My Teacher Glows in the Dark

  I was using the URAT to get a better understanding of the ship when Broxholm reappeared.

  I had started by trying to find out why the ship was so huge. I couldn’t believe they had sent something this big halfway across the galaxy just to drop a few spies on Earth.

  It turns out that the method the aliens use for skipping over huge distances requires a kind of gravity distortion that can only be achieved with an enormous ship. In fact, the New Jersey was actually the smallest starship yet built.

  The reason the loading dock was half empty was that the New Jersey had been dropping off smaller vessels here and there as it wandered through the galaxy. That was actually its main job: shuttling between stars, leaving a ship, or a dozen, one place, picking up new ships in the next. That, and carrying out the orders of the Interplanetary Council.

  I was so engrossed in what I was reading that I actually jumped and shouted when Broxholm came through the wall.

  “What’s wrong?” he cried in alarm.

  “Nothing,” I said. “You just startled me.”

  Broxholm made a sign of understanding. “I suppose anyone living on a planet as violent as yours would need that kind of reflex reaction to stay alive.”

  Even though I had chosen to leave Earth, I was a little sick of hearing it get dumped on like this. “And what were you and your pals discussing?” I asked bitterly. “Some nice, nonviolent way to blow up the planet?”

  It was Broxholm’s turn to look startled. But he took it in stride. “That is one option being considered,” he said calmly.

  My stomach twisted at his words. Out here, so far from home, it was easier to remember the good things about Earth—things like Susan Simmons, dolphins, and chocolate chip cookies.

  “How can you even consider something like that?” I asked, trying to fight back sudden, unexpected tears.

  Broxholm gave his nose a pull. “I didn’t say I was considering it. I said it was under consideration. Peter, you have to understand that the entire galaxy is in an uproar over this situation. We’ve been letting it ride for a while—we even got a break from making our decision because your planet’s science got sidetracked a few decades ago. But the time is nearing when we must deal with what is known across the stars as ‘The Earth Question.’ ”

  “Why?”

  “Because while they are not aware of it, your people are fast approaching the breakthrough point in space travel.”

  “You mean we’re about to figure out how to go faster than light?” I whispered in awe.

  Broxholm nodded. “We’ve been monitoring your science carefully. We know, better than you yourselves, how soon you will be able to come into space.”

  He paused, then crouched in front of me. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he looked directly into my eyes and said, “Do you understand what that means, Peter?”

  I shook my head, feeling somewhat baffled.

  “It means that for the first time in the 3,000 year history of the Interplanetary League, we are going to have to deal with a people who are at once smart enough to conquer space, and foolish enough to have wars. It means a peace that has lasted for 3,000 years, a peace that extends over 10,000 worlds, is in danger. Of course we are considering extreme measures. But the fate of Earth is by no means decided. The truth is, there are four main plans under consideration.”

  “What are they?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to know.

  “One group believes we should take over your planet. A second thinks we should leave you on your own and see what happens; they believe you’ll destroy yourselves before we ever have to worry about you. The third group wants to quarantine you—”

  “What do you mean by ‘quarantine’?” I interrupted.

  “Cut you off from all connection with the greater galaxy,” said Broxholm. “This could be done by setting up a space shield beyond which you could not pass, or by planting agents on Earth to sabotage your science, so that you could not learn how to get off the planet.”

  “That’s terrible!” I cried, furious at the thought of anyone trying to bar us from space, from exploring the stars.

  “I agree,” said Broxholm. “But not as terrible as what might happen if you actually move into the galaxy at large. That is why one group simply wants to destroy the planet. They don’t like the idea. But they think it is far better than letting you loose on the galaxy in your present condition.”

  “But why don’t you just help us?” I cried, feeling scared and angry all at once.

  Broxholm closed his orange eyes. “We don’t know if we can. We believe there is something dangerously wrong with your people. This belief is based on three factors. First, the way you’ve treated your planet. Second, the incredible violence you do to each other. Third—and this is the really amazing thing to us—there’s the condition of your brains.”

  “Our brains?”

  Broxholm pulled on his nose, then let it snap back into place. “What baffles us most of all is the fact that the human race has the most powerful brain of any species in the galaxy.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Anthropologists from Space

  I stared at Broxholm for a moment, then whacked the side of my head as if I thought my hearing had gone bad. “Say that again?” I asked.

  “You heard me,” he replied. “The human race has what may be the most powerful brain in the galaxy.” He tapped one green finger against my forehead. “Trapped inside that skull is a brain that is the envy of every being on this ship.”

  “But I’m not smarter than the people here,” I said—which was hard for me to admit, since being smart was the one thing I had always taken pride in. I paused, then added, “Am I?”

  Broxholm shook his head. “No, you’re not. But you could be. That’s part of the mystery. The human brain is not only the most amazing piece of organic matter in the galaxy; it is also the least used brain in the known universe. We’ve never encountered anything like it—nowhere seen such a gap between what could be and what is.”

  As he talked, I began to get the feeling that Broxholm was actually jealous of the human brain.

  “Do you have any idea what the rest of us could have accomplished if we had your brain?” he asked feverishly. “Any idea how it galls us to see that potential, and know how little you have done with it?”

  I shook my head, too amazed to say a word.

  “What terrifies us is what might happen if you learn to use your full intelligence before you become truly civilized. Stars above! If you people find your way into space before you fix whatever’s wrong with your spirits, the damage you’d wreak could make what you’ve done to your own planet look like a forest rangers’ picnic.”

  I sat back against the wall, staring at him. What could I say?

  “Why do you think I was on your planet?” continued Broxholm. “What do you think was the point of trying to bring some of you back here for short-term study? We’re trying to figure out why you act the way you do. We’re looking for an answer—a cure, if you want to call it that.”

  He was pacing the floor now, not really angry, but agitated. It turned out that he had studied for years to make the trip to Earth. He was one of a group of aliens you might call “Anthropologists from Space”—a team watching the whole human race as if it was a tribe in the jungle.

  A new question struck me. “If you guys are so wonderful, why were you so mean to our class?” I asked, remembering the way he had acted as a teacher.

  Broxholm tugged on his nose. “For one thing, I am naturally gruff. Secondly, I would point out that you earthlings have a funny idea of what constitutes ‘mean.’ On my world we don’t worry nearly so much as you people do about talking nicely to each other. We speak the truth and get on with things. On the other hand, we don’t leave people to starve in the streets.”

  He paused, then added, “Actually, my natural gruffness was not the reason I behaved as I did with your class. I could easily have been as sweet and kind as anyone might have wished. Howeve
r we were making a study of your learning styles—how you respond to different methods of education. We have an agent working in your town right now who is as ‘nice’ as I was nasty. It’s all part of our study.”

  “You mean you’re not really a creep?” I asked.

  Broxholm stared at me. For a moment I was afraid he was going to be angry. But suddenly his nose began to twitch, just a little at first, then faster and harder, as if something inside was struggling to get out.

  I realized that if he was an earthling, he would have been roaring with laughter.

  “Peter,” he said, “where I come from, I’m considered to be what you would call ‘a real pussycat.’ Look, young one; what was your greatest desire in all the world?”

  “To see the stars!” I said, though suddenly I realized that my heart was saying something else.

  I pushed the thought away. It was too frightening.

  “To see the stars,” said Broxholm. “Don’t you think I knew that? Do you have any idea what trouble I caused myself by bringing you here?”

  I shook my head.

  He paused. “Nor need you know,” he said at last. “Other than to understand that I chose to ignore a powerful command for two reasons. The first was that I owed you a favor for helping me escape without having to hurt anyone.”

  I shivered as I realized just what Broxholm meant by that. “What was the second reason?” I whispered.

  He spread his hands. “I like you,” he said.

  I blinked. Why was I starting to cry?

  “Thank you,” I whispered, feeling really stupid.

  Broxholm put his arms around me. “You poor boy,” he whispered. Then he stood and turned away. “Oh, you poor people,” he said, so softly that I could barely hear him. “You poor, sad, wonderful people, so full of love and hate, hope and horror, sorrow and need.”

  He made a terrible, rasping sound, and suddenly I realized that he was weeping. Weeping for a planet that wasn’t his, and all the pain that he had seen there.

  I ran to him, threw my arms around him.

  Then the two of us stood in the center of my room, and cried until we had no tears left.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  How to Use a URAT

  So that was my first day on board the New Jersey. Is it any wonder I was exhausted?

  Now you may have noticed that my “day” had started at night. But time on the ship was not related to time on Earth—or more specifically, time in Kennituck Falls. The ship had its own rhythm, and while there were times when more of its inhabitants were resting than others, in general it was busy twenty-seven hours a day.

  According to Hoo-Lan, days on the ship were twenty-seven hours long because that was the schedule that made the most sense for the greatest number of beings on board.

  Of course, since it was easy to control light and temperature, many of the aliens had private spaces to suit their personal needs. In some chambers the days were only ten hours long, and the temperature was like Death Valley during a heat wave. Some had long hot days, others had short cold days, and so on. Even so, everyone was able to function in the ship’s main area—though it did mean that some of them had to wear thick layers of clothing, while others were nearly naked.

  After Broxholm left that first “night,” I used the URAT to get myself something to sleep in. The most interesting thing on the chart—at least, the most interesting thing that looked like I could actually sleep in it—was a kind of hammock device. The only problem was, I couldn’t figure out where to hang it, since the walls in my room were smooth, and I had a feeling I wasn’t supposed to put screws or nails in them, even if I had screws or nails, which I didn’t.

  I should have known not to worry. Each end of the hammock had a rope. At the end of the rope was a ball. When you threw the ball at the ceiling, it stuck wherever it struck, and didn’t come down until you gave the rope three sharp tugs.

  So I got myself a hammock and hung it from my ceiling.

  It was like sleeping on a cloud—though by the time I got it hung up, I was so exhausted I probably could have slept on a bed of cold seaweed and hot rocks.

  I had no clock, so I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I was awakened by a sudden loud buzzing.

  “Who—what?” I sputtered. I tried to get up, but only succeeded in rocking the hammock sideways.

  “It’s not Hoo-Wat, it’s Hoo-Lan,” said an offended-sounding voice that seemed to come from nowhere. “May I come in?”

  “I suppose so,” I yawned, too groggy to think of just telling him to go away.

  Almost instantly Hoo-Lan came walking through my wall. His blue shorts were covered with purple, red, and yellow flowers so bright that if I had still been asleep they probably would have woken me all by themselves.

  “Ready to start your day?” asked Hoo-Lan cheerfully.

  “I don’t think so,” I groaned.

  “Tish-tush. We have too much to do for you to lie abed like this. Spit-spot, clip-clop, now’s the time for all good men to come to the aid of their planet.”

  My grogginess vanished instantly. “Can you help me come to the aid of my planet?” I asked intently.

  Hoo-Lan’s big round nose twitched. “A figure of speech. I’m here to come to the aid of your brain. I’m your teacher, remember?”

  I looked at him curiously. He stared back at me with huge, round eyes that almost dared me to read his mind. But of course I couldn’t.

  At least, not yet.

  “First lesson,” said Hoo-Lan, after I had found a bathroom and thrown some cold water on my face. “The uses of the URAT. You have already discovered some of them. I expect you would find many more on your own. But let’s speed up the process.”

  “Fine with me,” I said, settling into my wonderful chair.

  “Right, then,” said Hoo-Lan. “Now to begin with, the URAT is linked by microwave to the ship’s main library. This means that it can find any kind of information almost instantly.”

  As it turned out, this also meant that the URAT could pull up fun stuff—plays and dances and concerts—from other worlds. If I wanted to go to the trouble, I could even hook it up to a holographic projector, which was truly amazing. Imagine being able to see a three-dimensional movie acted out in the middle of your living room—even a special effects extravaganza, with monsters, rocket battles, and alien landscapes. That’s what this thing could do.

  Next Hoo-Lan took me to the library itself, where they had machines you could actually plug yourself into so that you experienced stuff. These machines fooled all your senses; you didn’t just see things—you tasted, touched, smelled, and heard them.

  This was great for stories—though some of those alien stories were pretty weird, I want to tell you.

  But it was even better for research.

  Imagine your teacher has assigned a report on Columbus’s first voyage. With one of these machines, you would feel like you were right on one of his ships; you would feel the sea breezes, smell the sailors’ body odor, taste the kind of food they ate.

  If you’re a browser like me—the kind of person who starts out looking up horses and winds up reading about ancient Greece—doing research this way is incredible.

  For example: say that while you’re studying Columbus, you get interested in a bird you see flying by your ship. Whisper a command, and the bird is in your hands! It’s like a three-dimensional illustration you can pick up and feel. And while you examine it, the machine pours information about it into your head.

  Now let’s say you wonder how the bird sees the world. Say the word and you’re inside its skin and you’re flying!

  As you fly, you spot an island that looks interesting. Dropping down for a landing, you leave the bird’s body behind, and begin to walk along the beach.

  It’s hot, so you decide to go for a swim. You feel the water—and taste it, too. And all the while you’re really just in a room, plugged into one of these machines.

  Let me tell you, a guy can get lost
inside these things!

  In fact, I guess that’s sort of a problem. From what Hoo-Lan told me, when the machines were first invented, some beings got so fascinated by them that they never wanted to come out; a few got so involved in the machines they actually starved to death. So the ship’s head librarian (who was purple and had twelve tentacles) had very strict rules about how long you could use the machines. She didn’t want beings to get hooked.

  Of course, I didn’t learn all this stuff all at once. By the time Hoo-Lan was done showing me how to use the URAT that first day, I was pretty tired. I was also exhilarated, since the possibilities were so astonishing.

  I was also depressed, because the more I saw of the alien technology, the more clear it became that Earth didn’t stand a chance if they decided to do us in.

  I felt like the future of the planet was in my hands, which at the moment seemed awfully small and weak.

  As it turned out, I was wrong. Earth’s destiny wasn’t so much in my hands. It was in my brain.

  However, since I considered my brain my most precious possession, I wasn’t entirely happy when the aliens asked if they could have it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Aliens Want My Brain

  Actually, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that the aliens wanted to borrow my brain for a bit. I found out about it a couple of days after I had come on board the New Jersey. I had just climbed out of my hammock, and was getting ready to go order something to eat, when my URAT began to buzz.

  Flipping it open, I saw Hoo-Lan. He looked upset. “Krepta, I need to speak to you. May I come to your room?”

  “Could it wait until after I have something to eat?” I asked.

  “Why don’t I meet you in the dining area?” he replied.

  That was fine with me. So we decided which dining area we would meet at—there were several thousand of them on board the ship. I punched the code into the transcendental elevator and stepped through the wall.