The Teacher

Antigravity fuel spiked with antimuons is nasty stuff. It sticks to everything and has a tendency to climb out of containers. It will find the tiniest of cracks and ooze out. The only way to separate the two is with a special force field called an Einstein-Kaluza interference filter. Unfortunately, once the antimuons are separated from the antigravity matrix, they decay rapidly into dangerous positron radiation, which Nathaniel discovers to his frustration keeps damaging his filter. “Three times in one hour! We can’t keep doing this!”

While Nathaniel had only meant to poison the filtered fuel in the tank, trying to repel the living planet trying to eat their ship, the antimuons had leaked into the water reservoir where the reserve fuel existed in solution. Keeping antigravity mixed with water kept it stable, safe, and inactive. It was safe enough to swim in. Nathaniel had swum in it before, but not often. He was more of a ground-dweller. Now the water is strangely sticky. No one wants to swim in it.

With the fuel still contaminated, the engines are useless. Using the particle jets will take decades to reach the nearest star. “Can we call for help, now?” Haticat asks.

Nathaniel did not like to give up. He liked to rely on others even less. Trust did not come easy for him and the galaxy was full of monsters. Yet, it has already been three weeks and they have only filtered out one percent of the contaminants, filtering becomes more difficult the closer to one hundred percent they get, and until they reach 99.6%, their engines won’t even run at fifty percent efficiency. “Fine, call for help,” Nathaniel says.

It is thirty-two hours later that they receive a response to their distress signal in text form: ON MY WAY NINO VESSEL I LOVE TO TEACH. “I love to learn, but I really just need some antigravity fuel,” Nathaniel mutters to himself.

An hour after that, a cylindrical object approaches. It slows and then bends to circle around Nathaniel’s ship. Space warps around it, making it extra flexible. It reminds Nathaniel of a snake.

The cylinder then makes a sharp turn and darts directly at the pool-ship, slamming one end against the hull and sticking there. “What’s it doing?” Doctor Bill asks.

“I don’t know,” Nathaniel says, annoyed. He sends a signal. “We can teleport you on board.”

Suddenly, a circular piece of the hull falls into the pool among a shower of sparks. In slithers a floating worm the size of a hippopotamus. It resembles a cucumber covered in blisters, arcs of dancing yellow energy randomly connecting pairs of blisters. “Hey!” Nathaniel yells.

“Welcome to class. I am The Teacher,” it bellows. The three Gruezhlings can immediately feel the complete lack of play energy. This is an adult.

“I don’t need a teacher, just fuel. You broke a hole in my ship!” Nathaniel says.

“It’s not your turn to speak,” The Teacher says. “I see you have water all over your floor. I will teach you how to fix the leak and clean up.”

“No, the water is supposed to be there,” Nathaniel objects, but a loud clap of thunder drowns him out.

“It’s not your turn to speak!” The Teacher bellows. “Today’s lesson is teaching you what is wrong with your ship. Tomorrow we will learn how to fix it.” Haticat raises his hand. “Yes, what is it?”

“We already know what’s wrong with it. We just need some help,” Haticat says.

“If you already knew, you wouldn’t need my help. Let me do the talking. You do the listening,” The Teacher responds.

It goes on like this for the next four days. The Teacher has them fix what isn’t broken and tells them how their own equipment is supposed to work. Only when it realizes the steering isn’t working because the engine is off does it have them check the fuel. “You’ll need a centrifuge. Place your fuel inside a rotating force field to spin the antimuons out.”

“Does the fuel spin? Force fields don’t impart angular momentum to antigravity fuel,” Nathaniel asks.

“I’ll start over from the beginning since you didn’t understand.” Starting by covering the steering trouble being a result of the engine malfunction, then explaining why the engine can’t work with antimuons in it, The Teacher drones on for five minutes repeating everything it said before word for word. Nathaniel’s objections are talked over. “You’ll need a centrifuge. Place your fuel inside a rotating force field to spin the antimuons out.”

“You said the same thing before. You said the exact same thing I didn’t understand the first time, so I have the exact same question,” Nathaniel says.

“Listen very carefully,” The Teacher starts, taking another five minutes to give the same speech. “You’ll need a centrifuge. Place your fuel inside a rotating force field to spin the antimuons out.”

Nathaniel guesses correctly that the fuel is held inside of a rotating force field, and The Teacher is surprised when the fuel does not spin. “That’s what I tried to tell you.”

“Don’t lead the conversation!” The Teacher yells.

It takes another two days, but eventually they settle on the method they were using before. Some minor improvements in efficiency are made that Nathaniel probably would have figured out himself in time, but the whole process still takes sixty weeks.

In this time, The Teacher has them clean and tune up everything twice, on both ships. The Teacher’s ship is a simple tube with internal pockets for its “blisters” to fit into. It has no engine and appears to be little more than a protective suit. The creature provides its own thrust. It has no sensors or displays since the creature can scan through its semipermeable hull. It is controlled by thermal pulses. Inside is kept hot and humid. On the outside are rings that shoot corkscrewing lasers to cut circles in other ships.

Nathaniel, Haticat, Fred, and Doctor Bill gather in the dining room while on break. “The Teacher has jammed our distress call. That’s why no one else has come to rescue us. I found the jamming system while cleaning out the tube,” Nathaniel says.

“Did you disable it?” Haticat asks.

“No. We’re only seven weeks from completion of our lesson. We can survive. There’s always a chance that whoever shows up will be pirates, predators, parasites, or worse. It’s too risky,” Nathaniel says.

“But now we have the option in case something goes wrong,” Doctor Bill says.

“Yes,” Nathaniel agrees.

Soon, the fuel is completely antimuon free and The Teacher orders a graduation ceremony. “Captain Nathaniel, step forward.” Nathaniel steps forward underneath the hovering worm. One arc of energy extends, getting longer until almost touching him. It suspends at its lowest point a small object, which he takes. It is a badge of some sort, star-shaped and gold-colored. It sticks painfully to his fingers. “This badge will be proof of your lesson completion.” Nathaniel nods and sticks the object in his black hair, where it sticks without pain.

“Haticat, step forward.” Each of the four receive their badges and stand against the railing of one of the walkways. “You have worked hard for a long time. You have been successful. Let these badges be your reward. Enjoy the rest of your day.” Each boy stands with badge displayed somewhere proudly – Nathaniel his hair, Haticat on his chest, Fred on his shirt, and Doctor Bill on his ear. “And make sure you get plenty of sleep. Lesson two starts tomorrow.”

“What?” Nathaniel grunts.

“I said that lesson two starts tomorrow,” The Teacher says.

“What’s the lesson on?” Nathaniel asks.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” The Teacher says.

“How many more lessons are there?” Haticat asks.

“Infinity. Learning never ends,” The Teacher says.

“Supernovas!” Doctor Bill curses.

“Is one of them on exploring?” Fred asks.

“You will find out in time,” The Teacher says.

“That’s so unfair!” Haticat says.

“I’m sick of school!” Fred complains.

“I, too, am schoolsick,” Doctor Bill claims.

“Nonsense, no one is ever sick of school,” The Teacher says. “That’s not a real disease.”

Ignoring the others, Nathaniel walks to the control station. With superspeed fingers, he sets his plan in motion. He powers up the engines and opens the reactor throttle. Then he teleports the creature inside its own ship, sets the force field just outside the hull to cover the hole and sever it from the alien cylinder, and flies away. In ten seconds, they are flying faster than the cylinder’s top speed.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Haticat says.

“Me too,” Nathaniel says.

“Although, the ship has never looked cleaner,” Doctor Bill says.

“Don’t expect it to last,” Nathaniel says.

“I don’t.” Doctor Bill pulls off his badge. “Where shall we keep these?”

“I don’t care. We didn’t really learn anything,” Nathaniel says.

“Well, I learned how to be patient. I think I’ll keep mine,” Haticat says.

“Okay, I promote you to patience officer,” Nathaniel declares.

“Yay!” Haticat exclaims.

SUPPORT