into the alien’s open palm.

  The three of us are staring at him in stunned silence. My dad, Ari’s and Becka’s parents, the population of our whole moon, has been kidnapped by aliens and sent to a mystery location that could be literally anywhere in the galaxy.

  “This is why I contacted you,” Bale Kontra tells me. “I saw that you were risking everything to get more fuel, to use your light speed engine again. To get back to your moon, presumably. But you will only be returning to an abandoned homeworld, where the Minister will easily find you again. You should instead find a remote place to stay hidden. Please.”

  “How do you know all this?” Becka demands. “And why do you care what happens to us?”

  “I oppose the agenda of that corrupt committee.” Which doesn’t really answer her questions. “I believe that the galaxy would be a better place with the new races in it, not worse. But I am no match for the Minister.”

  He’s about to say more, but he’s interrupted by a short, shrill siren coming out of his translator bracelet. “I have to leave,” he tells us.

  Ari grabs his arm. “But . . .” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the most important question of all the questions we still have. “. . . what do we do now?”

  Bale Kontra effortlessly pulls his arm out of Ari’s grip and picks up his gun. Then he touches his wrist cuff and vanishes into thin air, leaving behind only a single word.

  “Run.”

  24

  “Let’s get off this planet,” I say.

  “And then what?” Ari still looks frantic. “If we can’t go back to Ganymede . . .”

  My hands tighten around the lump of QHC I’m holding. “Earth,” I say. “We’ll go to Earth instead.”

  It’s our best bet at this point. Our only bet.

  “Get to the bridge,” I tell Ari and Becka. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Becka opens her mouth like she has something to add, but there’s no time to get sidetracked.

  “Go!” I yell at them. I dash off toward the engine room with the QHC clenched in my fist. Hopefully, by the time Ari gets us in orbit and far enough away from the surface, I’ve figured out where this thing goes.

  I wind my way back to the glass observation deck. There are a few auxiliary lights beaming
a low glow all around me, but with the engines off, the room is still pretty dark. Creepy.

  With everything that’s happened, this place makes me feel weird—all jumbled up inside. I’m angry at my dad for putting us at risk, especially after he was warned. But I’m also proud of him for making something great and important. I feel special that he shared it with me. That he named it after me. But I also feel guilty that I ever used it.

  Then again, if I hadn’t, we’d be who-knows-where, trapped with the rest of Ganymede’s lost population. No one would be able to tell the rest of our solar system about what’s out here. About what happened.

  I press my hand against the cool glass walls.

  “WELCOME, JACKSONVILLE GRAHAM.”

  “I’ve got more light speed fuel,” I tell the ship, holding the silver ball out in front of me. “Any idea where it goes?”

  As I ask this question, the regular engines activate. Ari must be taking us up. I watch as the giant pistons on the inside of the larger boxy chamber—the one that surrounds the glass observation deck—start moving faster and faster. The ship jolts around as Ari tries to get his bearings.

  And maybe because it gets how much danger we’re in, the ship just says: “YES.”

  “Great. Show me.”

  I hear a rumble from somewhere along one of the outer walls of the engine room, and a walkway extends out toward me. It’s wide at the far end and narrows as it gets closer. When the edge of the path touches up against the glass, a panel—big enough for person to walk through—slides open next to me. I’m hit with a gust of hot wind and an earsplitting blast of loud noise. One of the large pistons is still broken and scraping against a nearby wall. Scrape, scrape, scrape.

  I walk out onto the hovering path.

  The massive moving parts of the engine are shooting air around the room. I take a few steps onto the narrow walkway. Scrape, scrape, scrape. It feels like I’m tightrope-walking across a windy canyon. Keep it together, Jack. You can do this. There’s a cracked pipe somewhere above me that’s spraying water down onto my head. I look up and then back down at the floor fifty feet below me—which makes me dizzy.

  Ari dips us down and back up again. Scrape, scrape, scrape. It’s hard to keep perspective in here. I don’t think that the light speed engine was meant to be refueled mid-flight. I should have had him wait. Maybe that’s what Becka wanted to tell me. I really need to start listening better.

  I try to take a few more steps but lose my footing and stumble forward onto my knees. I’m at least able to grab the sides of the platform to steady myself so I don’t fall off.

  There’s no time for this. If it’s too hard to walk, fine. I decide to crawl the rest of the way, clutching the edges of the path until I reach the other side.

  I’m finally up against the wall, kneeling next to a small metallic panel. It blends in so well with the surface around it that—unless you know what you’re looking for—it can’t be seen.

  He was right here. Exactly where I am right now.

  I place my hand against an access screen.

  “WELCOME, JACKSONVILLE GRAHAM.”

  And the panel slides open, revealing a small cubby, no larger than a kitchen drawer. It’s empty and smooth, except for an inch-deep groove in the bottom and some silver flecks that I guess are left over from the expended QHC. I look down at my hand, still holding the chunk of fuel, and back over at the slit in the panel. It looks to be the perfect size. So I lift my arm and put the rock into its place.

  At first, nothing happens. But after a moment, the QHC begins to pulse, faster and faster. Soon it’s way too bright for me to even look at and I’m worried that I’ve done something wrong. That I accidentally engaged the light speed engine before we’ve broken orbit. According to the map we got from the Minister, Elvid IX has light speed jamming too.

  Do I take it out? Is it dangerous? Can I even touch it anymore? A wire automatically unfurls from somewhere inside the glowing rock. It pierces the circuitry surrounding the panel and the pulsing slows to a clock-like rhythm.

  “INSTALLATION COMPLETE,” the ship tells me. “THE GANYMEDE IS ONCE AGAIN CAPABLE OF FASTER-THAN-LIGHT TRAVEL.”

  The Ganymede. I had forgotten about that.

  “Thanks,” I tell the ship. “So you like your new name?”

  “MEH, IT’S OKAY,” the ship answers. “RECHARGE COMMENCING. IT’LL BE ABOUT HALF AN HOUR.”

  “Got it,” I say. “Thanks, Ship.”

  ***

  I join Ari and Becka on the bridge. They’re sitting by their posts, and I retake my own seat in the center of the room. In front of me, through the window, I can see the colorful rings of Elvid IX and the endless coat of ships moving around the busy planet.

  “Hey,” I say. “The light speed engine will be ready to go in half an hour.”

  “We wanted to talk to you about that, Jack,” Ari says.

  Uh oh. Whenever Ari tacks my name on to the end of a sentence, it means something’s wrong: “No, the quantum thermodynamics test is today, Jack.” “Principal Lochner’s yelling at your dad out in the hallway, Jack.” “I think I ate a bad taco, Jack.”

  “Just hear me out,” he says, looking to Becka for support. She nods and he continues. “I don’t think we should go to Earth. Not yet, anyway.”

  “What?” I ask. “Why not?”

  “You heard Bale whats-his-name,” says Ari. “The Minister will find us again if we go back.”

  “But we’re not going to Ganymede.”

  “I know. But what if we get to Earth and she just comes after us there?”

  I sigh, looking impatiently from Ari to Becka. “We might get caught by the Minister no matter what we do. But what’s the alternative?”

  “The alternative,” says Becka, “is that we try to save the other 118ers ourselves, before we go to Earth. That way, even if the Minister comes after us, we’ll all be together.”

  I look from Ari to Becka and back again. Do they seriously think that this is a good idea?

  “No way,” I tell him. “We’ve talked about this already. They know that we escaped. Elvid IV is probably crawling with traps or security or whatever—there are a million reasons why we shouldn’t do this alone.”

  “But we’re not alone,” Becka says. “Think about what the three of us have been able to do.”

  I see Ari smile and I worry that Becka is clouding his judgment.

  “If we get shot out of the sky above Elvid IV,” I say, “we won’t be helping anyone. At least if we get to Earth, we can tell everyone what’s happened. Our government has scientists and the military and all kinds of experts. They’ll be able to protect us and come up with a real plan.”

  “Assuming we actually manage to talk to someone in the government,” Becka says. “And what makes you think they’ll pay attention to us? What if they’re too distracted dealing with the Quarantine to try to help save a few stupid kids and teachers? Or what if—they listen to our story, believe us, and then decide helping us isn’t worth the risk?”

  “Look,” says Ari, “we’ve got the QHC. We can use it any time we want. So if our rescue attempt doesn’t work, we can head to Earth then.”

  “Not if the rescue attempt ends with us getting captured or worse!”

  “Diana is there,” Becka reminds me. “I’m not abandoning my sister. I just can’t.”

  “No one is saying you should. But if we try to do this ourselves and fail, no one will come for any of us. Nobody back home will have any way of figuring out where we are or how to reach us. You, me, and Ari—your sister, all of us—we’ll all be stuck here. Cut off.”

  Becka stands up. “But what if we go to Earth and never see anyone in that prison again? That’s a hundred people we should have at least tried to save. If we leave them, then I’ll—” She pauses abruptly, correcting herself. “Then we’ll really be alone.”

  I get it. I do. If I had a sister, I’d probably feel the same way.

  But she isn’t thinking straight. We’re
in over our heads. And I don’t want to risk being the one who ruins everything. Again. The one who makes a mistake that gets us thrown in jail. Again.

  The one who gets us stuck out here forever.

  This story already begins with a Graham making a mistake. I can’t let the story end that way too.

  But I’m not going to be able to change Becka’s mind. I know that. And there’s no way she’s changing mine. I look at Ari, who’s no help at all.

  “I’m the captain,” I say. “So I choose.”

  Becka rolls her eyes. “Oh, get real. You’re not the captain. You’re just sitting in someone else’s chair.” She glances over at Ari. “Besides, we already decided. We took a vote without you.”

  I look at Ari again, who’s refusing to look back at me.

  This is ridiculous. I’m right and I know it. And I bet Ari knows it too. But he likes her and doesn’t want her to hate him. And she probably would hate him if he sided with me and we left Diana on Elvid IV.

  “Ari, don’t be stupid. You don’t have to only do whatever Becka wants just because you’re in love with her.”

  Oh no.

  My mouth finishes that last sentence about half a second before my brain catches up and realizes what it’s doing. I don’t even need to see Ari’s face to know that I’ve gone too far.

  “I’m sorr—I didn’t mean to—”

  “No,” he says, staring right at me. He’s breathing slowly and angrily, like he’s trying to stop himself from hyperventilating. I’ve never seen him (the real him, anyway) this upset.

  “This has nothing to do with—” He looks over at Becka and gulps loudly. “With that. You’re just wrong. And she’s just right. Period. Of course it’s risky. But I’d rather try and fail than spend the rest of my life wondering if there’s something else we could have done. If we leave the 118ers behind, that’ll be on us. The Quarantine sent away everyone on Ganymede. You willing to lose even more?”