Suddenly, his head drooped and his eyes went blank as Salerno pulled a wire from his back.
“I know you can’t let me leave, Nat,” she said. “But I can’t allow you to stop me.”
After starting up one of the lunar rovers, she opened the bay door and made her escape.
Mission Control
Glen had been wandering around for a while, but being on his own wasn’t as exciting as he thought it would be. A vendor offered to make him a balloon shaped like a spaceship, and a face painter asked Glen if he wanted to get into the launch spirit by adding some stars to his cheeks. These were things for little kids, though, so he just said, “No, thanks.”
He was starting to wonder if he should head to the spectator stands, when he came across an open gate. On the other side was a building marked MISSION CONTROL.
Hmm, that could be interesting, Glen thought. He passed through the gate and—even though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed in—entered the building.
Inside, he found a huge room filled with computer monitors and television screens. It was here that the launch operations would be carried out. Oddly, though, for all of the equipment in the room, Glen saw only a couple technicians running it all.
“Sorry I can’t show you around,” said one of the technicians, hurrying past Glen. “We’ve got a lot of work to do to get this bird off the ground.”
“Yeah,” said the other technician as she operated two computers at once, “with no money left in the space program’s budget, it’s just me and Rollins left to do the work of fifty people.”
“Well, there’s also—” began Rollins, the first technician.
“Just what in tarnation is going on here?” a voice boomed. Glen looked up and saw a gruff-looking man with a gray crew cut storm into the room.
Swanson, the second technician, gulped and whispered to Glen, “That’s Slayton. He’s the flight director.”
“Swanson! Rollins!” roared the approaching Slayton. Pointing at the largest television monitor in the room, he asked, “Why isn’t anyone keeping an eye on Hatcher? He looks like he’s about to lose his lunch!”
Glen looked up at the screen and saw that it was true. The video showed a live feed of a very queasy-looking astronaut in the rocket’s flight capsule. The astronaut reminded Glen of how he looked that time he ate all his Halloween candy in one night.
“Sorry, sir,” said Rollins.
“We’re doing our best, sir,” added Swanson.
“Well, your best isn’t cutting it! You, there,” said Slayton, turning to Glen, who felt his face turn red for the second time that day. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here in Mission Control, but someone needs to keep that astro-flyer from tossing his cookies all over the flight capsule.”
“Are you saying I need to do something about it?” asked Glen, wishing that he’d stayed with his dad. “I’m just a kid!”
“I don’t care if it’s a kid, an adult, or a rhinoceros! Someone needs to give that astronaut something to calm his stomach before he makes a mess up there and ruins this launch!”
“Y-you want me to go into the capsule?” stammered Glen.
“Glad I made myself clear. Now get going!”
In a daze, Glen left Mission Control and walked outside. His feet were carrying him in the direction of the elevator to the flight capsule, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do once he got there. Suddenly, he remembered that he had a can of ginger ale in his backpack. His dad had given it to him before they left the house, saying it would make Glen feel better if he got carsick. At the time, Glen had told his dad that he hadn’t been carsick in years, but now he was glad that he’d taken it. He just hoped that it would do the trick.
Glen reached the elevator to the flight capsule and stepped onto the platform. After pulling shut the grated metal door, he looked for the UP button. But he didn’t see it—he didn’t see any buttons at all. Instead, there was just a lever attached to the wall. Glen pulled it and immediately felt himself being whisked into the sky. It was much faster than any ordinary elevator—so fast, in fact, that Glen thought he might need the ginger ale to calm his own stomach. But just as suddenly as the elevator had begun to rise, it came to an abrupt stop. Glen took a second to allow his stomach to settle and then pulled the grated door open.
Glen carefully walked across the gangplank from the elevator to the capsule door. If he hadn’t been a little afraid of heights, he might have looked down and tried to spot his dad hundreds of feet below. Instead, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. At last, he reached the capsule perched atop the rocket and stepped inside.
“Ugh . . . I don’t feel so good,” moaned Hatcher, the ill astronaut. His face was green, and he held his helmet upside down below his mouth. He saw the surprised look on Glen’s face and said, “For all the gadgets in this capsule you’d think they’d include a wastebasket.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess you’re right,” said Glen. Not knowing what else to say, he took the ginger ale from his backpack and handed it to Hatcher. “Here, this might make you feel better.”
Hatcher took the can and drank it down. As he did, Glen’s eyes roamed around the tiny capsule. Although he was anxious to get back down to the ground, he couldn’t help but think that it was pretty cool to be inside a real spaceship.
“Thanks a lot, kid,” said Hatcher. His face had regained its normal color, but he still looked shaken. “I’m not sure what happened to me there. It must have been something I ate.”
“Well, if you’re feeling better, I guess I’d better be going,” said Glen. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do before blasting off into outer space.”
“Hold on a second,” said Hatcher as Glen turned to go. The astronaut was beginning to sweat, and his eyes darted around the capsule. “With all the budget cuts, I didn’t get a whole lot of training to fly this thing, and . . . uh . . . I think I’d better go read over the operator’s manual once more.”
Hatcher handed his helmet to Glen and quickly left the capsule.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Glen shouted after the astronaut. “Aren’t you supposed to be—?”
Suddenly, the door closed with a loud clang and the lights within the capsule began flashing red. The words LAUNCH SEQUENCE COMMENCING appeared on a screen near the instrument panel. Glen had little time to realize what was happening before he heard Flight Director Slayton’s voice coming over the radio.
“Hatcher, if you’re feeling better, it’s time to get this show on the road.”
“Mr. Slayton, it’s me, Glen Johns! Hatcher left!” shouted a panicked Glen, hoping Slayton could hear him.
“Who?” asked Slayton, sounding very alarmed.
“The kid you sent to help Hatcher!” Glen called, banging on the hatch and pulling with all his might. “Mr. Slayton, you’ve got to get me out of here!”
For several seconds, Glen heard nothing but beeping noises within the capsule and the rocket’s engines coming to life. At last, Slayton responded.
“Okay, son, it seems we have a little situation here. Apparently, Hatcher’s had a small case of the jitters and won’t be able to complete this mission. Luckily, I believe you have the right stuff to carry it out.”
“What?” shouted Glen. The lights within the capsule were flashing more quickly now. The engines roared, making it difficult for Glen to hear his own voice. “I’m just a kid. I don’t know how to fly a spaceship!”
“You’re not understanding me, son. This mission must be carried out, and I’m afraid we’ve already reached the point of no return. It’s too late to abort.”
Glen could hear an automated voice over the radio.
“Countdown commencing. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen . . .”
“Dad! Where’s my dad?” yelled Glen. He just wanted this to be over, to wake up and realize it was all a bad dream.
“I’m here, Glen.” Mr. Johns’s voice came in through the speakers. He struggled to sound reassuring, knowing that it would do Gl
en no good to hear his father panic. “They told me what happened and brought me to Mission Control.”
“Twelve, eleven, ten . . .”
“Dad, I’m so scared!”
“I know, Glen,” Mr. Johns said, his voice quivering, “but if you just listen to Mr. Slayton and follow his instructions, everything will be okay.”
“Dad!” shouted Glen. “I’m sorry I—”
“Son,” interrupted Slayton, “you’d better put on that helmet and strap yourself in, now! This may be a bumpy ride.”
“Three, two, one . . .”
Liftoff
Glen had just strapped himself into his seat when he felt the tremendous thrust of the booster rockets. The force mashed his body back into the seat, making him feel like an elephant was sitting on his chest. For several seconds, Glen couldn’t open his eyes, even if he’d wanted to. Instead, he could only hear the whoosh of the rockets as he flew skyward.
“Just hold on there, son,” said Slayton, coming in through the radio. “You’re passing through Earth’s atmosphere, which is causing the capsule to shake.”
Through gritted teeth, Glen managed to whisper, “How much longer?”
“You’re almost through the first layer of the atmosphere and are about to enter the stratosphere,” replied Slayton.
Glen kept his teeth clenched and hoped his head wouldn’t explode. He tried to distract himself by slowly counting backward from ten, just like he always did when the dentist drilled a cavity. He only made it to seven, though, before Slayton’s voice broke in again.
“You’re just about through the stratosphere, son. Things should start to get easier from here on out.”
It was true. The higher the ship flew, the less it shook, and the pressure on his body became less severe. Glen even managed to open his eyes for the first time and could see the blue sky outside growing darker. He was entering the upper levels of the atmosphere, just at the edge of outer space.
“Okay, son,” said Slayton, “we’re deploying the booster rockets in three . . . two . . . one!”
Glen felt a jolt as the rockets fell away from the capsule, dropping thousands of feet into the ocean below. The ship rolled, and Glen could see them falling toward the blue planet he’d just left.
“Dad, are you there?” asked Glen.
“Yes, Glen,” responded Mr. Johns. “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Dad,” Glen answered. And as he watched his planet grow smaller and smaller in the window, he added, “You wouldn’t believe the view I have. Earth looks so different from up here.”
Mr. Johns couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was happy to hear Glen’s voice and know that his son was okay. But he wouldn’t be able to feel any relief until Glen was back on the ground.
Glen was marveling at how tiny the Earth looked, when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. It was his backpack, floating in the capsule like a helium-filled balloon.
“Hey,” said Glen, “my backpack is weightless!” Unstrapping from his seat, he reached out and poked his bag, which slowly careened off the capsule’s walls.
“Affirmative,” said Slayton. “Now that you’re in outer space, you’ll find that the capsule is free of gravity.”
“Cool,” said Glen, more to himself than anyone. He stared in fascination as the backpack slowly floated around the pod. Then, snapping back to the reality of where he was, he said to the flight director, “Well, Mr. Slayton, you got the ship off the ground, so now I guess it’s time to bring me home.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that just yet.”
“What do you mean?” asked Glen, once again feeling alarmed. “The space program’s last mission was supposed to be one final launch. Well, you launched the ship, so I’m done and can come back home, right?”
“Negative. There’s more to the mission than just the launch,” answered Slayton. Mr. Johns, who was listening to the flight director, got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d been afraid of this.
“What do you mean?” Glen asked.
“Yes, Mr. Slayton,” Mr. Johns said, “what are you talking about?”
“One of our astronauts,” Slayton began, “has been living on a lunar base for quite some time. We can’t shut down the space program as long as there’s someone still up there.”
“Okay, fine,” Glen said. “But what does that have to do with me? Why doesn’t this astronaut just fly home?”
“This particular astronaut is Commander Rachel Salerno, who is . . . difficult,” Slayton continued. “She has decided to carry out an unauthorized mission and has ignored all orders to shut down the facility and return home.”
Mr. Johns braced himself for the worst and asked, “Mr. Slayton, what are you saying? Where are you sending my son?”
“Let me finish. Because of her resistance, it has become necessary to send someone to relieve her of her post and escort her back to Earth.”
Glen hoped that “someone” wasn’t him, but he dared to ask. “Mr. Slayton, are you telling me that I’m going—”
“To the moon, son. Your ship is taking you there now. Once on the ground, you must take Salerno into custody and return her to Cape Carpenter.”
“Mr. Slayton,” said Mr. Johns, sounding angrier than Glen had heard him in years, “you can’t be serious! How can you send a thirteen-year-old boy to the moon?”
“This isn’t fair,” Glen added in protest. “You expect me to fly this ship to the moon and then capture an astronaut? I don’t even care about your dumb space program! Why should this be my problem?”
Glen had never spoken this way to an adult before, but he was mad. He couldn’t believe what Slayton had told him.
“That ship of yours will take you straight into the moon’s orbit, where a landing vehicle will take you to the ground. Mr. Johns, Glen, you can both relax,” Slayton said. “Unless there’s some unforeseen event, there will be no need to lift a finger. And, Glen, as far as your feelings about the space program go, you can be glad that the sooner you complete this mission and bring Salerno back to Earth, the sooner this ‘dumb’ program will be terminated.”
Glen felt bitter about the situation he was in but was realizing that he had no option other than to do what he was told and get it over with. For his part, Mr. Johns sat with his face in his hands, wishing he and Glen had never come to Cape Carpenter.
“Now,” Slayton went on, “I should warn you about Salerno. She is quite clever, and catching her may not be so—”
Wham!
Something hit the ship.
What the heck was that? Glen wondered.
An Unforeseen Event
“Asteroids!” shouted Slayton.
Glen’s head was still a little foggy from the collision, but he knew that this wasn’t a good situation. The red lights within the capsule were flashing again as a damage indicator blinked.
“You’re in an asteroid field!” Slayton said. “You’ll have to steer your way through it!”
“What?” Glen said, alarmed. “I thought I wouldn’t have to do any flying!”
“This . . . no time . . . questions!” Slayton responded. The field was disrupting the radio signal, making it difficult for Glen to understand him. “Strap . . . seat and . . . get out . . . before . . . another collision!”
Glen knew he needed to do something, and fast. Through the window he could see hundreds of asteroids hurtling his way. Glen kicked off from the capsule wall and flew to his seat. He buckled himself in with no time to spare. He was headed right for a big one, which was large enough to smash his ship to pieces.
Flipping a switch on the command console, Glen changed the flight operation from AUTOPILOT to MANUAL. He grabbed the steering controls and banked right, narrowly avoiding the incoming asteroid.
“Whew, that was close!” he said. But Glen didn’t have a chance to relax—a cluster of three smaller asteroids, each with the ability to do massive damage to his ship, was right in front of him. Glen veered
to the left and then quickly to the right to escape the path of the first two, but the third one was coming in fast. Pulling back hard on the steering column, Glen put the ship in a steep climb. He braced for the impact, but after a second, he realized that he’d cleared the projectile, however narrowly.
“I think I did it!” Glen shouted. “I’m out of the asteroid field!” Glen was right. He could see in his rear window that it was now behind him. He was out of danger—or so he thought.
“That was some good flying, son,” Slayton said, the transmission no longer disrupted. “But that first collision must have done some damage.” Glen saw that Slayton was correct. The indicator was still beeping. “After you put that bird back on autopilot, I’ve got another job for you.”
Now what? Glen thought, flipping the switch back from MANUAL to AUTOPILOT.
“Son, I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I have to say, but our readouts are showing that one of your landing gears is stuck. Unless you get it unstuck, you’ll never be able to land that thing safely back on Earth.”
“Okay,” Glen said, “is there some button I can push to fix it?”
“It’s not that simple, son. You’re going to have to manually unjam that gear, and to do that, you need to be outside.”
Glen groaned. “Are you saying I need to—?”
“Yes,” Slayton said, cutting him off. “You’re going to have to do a space walk to make that repair.”
Once again, Glen couldn’t believe his ears, but he knew that he had no choice in the matter. “Just tell me what to do, Mr. Slayton.”
Slayton gave Glen his instructions. Before he knew it, the boy was once again unbuckled from his seat and floating in the capsule. He opened the hatch leading to the fuselage, which was the part of the ship separating the flight capsule from the rear engines.
Slayton said I should find what I need in here, Glen said to himself, floating through the fuselage storage area. He saw crates full of all kinds of equipment and, at last, found what he was looking for—a bin marked SPACEWALK MATERIALS.
Lunar Colony Page 2