Steve and I dashed madly through the corridors to the C.I.C., as other men and boys ran elsewhere all around us. The siren had stopped blaring, but the panic was still there. Frantic thoughts passed through my head over and over again. Pirates! Pirates attacking us! I’m going to die! I’m going to die!

Eventually, the two of us arrived at the C.I.C., where Commander Grant hurried us in.

“You boys don’t know how to operate the consoles yet,” said Grant. “Stand by Farmer and Miller over there and watch them!” He pointed to two officers sitting at consoles next to each other.

“Aye, aye, sir!” said Steve, and I repeated, as we both dashed over to those officers.

The room was abuzz with chatter, about ten times louder than before in the panic of the battle. The hologram projector showed the pirate ship—a jagged black vessel, bristling with guns, with two long cylindrical engines on either side and a dull gray, red-eyed skull and crossbones painted on each engine. Captain Smith’s voice barked in from a loudspeaker every few seconds, and every man and boy spoke into his console to answer him.

“Report enemy position!” ordered the Captain from the bridge.

“Heading 235 mark 127, sir!” shouted one enlisted man.

“Range 5,000 kilometers, sir!” shouted another man.

I looked down at Ensign Miller’s left side screen—a curved picture tube display filled with long lines of words and numbers, appearing at the bottom and disappearing to the top faster than I could read them. Miller pressed buttons here and there, and some of the lines of text appeared on the right side screen. I had absolutely no idea what any of this meant, so God help me if I was going to do it myself.

“Lock forward particle-beam guns on drive section armor belt!” shouted Captain Smith.

“Aye, aye, sir!” shouted Miller, tapping more buttons on his console so that some of the text on the right side rearranged themselves. Big red letters flashed on the same screen: “TARGET LOCKED,” which he repeated out loud.

“Fire!” shouted Captain Smith.

Ensign Miller pressed a blue button. Three bright blue beams hit the holographic pirate ship near its port engine, leaving big blackened holes in the armor.

“We’ve penetrated their armor, sir!” said Miller.

Suddenly, the holographic pirate ship fired blue beams out of its own guns. The next instant, the entire ship shook violently, knocking me off my feet.

“Damage report, Mr. Wright!” ordered the Captain.

“Reactor room top side armor penetrated, sir!” said a teen-age boy. “One more hit there and we’ll blow up!”

We’re all going to die! We’re all going to die! I resumed panicking, running the same thoughts through my head repeatedly like a broken record. Please don’t hit us…Please don’t hit us…

“Not while I’m still Captain, Mr. Wright!” said Captain Smith. “Mr. Miller, lock lasers where our particle beams hit!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” said Miller, punching more buttons and rearranging more text until his right screen flashed “TARGET LOCKED” again. “Target locked, sir!”

I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d hit—or at least if he missed, that the pirate ship wouldn’t hit us.

“Fire!” ordered Captain Smith.

Miller pressed a red button. Six red beams streaked across the hologram and hit the pirate ship through the holes the particle beams had made. The pirate ship was engulfed and torn apart in a massive, fiery explosion of many colors, scattering debris in every direction.

“Target destroyed, sir,” said Miller.

The entire C.I.C.—Commander Grant, the men and boys at the consoles, Steve—broke out in cheers.

Thank God we didn’t die! I thought, clutching my chest and sighing deeply.

“Cancel general quarters, Mr. Baker,” said Captain Smith.

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Baker, sitting at a console in the corner where he pressed a few buttons and spoke into a microphone. “Now hear this. General quarters is canceled. All hands relieved.”

“Midshipmen, your next station is combat training,” said Commander Grant. “Head to the training room.”

And so Steve and I stepped out of the C.I.C. and walked down the corridor. Both of us trudged along with our faces slumped down toward the deck and our hands in our pockets, but for completely different reasons.

“That battle was too short!” complained Steve. “I never got to do a thing!”

“That was the worst experience of my life!” I complained. “Why, oh why did I ever join the Navy?”

“Well, there was always the aircar shop,” suggested Steve. “Why didn’t you go to work there instead?”

I sighed, not knowing what to say. At this point, I couldn’t decide what was worse: a safe job where I’d be all alone, or a dangerous job with my only friend. Either way, it was too late to change my mind: I’d already signed the contract and I was now millions of kilometers in deep space.

Eventually, the two of us reached the training room, where a square-jawed Marine with oversized biceps and undersized legs greeted us.

“All right, maggots,” barked the Marine, “I’m Lieutenant Blake. Today’s lesson is basic marksmanship. Take one each from those racks and come back here. Move it!”

Steve and I dashed over to one of the gun racks, picked up a black pistol, and dashed back to Lt. Blake. He was loud, but not scary—like my school gym teacher back in the twentieth century. Not like Alice, who gave me goosebumps just thinking about her.

“Stand at the firing line in front of those targets,” ordered Lt. Blake, which we did. He pulled out his own pistol and showed it to us. “All right, the ArmaDyne PL-72 laser pistol is the standard issue sidearm for all you Navy boys. It’s semi-automatic—doesn’t keep firing when your finger’s on the trigger. No need to worry about reloading or recoil. Got that?”

Steve and I nodded.

“Step up to the firing line and point your guns at those targets,” ordered Lt. Blake, and we did. “Hey, Porcupine! Don’t hold sideways!” he shouted, stepping toward Steve and correcting his aim. “Hey, Goldenrod! Use both hands!” He yelled at me, doing the same thing. “Okay, boys, you’re all set. Ready…aim…fire!”

We both pulled our triggers. Beams of bright red light flashed out of our guns’ muzzles and vanished just as quickly. Two small glowing red spots appeared on the bulkhead next to our targets and cooled in a few seconds.

“Missed!” barked Lt. Blake.

“Aw, come on,” muttered Steve. “Is my aim really that bad?”

“Those were two of the worst shots I’ve ever seen in my life!” shouted Lt. Blake. “My grandmother on Mercury shoots better than you klutzes!”

Suddenly, a loud, long, high-pitched whistle came over the intercom. Then, a message. “Now hear this. Midshipmen Starman and Parker, report to hangar.”

“This must be our first mission!” said Steve, grabbing my wrist excitedly and dragging me toward the exit. Before Lt. Blake could say “Dismissed,” we were out the door.

When the two of us arrived at the hangar on the other side of the ship, I saw Captain Smith waiting for us—standing as tall and sturdy as ever, with the same piercing glare in his eyes. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Alice next to him.

“What are we here for, sir?” asked Steve.

“We’ve arrived in orbit around Mars,” explained the Captain. “I’ll take the shuttle down to the surface to recruit Dr. Faraday to our mission. You boys will follow along to learn how to do the same.”

“And I’m coming along as the Captain’s aide,” said Alice. “Don’t screw anything up or I’ll rearrange your innards, got that?”

“Y-y-yes, ma’am,” I stammered, trembling all over.

“Who’s Dr. Faraday, sir?” asked Steve.

“Dr. Faraday is a physics professor at the Martian Institute of Technology,” explained Captain Smith. “He specializes in matter-antimatter annihilation research.”

“And what do we need him for?” asked Steve.

“The planet Pluto is under a blockade by the Iron Cossack Pirates, the strongest pirate fleet in the Known Galaxy,” said the Captain. “The pirate ship that just attacked us was one of theirs. The Admiralty has assigned us to contact Dr. Faraday and persuade him to hand over his antimatter research, so our engineers can design a photon bomb to destroy the Iron Cossacks and liberate our clients in Pluto.”

“Persuade?” I asked, not sure what that meant.

The Captain waved to a robot in the corner, which stepped toward us with a suitcase in hand. It opened the suitcase in front of us, revealing stacks of gold bars inside.

“Whoa!” I shouted, shocked. I’d never seen so much gold in my life.

“Combat isn’t the primary objective of this mission,” continued Captain Smith, “but the pirates may still attack us. That’s why all members of the landing party will be armed, including you boys. I assume you’ve had your first pistol lessons already.”

Steve and I nodded. Captain Smith waved to another robot, which walked in carrying four laser pistols. The Captain, Alice, Steve, and I each took one and clipped it onto the right side of our belts. I felt my stomach tighten as I took my pistol, as if it was a sign that this was going to be the day I die horribly in battle.

“That will be all,” said Captain Smith.

He turned around and walked up the shuttle’s boarding ramp, and the rest of us followed inside. Steve took a seat near the cockpit, and I naturally sat next to him. Alice was sitting with her father across the aisle from me, and I was glad that Steve had taken the other aisle seat so I could stay as far away from her as possible.

Looking through the transparent door of the cockpit, I saw the pilot and copilot talk to each other and push buttons on their controls. After a few minutes, the pilot came over the speaker with a message:

“Now hear this. This shuttle is leaving the Indianapolis hangar. Estimated time to the university: twenty-six minutes.”

The hangar doors slid open above us. The shuttle lifted gently off the deck and rose higher and higher above it, until finally we were completely surrounded in the black, star-studded void of space.

“Man, I hope we really do get attacked by pirates down there!” said Steve, fingering his pocketknife. “I can’t wait to use all the sword-fighting skills I learned! What do you think, Mark?”

I didn’t say anything. I knew he already knew what I thought. I was sure he was right about pirates attacking us on the first day, but I would have to be insane—like he was—to think that was something to be excited about. To get blasted into tiny pieces on my first day on the job, I most certainly could wait.