Lunar Colony (3 page)

“C
OMMANDER
S
ALERNO
, I
MUST REMIND YOU THAT YOU HAVE BEEN ORDERED TO REMAIN AT THIS LUNAR FACILITY.”

Salerno was pushing aside the stacks of paper on her desk and stuffing a few belongings into a bag. She ignored the robot that was following her around.

Let’s see,
the commander said to herself.
If I can just find my notebook, I can get out of here.

“C
OMMANDER
S
ALERNO
, I
MUST REMIND YOU
—” the robot began again.

“I heard you the first time, Nat,” Salerno snapped. She didn’t have time for a lecture. “Darn!” she said. “Where is that notebook?”

She gave up her search, figuring she knew everything in her journal by heart anyway. She exited the barracks and started walking down the
long corridor leading to the vehicle bay. Rolling right behind her was Nat, the facility’s robot. Newcomers often mistook Nat for a fancy trash can. More than once, rookie astronauts had tossed bubble gum wrappers and other trash squarely in his digital face.

“C
OMMANDER
S
ALERNO,”
Nat said, “I’
M BECOMING CONCERNED
. I
S IT YOUR PLAN TO LEAVE THE LIVING QUARTERS DESPITE
M
R
. M
C
N
ABB’S ORDERS TO REMAIN HERE
?”

Salerno could see that it was impossible to ignore the robot. She had to try something else.

“Of course not,” she said, looking down at him. “I just need to go to the vehicle bay to get something. But I’m not going anywhere.”

“T
HAT IS A RELIEF TO ME,”
Nat said, his orange eyes brightening. “I
WAS GROWING WORRIED THAT YOU WERE GOING TO FLEE.”

“Oh, Nat,” Salerno said sweetly, “you worry too much. Of course I’m going to obey orders.”

“T
HAT IS GOOD
. A
S YOU KNOW, I AM PROGRAMMED TO ENSURE THAT ALL DIRECTIVES ARE FOLLOWED.”

“That’s why I love you, Nat,” Salerno said as
she entered the vehicle bay. “You’re always here to keep me on track.”

“N
OW THAT YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT THE VEHICLE BAY, WHAT ITEM IS IT THAT YOU ARE IN SEARCH OF
? P
ERHAPS
I
CAN HELP YOU FIND IT,
” Nat offered.

“No, thanks, Nat,” Salerno said, picking up a brick-shaped mechanism from one of the workbenches. “I already found it.”

Nat’s glowing eyes dimmed, as though he was becoming suspicious. “C
OMMANDER
S
ALERNO, THAT IS THE LOCATOR DEVICE USED TO TRACK THE SIGNAL EMITTED BY YOUR SUIT
. F
OR WHAT PURPOSE ARE YOU IN NEED OF THAT OBJECT
?”

“Oh, I just need to keep it out of the wrong hands,” she said, putting it into her bag.

“C
OMMANDER
S
ALERNO, IT APPEARS THAT YOU HAVE DECEIVED ME,”
NAT SAID. “I
SEE BY YOUR ACTIONS THAT YOU ARE PLANNING TO ESCAPE FROM THIS FACILITY.”

“You are a bright one, Nat,” Salerno said, circling behind the robot.

“I
F THAT IS THE CASE,”
Nat said, “I
MUST LOCK DOWN ALL EXITS LEADING OUT OF THIS BUILDING.”
He’d begun
entering a code into a keypad on his left wrist, when he realized that Salerno was right behind him. “C
OMMANDER
S
ALERNO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING
? I
CANNOT ALLOW YOU To
—”

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.

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 L
AUNCH
S
EQUENCE
C
OMMENCING
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!”