Teacher's Pet

Sam paused at the glass door to the Science Lab and peered inside. Each student sat up on an assigned stool and maintained an almost disturbing unnatural posture—tarsal claws lay flat on counter tops and jewel-like compound eyes stared straight ahead. If it wasn't for the constant swaying of their feathery antennae, they looked like discarded pupae shells.

Sam pushed through the door and placed his briefcase on the lectern. The silence was profound. Something was up.

He sat.

A thunderous explosion lifted him off the chair. He landed on his feet thanks to his mechanical reflexes and inertial controls. Through a purple haze, he saw vague outlines of his students springing from their seats, chittering so vigorously that some were doubled over.

When the cloud dissipated, Sam raised his silvery arms. "Please regain your seating." He placed his hands at his hips and continued. "Nitrogen triiodide is a most unstable and dangerous substance. Although synthesizing it and letting it dry on my chair without blowing yourself up was a considerable achievement, I must nonetheless warn you. It will be a simple matter for me to detect traces of iodine and potassium iodide in the spiracles of the guilty. I can assure you that your parent hives will be notified."

Sam eased onto his splintered wooden chair and considered next steps. Of course, detecting trace chemicals would be difficult, even for a level ten teaching unit. He kept one sensor trained on the class while fingering through his textbook. In a nearly imperceptible move, one student lowered his thorax and stretched a forearm down beneath his abdomen.

It was Johnson. It was always Johnson. A glint of light from the corner of an empty display case caught Sam's sensor.

* * *

A week later.

"What are those white patches, Sam?"

Tilda was not the brightest nymph in the class.

"Those are the hyphae I mentioned during lecture."

Others crowded in.

"Please be patient. Everyone will have a chance for a closer view."

Sam turned back to the specimen display case. The outer cuticle shell had lost its black sheen in only days after the infection.

"Sam, did it just move?"

"Genny, that's just a trick of the light. A Crypteria rhyzens infection works fast. You all remember the movie about how the conidia penetrated the cuticle?"

After a burble of disgust, Sam continued. "Then you know that by the time you see those patches on the eyes, the victim is long gone."

The bell rang.

After the door closed behind the last student, Sam turned toward the display.

"Every year we need to choose someone new. Thankfully, there's always someone like you that steps up. I guess that's the bad news for you, Johnson. The good news is that a Crypteria paralysis lasts at least a full year."

Sam zipped up his briefcase and gave the mottled carapace one more look.

"Teacher's Pet, Johnson. Pay attention this time, and maybe you'll learn something."

END