by Stuart Gibbs
I sat on an InflatiCube, daunted. “No. I tried his room last night, but it was locked.”
Zan shook her head and started pacing. “I doubt he would have hidden it there anyway. That’s far too obvious. I guarantee you, Nina—or someone else—has already scoured his quarters. And he wouldn’t have kept the evidence on him, either, knowing they’d search his body.”
“The science pod, then? He had a station there.”
“He shared that station with Dr. Janke. And it seems too obvious as well.”
“Then where?” I asked, feeling frustrated. “This base isn’t huge, but there are still thousands of places to hide something as small as a phone.”
“I know.” Zan sounded as frustrated as I was. “We’ll both just have to think on this.”
I hesitated before bringing up my next point, aware Zan wouldn’t like hearing it any more than I had. “There’s one other thing you should know. According to my parents, there’s a possibility that Dr. Holtz was losing his mind.”
Zan stopped pacing. She whirled toward me, her eyes wide in surprise. “Why would they say that?”
“They said he’d been acting strange lately. And talking to himself. They think he might have gone out the air lock because he was paranoid or schizophrenic or something. They even think his big discovery might not be real, like a figment of his imagination.”
Zan looked very upset by all this for a moment, but then shook it off. “Dr. Holtz might have seemed a bit erratic lately, but I’m sure your parents are wrong. He wasn’t crazy. I spoke to him very recently and he seemed as sane as could be—”
“That doesn’t mean he was sane all the time.”
“True, but your parents were basing their analysis of him on random observations as well. There has never been a documented case of life on the moon driving anyone crazy. There were hundreds of people up here during the construction of this base and there are dozens living here now. Some of them might have gotten depressed or desperately homesick, but nothing worse than that.”
“Well, what if Dr. Holtz was losing his mind before he came here?” I asked. “What if this was Alzheimer’s or something?”
Zan shook her head. “Dr. Holtz was thoroughly vetted by NASA’s medical staff before being approved for this mission. Because of his age, they were certainly checking for Alzheimer’s or any other type of disease like that. If he’d shown even a trace, they would have flagged him. But he was given a clean bill of health, mentally and physically.”
“It’s been six months since then,” I said. “And he wasn’t visiting Dr. Marquez like he was supposed to. Although Chang says that probably didn’t matter.”
“Six months isn’t long enough to go from completely sane to imagining great scientific discoveries and thinking that someone is forcing you out the air lock. Trust me on this, Dashiell. I’ve studied human psychology.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “All right. I’m just telling you what my folks said. Dr. Holtz didn’t seem crazy to me either . . . up until he signed that the earth had killed him.”
“That’s not crazy. It’s code for something.”
I nodded agreement, although I wasn’t quite as convinced as Zan about this. “Is there anyone else besides Nina who might have had access to the security footage?”
Zan focused her bright blue eyes on me. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I know Nina’s been acting suspicious through all this, but she doesn’t seem to have a motive. Whereas some other people do.”
“Like who?”
“Lars Sjoberg. He didn’t like Dr. Holtz at all. That’s what the whole thing in the gym was about last night. He was saying all sorts of bad stuff about Dr. Holtz, and Chang got upset.”
“What kind of bad stuff?”
“That Dr. Holtz did a lousy job making this base fit for humans. Even though that wasn’t really his job.”
“Hmm.” Zan began pacing again. “Lars blew half a billion dollars to come up here. He’s probably looking for someone to blame besides himself. And he certainly has a violent side.”
“And now, suddenly, he’s demanding that Nina put him and his family on the rocket back to earth. Like he’s trying to get away from the crime scene as fast as possible.”
“That’s true.”
“Is Nina going to let him?”
“I don’t know. Letting the Sjobergs go will cause a huge mess as far as scheduling is concerned. A lot of the other temps would end up stuck here until the next rocket comes. But NASA doesn’t want one of the world’s most wealthy and powerful men telling people he’s being held prisoner up here. They need the money from future tourists to keep this place going. So it’s possible that if the Sjobergs sign a contract swearing they won’t bad-mouth Moon Base Alpha, NASA will find a way to let them go home tomorrow.”
“So he’ll get away?”
“He’s very wealthy and powerful. I suppose that back on earth he might be able to keep from being arrested. For instance, he could move to a country where the US couldn’t extradite him. If he’s even guilty. We don’t really have any proof of that.” Zan stared thoughtfully at the big SlimScreen, watching the digital unicorns as they frolicked beneath the rainbows. “Who else do you suspect?”
I paused, not thrilled about what I had to say next. “Chang Hi-Tech.”
Zan looked back at me, surprised. “Really?”
“He accused Dr. Holtz of stealing an idea from him a long time ago. He says he’s over it, but maybe that’s a lie. Last night, in the gym, he was pretty scary when he was angry.”
“I suppose. But if he really has been holding a grudge all this time, why not kill Dr. Holtz on earth? It’d be far easier to cover his tracks there.”
“If he did it, he’s done a good job covering them here,” I said. “There doesn’t seem to be any evidence against him at all. Maybe he thought he could make it look like an accident better up here. Or get Lars Sjoberg to take the fall for it.”
“Good point,” Zan admitted.
“There’s also Dr. Marquez,” I offered. “According to Chang, he’s not a very good psychiatrist. Dr. Holtz tried to block him from coming up here and he knew it.”
“Really? That’s interesting.”
“And Daphne Merritt’s up to something too. I saw her fiddling with the station computers last night. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Dr. Holtz, but it was suspicious.”
“Wow.” Zan blew out a big breath. “That’s quite a list of suspects.”
“There’s one more thing,” I said. I brought up the threatening text on my smartwatch and showed it to Zan. “This isn’t actually from Kira. Someone hacked her account and used it to send me this.”
Zan read the text, then looked to me with fear in her eyes. “When did this happen?”
“Last night after dinner. That’s why I was trying to find you. I showed it to my parents, but they said it was probably someone like Patton Sjoberg trying to scare me.”
“I suppose that’s possible, but . . . I think you’re right to be concerned.” Zan shook her head sadly. “Oh, Dash. I’m sorry. I was hoping something like this wouldn’t happen.”
“So . . . you think I’m really in danger?”
“I’m not sure. If it was really the killer who sent this, they’re not telling you that they’re coming for you next. They’re just warning you to back off—which probably means they’re scared. We’ve gotten close to them and they’re worried they’ll get caught. But this certainly isn’t something to take lightly, either.”
My watch alarm chimed. I glanced at it and groaned.
“What’s wrong?” Zan asked.
“I forgot I’m supposed to have a session with Dr. Marquez today.”
“About what?”
“Everyone thinks I’m going psycho because I said Dr. Holtz’s death was suspicious. And yet here’s all this evidence that says it was.”
“Even so, it’s best to keep this to ourselves.” Zan fixed me with a piercing stare.
“You swear you haven’t told anyone else about what we’re up to?”
“I swear,” I lied.
“Good. Although . . .” Zan trailed off, as though she was embarrassed about finishing the sentence.
“Do you need something else?” I asked.
“I hate to ask, especially given the threat you’ve received.”
“That’s even more reason I want to help,” I said. “The faster we find whoever sent this, the less chance there is they can hurt me.”
That wasn’t the only reason. I didn’t want to admit it to Zan, but the investigation was exciting. It had shaken up my dull life at MBA and given me something to focus on. Even though I’d been threatened, I didn’t want to go back to my boring old routine.
“I just need you to keep your eyes and ears open a bit longer,” Zan told me. “I’m going to look into all these leads you’ve found and try to figure out where Dr. Holtz stashed his phone, but I could still use another brain on this. Sound out Dr. Marquez right now. Watch Daphne to see if she does anything else suspicious. Keep your distance and don’t do anything stupid, but pay close attention to our suspects—and anything else you notice that’s out of the ordinary.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Trust me, that’s plenty. Now hurry. You don’t want to be late to your appointment with Dr. Marquez.”
“Actually, I do. In fact I’d prefer to miss it completely.”
Zan laughed. It sounded so sweet, it was almost like a song. “I understand. And if he wasn’t a suspect, I wouldn’t push you.”
“All right.” I headed for the door, opened it a crack, and peeked into the hall.
Mr. Grisan was passing by on the ground floor, but otherwise there was no one around. Once Mr. Grisan was around the corner, I stepped out onto the catwalk and waved Zan through after me.
She hurried for the stairs while I locked the door. She’d only gone a few steps before something occurred to me. “Wait!” I whispered.
Zan turned back, looking nervous to be out in the open with me. “What?”
“I told you about all the suspects I found. Did you find any?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Trust me, Dashiell, the less you know about what I’m doing, the safer you are.” Before I could protest, Zan ducked around the corner, disappearing from sight.
Excerpt from The Official Residents’ Guide to Moon Base Alpha, © 2040 by National Aeronautics and Space Administration:
MENTAL HEALTH
At MBA, every effort has been made to create a relaxing, enjoyable environment for all lunarnauts. However, as you will be among the first humans to ever live on a non-earth celestial object, you will be subjected to things that few of your fellow humans have ever experienced. Therefore, as part of our commitment to provide the finest medical care possible, all lunarnauts are required to visit the base psychiatrist on a regularly scheduled basis.
Keep in mind, there is no evidence that life on the moon causes any mental conditions that life on earth does not.I This psychiatric monitoring and assessment will help us learn about the effects of lunar life on MBA residents and help us plan for future voyages—perhaps to places even farther than the moon! In addition, psychiatric sessions can be relaxing, enlightening, and even fun. So make the most of them.
* * *
I. Although there is some minor evidence that disruption of the standard earth day can lead to depression.
PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATION
Lunar day 189
Lunchtime
“How are you feeling, Dashiell?” Dr. Marquez asked.
“Hungry,” I said. “I missed breakfast today.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“That’s how I’m feeling.” I held up a plate of recently rehydrated enchiladas. “That’s why I’ve got this. I didn’t want to miss lunch, too.”
Dr. Marquez picked at something in his teeth. He was seated on an InflatiCube across the table from me in his family’s residence. Dr. Marquez usually met patients in the medical bay, but Dr. Holtz’s body was still in there, and everyone figured that having a corpse around wasn’t conducive to a good therapy session.
The Marquez family’s large SlimScreen was set to an image of a wheat field: acres of golden grass rippling in a light breeze. It was probably supposed to be relaxing, but all it really did was make me hungry for fresh-baked bread.
I’d never enjoyed my meetings with Dr. Marquez, but I put up with them because I thought they were important. Now that Chang had told me Dr. Marquez wasn’t very good at his job, I was annoyed. His nervous tics and probing questions were getting under my skin—and it was hard to hide, since he kept asking me to discuss my feelings.
Dr. Marquez said, “Your parents have expressed concern about how you’re responding to Dr. Holtz’s death. You have been distressed, distracted, paranoid . . .”
“What did I do that was paranoid?”
“You suggested that the death wasn’t a mere accident. That there might be a conspiracy surrounding it.”
“I didn’t say anything about a conspiracy.” I forked some of my enchiladas into my mouth, only to discover they weren’t enchiladas. They were liver and onions that had been mislabeled. I spat it back onto the plate.
Dr. Marquez pointed triumphantly. “Ah! See what you just did? You told me a lie, and your own body reacted violently against it. In being dishonest with me, you almost made yourself throw up.”
“No, I almost threw up because this food sucks,” I countered. “It’s liver and onions. I didn’t like liver and onions back on earth. No one does. So what NASA moron thought it would be a good idea to dehydrate it?”
“You are displaying a great deal of anger,” Dr. Marquez said. “I wonder if this might truly be about something else besides the food.”
“It’s not,” I said. “I’m starving and I just got the worst lunch imaginable. I’d rather eat rat droppings.”
Dr. Marquez templed his fingers under his chin. This was a very special weird tic of his, the one he did when he was trying to look smart. He generally followed it with what he imagined was a Very Impressive Observation. “I think you’re subverting your anger, Dashiell. Something else is annoying you.”
Yeah, you, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. Instead I shoved the liver and onions away from me. A little bit sloshed off the plate onto the table.
Dr. Marquez recoiled from it. “Dashiell, I understand the source of this anger. Dr. Holtz’s death has been upsetting to all of us—”
“No,” I said. “It hasn’t.”
Dr. Marquez arched an eyebrow. “You mean it’s not upsetting to you?”
“No. It’s very upsetting to me. But other people here haven’t been upset at all. In fact, there were a lot of people here who didn’t like Dr. Holtz very much.”
“That’s not true . . .”
“Like you, for instance.”
Dr. Marquez froze. He’d been about to say something, but now a weird, surprised gagging noise came from his mouth. It took him a while to decide what the proper response to my accusation should be. He finally opted for indignation. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“And what could I possibly have against Dr. Holtz?”
“He thought you were a lousy doctor and tried to keep you from coming up here.”
Dr. Marquez made the weird gagging noise again. He was struggling to control his emotions, but he couldn’t quite do it. Anger flashed in his eyes. “Where did you hear that?”
I didn’t want to rat Chang out, so I said, “Lots of people said so.”
“Well it’s absolutely false!”
“So you weren’t angry at Dr. Holtz?”
“This session isn’t about me! It’s about you.”
On another day I might have backed down, but Zan had asked me to sound out Dr. Marquez. And besides, provoking him was much more fun than answering annoying questions about myself. �
�All I’m saying is, there are people—like you—who aren’t at all upset that Dr. Holtz died. So maybe it’s not paranoid of me to think that his death wasn’t an accident.”
Dr. Marquez gasped. “Are you accusing me of something?”
Rather than answer, I shrugged.
Dr. Marquez shook his head and tutted. “This is very disturbing. Your delusions are worse than I was led to believe. Have you told anyone else this?”
“Some people in security.”
“And what was their response?”
“They were already suspicious of you.”
It was a lie, but Dr. Marquez bought it. His eyes went wide in surprise. “That’s ridiculous! I had nothing to do with Dr. Holtz’s death! And besides, there are plenty of people here who were far angrier at Dr. Holtz than me!”
“Like who?”
“Lars Sjoberg and his wife!” Dr. Marquez blurted out, so worked up he forgot all about censoring himself.
I leaned forward, intrigued. “Sonja?”
“Oh, definitely. She hated Dr. Holtz. He hadn’t wanted the Sjobergs to come here and had been very vocal about it. Sonja was offended—and believe me, that is one woman you don’t want on your bad side. Everyone thinks Lars is dangerous, but she’s the real hothead in that family.”
“Really? She doesn’t seem like it.”
“Don’t believe that icy exterior of hers. Underneath, she’s a volcano. Back on earth, at a charity luncheon a few years ago, one of her best friends made a joke about her being shallow. Sonja stabbed her in the leg with an oyster fork. Lars had to spend nearly a million dollars on lawyers to keep her from filing charges.”
“I never heard that,” I said.
“Lars spent another couple million keeping the story hushed up. I only found out during a hypnosis session.”
I was growing more convinced that Dr. Marquez wasn’t a very good psychiatrist. I was pretty sure doctors weren’t supposed to talk about their patients like this. But as long as Dr. Marquez was doing it, I was going to keep pushing him. “Did she ever hurt anyone else?”