One Hundred Percent Lunar Boy (30 page)

“If you kids were on your way to LEM Zone One, you are way, way of the mark.”

“Really?” Slue asked.

“Yes, really. Is that your car over there?”

“It’s our friend’s car.”

“Well, come on then,” the officer said, indicating that he wanted Slue and Hieronymus to follow him to the Pacer. The second cop returned to the police car, began its engine, and slowly followed them, the beacon still spinning its raw blue light. They approached the stranded car, Bruegel standing next to the trunk, an incredibly guilty expression on his face.

“H-h-h-hello, Officer,” he said.

“Is that your car?”

“It’s my mother’s car, sir.”

“You were driving it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s a Pacer. You were driving a Pacer in the open countryside?”

“I, uh, I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand.”

“A Pacer is a class A road vehicle. Only class D vehicles are allowed out in open terrain like this.”

Bruegel expressed total shock but Hieronymus knew he was faking it. He knew perfectly well his Pacer was not supposed to be out in the open country like this.

“I…I had no idea, sir…”

“Your license and registration, please.”

Bruegel frowned as he reached into his pocket to get his wallet. The same cop then turned to Slue and Hieronymus.

“I’d like to see some ID please.”

“I don’t get this, Officer.” Slue searched through her bag, looking

for her Lunar identity card. “Have we done anything wrong?”

“This is a restricted area, young lady.”

“Restricted? I didn’t see any signs.”

“It’s quite possible you may not have seen any signs if you turned of the road back there in the Sea of Tranquility, but you are still breaking the law.”

“Wait,” Bruegel interrupted. “We’re not in the Sea Of Tranquility?”

“No,” answered the cop. “You are nowhere near the S.O.T.—in fact, judging from the tracks you were making, it seems you were heading directly toward the Far Side, which begins only a couple of kilometers from here.”

Bruegel’s jaw dropped. Slue and Hieronymus had already figured that out by the position of the Earth, but Bruegel was truly perplexed.

They handed their ID cards over to the officer. Bruegel reluctantly gave him his driver’s license, which the policeman studied with great interest. Then the cop looked up with an almost accusatory expression in his eyes.

“Your name is Houseman Reckfannible?”

“Yes.”

“And…let me see what it says here…you are a graduate student at Gagarin University, doing research on…what does this say, Economic Theories of Roubustion Defaltiker? I don’t even know what that means.”

Bruegel forced himself to smile, hoping he would not be asked to explain.

“You are twenty-seven years old?”

“Yes.” Bruegel gulped.

“Really?”

“I look…much younger than I am.”

“Is that so?” said the officer, who then started scratching the surface of the card Bruegel gave him with his fingernail.

“What have we got?” the other officer asked.

“Oh, the usual.” The first officer cracked a slight smile, nodding his head as he managed to peel Bruegel’s photo of the card to reveal the image of the actual owner of the driver’s license he held in his hand.

“Bruegel!” Slue was boiling mad.

Hieronymus, had he not been through his own law-breaking

adventure the previous night, would have been laughing at the clumsy predicament his friend had suddenly put them in. Instead, his dread drove him into even deeper pits of insane worry.

But the officer was oddly sympathetic.

“Look, kid. I know where you’re coming from. Let me guess. You normally use this fake ID to go to bars and buy alcohol from places that don’t look too carefully at ID. Tonight, I don’t doubt what your friend here says. There’s a band that you all wanted to see, but the only way to get there was to borrow—I hope this is your mother or your father’s car—someone’s car. But because you don’t really know how to drive, you got lost. Right?”

Bruegel nodded. Then he spoke in a really quiet voice.

“I know how to drive, sir. I took driver’s ed last year.”

“There is a difference between knowing how to drive and
knowing how to drive
. Do you at least have a learner’s permit?”

“It…it…expired a few months ago, sir…”

“What is your name, kid?”

“Bruegel. Bruegel Westminster.”

“Okay, Bruegel. This is what we are going to do. We are all going to be as honest as we can to try and get you and your friends back home safe. Where you are right now is a very dangerous place. I am assuming that the navigation system in your car is broken, yes?”

“Yes, sir. How did you know?”

“Because only a broken system would let your car wander this far. If your car had a normal navigation setup, you would have been warned that you were entering the wilderness, and even worse, heading for the far side of the Moon.”

Bruegel shrugged and nodded his head.

“Okay. The three of you look like nice kids. You don’t look like you are dressed up to go exploring the far side of the Moon. Or to go looking for trouble in restricted areas. You look like you are all going to a club. I take your word for that.”

The officer went over to the Pacer.

“Tell me the truth. Whose car is this?”

“My mother’s.”

“So if I were to punch in the number on the license plate on our computer over there in our police cruiser, whose name would appear?”

“Elizabeth Westminster. My mother.”

“Your mother would be surprised if I told her that you were driving with a fake license?”

“Yes. She thinks I have a real license.”

“You realize that we cannot allow you to drive this car home? We will have to call a tow truck to come get it. It’s going to be very expensive. Your mother will have to pay for it.”

“Please, sir,” said Bruegel, his voice wavering, almost crying. “My mother has no money. She’s unemployed.”

Hieronymus had never seen his usually confident friend behave in such a pathetic manner before.

Bruegel’s face crunched up, and he began to sob. “Please, sir. Please, Officer. Don’t call my mother. We have no money. We can barely pay for anything. My mother, she’s in a lot of trouble as it is. Please, Officer…”

“What about your father. Can your father deal with this?”

“I…I don’t even know who my father is. I don’t even know if he lives on the Moon…”

The two police officers looked at each other. The one who asked all the questions shrugged his shoulders. The second one nodded his head, then he went forward to speak to Bruegel.

“Listen, kid. The fact is that you broke the law. You were driving without a license. And this is a restricted area. But in many ways, you’re lucky we caught you out here in the middle of nowhere. In fact, we didn’t even catch you driving, technically. You are lucky your car broke down. What if you were driving around in a crowded urban area? What if you were in an accident? What if you and your friends had a couple of drinks, and then you accidentally hit someone? Then you would go to jail. But you have not done anything to put you in jail.”

“Really?” Bruegel’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re not arresting me?”

“No. But you are in trouble. We’re going to give you a ticket for presenting a fake ID to a police officer. And a ticket for—" the officer paused, then looked over at his colleague.

“Technically, we cannot actually give this boy a ticket for driving without a license. He is just out here working on a car. We know he drove it here, but we can’t give him a ticket, because the car is parked. We did not catch him physically driving. But because it’s his mother’s car, she’s the one who is ultimately responsible.”

Both police officers were suddenly unsure how to proceed. It was obvious to the three teenagers that they were trying to find a fair solution because it was clear they should not have been out there in the middle of nowhere like that. Another team of officers could have really busted their chops, but luckily, this was not the case. And both Hieronymus and Slue were aware that these officers made no mention of their goggles, or their being One Hundred Percent Lunar kids—they did not even appear to notice it.

The officers walked over to their vehicle. Slue glared at Bruegel. She was temped to unleash her fury on him—after all, he had lied to her about having a driver’s license.

But he just sat on the ground, covering his face with his hands…crying.

One of the officers came back. He spoke to Bruegel.

“What’s wrong with your mother’s car?”

“Ruptured ganfoil hose, Officer.”

The cop scratched his chin.

“Were you able to fix it?”

“Yeah. I finished with it just before you got here.”

“That’s good, because I think this is what we’re going to do. You and your friends are going to ride with me in the cruiser, and Officer Duebelex over there is going to drive your mother’s Pacer. About twenty kilometers from here is a station. We’ll drop the Pacer of there, and then you three can take the bus or the train back home. You will have to tell your mother the truth about what you did, and your mother will have to pay a fine if she wants to get her car back. That’s the law. You will also have to appear in court to deal with the fake ID, and that’s going to be another fine. Still, it’s the only thing we can do. If I have to call a towing truck out here to get your mother’s Pacer, the charge is going to be astronomical.”

Of course the kids understood these two were bending over backwards to help them out of a difficult situation. But then Hieronymus froze. While this officer was explaining to them the most reasonable way to deal with the situation, the other officer, the one he referred to as Duebelex, was sitting inside the police cruiser looking at something on the vehicle’s computer. He had his ID card. He must have been scanning it.

Hieronymus knew that his life was over.

Finished.

Duebelex stared at something on his vehicle’s dashboard. He spoke into a radio. He looked directly at Hieronymus. He shook his head in disbelief. He double-checked something on his screen. He looked at Hieronymus, then he made an expression that seemed to say something to the effect of
I can’t believe this. I just can’t believe this…

He exited the police cruiser.

Walking quickly in Hieronymus’ direction, he drew a pistol.

“Hieronymus Rexaphin,” he announced in a loud voice. “Please put your hands up.”

Hieronymus complied. Slue’s jaw fell open with shock. The first officer who had been dealing with Bruegel appeared just as surprised.

“Duebelex,” he said to his comrade. “What’s going on?”

“I was checking their cards. This young man is in heaps of trouble. He’s a One Hundred Percent Lunar Boy, and he showed his eyes to a girl from Earth last night. There’s a bulletin out for his arrest.”

“Okay, let’s take him in,” said the first policeman as he walked away from Bruegel.

Hieronymus said nothing. He stood with his hands in the air.

“Your name is Hieronymus Rexaphin, is it not?”

“Yes, sir. It is.”

“You are to keep your hands in the air. You are to face the ground. Do not speak to your friends. If you’d be so kind as to kneel until we get proper handcuffs.”

“Certainly,” replied Hieronymus as he got down on his knees, only looking at the dirt and sparse tufts of grass below him.

Slue was pleading with the officers, but Hieronymus was so nervous he could not understand what she was saying. He turned slightly, and he thought he saw Bruegel sitting in the dirt next to the Pacer, absolutely fabbergasted over how the focus of law enforcement could shift so suddenly. There was an odd buzz of panic in the air. He couldn’t comprehend words, only the sound of voices—and Slue was clearly distraught, and the police were calmly explaining something to her.

“Slue,” he called. “Don’t be upset.”

But one of the officers spoke before she could answer.

“Hieronymus, please do not speak to your friend.”

“Officer? Where will you take me?”

“Normally, we would take you to the station, of course. But your arrest warrant has special instructions. We are to drive you all the way to Aldrin City, to the Ocular Investigative Division.”

“And what about my friends?”

“They will be fine. We will make sure they get home safe.”

“Officer, I need to call my father.”

“I’m sorry, young man, but according to our instructions, you are not allowed to call anyone. We are to treat you as a very dangerous criminal and we are to deliver you personally to a certain Lieutenant Schmeet.”

“Schmet,” Hieronymus corrected him.

“Schmet?”

“Yes. His name is Lieutenant Schmet, not Schmeet.”

“So you’ve been in trouble with this type of thing before?”