Below them, the sprawl of the half-built Moonbase was just visible. Vague shapes and structures took form. They looked still and silent. The outlines of huge, dust-caked machinery sat frozen in darkness.
Intense vibrations could be felt throughout the craft as Lucas began his final landing sequence. “Puttin’ us down.”
Stabilizers fired in staccato bursts as a rim of powerful landing lights blinked on. The impressive craft set down between cluster of habitats on the outskirts of the base, kicking up plumes of dust.
The cargo hold was filled with medical and food supplies. Kwong and Perez checked each other’s gear, while Adams and Mitchell checked the chambers of their modified assault rifles.
Chakma watched them while adjusting with his helmet readouts. “Those weapons going to work out there?”
Mitchell looked at Chakma like he was a moron while checking his scope attachment. “You bet your ass they will. These rounds contain their own oxidizer. No atmospheric oxygen required.”
Lucas and Perez entered the hold, carrying their insulated backpacks. Perez shoved a few medical supplies into her bag as the others hustled through a small passageway into the rear airlock.
Kwong was the last one through, closing the hatch behind her. Lucas moved to the front of the airlock and checked the readout on his wrist display. Satisfied, he turned to the others. “Run your O2 checks again. Remember, don’t waste your breathing. We’ve got about three hours’ worth of air.”
Each crew member checked their O2 supply and gave Lucas the thumbs up. He then turned and peered out the primary airlock to the surface, taking hold of a large red handle next to him. “Opening airlock.” Lucas pulled the handle down.
There was a loud beep before the hatch cracked open, visibly sucking out air with it. A small ladder unspooled from the underbelly of the craft and the crew began to dismount, gingerly stepping down onto the surface. They were greeted with the deafening silence of a tomb.
Mitchell looked out in awe at the magnificent desolation “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I’m here.”
“Yer folks would be proud, son,” Adams said with a mock hick accent.
“Just hurts me to think none of them will ever know I came here.”
“Yup. Not even if you die here,” Adams said with a playful snort.
Mitchell gave him a sideways glance and smirked.
“What’s our first port of call?” asked Perez.
Lucas took in the sprawling base before them. “We need to secure the Command Module. From there we can work our way out to the drill site. Hey, Chakma.”
“Yeah.”
“Start your mapping sequence. I want a grid layout of the entire complex.”
Chakma pulled a small hand-held device out from his supply sack. “Roger that.”
“Let’s move out. I’m on point. Single-file, and no wandering off.” Lucas began hop-walking across the lunar surface, kicking up a rooster tail of dust behind him. The others followed him.
Kwong laughed, almost ecstatic. “Holy shit! I’m walking on the Moon!”
“Look, ma! No hands!” yelled Chakma. The others chuckled.
Lucas and Adams were the first to reach the entrance hatch of Igloo-Six, where the Command Module was housed. It looked like a cross between some dormant, high-tech crypt, and an archaeological dig site that had been hastily abandoned. Everything was covered in grey dust.
“Adams, you’re up.”
Adams pulled out a slim package from his sack that was wrapped in silver foil. He carefully peeled it open, pulling out a blank keycard.
He placed it against the keypad. After a few seconds, the numbered pads whirred and flickered until a green light clicked on.
Lucas twisted the handle on the hatch. There was a dull clunk as it opened, revealing a connected airlock corridor. They all proceeded to enter, their flashlight beams sabering the musty darkness as Perez closed the hatch behind them.
They cautiously pushed deeper into the facility, through connected airlocks and hatches, and then through a series of more extensive console rooms and plexiglass cubes.
Mitchell’s flashlight caught a smear of blood on the wall next to him. “Got some blood here.” The others all turned, flashlights dancing over the walls to examine the evidence.
Perez, however, saw something of interest up ahead and continued through the darkness. ‘Um… guys.” She peered through a console door that was smeared with more blood. Pfssssht! The door swished open.
The rest of the team followed her through, gingerly entering the room. Their jaws were agape. Adams and Mitchell drew their weapons.
“Jesus…” Lucas muttered to himself.
Chakma looked on with horror. “Oh, man.”
They were presented with the gruesome aftermath of some kind. As their flashlights panned around the room, they illuminated blood-flecked walls, as well as upturned furniture and equipment.
“Looks like there was a massacre,” Perez said.
“One without any bodies,” Lucas replied.
She turned to Lucas with a grim look. “Yet.”
Chapter Seven
L ucas looked at his atmospheric readout on his wrist then clipped off his helmet, breathing in the stale air. “A bit musty, but the filters seem to still be intact.”
The others followed his lead and peeled off their helmets.
Lucas glanced down at the nearest console and tapped the keyboard. The computer screen chimed with a network error as it came to life. “Mia, see if you can bring up the beacon logs.”
Perez jumped into the seat, clipped her gloves off, and started furiously clacking away on the keyboard.
Lucas leaned over the chair behind her as she began sifting through internal files. “I want to see if anyone tried to send an SOS before they went dark.”
When Perez found the files Lucas wanted, her eyes narrowed on a series of timestamps. “OK… looks like a distress signal was sent from this hab to Lunar Command at 1200 Pacific Standard… June twenty-second.”
“Same day,” said Adams.
Frowning, Lucas kept his eyes on the screen while nodding in agreement. “Exactly one hour before Lunar Command knew there was a problem.”
Perez brought up the readouts on the base’s antenna array. There were error messages and pop-ups flashing all over the screen. “Even if their orbital SAT didn’t go offline, the signal would never have reached Earth anyway. Their primary antenna array is severely damaged.”
Chakma snickered. “No one was going to hear them. They were shooting blanks.”
Kwong took a seat next to Perez to get a better look at the data. “But surely they must have known the antennas were damaged before they tried to send a distress signal, right?”
“Maybe,” replied Lucas. “Where is that array located?”
Perez tapped away and brought up some coordinates on the screen. “Four point seven miles, south-east.
Suddenly, Lucas cocked his head upon hearing a faint metallic clang behind them.
They all wheeled to face a row of supply lockers.
There was a rustling noise coming from behind one of the doors. Something was in there, shifting.
Adams raised his rifle to his eye and approached. Mitchell put a finger to his lips for everyone to be quiet. Adams turned to Mitchell and gave him a nod to cover him. Adams then grabbed the locker handle.
3…2…1…
Adams yanked it open.
Inside, the glint of two terrified eyes stared back at them. The gaunt, hollow shape of a human form could be seen in the darkness. It was Zoe. She shakily held out a small kitchen knife as a weapon. She looked filthy and malnourished. “Back away!” she yelled. Her voice was pinched with fear.
“Drop the knife!” Adams commanded.
“I’ll— I’ll cut you!”
“He said, drop the fucking knife!” Mitchell barked.
There was an unsure beat from Zoe as she stared at Lucas and the others.
Lucas co
uld see this poor girl was beside herself with fear. He took a step forward and put his hands out as a peace offering. “Guys, easy. You can see she’s scared. Miss…”
“You have one second left!” Mitchell yelled. “I swear… drop it!”
“Mitchell, stand down!” Matt hissed. “That’s an order!”
Mitchell ignored the order and kept his weapon raised.
Zoe flicked her terrified gaze to Mitchell. She could tell this guy was not messing around.
Lucas pressed her with a calmer tone. He had a few seconds left before things turned nasty. “Miss, you need to put down the knife. Please.”
Realizing she stood no chance, Zoe dropped the knife and raised her hands in surrender.
Adams scooped it up off the floor as Lucas moved between him and Mitchell. “It’s OK. We’re not here to harm you. You’re safe now. You can come out of there.”
Zoe’s eyes betrayed the remnants of manic terror. Her uniform was grimy, and her hair was mottled and oily. She looked as if she’d been through hell and back as a lunar castaway. “Who are you people?” she muttered hoarsely.
“I’m Captain Lucas Hernandez. We’ve been sent here on behalf of Lunar Command to look for any survivors.”
Finally, Zoe lowered her hands and slithered out of the locker. Adams and Mitchell kept their weapons trained on her. The other team members grimaced at her disheveled appearance.
Lucas spun to Kwong and Perez. “Get her a blanket and some water - also a ration pack.”
“I’m fine,” Zoe said wearily.
Lucas caught sight of the name patch on her uniform. “You look malnourished, Zoe.
Zoe huffed and shook her head. “Yeah, that tends to happen when you’ve been living inside a locker for three weeks.”
“Duly noted.”
Zoe took a moment to study Lucas’ sleek spacesuit. “I assume you didn’t walk here.”
“We have a ship nearby.”
“Good, because we need to leave.”
“We will. But first, you need to tell us what happened here. Where’s the rest of your crew?”
There was a heavy beat of silence from Zoe as her eyes welled with tears. She quickly smeared them away. “Dead… they’re all dead.”
“And yet, somehow, you miraculously survived,” sneered Mitchell.
Lucas gave Mitchell a look. “Secure that shade, Mitchell.”
Zoe returned Mitchell’s accusing glare. “You think I single-handedly killed eighty-six of my crew-mates?”
That irritating smirk broke out across Mitchell’s face. “I never said that.”
“Yeah, you kind of did.” She turned back to Lucas, her eyes now hardened orbs. “I heard you talking about the antenna arrays. The morning they went down, I sent a maintenance crew out to repair them. They never returned. Then one of my site foremen said they’d hit something while drilling into a massif. Shortly after that, our SAT went AWOL…” Zoe trailed off, pinching her eyes shut in an attempt to expel some nightmarish imagery from her mind. “That’s when we were attacked.”
“By who?” asked Lucas.
“People. An army.”
“What people?” asked Kwong.
“Yeah, what army?” Chakma added.
Another beat as Zoe tried to clear her jumbled thoughts. “They were wearing some type of armored suits— I never properly saw them, but they raided the entire base in less than an hour. Must’ve been hundreds of them. Took everyone by surprise. I climbed into an air duct, and didn’t come down for days.”
Lucas could see the anxiety bubbling up as Zoe recalled what happened. He reached out and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. She recoiled. “Hey, just relax. Take it slow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK… Zoe, who was it that attacked you?”
Zoe looked at him pleadingly. “They weren’t us.”
“You mean American?”
“Human.”
Chapter Eight
L ucas and the others were standing outside the mess hall, talking amongst themselves in tense whispers. Zoe was seated at a rec table inside, sipping on a warm mug of soup Perez had prepared from her own rations supply.
“…I think she’s full of shit,” Mitchell said, arms folded as he leaned against the wall.
“Damn right,” Adams said in agreement.
Lucas wasn’t sure what to believe. “Something very bad happened here. There’s no denying that.”
Adams scoffed. “You really gonna buy that Little Green Men story? Come on, man.”
Mitchell threw a look over his shoulder to check on Zoe. “Yeah, more like she got cabin fever and sabotaged the fucking habs.”
Chakma idly stroked the stubble on his chin. Like Lucas, he had a ton of questions - none of which seemed to be getting answered. “I doubt that, Mitchell. SAT images showed no structural damage to any igloos. If she blew anyone out of an airlock without depressurizing first, half the base would have been destroyed.”
“And where did their SAT go?” said Perez. “There’s no evidence in the logs that anyone was messing around with any orbital trajectories.”
Mitchell wasn’t having any of that. “Maybe she just deleted the evidence before we got here.”
Kwong turned to Chakma. “Could be a mascon basin.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Adams looked at Mitchell, shook his head, and then turned to Chakma. “English, perhaps?”
“You’re standing on the Moon and you don’t know what a mascon basin is?”
“Chakma, just assume not everyone standing here graduated from Stanford.”
“I graduated from Cal-Tech.”
“And I from West Point, smartass.”
Lucas clapped like a coach trying to pipe down his team.” Guys, cut it! Chakma, if you would.”
Chakma composed himself and went back to the task at hand. “Right… well, gravity on the Moon is not consistent. It fluctuates in varying degrees over the surface. We call them mascon basins.”
“Think of them like coral reefs, hidden beneath the ocean waves,” added Kwong.
“Exactly. And for decades they were a mystery. They caused havoc with some of the early lunar missions. NASA lost a bunch of probes until they finally figured out that large concentrations of mass underneath the lunar surface can change the gravitational field. These can easily push something off course - even crash it into the surface.”
“Thing is, this particular SAT model was designed with its own thrust propulsion and stabilizers. If it ever got caught in a mascon, it could easily maneuver out of and plot a new orbit - just like swimming free of a rip current.”
“Then someone must have purposely shot it down, or knocked it off course,” Mitchell said.
Chakma nodded grimly. “That’s the most probable scenario. I’d say it’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
Perez glanced over at Zoe, who was still sitting there, vacantly staring at the wall, clutching her mug of soup. “We need to get out to that antenna array.” Perez turned to Lucas. “Take a look for ourselves.”
Lucas chewed his bottom lip, finally nodding in agreement. He glanced at his readout. “We don’t have enough O2 to trek on foot. Let’s get some rest for a couple of hours. We’ll move out later and split into two teams. One can take a rover out, another can stay here and investigate the dig site.”
“We can’t just fly out there?” Mitchell asked.
“I’m not going to burn the fuel. If this all goes south on us, we still need to be able to make it home.”
“Bullshit, man. We have reserves. That ship also has an auto-pilot function. We’d still make it back.”
“Still not going to risk it, Mitchell.”
“What if this is all a trap of some kind?” Adams said.
“Boom! Exactly,” Mitchell quipped. “I say we lock her in the ship’s cargo bay - bounce back to Earth and let Coleman deal with her.”
“But that’s not our mission.” Lucas was starting to get
tired of Mitchell’s constant refusal to fall in line. “We need to verify her claims, Mitchell. We need to find out what happened. That’s why we’re here. Understood?”
Mitchell huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “You know, I had someone at Edwards pull your flight record just before we left. I gotta say, I sure am baffled as to why the fuck Coleman gave you the lead on this.”
“You got something you wanna say to me, Mitchell?”
Mitchell leveled a shit-eating smirk at Lucas and took a step closer to him, almost in his face. “Why don’t you tell everyone why you really quit flying, Captain.”
“You don’t want to go there.”
“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”
Chakma gingerly raised his hand to intervene. “Um, fellas. This is probably not the best time to be swinging dicks.”
Perez suddenly barged in-between them and shoved Mitchell back. “Back the fuck up. Both of you!”
Still smirking, Mitchell raised his hands in mock surrender and backed away. “I’m cool. But ya’ll might want to ask the good Captain about how he treats his teammates.”
Lucas was fuming. His eyes were locked hard on Mitchell. Perez slapped his arm in an attempt to break his glare. “Hey! Forget him.”
Zoe watched the altercation from afar, sipping her soup, her mind working.
Chapter Nine
A deafening symphony of alarms blared in the futuristic cockpit as Lucas struggled to maintain control of the test aircraft. His view spun like the inside of a tumble dryer, the sun rolling dizzyingly as dark-blue sky gave way to the blackness of space. Having spent the last hour skirting the edges of the stratosphere, he was now plummeting back to the surface like a meteor. “Three zero north! Needles are wandering everywhere… violent spin rates… elevation— one-hundred… forty-thousand and falling!”
“Matt, we’re reading your heart rate at one-forty-five. Do you copy?” said the voice on comms. “We’re still not picking you up on radar. Can you hear us?”
Not that they could, Matt ignored Mission Control anyway. He had much bigger fish to fry. He wrangled the control stick, desperately trying to gain some altitude. “Control degrading… I got no stick now! No stick! Deploy flaps!”
Enigma Page 3