The Spiral Arm (episode 1, season 1)

  *

  The door to Alpha Pod whizzes up in front of me and I creep in on my tiptoes like I’m in a cartoon. I needn’t have bothered. It sounds like my pod are already up and I hear the sound of teeth being cleaned. Maths pops his head out of the bathroom while still scrubbing.

  “Morning, gorgeous,” he says, still managing a perfect smile with the toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

  “Hi Maths. Sleep well?”

  “Like a big long thing made of wood.”

  I sort of smile.

  “Sorry it’s the best I can do this early in the morning. My jokes get better as the day goes on.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  I move down the corridor and into the main room. Lars, Bryson and Essa are standing around the table watching Tuss do press-ups. But not just any old press-ups. She’s doing them on her fists while her feet are hooked over the back of one of the chairs. Her body points down at an achingly steep angle. The veins are standing up in her arms and neck as she rhythmically performs one perfect press-up after another.

  “Hi, Wren,” she says, without losing breath.

  “Er, hi, Tuss.” I move round the room and sidle up to Bryson. “What’s going on?”

  “Lars challenged us all to a press-up competition before breakfast. He was in the lead until Tuss woke up and wanted to have a go. What number is she on, Lars?”

  “Four hundred and fifty six,” says Lars. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak. His voice is Germanic and surprisingly quiet for such a big guy, but I don’t know whether this is his natural voice or because he’s humiliated after setting a challenge he thought he’d win, only to find a girl is kicking his ass.

  “And Lars did his with his palms and feet on the floor,” Bryson adds. “She’s like a machine.”

  I look over at Lars’ defeated expression. I can see he’s regretting ever suggesting this. But it’s Essa’s face that catches my attention. She’s looking at Tuss with what can only be described as weapons-grade jealousy.

  “Say, is Ash up yet?” I ask.

  “No, I think he’s still asleep.”

  “I’ll get him up.”

  I walk around the opposite side of the table. Nobody seems to have noticed that I came in barefoot, thanks to all eyes being on Tuss.

  I climb up the little ladder to Ash’s bunk and peer in. He’s cocooned in his sheets and only a mop of curly black hair pokes out at the far end of his bed. I tap his foot gently and whisper his name several times. Eventually, two half-lidded eyes emerge.

  “Are we there yet?” he says in a croaky voice.

  “Only another 599.9 light-years to go,” I say.

  “What time is it?”

  “Don’t know but everyone’s awake, especially Tuss, who’s going for the ship’s press-up record, I think.”

  Ash sits up and scooches forward so he can see Tuss in action.

  “Wow, it’s making me tired just looking at her.”

  The others see that Ash is awake and greet him. Tuss stops when she hears Ash’s voice and stands upright. Although her face is a bit red and sweaty, she still looks pretty much the same.

  “I think I’ll stop now, I’m getting hungry,” she says. We all laugh, but she doesn’t get the joke. “What?”

  “Most of us stopped from exhaustion,” says Maths, “not because we wanted breakfast.”

  “Talking of breakfast, let’s all go get some,” says Bryson.

  Ash slides out of bed in only his shorts and I see a body so taut and muscular you could bounce dimes off it. In a second he’s in his combats and lacing his boots up. I double-sock my feet and push them into my boots and then we all troop out the door and greet our first proper morning on board. I know I’ve been up ages already, but it sort of doesn’t count. Now I’m out with my pod it feels more official.

  Out in the mess the other pods are taking their places at the tables with trays of food. Sergeant Merox struts around with a bucket-sized steaming cup of black coffee, trying to be friendly, but he’s got the most aggressive way of saying good morning I’ve ever heard. Everyone flinches when he greets them.

  A queue has already formed at the serving hatch and I notice Beta Pod are there, getting their food. Vena’s eyes lock onto Tuss and me. Her face is puffy, her nose swollen. She nudges Sagan. His smile immediately drops when he sees me and I’m reminded that Sagan never forgives or forgets. I put on my bravest face as we walk past them to show him I’m not scared. Of course, inside I’m jello, but he doesn’t know that.

  Tuss notices Beta Pod all giving me the evil eye. She drops back to stand in front of me like a bodyguard. “You looking for payback?” she says to them.

  “Leave it,” I say to Tuss.

  “Payback?” Sagan replies. “Maybe later.”

  He and the rest of Beta Pod take their trays of food and walk away. As Sagan passes me, he leans forward and whispers in my ear. “I’ll find out how you wormed your way on board and make you sorry you ever did.”

  His words make my heart palpitate, and I feel depressed and scared all at the same time.

  “What’s that all about?” Bryson asks.

  I fill him and the others in on my history with Sagan and what Vena tried to do to me yesterday.

  “You look worried, Wren. Don’t be,” says Bryson. “We’ve got your back.”

  Everyone in my pod agrees with Bryson, and I’m touched by their loyalty, even though I’ve done nothing to deserve it. Thing is, Sagan doesn’t need to bully me when no-one’s looking like he used to at school. Fighting each other will be part of our training, all encouraged by the officers. And what happens if my pod isn’t around? I can’t take them everywhere with me. If I’m going to survive this trip I need to learn how to fight my own battles.

  We pick up our food and find an empty table. I slot into a chair next to Tuss.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” says Tuss, shoveling a mountainous spoonful of super-high protein porridge into her mouth.

  “Could you teach me some quick fighting moves?”

  “You’re not worried about those idiots are you?”

  “Yeah, kinda.”

  “Okay, but fighting takes a long time to learn. Everyone will be trained on board, we’ve got four years.”

  “Yeah, I realize that but I need something for now.”

  “I’ll look after you.”

  “Thanks, Tuss. I know you will, but I can’t expect you to be my bodyguard. I need to stand on my own two feet.”

  “Hey, I don’t mind. That’s what friends do.”

  Once more I’m touched by Tuss’s unconditional friendship, which makes me more determined not to be a burden on her. “Please, Tuss. I need you to show me how to defend myself.”

  Tuss gobbles down another spoonful of porridge while I eagerly await her reply. She swallows several times.

  “Okay, but it will take a while. And someone of your, er …”

  Tuss is being polite. “It’s okay, Tuss. You can say it, someone of my size.”

  “Oh, sorry, okay. Yeah, the height disadvantage is a problem. Forget the movies. In reality, bigger is always better, no matter how many black belts you’ve got.”

  “Oh.” I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice.

  “But I didn’t say it was impossible. In the meantime, I can teach you something that will do for now. But you might have to go somewhere you may not want to.”

  I have no idea what she means. Is she talking spiritually? “What, like going into a trance?”

  “No, not that.” She swallows more porridge. “You have to go downstairs.”

  I’m still confused. “I don’t understand.”

  Tuss leans in and whispers something in my ear. “You have to kick them in the you-know-whats.” Then she leans back and subtly points to her crotch.

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. Doesn’t matter how big or tough they are, kick them there and they’ll go down like a barrel
of bricks. I mean, that’s if you’re comfortable doing that sort of thing. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but I guarantee it will work.”

  “Isn’t that, unsportsmanlike?” I ask.

  Tuss stops with her spoon mid-way between her plate and her mouth. She puts it back down and then those ice blue eyes bore into mine. “Listen, Wren. You do whatever it takes to get an attacker off you. Do not be polite. Do not hesitate. Do not try to reason with him. Hit him first and hit him hard. Swing your leg where it hurts and keep swinging until he can’t get up again, or can’t walk straight for a month. Show no weakness, even if you want to curl up into a ball and cry. Otherwise …” Tuss picks up her spoon and turns it over so the gloopy porridge falls off and splats onto the plate. “You’ll be mush. Got it? And if you can’t fight or there are too many of them, you run. Don’t be a hero.”

  “I know all about running away, it’s just they have a habit of catching me.”

  “If you get cornered take as many of them out as you can. Kick. Punch. Scratch. Hell, spit if you have to. Remember, hit first and hit hard.” Tuss says all this with her fighting face on. Her cold blank shark-like stare frightens the crud out of me.

  “Got it.” I say, slightly terrified. “Would you show me, how to do that kicking-them-where-it-hurts thing?”

  Tuss comes out of her war-like trance to my relief. She relaxes and the smiley-faced Tuss is back once more. “Sure. There’s nothing to it. Tell you what. Next free period we’ll find an empty room and practice.”

  “Cool,” I say. I feel anything but cool about learning how to kick someone in the kahunas, but it’s got to be done.

  I jump as our com chips suddenly spark into life all by themselves. Around the mess hall little colored screens appear above everyone’s left wrist. Across them is written a simple message.

  FIRST PERIOD.

  ORIENTATION.

  LECTURE HALL 19. DECK 17.

 

  Just in case anyone was too busy to notice, the same message appears as a holo projection, hovering in the air. After a while it disappears and is replaced by the scoreboard for Section One. It hasn’t changed. Alpha pod is still at the top but no-one has any points yet. An adrenalin shot buzzes through my veins as I realize this is it. It begins today. We are at war with every other pod. And we’re the pod everyone wants to beat. Suddenly, my appetite has gone.

  We all finish up and stuff the rest of our food in our mouths. Apart from me. I have no idea what Orientation is or what it involves. Maybe something to do with finding your way around? I’m praying they’re going to ease us into this gently, but I can’t imagine ‘gently’ is a word they have in Marine Corps vocabulary.

  The whole section shuffles out of the mess hall and along the main passage, toward the flight deck, but we turn off after a few meters and enter the lobby where I started my walkabout last night. No-one bothers with the elevators, we all take the stairs. Elevators are for wimps, I guess.

  We seem to be following everyone else, which I’m not too happy about. Like sheep, we could all be going in the complete wrong direction. So I press my com chip and tap the map icon. It instantly shows my position on the deck as a pulsing circle. Another circle flashes with a little annotation next to it which says Lecture Hall 19. This all seems a little too easy. Aren’t we supposed to be using our initiative, finding our own way there? My paranoia kicks in and I wonder if this is some sort of test. Are we heading to a place which is not Lecture Hall 19, only to be water-cannoned by Sergeant Merox for acting dumb, just so he can teach us a lesson?

  My paranoia disappears as I follow everyone else into a huge lecture theatre full of hundreds of hard fold-down seats that slope toward someone I recognize – Professor Nilson. The chocoholic I met last night leans on his walking stick, smiling at everyone as they come in and take their seats.

  “That’s it, sit down everyone,” he says, cheerfully. “Just because we’ve got four years to get to Kepler doesn’t meet we’ve got time to dilly-dally.”

  Professor Nilson is definitely a one-off. I mean who says dilly-dally? Except people in old 2D movies from the 20th century.

  He waits for silence, which descends pretty quickly. Our training starts right this second and everyone is eager to hear what’s happening. I can feel my butt sliding to the edge of my seat in anticipation.

  “Morning, I’m Professor Nilson. As you already know this is Orientation. Now can anybody tell me what we mean by Orientation, apart from the literal meaning?”

  No-one answers.

  My palms go sweaty. I know the answer. I could get some points for my pod. I slowly extend my hand until it points in the air. Can’t afford to be shy anymore. Just gotta go for it.

  “Yes, cadet,” he says, looking down at his com screen for a prompt as to who I am. Has he already forgotten me from last night? “Harper.”

  “It’s any information …” my voice is weak and pathetic.

  “Speak up so we can all hear.”

  I clear my throat. “It’s any essential information we need that is non-combat related.”

  “Correct. Such as?”

  “Er,” I make a calculated logical guess. “Is it stuff like the terrain of the planet, weather, food sources, building shelters, wildlife?”

  “Yes, perfect answer.”

  Ash next to me whispers, “Nice one, Wren. That’ll get us some points.”

  I try not to feel too smug, no-one likes a smartass but I know I’m going to have to get points any way I can, because once the physical stuff starts I’m going to be at a disadvantage.

  “It also includes information about this ship,” Professor Nilson continues, “which is where we kick off our lectures. Now as you all should know, any information regarding combat transport vehicles, such as Titus Andronicus, is highly classified, which means very few of you will know just what’s on board and what this ship can do. However, now we’re all here and there’s no turning back, we can tell you what it’s capable of. Not everything of course. We don’t want the Dormangi knowing all our business, especially if you get caught, so everything is on a need-to-know basis. Good. Right let’s begin.”

  The Professor hits a button on his com screen and an immense holo projection of the ship appears from out of thin air. There’s a collective gasp. It’s the first time any of us have seen it from the outside.

  “There she is,” he says. “The Titus Andronicus, Leviathan class combat ship. Beautiful isn’t she, if a little rough around the edges.”

  Before us hovers a vast, thick rectangular slab of metal, like a horizontal tombstone. I wouldn’t say it was beautiful, more economical. A shape designed to pack as much into it as possible with no redundant spaces. Brutally efficient and bereft of any aesthetic qualities or decoration – it’s all for practicality. But I still can’t get any sense of scale though. Just how big is this thing?

  “I bet you’re dying to know how big she is,” he says, as if reading my mind. “Well I’m not allowed to give you any exact figures but there are over one hundred decks and it’d probably take you several hours to walk from one end to the other.”

  I still can’t get my mind around it. This thing is huge to the power of three. We’re sitting on a small continent flying through space.

  The Professor fiddles with his com screen and the holo image changes. The hull disappears revealing the interior decks and the maze of connecting walkways. The image becomes semi-transparent so we can see through walls and bulkheads like an x-ray. A light starts pulsing deep within the center of the ship.

  “That spot you can see is us. That’s Section One,” he says. He fiddles with his com screen again and now loads of dots are flashing, scattered all across the ship. “Those dots are all the other sections on board and right now thousands of other cadets are having this exact same lecture with my colleagues. So as you can see this is one heck of a big ship. Actually it’s a city devoted to one goal: training you to be the best soldiers you can be. And to do this we have somet
hing rather special on board.”

  One by one, several huge boxes of various sizes are highlighted. I count eight of them, arranged in pairs connected by a vast rectangular hall.

  “These, boys and girls, are War Theatres, and you will be spending a great deal of time in them. They vary in size, the smallest being 1.5 kilometres long, by 1.5 kilometres wide and 30 decks high, while the largest is nearly twice that size. These are the biggest open spaces any of you will have ever seen. Each one is a perfect recreation of natural landscapes and conditions found on Kepler. This is so you can get familiar with the place before you get there.”

  The idea of so much open space is inconceivable. There’s no such thing as open space on Earth anymore. It’s all taken up with accommodation blocks full of people, while beneath their feet underground factories and farms make our food and oxygen. But the fact that there are eight giant boxes on board filled with hills and rocks and trees is off the chart.

  People start chatting excitedly about the prospect of seeing them and being in them. I can already see myself running barefoot in a grassy field with the wind in my hair. Would they have artificial wind inside? I can’t wait to find out.

  “Now, now, boys and girls.” The Professor tries to calm us. “They’re not for leisure, I’m afraid. These are War Theatres where you will experience mock fighting scenarios with each other and with Dormangi simulations. And I use the word ‘mock’ very loosely. The War Theatres are frighteningly realistic, so be warned: what you learn in lectures and practical lessons will be put to the test every time you enter a War Theatre. It’s the closest you’ll get to the real thing on Kepler. So learn well, be courageous but be careful. And yes, cadets have died in War Theatres. Not from the simulations I might add but from their own foolhardiness.”

  I know he’s trying to prepare us by scaring the crud out of us but I don’t care. The thought of being in an open space for the first time is just too thrilling.

  Someone to my right puts their hand up – a boy with hair smoothed flat over the top of his head. He’s possibly the only one I’ve seen who looks nearly as geeky as me.

  “Yes,” says Professor Nilson pointing his com screen at the boy so it tells him who he is. “Olaf, what’s your question?”

  “Er, this probably sounds stupid,” Olaf says in a German accent. It’s much softer than Lars’ accent.

  “There are no stupid questions, only stupid answers. Continue.”

  “Well,” Olaf continues, “we’re on a pretty big space ship – I don’t think any of us realized just how big it was – so are all the others in the fleet as big as this?”

  “Yes, bigger in fact.”

  “I was just thinking,” Olaf says. “Couldn’t we use this technology to relieve some of the overcrowding on Earth? Couldn’t people live in ships like this, orbiting the planet?”

  “Believe me, it’s been tried. But there’s something about the human mind that won’t accept living in space, no matter how Earth-like we make it. After a while, our minds reject it. They trialed it a while back but people went crazy after a year or two. I’m afraid we’re all built for terra firma.”

  “But what about us?” someone at the back shouts. “Does that mean we’re going to lose it up here?”

  “Ah, no, interestingly enough. We can handle the concept of travel. The idea of getting from A to B, or heading for a destination, no matter how far away, we can cope with. It’s the totality of living in space that we can’t take.”

  Hundreds of hands shoot up, eager to ask more questions.

  “I’m sorry, that’s all we’ve got time for today,” the professor says holding his hands up. “Please save any questions for tomorrow. You’ve got a short break until your next lesson. Check your com screens, it’ll tell you where you need to be.”

  Olaf turns around and briefly flashes me a smile. I don’t know how to react so I just stare at him.

  Tuss leans in and whispers in my ear. “I think you’ve got an admirer,” she teases. I elbow her in the ribs, but it’s like elbowing the side of a building. I’m about to tell her she’s got it all wrong when there are whoops and cheers from around the room. The reason is flashing up on everyone’s com screen:

  Next lesson: COMBAT.

  People push past one another and evacuate the hall in seconds, leaving me sitting alone with my anxiety. Combat. I knew it was coming. It was inevitable. It’s what we’re all here for. Question is, how am I going to survive it?

  Chapter 8