Lunar day 188
Noon
The rocket had originally been scheduled to arrive seventeen days earlier. For getting to the moon, though, seventeen days late counts as being almost on time.
Even though we’ve been launching rockets for almost a hundred years, things still go wrong all the time. It’s not like in the movies, where everyone just jumps into their spaceships and flies off whenever they want. Launching a rocket is immensely complicated. It’s, well . . . rocket science. And lots of things can go wrong: Any of the millions of parts can malfunction, a computer can glitch, a storm can move in, a cloud of space junk can drift into the flight path. Plus, heading for the moon isn’t something you can do whenever you want. You need a window when the earth and moon are in just the right place relative to each other. Miss that window and you might as well unpack your bags—you’re going to be waiting a while. Frankly, you’re lucky if your rocket takes off within a week of when it’s supposed to. One of the original missions for the construction of MBA was delayed for more than a year.
And to think, my grandparents say they used to get upset when planes on earth were delayed an hour.
But now the Raptor was almost here. Despite Dr. Holtz’s death, there was excitement in the air. Almost every Moonie was gathered in the rec room to watch the rocket’s arrival. Yes, that’s right. Even though the Raptor was landing less than a football field away from us, we still had to watch it on TV. This was because the moon has no atmosphere. Therefore, no matter how gently a rocket lands, the retro rockets that slow its descent will still blow away every bit of rock and moon dust below them, shelling everything nearby. NASA built a twenty-foot blast wall around the landing pad to protect MBA, but there isn’t a single window oriented in that direction, just in case something makes it over. We don’t want our precious glass getting shattered by a rogue moon rock. As it is, we’ve already lost two panels in Solar Array 2 to blast debris.
Violet was seated on the floor right in front of the SlimScreen, along with Inez Marquez—Roddy’s little sister and her best friend—and Kamoze Iwanyi, the only other little kid on base. The three of them were pleading for someone to switch the TV to cartoons instead of the rocket’s arrival. (After hearing about Dr. Holtz’s death, Violet had been sad for a few minutes but had quickly returned to her usual effusive self.)
The adults weren’t paying much more attention than the kids. The first time a rocket had arrived, we’d all sat riveted to the TV. But by now even this amazing event had become routine. Everyone was socializing, only keeping one eye on the screen while they talked science and gossip. Roddy was AWOL. He must still have been in the bathroom, covertly leading raids on virtual moons from the toilet stall.
The older kids, Cesar Marquez (Roddy’s big brother) and the Sjoberg twins, Patton and Lily, were all clustered together as usual. Cesar is usually pretty nice to me, but the Sjobergs are jerks. Due to the Transitive Property of Jerkiness, any time they’re around Cesar, he becomes kind of nasty himself.
That was it for other kids at MBA, so I was watching the landing with my parents.
“Looks like Katya’s coming in perfect,” Dad said, meaning Katya King, the head pilot on the Raptor.
“Like always,” Mom agreed.
My parents looked around the room for someone else for me to hang out with. They weren’t trying to ditch me; I think they felt bad I had no one else to talk to but them. “Where’s Roddy?” Dad asked.
“You don’t want to know,” I replied.
Dad considered that, then nodded. “You’re probably right. I don’t.”
“Nina told me not to talk about Dr. Holtz anymore,” I said.
Mom and Dad both scanned the room to see if anyone was eavesdropping on us. No one was. “When?” Mom asked.
“Not too long ago. She called me into her office. She told me the death was an accident, not a murder, and that if I didn’t shut up about it, I’d be causing trouble.”
Mom and Dad shared a long look. It seemed as though an entire conversation passed between them, unsaid.
“How did she know you thought he was murdered?” Mom asked, keeping her voice low so no one else would overhear.
“She wouldn’t say.”
Mom nodded. “Well, I can understand her concern. Back on earth, there are a lot of people paying very close attention to this base. If a rumor spread that Dr. Holtz had been murdered, it could be a disaster.”
“Well, what if it’s not a rumor? What if there’s really a killer on the loose? Shouldn’t someone at least investigate?”
“I’m sure they will,” Dad replied. “There’s no way a death up here wouldn’t be looked into. But they’re probably only thinking of it as an accident.”
“But what if it really is a murder?” I asked. “If no one’s looking for the killer, then the killer won’t just get away—they’ll still be living with us! How long do you think it’ll be before someone else gets bumped off?”
Both my parents signaled me to keep my voice down. Before either one could come up with an answer, Chang Hi-Tech came along.
Chang’s real last name is Kowalski, but no one calls him that. He’s MBA’s resident genius. Officially he came to the moon as a geochemist, but he’s really a jack-of-all-trades, able to handle everything from computer glitches to leaky rehydrators. It’s always easy to find him at MBA, because even on earth he’d stand out in a crowd. He’s a tall, muscular Polish-Samoan, he has a Mohawk, and his arms are covered with tattoos. All his favorite scientists’ likenesses are inked on his skin—Albert Einstein, Marie Curie, Niels Bohr, Isaac Newton—but they’re all drawn as superheroes, clad in spandex, battling enemies like Hitler and Godzilla. Chang designed the art himself.
I was worried Chang had overheard me talking about the possible lunar serial killer, but he showed no sign of it. Instead he was focused on the TV screen, watching the rocket. “Man, that Katya’s an ace,” he said. “I’ll bet you a thou she parks that Raptor dead center on the pad.”
Dad shook his head. “Bet against Katya? Forget it.”
“Okay,” Chang said. “Then let’s bet on which of the newbies pukes during the landing.”
Dad laughed. Mom rolled her eyes.
Rocket travel isn’t for everyone. Almost everybody feels motion sick the first time they go into space. It takes a while to adjust to being weightless. Some people manage to do this quickly. Others spend the trip on very intimate terms with the zero-g toilet.
My parents and Chang knew plenty about the newbies already. NASA had sent them biography files well ahead of time, and all the adults had video chatted several times. It’s better to start life on the moon as friends than strangers.
“I’ll put a hundred on Maxwell Howard,” Dad said.
“The engineer?” Chang laughed. “You’re backing the wrong horse, pal. I hear that guy’s steady as they come.”
Dad shrugged. “I’ve got a hunch. Some of these stoic guys turn out to have the weakest stomachs.”
“My money’s on the Russian,” Chang said. “What’s his name, Balnikov? I read the guy’s file. Trust me, the guy’s a vomit volcano.”
“I don’t know what to do with you two,” Mom said with a sigh. “Dashiell, don’t pay one bit of attention to these so-called scientists.”
“They’re only having some fun,” I said.
“Yes,” Mom agreed. “And they have no idea how to pick a potential puker. If anyone blows chunks, it’ll be Jennifer Kim. The geologists are always the first to go.”
On the TV there was a sudden blaze of light as the Raptor’s retro rockets fired. And yet, even though this was happening almost right over our heads, we didn’t hear a thing. There was no atmosphere for the sound to travel through. What would have been deafening on earth was bizarrely silent on the moon.
All conversation ceased. Everyone directed their full attention to the TV. Even the little kids.
The Raptor was lowering slowly toward the pad, the flare from the retros so bright it almost bleached out the screen. Just as Chang had predicted, it was coming in perfectly. Commander Katya King was at the helm. Not only was she the best pilot at NASA, but she’d done this run so many times it was probably routine to her by now.
Nina Stack was suddenly at my side. Without so much as a hello she told me, “I need you to do something for me. There’s a girl your age coming in on that rocket.”
“Kira Howard,” I said. “I’ve heard.”
“You’re going to be the welcome wagon for her.”
I was so surprised I took my eyes off the TV. “I thought Cesar was assigned to do that.”
“I changed my mind.” Nina didn’t even look at me. She kept her gaze locked on the descending rocket. “Cesar has other duties, and, frankly, you’re probably a better representative for Kira anyway, seeing as you’re only a few months older than she is.”
“But I’m not prepared—” I began.
“I’m sure you can handle it.” Nina walked away before I could raise another protest.
Not that I could think of one. Truthfully, I was happy for the assignment. Kira was twelve, like me, and I was kind of excited to meet her. Plus, showing her the ropes at MBA would give me something to do for once.
Of course, I knew the real reason for my new assignment. Nina was trying to distract me from raising questions about Dr. Holtz’s death.
On TV the second round of retros fired. Katya gently guided the Raptor to the landing pad. Below the rocket, dust and rock exploded out in all directions, scouring the blast wall. The Raptor hovered over the pad for a few moments, then set down in the dead center.
Everyone cheered.
“Now that’s how you land a rocket!” Chang whooped. “Way to go, Katya!”
Nina whistled shrilly, interrupting the celebration. “All right, everyone! We all have work to do. Those of you on cargo transfer duty, suit up. Those of you on the welcoming committee, be ready to meet your assignments. Everyone else, stay clear of the staging area. We’re going to have enough bodies there as it is.” She strode out, having masterfully destroyed any sense of joy within seconds. All the adults dutifully filed after her. So did I. The other kids remained in the rec room. The moment the last adult was out the door, I heard Cesar switch off the rocket feed and turn on Squirrel Force for Violet and her friends.
I’d never been assigned a duty for the arrival of a rocket before, so I’d never had a reason to be in the staging area when one came in. It was far more exciting than being asked to make myself scarce. Dad, Chang, Mr. Grisan, and a few others piled into their space suits, prepping for cargo duty. Mom, who’d been assigned to greet Dr. Kim, and I clustered near the main air lock with the others on the welcome wagon. I ended up in the back of the crowd, but I could still get a glimpse outdoors through the air lock window.
After a few minutes, seven people in space suits rounded the blast wall.
Katya King and her copilot, Buster Reisman, were easy to pick out, even though I couldn’t see their faces through the reflective visors of their space helmets. They bounded along with the confident, easy grace of people who had been to the lunar surface many times before, covering several yards with each step in the low gravity.
Their fellow travelers moved differently. None had ever been on the lunar surface before, and all were having significant trouble figuring out the low gravity. They wobbled, stumbled, and bounded too far. One tripped and face-planted in a pile of moon dust.
Only five of the new arrivals were officially Moonies, who’d be staying for years. The rest were temps: people who only came for brief stays. Temps might be contractors who installed new equipment, mechanics who repaired broken machinery, or engineers surveying the construction site for Moon Base Beta. In a few days they’d hop on the return rocket and head back home to earth. I wasn’t even sure how many temps were scheduled to arrive at MBA this time. Besides the seven people en route to the air lock, I knew there were other passengers I couldn’t see, ones who’d remained at the landing pad to unload the rocket.
Dad, Chang, and the other Moonies who had cargo duty were suited up by the time the new arrivals reached the air lock. The cargo team passed through first, emerging onto the surface of the moon, where they did their best to greet the new arrivals. (Space suits are far less bulky than they used to be, but it’s still almost impossible to shake hands in them.)
The cargo crew then headed for the landing pad. The new arrivals passed through the air lock into the base and the celebration began.
Greeting new arrivals is always one of the happiest times at MBA. All of us at the base are thrilled to have new people there. And all the new arrivals are thrilled to have finally made it. (Despite all you’ve heard about how modern spaceships are so elegant and spacious, they’re not; after a few hours on board, you still feel like a sardine in a can.) The moment the newbies popped their space helmets off, the base was alive with excitement. All the adults cheered and hugged one another.
I was the only greeter who’d never spoken to my assigned newbie. I’d seen some things about her on the news, but since that was vetted by NASA’s PR department, I knew it might not be reliable. (News reports about Roddy had often referred to him as an “impressive athlete”.) Other than knowing what Kira looked like, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
I wormed my way through the crowd, pausing to say a quick hello to Katya and Buster, and finally found Kira by the air lock. She was standing with her father, Dr. Maxwell Howard. Both had removed their helmets but still wore the rest of their space suits. Dr. Marquez, who was Dr. Howard’s official greeter, was talking to them animatedly, though Dr. Howard wasn’t paying much attention to him. Instead he was looking all around MBA, taking in his surroundings. He didn’t seem to be either amazed or disappointed. His gaze was very clinical, like he was studying the place.
Kira, on the other hand, seemed a bit overwhelmed. Her eyes were nervously darting back and forth. She didn’t look very much like her father, who was tall and black. She looked far more like her mother, who’d been Asian. (According to Kira’s bio, her mother had died from cancer four years earlier.)
“Hi,” I said, trying to sound as cheerful and friendly as possible. “I’m Dashiell. Welcome to Moon Base Alpha.”
Kira didn’t appear surprised that I had replaced Cesar. In fact, she seemed relieved there was someone her age to talk to. “Hey, Dash. Nice to meet you.”
“I know Cesar was supposed to greet you, but—”
“Oh, they let me know about the change as we were landing. It’s probably better this way. I know all about you. I’ve seen all your video logs.”
“Really?” All Moonies have to post videos to the MBA website once a week so people back on earth can follow our lives. It’s a big public-relations deal. I do my best to make mine interesting, but since NASA policy states I can’t say anything bad about the moon base, there isn’t much to talk about. So I usually goof around, making up stories that are obviously ridiculous, about meeting martians and fighting moondragons and such. I knew I had followers, but I’d never met one before.
“Yeah,” Kira said. “Well, I haven’t seen all of them. But most of them. They’re more fun than anyone else’s. Although your sister’s can be pretty hilarious.”
That was true. Violet has no idea what the point of the video logs is. The week before, she had simply danced around with a pair of underpants on her head while singing the Squirrel Force theme song.
“Need any help getting out of your suit?” I asked.
“Definitely.” Kira turned to her father. “Hey, Dad, this is Dash. He’s gonna help me get settled.”
Dr. Howard turned to her, still somewhat distracted, as though he’d forgotten she was even there. “Oh. All right, hon. Have fun.”
He didn’t even bother introducing himself to me. I’d stuck out my arm to shake hands, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Daddy’s a bit monofocused,” Kira explained. “He’s probably already thinking of ways to improve the base.”
“If he needs any help, I have a few thousand suggestions,” I said, then winced. I probably wasn’t supposed to bad-mouth the station to the newbies. Not right away, anyhow. I tried to cover. “Not that this place isn’t great, of course.”
Kira laughed. “I know it isn’t exactly paradise,” she whispered. “Dad’s always going off about all the mistakes they’ve made.”
I looked at her, surprised. “And you still wanted to come?”
“It’s not like I had any more choice than you did.” Kira spun around, exposing the back of her suit to me. “Can you undo this?”
Space suits are really more like suits of armor than clothing; they’re designed to protect you from danger rather than provide any comfort at all. And like suits of armor, they’re very hard to put on or take off without help. There were several Velcro strips and latches in the back of Kira’s suit. I undid everything and Kira wriggled backward out of it, emerging like a butterfly from a cocoon.
Without her suit on she seemed three times smaller. That’s true for everyone, but it seemed more evident in Kira’s case because she’s small to begin with. She was wearing a vintage Star Wars T-shirt and warm-up pants.
Kira shook her arms, getting the blood flowing after being in the constricting space suit. “Ahhh. Much better,” she sighed, then turned to me. “So where should we start the tour?”
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Starving,” Kira admitted.
“Then let’s start with the mess hall.”
“That’d be great. They told us not to eat anything in the hours before landing because it makes people nauseous and they didn’t want anyone blowing chunks all over the rocket.”
“Did anyone?”
“Dr. Kim, the geologist. Have you ever seen puke in zero gravity? It’s disgusting.”
I glanced at my mother and Dr. Kim as we passed. Mom had called it right. Dr. Kim’s clothes were stained with vomit.
I picked up Kira’s space suit and carried it toward the storage area. “Mess is this way.”
Kira started to follow me—and bounded way too high in the low gravity, soaring past me and slamming face-first into the wall.
I winced. “Sorry! I forgot to warn you: It takes a while to figure out how to walk around here.”
Kira flushed, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize how much lighter I’d be without the space suit.”
“Yeah. These things double your weight.” I slipped Kira’s suit and helmet into their racks. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. When I first got here, I did exactly the same thing.”
Kira shot me a distrusting glance. “You’re only saying that to make me feel better.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But I still had plenty of trouble. Everyone does.” I pointed to the other newbies.
They were all having problems moving about. Dr. Kim’s husband, Dr. Alvarez, had flown into a wall himself, while Viktor Balnikov had bounded so high he’d cracked his head on the bottom of the catwalk. Kira’s father was the only one who hadn’t wiped out yet—and that was only because he hadn’t taken a step.
Kira tentatively gave it another go—and still used too much force. She sailed high in the air and then crashed back to the floor. “Dang it!” she snapped. “Back on earth they said this would be easy!”
I felt terrible, hearing the frustration in her voice. It reminded me of my own, six months earlier. The realization that MBA was far worse than everyone had led her to believe was already setting in. In just a few weeks she’d be as bitter about the whole place as I was.
Only I didn’t want that to happen. Maybe I couldn’t make the moon base itself better, but I could certainly try to make life there more bearable for Kira.
I extended a hand to her. “It’ll get easier. I promise.”
The anger faded from Kira’s eyes. She took my hand. “I hope so.”
I helped her to her feet. “The trick is to barely even use your muscles. Pretend like you’re walking on eggshells.”
“All right.” Kira gingerly took a step. This time she didn’t go flying. So she took another. And another.
“Yeah. Three whole steps. Amazing.”
I finished storing Kira’s suit and then helped her work her way toward the mess. Normally I wouldn’t be in any hurry to eat at MBA, but whenever a rocket arrives, a small amount of fresh food comes on it. This is an incredibly transparent tactic by NASA to boost our spirits at MBA—and it always works like a charm. By the time we got to the mess, almost every Moonie had already descended on it, desperate to taste something that wasn’t freeze-dried and dehydrated.
Most of the fresh food was still on the rocket, but Katya and Buster had carried in a sack of tangerines. The fruits hadn’t weathered the trip that well—back on earth we’d have turned our noses up at them—but I would have eagerly traded a pound of gold for one.
Buster tossed two to me and Kira as we entered the mess. I held hers out to her.
To my surprise, she shook her head. “You can have it. I don’t really like tangerines.”
“Don’t pass this up,” I warned her. “You’ll regret it. Before I came here, I didn’t like tomatoes. Now if someone showed up here with a fresh one, I’d kill for it.”
Kira shrugged. “I still pass. It’s all yours.”
I wasn’t going to argue myself out of a second tangerine. I quickly slipped it into my pocket, then walked Kira through the basics of how to prepare food. Since she’d just done me a good turn, I warned her about the chicken parmigiana and tracked down a shrimp cocktail for her. Kira still wanted to practice her low-gravity walking, so rather than sit and eat, I led her around the base, trying to point out everything of interest, though I was far more focused on my tangerine than on delivering a decent tour.
There are two ways people eat fresh food at MBA. Roddy represents the first: Having no self-control whatsoever, he devours his food as quickly as possible, like a dog that’s been given a steak. I represent the second: I try to savor every last molecule. From the moment I tore off the first bit of tangerine peel, I inhaled deeply, relishing the smell. Then I ate one section at a time, resting it on my tongue, slowly sucking the juice out of it, and finally methodically chewing the pulp.
I’d only eaten half my tangerine by the time I’d taken Kira past the gym, the greenhouse, and the rec room and wound back past the residences to the main air lock. “There you go,” I said. “You’ve seen everything.”
Kira frowned. I could recognize the disillusionment setting in again. I’d felt it myself after my first tour. “That’s it? It’s a lot smaller than I expected.”
“It’s actually just the right size,” I said, trying my best to be upbeat. “Trust me, when you’re heading to the bathroom in the middle of the night, you’ll be thankful this place isn’t any bigger.”
Kira turned to me, startled. “You mean we don’t have our own bathrooms?”
“Er . . . no,” I said, then quickly tried to change the subject. “How long are you supposed to be here for?”
“Three years, same as you.” Kira frowned, then looked to me hopefully. “It won’t be that bad, right? I mean, on your video logs you look like you’re having fun up here.”
“I am,” I told her, hoping it sounded like I meant it. “It’s not perfect, but it’s still pretty cool to be one of the first people to live on the moon.”
“Yeah. It is.” Kira nodded, then seemed to shrug off her doubts. “Hey, I haven’t seen my room yet.”
“You’re in Residence Three, right next door to my family.” I led the way to the staircase. “Careful coming up, though. Stairs are the trickiest part of low gravity.”
Kira followed. She’d already gotten much better at low-g walking on our tour, but the moment she set foot on the stairs, she stumbled. She grabbed the handrail and tried again, but wobbled and had to steady herself. “Whoa,” she said. “Why is this so hard?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Something about how we perceive our own weight gets all messed up. It happens to everyone. NASA considered building a ramp instead of stairs because they can be so much trouble, but the stairs took up less space.”
“Why were they so concerned about space?” Kira snapped. “That’s all there is up here. We’re on the freaking moon, for Pete’s sake!”
“It’s just expensive to build here, I guess. My folks say Moon Base Beta’s going to be a lot bigger.”
“When’s that gonna be finished?”
“In ten years. If we’re lucky.”
Kira sighed, then focused on the stairs. Slowly she managed to work her way up them. When she finally arrived at the top, she threw her arms in the air. “Ta-da!” she crowed sarcastically. “A whole flight of stairs in a mere five minutes.”
“Just so you know, it’s even harder going down,” I warned.
“You’re kidding.”
“No. I usually just jump over the railing.” I pointed at the floor fifteen feet below. “In low gravity you barely feel the landing. But don’t ever do it when Nina’s around. It’s against the rules, and she’ll have a fit.”
Kira grinned. “Thanks for the advice. Nina’s a tough nut, huh?”
“Yeah, but she’s . . .” I tried to think of something nice to say about Nina but couldn’t. “She’s . . . uh . . . very organized.”
“Sounds like a real winner.” Kira carefully walked down the catwalk to Residence 3, which is between my family’s quarters and the Brahmaputra-Marquez family’s. The door hung open, as keys hadn’t been issued yet.
The room looked exactly like ours. The furnishings were identical. There were even four sleep pods, because all residences had been built that way. (Inez Marquez, being the fifth member of that family, has to sleep on a pad on the floor.) The SlimScreens were off, so the walls were all moon-dust gray and dull.
“It’s much nicer once you personalize your habitat,” I said reassuringly. “We’ve got our screen set for Hawaii.”
“Right, that’s where you’re from. Must have been nice.”
Way nicer than this, I thought, but I held my tongue. “It was. Where are you from?”
“Philadelphia,” Kira said. “Although now I guess I should say I’m from the moon. Sounds cooler.”
“I can help you do the habitat settings if you’d like,” I offered. “You can even personalize the base computer’s personality for your room—”
Kira cut me off. “Thanks. But this is fine for now.” She suddenly yawned. “I’m pretty beat from the landing and all. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a nap.”
“Sure. I understand,” I said. My own landing had taken a lot out of me. I’d been jacked up on adrenaline, worried that we were going to crash on the moon. And learning how to walk in low g was pretty exhausting as well. “Take it easy, and if you need anything, well . . . it’s not like I’m leaving here anytime soon. I shouldn’t be that hard to find.”
“Thanks,” Kira said. “Catch you later.”
I backed out of the room, feeling better than I had all day. I liked Kira a lot. It was nice to have someone my own age around who wasn’t a veeyar freak like Roddy. Someone operating on the same wavelength as me.
Plus she’d given me her tangerine.
I’d originally planned to save it until the next day. That way I could extend the enjoyment. But I couldn’t wait. The last one had been too good. And if I left it in our room, Violet would probably eat it. So I unlocked my residence and slipped inside, hoping to have the whole thing to myself in peace.
To my surprise, there was a stranger inside the room.
It was a woman, around thirty or so, wearing a NASA security uniform. She was tall and beautiful, with olive skin and long dark hair.
Startled by her presence, I turned away, reaching for the door.
“Dashiell, wait!” she cried. “I need to talk to you in private. It’s about Dr. Holtz.”
I froze in surprise and turned back to her. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Zan Perfonic,” she said. “I just arrived on the rocket—and I think you’re right about Dr. Holtz. He was murdered . . . but I need your help to prove it.”