8
“Guys, I think crumbs did get in the scrubber!” Sonja exclaimed from her station in the S.M.A.R.T.S. control center. It was about an hour after she, Caleb, Jaden, and Benjamin had started their second shift as Mission Control.
“Why? What’s happening?” Benjamin cried.
“I just took a reading on the atmosphere in the hab,” Sonja explained. “The CO2 is up. And if the amount of CO2 continues to rise at the same rate, the hab will run out of oxygen in a little more than two days and three hours.”
“They won’t have enough air to last until Monday afternoon!” Benjamin said. “We have to get them out right now.” He pulled out his cell and started to bring up Mrs. Ram’s number.
“What’s happening in the hab is just a simulation,” Jaden pointed out. “The hab will always have enough air and heat. The reading is telling us what would be happening if the scrubber damage really affected the amount of oxygen. Samuel and the others are fine.”
“But if we want to win the contest, we have to act like the simulation is real. No oxygen in the hab equals automatic failure,” Caleb said.
“You’re right,” Jaden agreed. “We need to figure this out — soon.” He clicked a few keys, and a clock appeared on one of the screens. It started ticking down from fifty-one hours.
50:59:60.
50:59:59.
50:59:58.
Jaden couldn’t take his eyes off the numbers as the seconds slipped away. With each second that went by, the colonists were closer to running out of air.
* * *
About an hour later, Caleb and Sonja were crowded around Jaden’s monitor, studying a diagram of the scrubber. They’d emailed the colonists telling them that Mission Control would come up with a fix for the machine. The first step was learning exactly how it worked.
“Okay, so the fan blows air from the hab over a bed full of pellets,” Caleb said. “Then the CO2 sticks to the pellets.” He shook his head. “I don’t get why the CO2 sticks.”
The three of them stared at the screen in silence. Benjamin wasn’t even listening. He just stared at Samuel’s vital signs on his monitor.
Sonja typed out a search. “The pellets are made from this mineral called zeolite,” she said. “Check out this drawing of its molecular structure.”
Jaden gave a low whistle. “Close up, zeolite looks like it’s filled with cages.”
“I get it,” Caleb said. “Those cages trap small molecules. Carbon dioxide sticks to the pellets in the scrubber because the molecules get caught in the holes in the zeolite.”
Sonja let out a long breath. “The scrubber has a cool design. Except the part where it isn’t working.”
“It’s got to be the fan that’s messed up, right?” Jaden said. “If crumbs get in a scrubber, they can get caught up in the fan’s motor or the axle.”
“Right, and that would slow the fan down,” Caleb answered. “If the fan isn’t spinning as fast as it should be, it won’t blow as much air over the pellets, and the pellets won’t soak up as much CO2. The scrubber is still working — just not that well.”
“So can we just have them open the scrubber up and clean the fan?” Sonja asked.
“Too risky,” Caleb said, running his fingers through his hair. “They’d have to shut down the scrubber to open it up. Who knows how long it would take them to clean the fan and get it going again. They could run out of oxygen before they finish.”
“We can figure out how to make a new fan out of stuff they have in the hab and send them instructions,” Jaden said. “Then they’ll only have to shut the scrubber down long enough to open it up and put in the new fan.”
“Are you sure we can make a fan?” Sonja asked doubtfully.
“We can do it,” Jaden said, trying to sound confident. “This isn’t any different than if we were back in our makerspace working on a project.”
“I still say we should just have them come out now,” Benjamin muttered from his station. “It’s hopeless.”
* * *
Jaden glanced at what Caleb had started calling the Clock of DOOM. Time was ticking: 46:13:32.
The Mission Control team had come up with a list of things from the hab that would make good building materials for the fan. Mrs. Ram and Mr. Leavey had gotten everything on the list from Mars Commission engineers and had dropped off the supplies.
For more than three hours, Jaden, Caleb, and Sonja had been trying to figure out how to make the replacement fan. But so far, they hadn’t come up with anything.
Jaden rubbed his scalp. Maybe he needed better blood flow to his brain. The ideas just weren’t coming. He smiled when the door opened and Mrs. Ram came in. She couldn’t help, but seeing her somehow made him feel like they could work out the problem.
“Cookies and drinks,” Mrs. Ram announced, holding up a large bag. “How’s it going?”
Caleb groaned. Sonja growled. “We’re stuck right now,” Jaden admitted. “But when we get stuck on a project in the makerspace, we eventually figure it out.”
“But with those projects, there isn’t a time limit. There isn’t —” Benjamin jerked his head back toward his monitor. “An email just came in from Samuel!”
“Read it!” Sonja urged.
Benjamin began to read aloud:
To: benjaminwestbury@marscommission.com
From: samuelwestbury@marscommission.com
Maybe you were right. Maybe I should’ve traded so I didn’t have to be in the hab. Everyone is driving me crazy. Zoe won’t stop cracking her knuckles. Dylan is complaining about the food and everything else. Goo is criticizing everybody.
Plus I got an email from Mr. Pegg this morning. He told me that in order to make the sim more real, I should spend more time in the shower than we’re supposed to. We’re only allowed two minutes each to save water. But he said in a real mission, we’d all be doing annoying things, and we’d have to learn to deal.
So after breakfast I did it. Everybody is mad at me. Everybody is mad at everybody. It doesn’t even feel like we’re a team anymore. The Mads might actually win.
“I don’t care if the Mads win,” Benjamin burst out when he’d finished reading. “We need to get Samuel out of there.” He started tapping his heel against the floor.
“He didn’t say he wanted out,” Jaden said. “He sounded kind of frustrated but okay.”
“Even on a regular day, Samuel needs me around,” Benjamin declared. “You don’t know.” He glanced wildly around the room. “None of you know. It’s a twin thing.”
“It’s okay, Benjamin. I’m going to take care of this,” Mrs. Ram said firmly. “I’m calling Mr. Pegg right now. I don’t approve of him using kids in what’s basically a psychological experiment. I’ll be right back.”
“The Ram is on it, Benjamin,” Sonja said. “You don’t have to worry.”
Benjamin’s heel tapping slowed down … a little.
“Do you think Zoe could have gotten an email from Mr. Pegg too?” Jaden asked. “Benjamin said she kept cracking her knuckles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Zoe do that. And she knows it bothers him.”
Caleb sat up straight. “Maybe all the colonists got emails. Samuel said Goo keeps criticizing everyone. Goo’s not mean like that.”
“And I don’t see Dylan complaining about food,” Sonja added. “In third grade, we used to call him Dylan the Disposal, remember? If you ever had anything in your lunch you didn’t like, Dylan would eat it.”
A few minutes later, Mrs. Ram strode back into the room. “This is so strange,” she said. “Mr. Pegg said he didn’t send emails to any of the kids on any of the teams.”
Caleb felt his guts twisting into knots. “If Mr. Pegg didn’t do it, then who did?”