by Stuart Gibbs
“I thought you wanted to play chess,” I said.
“I want waffles more!”
We don’t have real waffles on the moon, of course. We only have reconstituted waffle-flavored substance. It tastes like coagulated maple syrup, but Violet loves it. She’s the only one at MBA who eats it.
I grabbed the doorknob, ready to walk out anyhow.
“Dash. Wait for your sister,” Mom ordered.
I stopped, knowing better than to disobey my mother. The last thing I needed was to be sent to my sleeping pod. “Let’s move it, squirt,” I told Violet.
“Let me get my slippers!” Violet scurried back to her pod, singing a song about waffles.
Violet could make up a song about anything. She once performed practically an entire opera about clipping her toenails. Now she was happily crooning, “I love waffles! They’re not awful! They taste so good!”
A strange, urgent beeping suddenly filled the room. It sounded like a giant microwave announcing that the popcorn was done. It took me a moment to figure out it was coming from both SlimScreens at once. On the wall and the tabletop, the home page and the chess game vanished and were replaced with a message in blinking red letters:
* * *
Urgent communication for Dr. Rose Harris & Dr. Steven Gibson. Log in to the secure portal immediately.
I hadn’t even known information could be delivered this way. I turned to my mother, who looked as surprised by it as I was. Violet danced around, excited by the noise, and added her own whooping to it. Dad still hadn’t emerged from his sleeping pod. At the sound of the alarm he had jammed his fingers in his ears and burrowed under the covers.
Dad had never been a morning person.
“Steven,” Mom called to him. “You’d better take a look at this.”
Dad stuck his head out of the pod and glanced at the big SlimScreen. He looked like a squirrel peeking out of its nest. “What the heck is that about?” he grumbled.
Mom shrugged. She was already using the tabletop SlimScreen to log in to the portal.
I was humming with excitement, figuring the emergency message had to do with Dr. Holtz’s discovery. Maybe he hadn’t been able to wait until seven and had already revealed his amazing news to the top brass at MBA, who were now getting the word out. Or maybe he was calling a big meeting to share the news with everyone at once.
I opened our door to see if anything was happening. There are two tiers of residences at Moon Base Alpha. Ours is on the second floor, one down from the end. The door opens onto an iron catwalk. (Catwalks are easier to ship and install than real floors.) Over the railing I could see the first-floor hallway below. No one was moving on either level, though the same urgent beeping was coming through the other residence doors. Two residences to the right of mine I could hear the muffled sounds of the Brahmaputra-Marquez family groggily waking.
Voices echoed through the base to my left, in the direction of the main air lock. There was an edge to them, as though the speakers were worried—or panicked—but I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. Their words were all drowned out by my sister, who was still singing about breakfast foods at the top of her voice.
Directly to my left was the residence of the base commander, Nina Stack. It is the closest residence to the air lock. Nina’s door hung open, which was unusual. Since there is so much common space at MBA, the residents take their privacy seriously. No one ever leaves their door open. Nina must have left in such a hurry she’d forgotten to shut it behind her.
I started down the catwalk toward the air lock, but a horrified shriek from my mother stopped me in my tracks.
I rushed back into our room. “What’s wrong?”
Mom had gone pale. She stared at the tabletop SlimScreen, eyes wide in astonishment. Dad stood behind her, equally stunned, having read the same message over her shoulder. Mom started to answer me, then noticed Violet. She looked to Dad and something unspoken passed between them.
“Violet,” Dad said. “Want to watch TV before you have your waffles?”
“Now?” Violet’s face lit up. Even in the confines of MBA my folks tried to limit our screen time. Offering TV before breakfast was like telling Violet she could have a pony. “Can I watch Squirrel Force?”
“Sure.” Dad quickly clapped headphones over Violet’s ears, ensuring that she wouldn’t hear what my mother was about to say, then switched the big SlimScreen to TV mode. The emergency alert vanished and was replaced by animated squirrels battling evil land developers. Violet sat, riveted to it, ignoring us completely. If the base ever catches fire while Squirrel Force is on, Violet will probably roast alive rather than stop watching.
Mom turned back to me. She was still so shocked; it took her a while to find her voice. “It’s . . . well, you see . . . it’s about Dr. Holtz. He . . . he’s dead.”
I’d been girding myself for bad news, but even this caught me off guard. It simply didn’t seem possible. I was so dumbfounded, it felt kind of like my brain had popped inside my head, leaving nothing but air. “How?” I managed to ask.
Dad put an arm around my shoulders. “He went out the air lock this morning. Alone.”
I turned to him, almost as startled by this as by Dr. Holtz’s death. There are strict rules against anyone ever going out onto the lunar surface alone. “Why?”
Mom wiped tears from her eyes. “We don’t know. The report doesn’t say.”
“Anyhow,” Dad went on, “it seems he didn’t put on his space suit properly and . . .” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.
I knew how it would end anyhow. Space suits are almost impossible to put on properly by yourself—and if you make a mistake, the air can leak out. If that happens, there isn’t any oxygen on the surface of the moon. Without oxygen, the human body can only survive two minutes, at most. Which is exactly why solo moonwalks are forbidden.
I shook my head. “This doesn’t make sense. Dr. Holtz would never do anything that risky. . . .”
“He did.” Mom placed a hand on mine. “I know this is hard to process. I’m as surprised as you are. We all have questions, and it may be a while before we get answers.”
“Where’s Dr. Holtz now?” I asked.
“They’re still bringing him back inside,” Dad told me.
I snapped to my feet and bolted back out the door, racing toward the air lock. Mom and Dad called after me, but I didn’t listen. I wasn’t sure why, but I desperately wanted to see Dr. Holtz’s body for myself.
I ran past Nina Stack’s open door. Ahead the catwalk banked left around a corner, where a set of stairs descended into the staging area by the air lock. As I reached the corner, however, Nina came around it. I slammed right into her.
If I’d run into almost anyone else at MBA like that, I probably would have bowled them down the stairs. But running into Nina was like hitting an oak tree. She’s the toughest woman I’ve ever met in my life. Maybe even the toughest person. She was in the Marines before joining NASA and has kept up her physical training ever since. She doesn’t look that tough—in fact she looks kind of dainty, like a lot of my friends’ moms back in Hawaii—but I’d pity anyone who challenged her to a fight. Nina can mop the floor with anyone. And she has an advanced degree in rocket science to boot.
I bounced off her and went down on my butt. “Sorry,” I mumbled, then tried to slip past her.
Nina blocked my path. “Go back to your residence, Dash.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. If Nina was upset about Dr. Holtz, it didn’t show. But I wouldn’t have expected that anyhow. I’ve seen moon rocks that expressed more emotion than Nina. She’s so robotic the Moonie kids call her “Nina the Machina” behind her back.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I lied.
Nina didn’t buy it for a second. “There’s nothing to see,” she told me.
Which was also a lie, of course. I managed to catch a glimpse of the air lock over her shoulder.
There was plenty to see.
Nina hooked
her hands under my arms, hoisted me off the floor, and forcibly carried me ten steps back toward my apartment. Then she set me down and got in my face. “This isn’t a game, Dashiell. Go home for now. You’ll be able to leave soon.”
“When?”
“When I say so.” Nina pointed toward my door. I looked back to see both my parents standing there, waiting for me.
I obediently retreated. The fact was, I’d already seen everything I needed to. The brief glimpse I’d gotten was more than enough.
Two Moonies had been emerging from the air lock with Dr. Holtz, carrying him back inside, one holding his heels, the other his arms. Others had been crowded around them. I hadn’t even noticed who any of them were. I was too focused on Dr. Holtz. They’d taken him out of his space suit in the air lock, so I could see his face. The color had already drained from him. He was obviously dead.
My parents ushered me back into our residence, seeming very concerned about me. I probably looked terrible after seeing Dr. Holtz. I certainly felt terrible.
Dad shut the door. Mom steered me to an InflatiCube. My sister was still watching TV with the headphones clapped over her ears, singing the Squirrel Force theme song at full volume, unaware that anything bad had happened.
“This is all wrong,” I said.
Dad knelt beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. “I know, pal. It seems wrong to us, too.”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant. I . . . I don’t think this was an accident.”
Mom and Dad shared a slightly concerned look. Neither seemed sure what to say.
“You mean you think he did this on purpose?” Mom asked.
“No!” I said. “Not at all. I overheard Dr. Holtz in the bathroom last night. He was talking to someone about a discovery he’d made. A discovery he was going to reveal to all of us this morning. He was so excited about it. I’ve never heard anyone so happy. He couldn’t wait to tell everyone. So why would he go outside—alone—this morning without checking to make sure his suit was on right? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Once again Mom and Dad shared a look. This one was considerably more concerned. Although I couldn’t tell whether they were worried about me or about something else.
“Dash,” Dad said gravely. “Are you saying you think Dr. Holtz was murdered?”
“Yes,” I told him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Excerpt from The Official Residents’ Guide to Moon Base Alpha, © 2040 by National Aeronautics and Space Administration:
EDUCATION
For the benefit of families with children living at MBA, school will take place Monday through Friday, just as on earth. Age-specific classes will be conducted via ComLink with terrestrial instructors to provide the highest-quality education possible. In fact, your children will probably receive an even better education on the moon than they did on earth! NASA has recruited the finest, most effective teachers to lead classes—and your children’s education will regularly be supplemented with lectures by NASA specialists in dozens of different fields, ranging from mathematics to biology to engineering. Since your children will be living on the moon, they’ll be at the forefront of scientific research—so there’s a chance they might even learn some groundbreaking information before anyone on earth does!
BLOODTHIRSTY GELATIN
Lunar day 188
Breakfast time
School was canceled because of the crisis.
Back on earth I would have been thrilled for a sudden day off. But on the moon a day without school is even worse than a day with it. This isn’t because I really love school; I don’t. It’s because at MBA there is nothing else to do. I couldn’t use my newfound freedom to go surfing or mountain biking. Instead I was cooped up in the same place I always was, but now without anything to occupy my time. Which placed me in the bizarre situation of begging my parents to let me attend school.
“Please,” I pleaded. “I don’t have to go all day. Only a few hours.”
“I’m sorry,” Dad said. “Nina gave a direct order.”
“Come on! Can’t I take just one class?”
“No. You’re not going to school today and that’s final.”
“My teachers all work out of their homes,” I argued. “And I’m not doing anything. So why can’t I just ComLink them and take my classes?”
“Nina wants all Links left open for communication with NASA,” Mom replied.
My whole family was now in the mess hall, having breakfast. Or rather, Violet was having breakfast. The rest of us were still too shaken up. I had tried to eat a rehydrated cinnamon bun, which is one of the best space foods we have, but my stomach was so jumpy I’d only managed a few bites. Many of our fellow Moonies seemed to be having the same problem. Most everyone was passing on the solids and simply drinking their reclaimed-urine coffees. Violet, however, was happily scarfing down reconstituted waffles. Mom and Dad were letting her listen to music so she wouldn’t notice what else was going on; she had her earbuds in and was happily rocking out to her favorite band, a retro-ska dance group called Coronal Mass Ejection. Between the waffles, the music, and the fact that school had been canceled, it might as well have been Christmas for Violet.
“There are two hundred fifty-six ComLinks,” I told my parents. “That’s more than ten for every person here. What could Nina possibly need all of them for?”
“I think it’s standard emergency procedure,” Dad said.
“I know,” I countered, “but the emergency procedures were designed for something like an asteroid strike or an oxygen leak, weren’t they? Technically, this isn’t even an emergency anymore. It’s not like Dr. Holtz can get more dead.”
My mother glanced at Violet to see if she’d overheard this, but Violet had her earbuds firmly jammed in her ears. Mom then fixed me with a hard stare. “I don’t think that sort of talk is appropriate.”
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just that, without the Links, I can’t talk to my friends on earth. Or download a book. Or watch a movie.”
“It’s only temporary.” Dad looked to the other tables to make sure no one was within eavesdropping range, then lowered his voice. “Things are going to be a little unsettled here for a bit. No one ever expected Dr. Holtz to have an accident like this.”
“That’s because it wasn’t an accident,” I said under my breath. “Someone forced him to walk out that air lock with his suit on wrong.”
Mom sighed. “Dashiell, we’ve already discussed this. You have no proof of that.”
“Dr. Holtz would never have gone out the air lock without a partner,” I protested. “He was always warning us that it’s almost impossible to put a space suit on right by yourself. He was the one who came up with the buddy system for going out on the surface in the first place!”
“That doesn’t mean it was a murder,” Dad countered. “There are plenty of reasons he might have decided to ignore the rules. Maybe it had something to do with this big discovery of his. Maybe he had to get something off the lunar surface.”
“And risk almost certain death?” I asked. “No way. Dr. Holtz was the most cautious person I ever met. He wore a helmet to ride the stationary bike!”
“Even the most cautious people make mistakes,” Mom told me. “And furthermore, there doesn’t appear to be any evidence of foul play.”
“It’s only been an hour,” I muttered. “I’m sure some will turn up.”
Mom and Dad exchanged one of their concerned looks. They’d been doing this a great deal that morning, like they were far more worried about me than they were about Dr. Holtz.
Dad said, “Dash, you’re a smart kid. You’re very mature and precocious for your age, and we love that about you. But sometimes that brain of yours works a little too hard to see patterns where there might not be any.”
“Dealing with the death of someone close to you is always difficult,” Mom added. “We all have our different mechanisms for confronting a tragedy like this—”
“I’m no
t making this up!” I snapped, way too loud. Everyone in the mess turned toward us, so I had to lower my voice again. “You didn’t hear Dr. Holtz in the bathroom last night. If you had, you’d be just as sure as me that this wasn’t an accident.”
My parents recoiled from me. My outburst had caught them by surprise—but I think it convinced them I wasn’t merely having problems dealing. “Well, if this was a murder,” Dad said, “then you’re right, some evidence ought to turn up. But if none does . . .”
“I’ll drop it,” I finished.
“There’s something else you should know about Dr. Holtz that’s important . . . ,” Mom began, but she didn’t get to finish. Dr. Timothy Marquez was approaching our table; Mom fell silent so he wouldn’t overhear her.
Dr. Marquez is the Moon Base Alpha psychiatrist. NASA is very concerned about our mental health—living in an enclosed space far from earth is a good recipe for going nuts—so we all have mandatory evaluation sessions once a week. Dr. Marquez is the only Moonie who was really famous before being selected to come to MBA. He wrote a bestselling self-help book called Turn That Frown Upside Down and appeared on tons of talk shows. Despite this, I’ve always found him a little weird. He has a lot of nervous tics and is a little too intense for me. He takes his job way too seriously and is always sticking his nose in everyone else’s business, like he was doing right then.
“Is everything all right over here?” he asked, obviously having overheard my outburst. He had a cup of coffee and was compulsively stirring it with a spoon. Dr. Marquez rarely ever actually drinks his coffee; he simply stirs it for hours at a time.
“Yes,” Dad said dismissively. “Everything’s fine.”
Dr. Marquez made a high-pitched giggle. He sounded like a monkey being tickled. “Oh, I highly doubt that. We have all just experienced a highly traumatic incident. In fact we are still experiencing it. So I don’t think that everything is fine at all. Not for you. Not for me. Not for any of us.” Dr. Marquez sat on the InflatiCube beside me without being invited. “So tell me, how are all of you really holding up?”