Shanghaied to the Moon (18 page)

I'm reluctant to touch it with my grimy gloves. Gripping it by the ends, I hop back to the
Squid.
I twist off the big cap from one of the storage tubes and slip the core in. Seal it up. The elapsed timer on the glove says that only took eight minutes. I don't know why he had to hustle me. Lots of time to spare.

Unless he's worried about the oxygen supply. We gained a few more hours than he predicted at mid-course, but there's not enough to get home—not enough, really, to go anywhere.

What's his plan? He has one, I'm sure. Kept secret, as usual. Only way to find out is to finish this.

“NavComp secure, Val. How's that for speedy?”

“One more task, kid.”

Uh-oh. A surprise.

“What is it?”

“The moneyman behind this mission wants a souvenir.”

Of course! Two tubes. Can't be a spare. Nothing on this mission has a spare. “You want me to grab a rock?”

“No, kid. He's already got rocks. He wants the flag.”

“The flag!” I nearly fall down, spinning around to look at it.
That
flag? It's the only real one from the Apollo missions to survive all these years. Taking it would be like stealing Plymouth Rock. I can't believe he just asked me to do that.

“I won't do it, Val. It's stealing.”

“How many times have
I
been stolen from, huh, kid? I sacrificed all my life. Made billions for others. And what have I got? The VT sabotaged. Dead crewmembers no one mourns. A lifetime smeared into a few glitzy 3-Vids. Don't talk to
me
about stealing.”

Revenge. Justice. It was such a great mission …

I'm not mad at him. I hate them—Alldrives, the 3-Vid producers, everyone who left Val grabbing at this rotten lifeline from some sleazy rich collector.

“Move out. You've got ten minutes. And don't think you can come back without that flag. The remote's working good enough for me to keep you grounded.”

I stroke a landing strut of my ship. He's taken it back. I look up, searching the blackness for
Old Glory.
Nothing in sight. “You wouldn't strand me here, would you?”

“Try me.”

An all-or-nothing mission, isn't that what he said?

I look at the flag. Just a bit of cloth to restore all his old glory …

Three short bounces bring me to the fence. When my boot touches the lowest rail, a sign flashes:

PLEASE DO NOT STAND ON THE FENCE.

Alarms must be going off somewhere.

Up another rung. Beyond the fence, the surface is almost pristine, tracked with only a few paths of footprints. No one has ever set foot inside except those two first men on the Moon. Even worse than taking the flag would be to mingle my footsteps with theirs. They risked everything to give us the stars. Their glove-prints are on the flag. Not even Val Thorsten is important enough to ruin that.

I step away from the fence, shuffle back toward the
Squid.

Val can see that on the camera. He shouts, “No! Go back!”

I don't trust my voice. Just keep marching.

“Kid, please—”

The radio channel shifts. Static, then: “—calling
Old Glory.
At rendezvous, where are you?”

I freeze with one foot on the
Squid
's ladder. Not Val. Not LunaCom. And not a squiggle. “Who's that, Val?”

“That's our ride out of here, kid. And that flag is our ticket.”

The getaway car. Somewhere near, there's a ship, with air. The rich guy's, maybe even a Comet Catcher. Another part of Val's plan finally becomes clear: We were never going back to Earth. So what was going to happen to me?

“Don't just stand there, kid. Time's running out!”

“Time's up,” I tell him when, like the cavalry, a hopper appears from behind a huge boulder. “The hopper's here.”

“Hustle, you can get it!” He's still trying to save this mission, just like the first time when I messed up in the
Squid.
But I swing up onto the shelf. Disappear from his camera. “Kid, don't do this to me! He won't help us escape if we don't bring him that flag.”

“Us? I can go with the rangers.”

Silence. I've finally surprised him.

A geyser of dust shoots up as the beetlelike hopper leaps closer. Once, there was nothing I wanted more than to be rescued …

Why doesn't he say something? Will he really let it end this way?

I shift on the shelf in front of the hatch to get a better view of the hopper. My elbow bumps the storage tube and it hits me like lightning—I
can't
carry out my threat. Can't let them rescue me. The rangers in that hopper work for Alldrives. They'll get the core!

Twisting, I stick my hands through the hatch and grip the control boxes to haul myself into the
Squid.
My boots are slippery with dust. I'm working up a sweat. When I'm finally in position, the first thing I see is the bright red message—ASCENT ENGINE LOCK OUT.

“Val.” My mouth is dry. I swallow hard. “Val, release the engine lock. Or don't. I don't care.”

The hopper skips to a stop a dozen yards away. He'd better make his choice fast.

The red light flickers to green. The pins holding the two stages together blast out with an explosive bump. I'm free to fly!

“Okay, kid, we'll do it your way. Can't trust the remote anymore. Bring her up.”

The thrill goes straight to my fingertips. I punch the ignition switch. My head almost pops down through the neck ring as the acceleration jumps massively. I tighten my leg muscles so I'm standing tall. The radar picks up
Old Glory.
Keying in the thrusters, I tweak the
Squid
onto the correct flight path. Adjust ascent rate. Counteract a little excess roll.

Val says, “You've got a little drift there.”

I key in a thruster to compensate. When I squeeze the firing button on the joystick, nothing happens. I recycle the thruster twice. No luck.

“Rotate one eighty. Try a different nozzle.”

“Right.” I key in a 180-degree rotation. It comes off fine. Now I can use a different thruster to correct my course. I activate the new thruster. It fires. Alarm codes start flashing like crazy.

“You're vectoring out!”

I try to shut it off. “The thruster jammed!”

It's fighting against the boost from the ascent engine. If I can't counteract the drag, I won't make it into a stable orbit before the fuel runs out.

“Compensate!”

“I'm trying! Half the thrusters aren't responding. The hard landing damaged something.”

The
Squid
fishtails across the sky like a crude bottle rocket. My fingers ache from chasing thruster codes all over the keypad. The scar throbs, threatening to cramp. Somehow, I stay close to on course—close enough, I hope. The main engine flares out. The tank beneath my feet is empty. The altimeter peaks at fifty miles—way too low to maintain orbit!

The Moon's gravity recaptures the
Squid.
It starts to drop toward the unforgiving surface.

21

MISSION TIME

T plus 41:40:21

VAL! Help!”

But he can't help me because I'm back on the crashing shuttle with Mom …

“Lord God hear our prayer …” The minister kneels in the aisle with several other passengers. They can do that because Mom got us right side up.

“You must stabilize,” Tower Control says. The words coming over the speaker drown out the prayers.

A flight attendant kneels next to my seat. He helps me get an oxygen mask on. A lot of smoke came in when Commander Derrick crawled out of flight deck. A cloth is wrapped around his head and over his eyes. It's stained with blood. He had to feel his way to a seat. That's when the minister started praying.

“Don't they think Mom can save us
?”

“Hang in there, kid.” The mask makes the flight attendant's voice sound like his nose is pinched. He pats my hand. His fingers are ice cold. “The copilot, Mr. Grey, is in the crawl space trying to get to the broken control cables. He might be right under us.”

“Mom's all alone?”

Tower Control says, “We can't give you a dive vector if you don't stabilize.”

“I'm flying a stone here … wait …” Mom says and everyone leans toward the sound of her voice. “Getting some response … no, lost it. Copilot's below decks … holding things together with his bare hands …”

“Ten seconds and you'll be beyond recovery.”

Ears covered, an old lady wails, “For God's sake, shut that off!”

She doesn't want to hear Mom's voice. The flight attendant stands up, reaching for the speaker. I grab his hand. “
NO
!
”

The shuttle lurches. The deck pitches upward. The speaker goes sputtery, like a badly tuned radio, then Mom's cry of triumph, “Tower, tower, positive airfoil! I've got control!”

Those remembered words—exactly the same as in the NewsVid—shock me back into my own chaotic world, trapped in a crash-diving squid somewhere above the airless surface of the moon.

They were the last words I ever heard her say.

“… get control of the ship.” Val's voice. Urgent. Commanding. My hero. Mom's hero.

Get control. Mom had to.
I
have to. I look at the instruments. The
Squid
's in a corkscrew dive forty-five miles above the surface. The fuel ran out before it achieved orbital velocity. It's falling back toward the Moon. Alarm codes flash urgently, calling for the pilot to do something.

Me.

“Stewart! Stabilize your flight path! Respond, damn it!”

“Working on it.” I lock in a maneuver … fire. The spiral slows. Again. The course I manage to hold is a very steep dive, almost straight down. The surface rushes up at me; details coming clearer and clearer. I ought to be terrified, but I'm not. I've done my job. Only Val can save me now.

I tell him, “Course stable.”

“Then here I come,” Val calls. The familiar sound of the big main engine roars in my earphones. Val's powering out of orbit. I wish I could see that dive!

Old Glory
is a blip on my radar twenty-five miles above and a couple hundred miles ahead of me dropping fast out of its high orbit, but I'm dropping faster every second. Val has to get below the
Squid
and catch it in the cargo canister like an outfielder snagging a high fly. Only thing is, this ball is moving three thousand miles an hour, and is as fragile as an egg.

A sudden lurch sets me struggling to regain control again. When the flurry is over, the faulty thruster has finally run out of propellant.

Val says, “Come about to give visual.”

I'll do
anything
so I don't have to keep looking at where I'm going to end up. I backflip the
Squid.
The ashen surface drops from view, replaced with a few glittery stars in a vast blackness—infinite and still. No sense of falling now.
Old Glory
flares across my view, tail first, a blurred whiteness spitting a cone of blue fire. The backward firing rocket slows the shuttle's orbital velocity, causing it to arc steeply toward the surface and—if Val's got the angles right—me.

“I see you!”

“Trajectory match?”

“Not yet.”

The capture attempt requires our ships to be on the same path—both crash-diving at a mile a minute!

Like some great spouting whale, gray vapors erupt from the shuttle's thrusters. Val's only using five nozzles out of the dozens dotting the hull. It takes tons of skill to control such a big ship with so few, but without automatic NavComp control, Val would risk getting confused like I did at midcourse.

“All right, Val!”

“Orbital match,” he says. “I'm going to pitchover so I can see enough to guide you into the cargo bay.”

The blue cone of flame disappears. The shuttle tumbles end over end and gently rolls at the same time. Now the nose is pointing at me. The windows of flight deck flash with reflected sunshine.

Val says, “Final approach. Don't let that thing wobble an inch.”

I concentrate on the readouts, punching keys with my knuckles to keep the
Squid
stable. The pain cramping along the scar is so intense I can't uncurl my fingers anymore.

“Steady … I'm taking you over the top.”

I look out the window into the throat of a forward thruster. The big black nose slips below me. I want Val to hurry, but he's careful, sliding in slow. One bump could knock the
Squid
hopelessly out of reach. The hull near the cockpit fills my window. Every other tile is missing. The shuttle shifts. I can see into flight deck. Val hunches close to the displays. One of us is upside down.

He glances at me. We could shake hands.

Then the cockpit's white roof spreads below me. Only a few feet to go. I strain to see forward. What's that? A blurred darkness looms ahead. Another memory coming? Then I realize I'm seeing the end of the docking ring sticking above the hull. The
Squid
's going to hit it!

“Val! The dock!”

A garbled curse punches my ears. The shuttle drops away. Too slow. The
Squid
's nose rams the docking ring hard. Metal collapses, shoving the window at me. The glass shatters into crazed spiderweb patterns. My head bobs, jamming my mouth against the helmet rim. The pain is nothing next to the way my guts knot as the
Squid
begins to somersault like a gymnast soaring over a vaulting horse.

He's going to lose me! “Come up!”

The shuttle surges, scooping the
Squid
into the canister. The
Squid
hits the rear wall. The reaction force causes the crumpled nose to lift. It's the start of a tumble that will toss me out over the tail.

“Nose down!” Val yells. “Nose down!”

I'm already working the forward thrusters, shoving the nose to the floor of the canister. The
Squid
bounces off the rear wall, rakes along the canister, and rams the air lock hatch. Sledgehammers come down on my shoulders. Somehow, I manage to hit the rear thrusters in time to stop another rebound.