The morning after my talk with the Princess, I was taken from my room by the same burly guards who’d brought me there the night before. Across the large central room, I saw that Brian, J.P. and Mr. Fisher were being led away from their rooms as well. I tried to call out to Brian, but received a smack to the back of my head from one of the guards. After that, we all stayed silent while we were marched through a series of corridors and into yet another vast room. Unlike our meeting place from yesterday, this one was not empty, or even nearly empty, the space dominated by  a short, metallic–looking launch pad, and atop that, a ship. The walls and floor were covered with . . .well, technical stuff. I mean it all looked kind of familiar with bright colored lights and wires and fast moving screens showing figures that could have been numbers or words, but taken as a whole, I felt like an ant that had lived its whole life in a pile of dirt only to wander into the back of a laptop one day. And that wasn’t the strangest part.

     Having never seen an alien space ship before, I guess I assumed it would look like something from the movies—bright gleaming metal with all sorts of intimidating weapons and stuff. Yet, this ship looked like an upside-down sand castle made of some dark, dull metal with the turrets along the bottom. Whatever kid made this castle wasn't going to win any design awards either.  It had to be at least forty feet high, yet still looked like someone had pushed down a little too hard on the bucket before lifting off the mold.  There were bright silver patches all along one side and large circular burn marks all across the outside.

There did not seem to be any windows, and I would not have thought there was a door, either, except that as we approached, the surgeon who had helped Jack somehow materialized outside the ship by walking through the ship's hull and down a small set of steps. When I say through the hull, I mean through, like a ghost or something. 

    “Ah, good, we are all here,” said the Prince, sweeping into the room from a doorway opposite from the one we had entered. 

    “Where's Jack? Can we see him?” asked Brian. 

    Smiling, the Prince said, "You will see him shortly. First, we need to discuss the mission. Come aboard and I will show you around. We will talk inside." 

    He turned, walked up the steps and disappeared into the ship. With the help of a shove from the guards, we followed. I passed through the side of the ship like it wasn't even there. The experience reminded me of the doorway to the antique store on Earth, except we traveled inches instead of light years. 

As soon as we were face-to-face with the Prince, the questions and accusations bubbled out of our mouths like soda explodes from a shaken-up bottle.  

“Where is Jack? Is he okay?” demanded Mr. Fisher.  

      “How can we possibly win against an enemy we don’t even know, with technology we don’t even understand?” I said. 

“How are we supposed to fly this thing?” asked Brian.

      “This is totally unfair,” I had to add.

“What was that green slimy stuff in the glass in my room?”  J.P. whined.

     We were in a small room at the center of the ship, the ceiling only about seven feet high with smooth walls that looked like glass, but seemed to suck in light, not reflect it. A rectangular solid metal table and chairs were bolted to the floor, leaving only a narrow passage behind the seats to maneuver around. 

The Prince sat at the head of the table, looking calmly at each of us until the barrage of questions ended. Then he took a deep breath and replied: “On board. Remarkably well. Follow the plan I have developed exactly. The ship is pre-programmed to fly to your destination. Yes, it is. And, it’s called zupa juice and it’s quite delicious.” 

      “Wait,” I said. “I don’t care what the juice is called. Go back to the part about how this is not a totally pointless mission. The part where four kids and a math teacher are supposed to fly an alien spaceship into an alien war zone, sneak onto a strange planet and steal something your entire army would like to get its hands on and hasn’t been able to despite technologies and weapons I’ve never even heard of. I want to hear more about that.” 

      "Yes, that would be helpful,” said Mr. Fisher who, with a look at J.P., silenced what I can only assume was going to be a follow-up question about the zupa juice. “Also, I think it’s safe to say we would all appreciate more information regarding Jack’s health.” 

      “Yes, yes, I’ll get to your friend, but first, young Tom is quite correct that some further detail is warranted before you depart. I will say, though, that what I've come up with is amazingly ingenious. I'm really quite proud and excited to see how it all turns out,” the Prince beamed, his eyes widening in excitement to the point that his entire head seemed to expand.

    “Good for you,” quipped J.P. 

    “Yes, it is,” crowed the Prince, completely missing the sarcasm in J.P.'s voice. 

    “The plan . . .” I prompted. 

    “Right, well, you see it's simple really. The best plans always are, you know. This sad excuse for a spaceship that we captured from the Chatrang will take you undetected -- because they will think it's one of their own ships -- all the way to their central planet. Once there, you will have to be a bit creative, I'm afraid, as I cannot do everything for you. The HTS will, of course, be heavily guarded, but I can't imagine the Chatrang will believe for a second that anyone could get as close as you will be, so hopefully you will have the element of surprise. 

    “Now, I'll grant you the difficult part is going to be leaving, but I have arranged for a few modifications of this Chatrang ship that should be helpful. You can review them on the trip.  Alright, so, everything clear?” the Prince asked. 

    Mr. Fisher was the first to speak. “Ah, okay. That was helpful, so thank you.” The Prince nodded. Brian, J.P. and I looked at Mr. Fisher like he was insane. 

    “How was that help . . .” I started to demand. 

    “Tom, if you wouldn't mind not interrupting for a moment,” Mr. Fisher stared at me and I had never seen him look so serious. Only an idiot ignores that kind of look. J.P. spoke up immediately. 

     “But his whole plan is based on that scene in Star Wars where Han Solo tries to sneak onto that planet,” J.P. said, and I had to admit he had a point. 

    Mr. Fisher was not amused. “J.P., I hardly think the Prince would base his plan . . .” 

    “Oh good--you've seen it!” the Prince exclaimed. “So, you know it can work. Magnificent, isn’t it?” 

   We were speechless, so the Prince kept talking. 

    “When I saw the movie, I knew immediately that this was something that would work here, too. Really, I'm almost making it too easy for you.” 

    I knew it was probably pointless, but I couldn't stop myself from asking, “If this is such a good idea and this mission is so important, I'll ask again, why don't you send real soldiers?” 

    “Please, I can't take some plan I saw in some obscure primitive digital show on a backwater planet like Earth to my father,” said the Prince. 

    “Why not?” asked Mr. Fisher. “A good idea is a good idea regardless of the source, is it not?”

    The Prince looked at Mr. Fisher as though our teacher had suggested he pop his head off and stick it in his pocket. With a sneer, he said, “A good idea is a good idea is a good idea is a . . .. You know nothing of the Ashtapada and the challenges my father must deal with every day. I have not even seen or talked to him for several of your Earth weeks.” 

    Brian looked confused. “Didn’t you say he’d be mad about the attack yesterday? And worried?”

    “Apparently he wasn’t,” said the Prince. “He's extremely busy.”  

    “Yes, you’ve told us that before,” commented Mr. Fisher. 

    “Oh, for God's sake,” blurted J.P. “You guys can talk about your feelings later.  Right now can we get back to the fact that you want us to risk our lives on a mission that is based a plan from an old movie? I don't even think it worked. And what's the rest of the plan? Take us up to a big castle and train us to use magic wands and fly on broomsticks?” 

    “Good one,” said Brian. He and J.P. shared a quick look of amazement that they'd found something to agree on. 

    “Are you trying to be funny?” asked the Prince. 

    “I'm trying to be alive, but maybe you don't care about that. In fact, I know you don't care about that, if this stupid plan is the best you can come up with,” J.P. said.

Amazingly, it wasn't just Brian who was agreeing with J.P. now--we all were.  All of us Earthlings, anyway.  We stared at the Prince, watching his expression change as he thought about what J.P. said, waiting to see if any of our arguments were getting through to him, and maybe making him reconsider his plan. Maybe he would talk to his father after all, or just drop the whole idea.  Maybe the Princess was wrong about her brother and he did have a conscience that would prevent him from sending a bunch of innocent kids to their deaths. Maybe this nightmare would be over. 

    At last, he responded.  “This conversation is finished.”

Then again, maybe not.

“It’s clear that you’re too primitive to think on my level. Good luck. See you in a few days with the HTS or your parents get eaten.” 

And with that, the Prince walked  off the ship.