“Thank you, that’s enough,” he said. “Well, Professor?”
“It is remarkable,” the old man spoke in a squeaky voice, as if he hadn’t practised speaking in a long, long while. “This lad’s Latin is superb. His grammar’s perfect, his vocabulary’s rich, and he speaks without any hesitation whatsoever. My boy, I do congratulate you.”
“Could he get the job done?” the general demanded.
“In my opinion, yes,” the professor answered.
“Excellent. Thank you very much, Professor.”
By now Felix was doubly confused. Before he could get a word out, however, the general steered him to an alcove and sat him next to Carolyn. At the same time he produced a small box from his pocket that contained a narrow hole in its side. He asked Felix to place his index finger in its hollows.
“You’re about to visit a highly classified facility,” he revealed. “No one can know about the secret it contains, because in the wrong hands it could lead to disaster.”
“And this box …?”
“You’ve just sworn an oath that you’ll reveal nothing about the things you’re going to see. If you disclose the smallest detail to any unauthorized person, I will see to it you end up in a very dark corner of our solar system.”
“I understand. I’ll keep this secret to myself.”
“In that case,” the general said, “please secure your g-force pods.”
Without further ado, the general walked to the front of the ship. Like Carolyn, Felix closed the membrane on his pod: as soon as he had, the fusion thrusters ignited and the craft leapt forward at an impressive speed.
“Where are we going?” Felix asked, over the pod’s speaker.
“You’ll find out soon,” Carolyn said. “I’m glad you passed the Latin test. Would you believe I’d never heard of Latin until my dad found out about your story on The Angstrom Show?”
“The Angstrom Show? Is that why I’m here?”
When Carolyn didn’t answer, Felix engaged the craft’s external monitor. A screen came to life and revealed a view of the globe. He had to shake his head in wonder: its surface was so beautiful, with its sweeping curves and mix of luscious colours. At the same time, against the empty backdrop of space, the earth seemed ridiculous and puny-looking. When one pondered the world in relation to the universe, did it matter humans were faced with extinction? Stars, whole galaxies, had come and gone, so what importance could events on such a crumb of a planet have?
His father came to mind. Felix could picture him standing in his garden, reading a book with heartfelt satisfaction and reveling in the sun’s comforting touch. He was wrong. It was in fact the tiny things that mattered. Never mind the universe’s size: it was people like his father who gave it meaning.
“Dad,” he whispered.
The scene on the monitor changed abruptly and its screen showed a Class 9 station floating in the distance. Felix was impressed. Shaped like an H, it was fifteen stories high and at least a hundred metres across. Its surface was covered with solar panels, signaling equipment and powerful antennae. And despite its obvious ungainliness, the structure was almost graceful as it rotated slowly against the glittering starlight.
A panel opened on the landing port. Felix felt the mildest jolt as a sea-green beam caught hold of the ship and guided it toward the station’s lowest deck — like a trout being reeled in on a fishing line. A wall of electromagnets held the craft in place and an air lock enclosed the Medevac’s door. The pods opened automatically. While Carolyn hurried off to the back of the craft, Felix stood as the general approached.
“I’m glad you’re with us,” he declared. “But I must remind you not to disclose any aspect of this station.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And now I’ll escort you to someone you know.”
“Someone I know? Here in outer space?”
“This way, please.”
The general led him through the air lock into a hallway. The air tasted strange — as if it came from a package. Felix felt less heavy than he had on Earth and realized this was due to gravity’s weaker pull. As his legs bounced upwards of their own accord, he was tempted to see how high he could jump, but this wasn’t the time for any such nonsense.
They entered a small elevator. After climbing four stories, the Vacu-lift opened on a figure in a lab coat. Felix gasped when he spied the man’s tidy features.
“Dr. Lee!” he cried. “Why are you here?”
“Hello,” the doctor replied, shaking his hand. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology, Felix. I was wrong to doubt you. It turns out you were right about everything.”
“You mean…?”
“Aceticus’s virus is the same one that is threatening to destroy us.”
“I’m glad.” Felix smiled. “I mean, I’m happy you believe me.”
“And it appears,” Dr. Lee continued, leading Felix and the general down a maze-like corridor, “that the lupus ridens is a genuine flower.…”
“Then all we have to do —” Felix cried.
“Not so fast,” the doctor cautioned him. “It isn’t so easy.”
By now they’d reached an imposing metal door that was equipped with several security scans as well as BISDMs to prevent unwanted “guests” from entering. Stepping ahead of the doctor and Felix, General Manes placed his hand on a scanner and spoke his name and title aloud: “General Isaiah Manes, commander of the Temporal Projection Matrix.” Instantly, the metal door slid open.
Felix followed the men across the threshold. The sight that greeted him took his breath away.
The room he’d entered was the size of a large stadium. The floors extended the width of the station and from the floor to the ceiling was a height of six stories. In the middle of this cavern stood a shining dome — it was twelve feet high, completely transparent, and contained coloured gases spiralling about its centre. Encircling the sphere was a totalium pipe a metre wide and hooked up to an array of oscilloscopes and signallers. The space outside the sphere was packed with processors, channelers, and flashing consoles, all of them positioned round a house-sized mainframe whose interior contained a colorless plasma. This substance was hypnotic as it swirled in the most complicated patterns.
“What am I looking at?” Felix finally whispered.
“Believe it or not,” the general said, “you’re looking at a transportation device.”
“Transportation to where?” Felix asked.
“We’ll answer that soon,” Dr. Lee broke in. “Let’s talk about our problem first. As far as we can tell, the lupus ridens hasn’t been seen on earth for five hundred years.”
“You mean it’s extinct?”
“Exactly. And because we don’t know its structure, it can’t be replicated.”
“So we’re back where we started,” Felix wailed. “Aceticus is useless.…”
“That’s not quite true,” the general mused.
“Tell me,” Dr. Lee inquired, “have you studied Clavius’s particle theories?”
“Just recently, yes, but I don’t see …”
“Think. What do they imply?”