Which was some sort of hidden retreat in the Arizona desert. Once the Moon Racer reached the Earth orbit, we would be shuttled to the surface of the planet. After a week to get used to the gravity, Dad would lead us to the retreat, and Ashley would show him and other soldiers the entrance. The plan had full military approval.
“Tyce, those were my friends. All of us have been together, training in virtual reality, as long as we can remember. If my actions hurt them, I’d never forgive myself.”
As she spoke, she touched the silver cross on a chain around her neck. It was an earring, and it matched the cross around my neck, which she’d given me once as a friendship gift.
A thought hit me. “You know what else is weird?”
“What?”
“I’ve never asked you where you got the silver crosses from. I’d be surprised if one of the rebel leaders who guarded your experimental group gave them to you….”
Another smile from her, this one sad. “They’re from my parents. At least, that’s what I was told. I was just a baby when they died in a car crash. That’s all that I ever had of them. Not even a photo.”
Her sad smile didn’t change. “That’s why I ended up in the experimental group. Because I was an orphan. Like the others. There was nobody around to wonder where we went or to care what happened to us.”
She was thinking about them again. I could tell by her face.
“Really, Ashley,” I said softly, “it will be all right.”
I didn’t add my next thought. If we make it to Earth.
CHAPTER 7
It was late at night. At least, it was late in the 24-hour schedule that we followed. Day and night didn’t really exist on the spaceship. We were always headed toward the sun, so we really didn’t have a day or night.
I floated beside my bed, sitting in a cross-legged position with my comp-board on my lap. I stared at the unfolded screen. Over the last few months of travel—because not much new happened from day to day—I had not spent much time on the comp-board adding to my Mars journal entries.
Part of it was because I didn’t want to remind myself of the homesickness I felt whenever I couldn’t fall asleep quickly.
Like now, reading one of my first entries on the space trip.
A little over two weeks ago, I was on Mars. Under the dome. Living life in a wheelchair. I’d been born there, and the most I had ever traveled in any direction was 200 miles. Then, with the suddenness of a lightning bolt, I discovered I would be returning to Earth with Dad as he piloted this spaceship on the three-year round-trip to Earth and back to Mars. Although the actual legs of the journey only take eight months to get there and eight months to get back, the planets’ orbits have to be aligned correctly in order to make the trip. And that takes three years.
I’d been dreaming of Earth for years.
After all, I was the only human in the history of mankind who had never been on the planet. I’d only been able to watch it through the telescope and wonder about snowcapped mountains and blue sky and rain and oceans and rivers and trees and flowers and birds and animals.
Earth.
When Rawling had told me I was going to visit Earth, I’d been too excited to sleep. Finally I’d be able to see everything I’d only read about under the cramped protection of the Mars Dome, where it never rained, the sky outside was the color of butterscotch, and the mountains were dusty red.
But when it came time to roll onto the shuttle that would take us to the Moon Racer, waiting in orbit around Mars, I had discovered an entirely new sensation. Homesickness. Mars—the dome—was all I knew.
Dozens of technicians and scientists had been there when we left, surprising me by their cheers and affection. Rawling had been there, the second-to-last person to say good-bye, shaking my hand gravely, then giving me a hug.
And the last person?
That had been Mom, biting her lower lip and blinking back tears. It hurt so much seeing her sad—and feeling my own sadness. I’d nearly rolled my wheelchair away from the shuttle. At that moment three years seemed like an eternity. I knew that if an accident happened anywhere along the 100 million miles of travel to Earth and back, I might never see her again.
Mom must have been able to read my thoughts because she’d leaned forward to kiss me and told me to not even dare think about staying. She’d whispered that although she’d miss me, she knew that I was in God’s hands, so I wouldn’t be alone. She said she was proud of me for taking this big step, and she’d pray every day for the safe return of me and Dad.
The first few nights on the spaceship had not been easy. Alone in my bunk I had stared upward in the darkness for hours and hours, surprised at how much the sensation of homesickness could fill my stomach.
Who would think that a person could miss a place that would kill you if you walked outside without a space suit….
My comp-board bogged down. The arrow kept scrolling down the page, but the letters on the screen lagged behind.
I stopped. This was puzzling. Except for the short time this afternoon with Blaine Steven, this had also happened the last time I used my comp-board. I’d even asked Lance Evenson to check it then, but he’d said it was my imagination.
Except this was definitely not my imagination.
I scrolled farther and finally got to the end of what I had written. As I began to keyboard a new entry, describing the events of this day, the comp-board just as mysteriously began to work at its normal speed.
That was about the only good thing about this bomb threat. It took my mind off how badly I still missed Mom and everyone else on Mars.
I stopped keyboarding and let my thoughts drift off. I was tempted to fold the comp-board right now and try to sleep again, but I knew that once I closed my eyes, my mind would go right back to wondering about the bomb. Would I have any time to realize what was happening when it exploded? How might it feel to get sucked into the vacuum of outer space? And—
Stop! I told myself.
I focused on the keyboard and began to type again.
So who might be the “mastermind” that Blaine Steven told me about? That is, if he wasn’t lying to me for some reason. And considering his past record, that’s a good possibility. Is the mastermind really on the Moon Racer? There aren’t that many people on board.
There’s me, of course, and Dad and Ashley.
Lance Evenson, the chief computer technician. Luke Daab, a maintenance engineer who helped maintain the dome’s mechanical equipment during his 15 years on Mars. Susan Fielding, a genetic scientist who spent only three years on Mars. And Jack Tripp, a mining engineer who was returning with a couple tons of rock samples.
There are also two prisoners. Blaine Steven, the ex-director of the dome, and Dr. Jordan, who arrived with Ashley on Mars only three months before leaving again on this ship.
Nine altogether. And if one of them …
I stopped typing again.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Blaine Steven had been telling the truth. Maybe he just wanted to make trouble. I wouldn’t put it past him.
But if someone had actually planted a bomb, my first guess was Lance Evenson. But it would be dumb to make that assumption without at least considering if it could be anyone else.
If Blaine Steven and Dr. Jordan hadn’t been securely sealed in their bunks, both of them would have been prime suspects. They’d been working together on Mars for a rebel group on Earth and had nearly succeeded in destroying the whole Mars Project. But neither had been able to leave their bunks, and it would be impossible for either to reach an escape pod. So it couldn’t be Steven or Jordan.
Luke Daab? He was a skinny, redheaded guy with a beach ball belly and a nervous laugh. He chewed his fingernails badly too. I couldn’t imagine him trying to pull off something like this.
Susan Fielding—chubby with blonde hair—never spoke above a whisper. Although she was older than Dad, she was smaller than Ashley and never went anywhere on the ship without an e-book in her hands or tucked
under an arm. I couldn’t picture her as the traitor either.
Maybe Jack Tripp, though. He and Dad were about the same age and the same size. Jack had a big red nose, twitchy red eyebrows to match his wiry red hair, and a loud laugh, usually at his own jokes, which weren’t that funny.
The trouble with trying to guess, I realized, was that any guess I made was based on appearance only. I didn’t really know much else about them.
I looked at my computer screen, barely focusing on the words I’d already written. Then I thought of something as I stared at my journal entry.
Yes! That was it! Ashley and I could interview everybody on this ship. We could write about this trip as a school project or even for an e-magazine. Some Web site somewhere would love to have an article about two kids traveling from Mars to Earth. That would be the excuse Ashley and I would use to ask everyone on board more about themselves.
But we’d have to find the traitor sometime in the next few days.
Great as the idea was, I knew I should clear it with Dad first. This, I figured, was as good a time as any to go over and talk to him about it.
I folded up the computer and placed it behind the netting of the shelf beneath my bed. Scooting out the hatch, I maneuvered my way down the corridor to Dad’s hatch.
I knocked first, keeping a tight grip on a nearby handhold so when my knuckles hit his hatch, the counterforce wouldn’t float me backward.
“Yes?” Dad answered immediately from the other side.
“It’s me.”
I heard the blip-blip-blip-blip-blip as he entered his code into the keypad. The hatch door slid open with a hiss.
“Come on in,” he said.
I did. He closed the hatch behind me.
I didn’t like the expression on his face. “Did I wake you?”
Usually he was up late, going over ship reports.
“No.”
“Good. For a second I thought you were upset.”
“I am. But not at you.”
Now I really didn’t like the expression on his face.
“Tyce,” he said gravely, “remember I said I was going to check the escape pods?”
I nodded. “You found the bomb?”
“No, not yet. Worse. Both escape pods have been disabled by a computer malfunction that Lance can’t seem to fix. There is no way to leave this ship safely.”
CHAPTER 8
“How about one of us uses the ant-bot to find out if Lance Evenson has something hidden in his room?” I asked Ashley.
We were in the exercise room, halfway through the next morning. Ashley sat at a leg-press machine, which, of course, I never used. I sat at a bench-press machine. Sweat covered me. I’d been pushing the weights hard, knowing that once I stepped onto Earth, my muscles would be working against gravity more than double what I’d faced on Mars.
“I thought of that last night as I was falling asleep,” she said. “But I don’t know if we can.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure it’s physically possible on this spaceship.”
“We’re both wired,” I said. Which we were.
“Still won’t work,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow. The way that Dad did. At least I thought it was the way Dad did.
Ashley giggled. “You need more practice.”
“Huh?”
“With that eyebrow. I saw you the other day. Trying it in a mirror.”
“Ant-bot,” I said, hoping my face wasn’t too red. “Why won’t it work?”
“There’s no gravity that would allow the ant-bot to crawl.” Ashley pointed at a nearby handhold. “You and I are big enough to grab those and pull forward. But the ant-bot would just float around aimlessly. Even if we found a way to let it travel, how are you going to get into Lance’s bunk? You don’t have the access code to his hatch door. It’s not like last time, where your dad was using the mainframe computer to get us into different places on the ship.”
“One step ahead of you,” I said. “There’s another way to get in. Through the air vent. Even without gravity on this ship, there’s still air movement. That’s why we have the vents. I’m saying we put the ant-bot in the right air vent and let the air blow it all the way down to his bunk. Then we leave it there to watch him later.”
“Might work,” she said. “Just might work.”
“Of course it will. We could try it this afternoon and—” I stopped as someone else floated into the exercise room.
Susan Fielding. In the regulation blue jumpsuit. She had a towel wrapped around her neck. As usual, she had an e-book with her.
“Hello,” she said in her quiet voice. “Do you want me to come back later?”
“No,” I said quickly. Dad had given Ashley and me permission to work on a feature article. This would be a great time to start learning more about the crew. “In fact, we were hoping to get the chance to spend some time with you. Ashley and I would like to interview you.”
“Me?”
I nodded.
“I’m … I’m … not sure. Is this very important?”
I nodded again. More important than she could guess. Unless, of course, she was the traitor. Then there was nothing for her to guess.
“I was born in Chicago,” Susan said.
The three of us floated comfortably beside the weight equipment.
“Both my parents were scientists,” she continued. “So it was only natural that I discovered the same kind of interest. I spent 10 years at a university, then another 3 in specialized training for the Mars Project.”
I groaned. “Thirteen more years of school.”
Ashley elbowed me. I bounced off her elbow and floated away. I had to find a handhold and use it to push myself back toward them.
“It’s not that bad,” Susan said, giving me a shy smile. “Not if you love the research and learning like I do.”
“No kidding. I mean, genetics. Mom explained the basics to me. To think that scientists are able to engineer—” I snapped my mouth shut so quickly that my teeth clacked. Able to engineer different types of animals. And under the dome there had been an illegal attempt to …
“You’re thinking about the Martian koalas, aren’t you?” Susan said. Her pale cheeks began to flush. “I wasn’t part of that project. And I was just as angry as anyone about the genetic manipulation of those animals. If you’re going to use this article to accuse me of it, maybe we should stop this little interview right now.”
“I’m not accusing you,” I said. “I was just thinking about the koalas. How could I not? But—” I was stuck.
“But the article will be much better if readers see how angry you were about it,” Ashley said to her. “As a genetic scientist and as a person.”
Susan relaxed.
Good save, Ashley, I thought. I also realized that I really did want to write this article. It would be interesting, getting the different opinions of people on the ship. It was too bad that a possible hidden bomb and an onboard traitor were the other reasons for writing it.
“So 13 years of work, just to get to Mars … ,” Ashley prompted the scientist. “And a eight-month trip across the middle of the solar system to get there. Do you think it was worth it?”
Susan nodded. “Every minute. Not just the science part. To be able to watch sunrises and sunsets on a different planet? To walk on the Martian sand and wonder about the universe? Incredible. And the bonus was that I got to work so hard on the genetic stuff too,” she said, her voice growing louder and more enthusiastic.
“But you only stayed for one three-year shift,” I said, almost without thinking. “Most scientists stay a lot longer after putting in all that effort to get there. And if you loved it so much, why leave?”
Susan shrank into herself, and her face became stone-cold.
Grabbing her e-book, she tucked it under her arm. “Obviously this is a real interview. Just like most of the media on Earth.
Rude. I’ve had enough.” Without saying good-bye, she yanke
d at a handhold. It threw her forward toward the hatch, and she barely ducked in time to make it through.
“Really know how to charm them, don’t you?” Ashley said, hand on her hip in her traditionally annoyed pose.
I tried a weak grin. “You still like me, right?”
“Humph.”
“Come on. She’s hiding something. Why would she suddenly leave Mars?”
“Humph.”
Obviously Ashley didn’t have an answer to that.
Which is what worried me the most.
CHAPTER 9
I floated into the computer control center. Aside from the navigation cone, it was the most important part of the ship. Dad explained it to me this way. If the Moon Racer was like a human body, the computer control center was the brain of the ship and the navigation cone, as it operated the movement of the ship, was the arms and legs that responded to the brain. With one slight difference. Since the pilot was the head commander in space, the navigational system—which depended on the computer control center—only worked after the pilot keyed in his password.
Other than this override from the navigational system, the computer control center monitored air, heating, communications, electrical, and all the dozens of other miniature systems that made life possible on the ship.
For such a crucial center, it didn’t look like much. There was a mainframe computer attached to the wall, with a monitor in front and another monitor to the side. On the opposite wall, a second and third computer, each with a monitor, served as emergency backups. A straight-backed chair faced the main computer. That was it. All was lit by the soft white glow of the recessed argon tubes.
Lance Evenson sat in front of the computer, his big shoulders blocking most of the screen.
He wasn’t alone. Luke Daab, tool belt strapped to his waist, had a couple of computer wires in his hand. Beside the mainframe, he’d taken off some wall panels. The mess of different-colored wires looked like a tangle of snakes. So close to Lance, Luke looked even smaller and more shrunken than usual.
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