served his breakfast in the quiet canteen. Gone was the Martian gunk. The tray that rose from the hidden compartment beneath held a large plate loaded with still-sizzling bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, buttery toast, and a dollop of ketchup. Next to the plate was a large glass of fresh orange juice and a steaming mug of tea.
By the time he had wolfed down the last slice of toast, John felt better than he had since arriving on the ship. Making friends with the computer had turned out to have some serious advantages.
Sergeant Jegger looked him up and down approvingly as he raced from the TravelTube, right on time for his lesson. “Neat and punctual, Riley!” he barked, moustache bristling. “Both very important in the Starfighter Corps. Let’s get on with it, cadet. Board your ship.”
John glanced over Jegger’s shoulder to where a t-dart was waiting on the deck. The day that had started so well took a sudden dip. He felt his knees sag. “I... errr... thought we were going to cover the basics, sir,” he babbled. “On the ground, sort of thing.”
“Nonsense,” snapped the sergeant. “Got to get straight back in the cockpit after a crash or you’ll start to fear it.”
“Like getting right back on a horse,” said John, nodding.
The sergeant stared at him blankly. Clearly, they didn’t have horses on whichever planet he was from. “You’re wasting time, cadet,” said Jegger impatiently.
“Yes-sir,” said John, slightly less afraid of the t-dart than he was of disobeying the instructor.
Jegger’s voice began speaking in his ear even before John had the helmet completely over his head. “Orders, cadet. Listen up and listen good. You’ll take off, give me one circuit, then land. Over and over until I’m not thoroughly ashamed to be your instructor. Got that?”
“Yes-sir.”
“Pre flight checks—”
The first take-off was worse than he had managed the day before: the landing almost ended in another crash. But as he practised, John began to relax. This time, he remembered to concentrate on every word that Jegger said. After half an hour, his take-offs were almost smooth.
“You’ve made some progress, cadet,” said Jegger, clapping a hand on John’s shoulder as he stepped down from the spaceship at the end of the lesson. “Your reactions are good and your control over the dart is improving. Give me another few years and I’ll make a starfighter out of you.”
John grinned, even though he knew he wouldn’t be at Hyperspace High long enough for that to happen.
“Tomorrow we’ll start some simple flips and turns, then increase the speed. Give the others a bit of a show by next week, eh?”
As John’s jaw fell open, a chime sounded. “zero eight hundred hours tomorrow, then,” said Jegger gruffly. “Off to your next class. Punctuality, that’s the thing.”
“Zepp, can you hear me?” whispered John, as he watched the sergeant walk away.
“Of course.”
“What is my next class?”
“The ThinScreen will tell you everything you need to know.”
Fishing the ThinScreen out of its slim, silver case, John tapped it. At once, it blinked on. An icon in the corner marked “Timetable” flashed once. Another tap and a new screen opened. “0845 hours. Galactic Geography. Doctor Vilkard Graal. Lecture hall F, deck thirty-six,” John read. A clock in the corner of the screen told him it was now 0839. Slipping the ThinScreen back in its case, he ran for the TravelTube.
“What’s wrong?” John asked Emmie, as he slid into a spare seat between she and Kaal and dropped his ThinScreen on the desk. Emmie’s golden skin was pale and she was trembling.
“Not a good class for her,” replied Kaal in a whisper, shaking his head.
“My worst,” groaned Emmie. “It’s Doctor Graal, she’s just—”
“Awful,” interrupted Kaal. “She’s a Gargon. As a species, they can be, well, less than friendly.” He nodded towards Mordant, who was leaning back
By the time he had wolfed down the last slice of toast, John felt better than he had since arriving on the ship. Making friends with the computer had turned out to have some serious advantages.
Sergeant Jegger looked him up and down approvingly as he raced from the TravelTube, right on time for his lesson. “Neat and punctual, Riley!” he barked, moustache bristling. “Both very important in the Starfighter Corps. Let’s get on with it, cadet. Board your ship.”
John glanced over Jegger’s shoulder to where a t-dart was waiting on the deck. The day that had started so well took a sudden dip. He felt his knees sag. “I... errr... thought we were going to cover the basics, sir,” he babbled. “On the ground, sort of thing.”
“Nonsense,” snapped the sergeant. “Got to get straight back in the cockpit after a crash or you’ll start to fear it.”
“Like getting right back on a horse,” said John, nodding.
The sergeant stared at him blankly. Clearly, they didn’t have horses on whichever planet he was from. “You’re wasting time, cadet,” said Jegger impatiently.
“Yes-sir,” said John, slightly less afraid of the t-dart than he was of disobeying the instructor.
Jegger’s voice began speaking in his ear even before John had the helmet completely over his head. “Orders, cadet. Listen up and listen good. You’ll take off, give me one circuit, then land. Over and over until I’m not thoroughly ashamed to be your instructor. Got that?”
“Yes-sir.”
“Pre flight checks—”
The first take-off was worse than he had managed the day before: the landing almost ended in another crash. But as he practised, John began to relax. This time, he remembered to concentrate on every word that Jegger said. After half an hour, his take-offs were almost smooth.
“You’ve made some progress, cadet,” said Jegger, clapping a hand on John’s shoulder as he stepped down from the spaceship at the end of the lesson. “Your reactions are good and your control over the dart is improving. Give me another few years and I’ll make a starfighter out of you.”
John grinned, even though he knew he wouldn’t be at Hyperspace High long enough for that to happen.
“Tomorrow we’ll start some simple flips and turns, then increase the speed. Give the others a bit of a show by next week, eh?”
As John’s jaw fell open, a chime sounded. “zero eight hundred hours tomorrow, then,” said Jegger gruffly. “Off to your next class. Punctuality, that’s the thing.”
“Zepp, can you hear me?” whispered John, as he watched the sergeant walk away.
“Of course.”
“What is my next class?”
“The ThinScreen will tell you everything you need to know.”
Fishing the ThinScreen out of its slim, silver case, John tapped it. At once, it blinked on. An icon in the corner marked “Timetable” flashed once. Another tap and a new screen opened. “0845 hours. Galactic Geography. Doctor Vilkard Graal. Lecture hall F, deck thirty-six,” John read. A clock in the corner of the screen told him it was now 0839. Slipping the ThinScreen back in its case, he ran for the TravelTube.
“What’s wrong?” John asked Emmie, as he slid into a spare seat between she and Kaal and dropped his ThinScreen on the desk. Emmie’s golden skin was pale and she was trembling.
“Not a good class for her,” replied Kaal in a whisper, shaking his head.
“My worst,” groaned Emmie. “It’s Doctor Graal, she’s just—”
“Awful,” interrupted Kaal. “She’s a Gargon. As a species, they can be, well, less than friendly.” He nodded towards Mordant, who was leaning back
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