Space Hostages Read Online Free Page A

velvety carpet toward the rectangle of light. Dad was crouched miserably on the bathroom floor, his head over the toilet.
    â€œOh, no ,” I said.
    â€œI’m all right,” said Dad bravely, and then proved this wasn’t true.
    â€œOh, no,” I said again, and then tried to remember my medical training. “How long have you been like this?”
    â€œSince about two, I think,” Dad said, shivering.
    I pulled the quilt off the bed and put it over him, then washed my hands extremely thoroughly while I tried to decide what to do. I wasn’t sure if I should be telling the hotel, Archangel Planetary, or the Morrors, and I wasn’t at all sure how to get in touch with the Council of Lonthaa-Ra-Mo raaa .
    I went and called reception, and sent a ChatPort ping to Th saaa .
    Dad had managed to get back into bed by the time I’d finished. “It’s just food poisoning,” he croaked. “It’s probably out of my system now—I’ll be all right in a few hours.”
    But in two hours, we were supposed to be on the Space Elevator. . . . “I think you have norovirus,” I said. I gave him some water I’d warmed in the kettle till it was lukewarm. Cold water is sometimes harder for people with nausea to keep down, although, on the other hand, sometimes it’s easier. Medical knowledge can be very unhelpful.
    After about twenty minutes, the doors slid open and an Archangel Planetary dove hovered through. This one was evidently a medical dove, because it had a little green cross printed on the breast. It emitted a spray of green light over Dad with an angelic twinkling noise.
    â€œGood morning, sir, you have norovirus,” it sang. “Dispensing: antinausea medication!” It laid two pills like tiny eggs on the bedside table. “Keep warm and take plenty of fluids.”
    â€œThat’s what I said,” I muttered.
    â€œI have to take my daughter into space,” said Dad, reaching weakly for the pills.
    â€œVomit is very bad in space,” I said. Believe me, I know.
    â€œPassengers with infectious illnesses cannot be cleared for travel aboard Archangel Planetary’s Space Elevator,” said the dove placidly. “We are sorry for the inconvenience.”
    â€œHave I got it?” I asked, worrying about how trembly I’d felt in the shower.
    In response, the robot dove sprayed green light over me too. “Congratulations. You are completely healthy. You are cleared for travel aboard the Space Elevator. Archangel Planetary, Taking You To The Stars.”
    â€œBut . . . what can I do?”
    â€œThe Helen of Troy departs Orbit Station One for Aushalawa-Mo raaa at eleven hundred hours,” said the dove. “The last Space Elevator capsule departs Earth Station San Diego at oh nine hundred hours.”
    It was already half past seven. My stomach felt so tight, I wondered whether the dove had gotten its diagnosis wrong.
    â€œYes, but is there any way we could go later?” I asked. Dad would be better by the next day. But how long would he stay infectious . . . ?
    â€œThe Helen of Troy departs Orbit Station One at eleven hundred hours,” repeated the dove. “The next ship to depart Orbit Station One for Aushalawa-Mo raaa will be at oh seven hundred hours—”
    â€œOh!” I exclaimed, a tiny bit hopeful.
    â€œâ€”on the fourteenth of November,” the dove finished.
    â€œOh. You couldn’t ask the Helen of Troy to wait . . . ?” I asked hopelessly. But the Helen of Troy probably cost millions every day it sat up there.
    The dove beamed a message up to the Morror liaison on Orbit Station One and perched on the head of Dad’s bed while it waited for an answer.
    â€œYou have a reply,” it cooed, and then went ping , and then a quite different voice spoke out of it.
    â€œ Weeeeee are sooooooorry , Plucky Kid of Mars. The ship cannot delaaaaaay ; we cannot riiiiissssk using