by Stuart Gibbs
“Crystal,” I muttered, then headed into my room and slammed the door behind me.
Nina might have been upset about her eggs, but she’d used the incident to manipulate me in a big way. By grounding me, she was shutting down any chance I had to investigate Dr. Holtz’s death—or to recruit anyone else to help me. And by demanding that I compose a video log about Dr. Holtz, Nina was forcing me to publicly back her side of the story. If I decided to push the murder angle later, I’d come across as fickle.
I found myself thinking about Kira’s suggestion. If Nina truly had been involved in Dr. Holtz’s death, she was certainly in a great position to cover her tracks. She was doing everything in her power to muzzle me and derail any investigation.
I sat at the SlimScreen table. Instead of starting my video log, I said, “Computer, get me all information you can on Nina Stack.”
“It vould be my pleasure!” the computer exclaimed. It instantly opened a ComLink and brought up a dozen web pages about Nina. I figured there was no harm in using a ComLink now. It wasn’t like Nina could punish me any more than she had already.
Now that the Link was open, I discovered that I had hundreds of messages as well. Virtually everyone I knew on earth had reached out to me after hearing about Dr. Holtz’s death. I read a few. They all said basically the same thing: Heard the news. Thinking about you. Let me know how you are.
Riley Bock had left a dozen messages herself. With all the excitement, I’d forgotten that I’d promised to call her that day. It would have to wait a little longer, though; I had investigating to do.
I scanned through the web pages about Nina, but there was nothing I didn’t already know. Either Nina had never done anything wrong in her life, or NASA had completely whitewashed her history. Whatever the case, every biography of Nina was glowing. She was a decorated soldier, a clever scientist, a highly respected employee, and the top choice to command MBA: competent, straitlaced, and honest as could be.
But then all of our official bios read like that. First, NASA truly had sought out extremely well-behaved people to serve at MBA, not wanting any chance of scandal. And then, if we had ever misbehaved, even a bit, NASA had scrubbed any mention of that from our records. For example, at school on earth I’d been sent to the principal’s office plenty of times, but according to my bio I’d been a model student. It made me sound like a Boy Scout.
However, someone at MBA obviously wasn’t as moral as their bio claimed, because they’d murdered Dr. Holtz. Either they’d hidden their true nature or NASA had hidden it for them. Whatever the case, I probably wasn’t going to find any dirt on them online.
“Has anyone at MBA ever done anything wrong?” I sighed.
“Your sister once put chewing gum in ze rehydrator,” the computer replied.
“Right.” I’d forgotten about that. Violet had broken the machine, forcing us all to eat nonhydrated food cubes for two days until Mr. Grisan could fix it. “I meant the adults.”
“Lars Sjoberg is rumored to have done some shady things in his business dealings.”
I straightened up, annoyed at myself for not thinking of the Sjobergs first. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Hundreds of web pages popped open, so quickly I worried they might overwhelm the ComLink. I spent the next hour reading through them.
In his business Lars had been accused of everything from ignoring environmental laws to bribing government officials to violating oil embargoes. However, none of the charges had ever stuck. Inevitably, someone below Lars at his company ended up taking the fall, while Lars himself came out unscathed. He was known to say, “When you’re on the top of the heap, lots of people will try to drag you down to their level”—and yet it was hard to believe that a fundamentally good person would have been accused of so many bad things. Instead Lars came across as someone who’d behaved badly time and time again, but who had the wealth and power to avoid getting in trouble.
Could Lars Sjoberg have killed Dr. Holtz? It wasn’t hard to imagine him committing murder. He was basically the worst person I’d ever met. Plus he had a volcanic temper and was prone to fits of rage that shook the entire base.
And now that I thought about it, Patton and Lily Sjoberg were also volatile and violent. I wondered if either one of them was capable of murder too.
I rubbed my eyes, which were bleary from reading. “Computer, can you bring up the news?” I asked.
“Of course, mein Herr.” The web page for the New York Times appeared. (When my parents were kids, there were lots of newspapers, one for almost every city. Now in America only the Times is left.) As I’d suspected, Dr. Holtz’s death was the lead story. I tapped on the headline, which instantly linked to a video report.
Footage of Dr. Holtz training for his mission to MBA appeared, while a reporter began, “Dr. Ronald Holtz, a lunarnaut on Moon Base Alpha and a highly respected professor, died this morning during a routine moonwalk at the base.”
“Routine?” I repeated, surprised. Obviously NASA was covering up the real details of the death. Or maybe Nina had hidden the details from NASA.
A telephone’s ring interrupted the news report. Then a message flashed: INCOMING CALL. RILEY BOCK.
After so much time focusing on the Sjobergs, I was ready for a friendly face. I accepted the call.
The news story automatically muted and shifted to the background while Riley’s face popped up in a central window. Her sister, Eliza, who is two years younger than us, was right next to her. They were speaking to me on Riley’s smartwatch while their car automatically drove them someplace—probably the beach, knowing the Bocks. (Ever since cars started driving themselves, parents have been letting them chaperone kids.) It was gorgeously sunny, as usual; the girls were wearing bikini tops, board shorts, and sunglasses.
The phone service on the moon isn’t bad. In fact I can get a better connection from MBA than I could from a lot of places in Hawaii. However, the signal has to travel 238,900 miles between earth and the moon, so it takes a few seconds between the time you speak and the time the other person hears it. Then there are another few seconds after they speak until you hear them. Originally this was difficult to deal with; we ended up talking over each other all the time. But after a while we got used to it. Since I speak to Riley every few days, she knows the routine.
“Hey,” she said. “Is everything all right? I left you a ton of messages.”
“Sorry. I didn’t get them until an hour ago. They wanted us off the ComLink.”
“Oh. Guess it’s been an exciting day up there.”
“Yeah, for once.” NASA usually has censors eavesdrop on our personal calls, but I’ve learned I can get away with insulting the base if I make it sound like sarcasm.
“I’m serious,” Riley said. “Are you doing okay? Did you know the guy?”
“There are only twenty-two people here. Of course I knew him.”
“You know what she means!” Eliza said. “Did you hang out with him or was he just some old coot who never paid attention to you?”
My eyes flicked to the news footage of Dr. Holtz. It was now showing him boarding the rocket for the launch to the moon. He looked as happy as anyone could be, beaming in his space suit, waving cheerfully to the cameras.
“Somewhere in between,” I admitted. “Since he was a lot older, he hung out more with the other adults than any of us kids. But he was always really nice to me. Everyone really liked him.”
“Oh,” Riley said. “Well, I’m sorry he’s gone. Are you guys gonna have a funeral for him?”
“To be honest, I have no idea. I don’t know if anyone’s even thought about that yet.”
“Are you gonna bury him there?” Eliza asked. “Is he gonna be, like, the first dead guy laid to rest on the moon?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“So what are you gonna do?” Eliza demanded. “Shoot him into space?”
“I doubt it. Though I think Dr. Holtz might have liked that idea.”
“Well, it’s all over the news down here,” Riley reported. “Like being the first human to die on the moon makes you a hero somehow. So we figured we’d check in.”
“Thanks,” I said. “What are you up to? Surfing?”
“You know it. Kohala. Looks like an epic break today. Check it.” Riley turned her smartwatch so I could see they were arriving at the beach. On cue a perfect wave came in, a beautiful blue curl.
I groaned, missing earth terribly. “Come on. Don’t rub it in like that.”
“Rub it in?” Eliza asked. “Dude, you’re on the moon!”
“You hit six g’s on a rocket,” Riley added. “Kohala’s probably as exciting as riding a merry-go-round compared to that.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sell it to the censors. “You’re right. But I still miss that place.”
“Ha,” Riley said, not believing me at all. “You’re famous and you’re having the adventure of a lifetime. I get to go surfing every once in a while. Trust me, my life blows compared to yours.”
I desperately wanted to tell them the truth, that I wasn’t lucky at all, that all the amazing stories they’d heard about life on the moon (none of which had come from me, by the way) were merely hype and public relations. Instead I could only say, “Your life’s not so bad.”
“Mr. Cochran’s gonna flunk me in English and Dad wants me to work in his office this summer,” Riley shot back. “What’s good about that?”
She still had her smartwatch aimed toward the beach. I noticed several friends from school there, pulling on wetsuits and waxing their boards, feeling the sand on their toes and the warm sun on their faces. In the distance a surfer shot through the tunnel of a wave.
“It’s all good,” I told her. “Trust me.”
The Bock girls’ car pulled into the sand lot by the beach and self-parked. Lori Yee-Cohen, one of my classmates, set down her surfboard and waved hello to them. “Check it out!” Riley said, pointing to her watch. “I’m talking to Dash Gibson—in space!”
“Awesome!” Lori exclaimed, then waved to me. “Hey, Dash! How’s the moon?”
“Great,” I lied. “How’s earth?”
“All right, I guess. We miss you!”
This from a girl who hadn’t even known I went to her school until my family got tapped for MBA. Then I got famous and everyone suddenly started acting like we’d been friends our whole lives. I don’t mind when Riley milks her friendship with me for social status—we really are friends, and I’d do the same if she were the one on the moon—but it bugs me when other people do it.
“I miss all you guys too,” I said, just to be polite.
“Take it easy!” Lori picked up her board again and continued to the water’s edge.
Riley turned the watch back so I could see her. She now looked slightly concerned; I probably hadn’t done a great job of hiding my homesickness. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Hey, some new girl came up there today, right?” Eliza asked. “Did you meet her yet?”
“Yeah, I’ve met her. I’m her official welcomer.”
“What’s she like?” asked Riley.
“She’s nice.”
“Ooooh!” Eliza crooned. “You like her! Are you gonna kiss her?”
“Don’t be such a dork.” Riley shoved her sister out of the frame.
“Dash has a girlfriend!” Eliza sang, unfazed. “On the mooooon!”
Something suddenly caught my eye in the news report on Dr. Holtz, which was still running in the background on the SlimScreen. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, as I’d been focused on the beach instead. But it was enough to make me sit up, aware I’d just missed something important.
Riley must have noticed my expression change. “What’s wrong?”
I tapped the SlimScreen, pausing the news report on an image of a somewhat younger Dr. Holtz dressed for a fancy party. “Nothing,” I said. “I just have to jump.”
“Oh. Well, I’ve gotta go myself,” Riley told me. “The waves are calling. Take it easy up there. If you start freaking out or anything, you know where to find me.”
“Have a good ride for me,” I said.
“You know I will. Aloha, Moonie.”
“Have fun with your girlfriend!” Eliza shouted.
Riley clicked off. I stared at her final image—sand, sun, and beach—feeling desperately homesick for a few more moments.
I was about to return to the news report when a thought occurred to me.
When I’d overheard Dr. Holtz’s phone call, there hadn’t been any two-second gaps in the conversation. True, I hadn’t been able to hear the person on the other end of the call, but still, you can tell. Talking to someone when you have to wait a few seconds for an answer always sounds a little stilted. But Dr. Holtz’s conversation hadn’t been that way at all.
Which meant he hadn’t been talking to someone on earth. He’d been talking to someone on the moon.
I wondered who it could be. Who else had been up at that time of night? And why had they used the phone, rather than meeting somewhere on the base?
I sighed. Trapped in my room, there was no way I could pursue that line of investigation any further.
So I returned my attention to the news report, rewinding it thirty seconds to see what I’d missed.
The report was recapping Dr. Holtz’s life and, judging from the photos of him, was somewhere near the last decade. Dr. Holtz’s hair was graying, but not white like it had ultimately become. Various shots of him working at NASA flashed by, while the reporter said, “In more recent years, Dr. Holtz was a key player in designing Moon Base Alpha, drawing upon his research and his own experiences in space to help create the best lunar living environment for humans.”
The video then shifted to the party I’d glimpsed, which turned out to be an event in Dr. Holtz’s honor. “Dr. Holtz was widely respected for his work,” the reporter continued, “garnering such awards as the National Medal of Science and NASA’s Exceptional Scientific Achievement Medal for his work on the effects of low gravity on the human body.”
“Pause,” I told the computer. The same thing that had caught my eye before had done so again. It was so fleeting I didn’t even know what it was, but this time I’d been alert enough to stop the news report in the right place, giving me time to examine the scene.
Dr. Holtz was up on a podium, wearing a nice suit, while Caroline Lesser, the chief administrator of NASA, draped a medal around his neck. In the room around them, hundreds of fellow NASA employees were also dressed to the nines, seated at dinner tables and applauding enthusiastically.
Well, not everyone was applauding enthusiastically.
While all the other guests looked pleased, one person seated at a front table didn’t seem happy at all. I might never have noticed him, but he stood out because he had a Mohawk.
I tapped on the image. “Enlarge,” I told the computer.
The computer zoomed in on Chang Hi-Tech, enhancing and adjusting the resolution until Chang’s face was as bright and clear as if I had been sitting right next to him.
Close up, he didn’t seem merely unhappy.
He was glaring at Dr. Holtz with complete and total hatred.
Excerpt from The Official Residents’ Guide to Moon Base Alpha, © 2040 by National Aeronautics and Space Administration:
DINING
Dining at MBA is a communal affair, so every meal is like a party! You’ll join all your fellow lunarnauts in the mess hall, where you’ll be able to select any of hundreds of possible meals. NASA chefs have been perfecting recipes for more than eighty years now, so whatever your taste, there will be plenty of options for you. Choose from old favorites like chicken parmigiana, cheese enchiladas, or classic shrimp cocktail—or try one of our new, exciting culinary fusions like Korean duck tacos, lamb-curry lasagna, or Peruvian spring rolls!I Simply pick your convenient, premade dining packet, insert it in the rehydrator for thirty seconds�
��and bon appetit! Best of all, it’s free, courtesy of NASA.II Eating at MBA is so easy and delicious, you’ll be disappointed when you return to earth!
* * *
I. To respect the dietary restrictions of our lunarnauts, before launch you can also request personally designed meals if you keep kosher or halal, are vegetarian or vegan, or have any other food restrictions.
II. In order to prevent food shortages, please limit yourself to only one meal per dining period.
FRESH MEAT
Lunar day 188
Dinnertime
My parents sprang me for dinner.
They had been so busy with their various duties that day that it wasn’t till evening that they heard I’d been grounded. Once they did, they were livid at Nina. First, everyone who’d witnessed the raw-egg incident had made it clear that Patton Sjoberg was as much to blame as me—if not more. And neither Mom nor Dad felt it was Nina’s right to ground me. So come dinnertime I was seated in the mess with everyone else.
Normally I would consider dining at MBA to be as big a punishment as being grounded, but since fresh food had arrived that day, I was actually excited to eat for once. Everyone else was too. Most nights the Moonies dribble in at random times to scarf something down as quickly as possible. (It’s the general theory at MBA that the faster you eat your freeze-dried crud, the less chance you have of actually tasting it.) But tonight the mess was full, everyone gathered together and eager for their meal.
On a normal night we all prepare our own food. (Even Violet can work the rehydrator, so long as she doesn’t stick chewing gum in it.) But the fresh food took a bit more care. So Nina, Chang, and Mr. Grisan had the honor of prepping it while the rest of us waited. It was too crowded for my family to have a table to ourselves; Kira’s father and Daphne Merritt sat with us. Kira was the only person at MBA who hadn’t shown up for dinner.
“Where’s your daughter?” Violet asked Dr. Howard bluntly.