172 Hours on the Moon Read online

  Mia stuck her head out over the edge of the bed and looked at the Japanese girl in the bunk above her. “Midori, why are you telling us this? That’s awful.”

  But Midori pretended she didn’t hear her. “If you say no,” she continued, “she’ll kill you. And if you say yes again, she follows you home and kills you outside your house.”

  “In other words, she’ll kill you no matter what,” Antoine noted.

  “No,” Midori said. “There are two ways to get out of it. One way is to answer that she looks average. That will make her stop and think, which will give you enough time to get away.”

  “And the other?” Mia asked.

  “The other way is to hold a container of hair pomade up in front of her face. That will remind her of the smell of a surgeon who once tried to help her.”

  “That’s the dumbest story I’ve ever heard,” Antoine remarked.

  “It doesn’t matter to me what you think, but know this: In the summer of 1979, three teenagers from Hokkaido inexplicably disappeared. They were fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen, on their way home from soccer practice. They were never found again. Even though the police searched the area for weeks, with dogs and uniformed officers. You know how I mentioned my uncle works for the Tokyo police in the Shibuya precinct? I was talking to him about this story last winter, and he was already aware of it. So I asked him to do a search in the database on the case, and you know what he found?”

  Antoine was starting to look pale. Suddenly it was no longer the dumbest story he’d ever heard. Mia looked concerned. What worried her most wasn’t the story per se, but that he was so clearly freaked out.

  Midori slowly sat up in bed and climbed down to the other two, standing on the floor in front of them.

  “He found a police report about a car accident that involved a woman. The car was found late at night. It was pouring rain and it was sheer luck that it was found at all, but it was. It had rolled over and was upside down on the shoulder, and when the policeman pulled her out, he discovered that her mouth was split from ear to ear. According to the report he wrote at the scene, she was conscious but didn’t respond to the question when he asked her what her name was. All she said to him was ‘Am I still beautiful?’ Over and over and over again. He ran to his patrol car and called an ambulance, but when he got back she was gone. The same policeman was found dead later the same night. Right outside the front entrance of the apartment building he lived in.”

  “And where did this happen?” Antoine asked.

  Midori fixed her eyes on his. “Where do you think?”

  “Hokkaido?” He shuddered.

  “Exactly. Hokkaido. Just a few hundred yards from where those teenagers were last seen.”

  Midori stood there lost in thought, as if she wasn’t quite sure herself why she was telling the story. “Anyway,” she said, suddenly back in her normal mood, “I just happened to think of that. I’m going to go to the bathroom. Don’t make any babies while I’m gone, okay?”

  And with that, she disappeared out the door.

  Completely speechless, Mia and Antoine watched her leave. Neither of them moved. Mia noticed that Antoine was lying on the very edge of the mattress and that he was about to fall off onto the floor.

  “You don’t need to lie all the way over there if you don’t want to,” she said. “There’s actually plenty of room.”

  He looked at her. “Are you sure?”

  “Mmm.”

  He moved closer and Mia felt his foot touch hers. Instinctively she jumped and pulled her foot back, but then she regretted that and slowly pushed it back over to his.

  “You know … I, uh, well, ever since, uh …” Antoine was struggling to find the right words, but suddenly it was like they’d all been left in another room.

  “You don’t need to say anything,” Mia said, putting her arm around him. And then he kissed her, more or less exactly 238,000 miles from the place where she’d thought it would happen.

  ALARM

  Midori had come back to the room just seconds after that first kiss had taken place, which effectively put a stop to any more. She hardly noticed that anything had changed while she’d been in the bathroom; but if she’d been paying attention to the details, she would have noticed that Antoine and Mia were making sure to be next to each other the whole time. And if she’d really been paying attention, she would have seen that he was giving Mia looks that meant he couldn’t care less about the moon or the mission or all the fame in the world as long as he got to be around her.

  Mia, for her part, tried as best she could to pretend to everyone else that nothing was going on. She had been thinking for a long time that something might happen between the two of them. But still, it happened so suddenly that she felt like she needed a little time before she would be ready to be teased by Midori or anyone else. But they would notice eventually, that was a given. Because sooner or later they would notice the little smile that was taking residence on her face. And for the first time, she was really, really glad she had come on this trip.

  Antoine, Midori, and Mia were ready when Caitlin knocked on the door at exactly seven o’clock. The three teenagers followed her back through the long corridor that connected modules one and two via the computer room in the middle. Once they were in the large living room in module one, they met the rest of the crew, who were already waiting for them. Midori found a seat next to Coleman, while Mia and Antoine sat down next to Caitlin on the left side of the room.

  Nadolski gave the dated decor a scornful look and took the floor. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, now we’re finally gathered, all of us together, here in DARLAH 2. Welcome! As you know, base manager Aldrich Coleman is in charge as long as we’re in here. I’m still responsible for the mission as a whole, but I want you to follow all of the instructions and orders Coleman gives you as long as we’re indoors. Is that clear?” A bunch of yeses and okays could be heard from throughout the room. “Good. Aldrich?”

  Coleman stood up and moved to the center of the room. “Thanks, Lloyd. Well, I’ll be brief. You know most of what there is to know about this place from the briefing in Houston, but let me repeat the most important things. DARLAH 2 is composed of four modules. Number one, which we’re in now; number two, where you’re sleeping and where the kitchen and bathroom are located; number three, where the computer room, greenhouse, and oxygen generator are; and number four, which contains the infirmary, equipment for going outside, and the decompression chamber. That was the way we came in. Module four was built and installed in the fall of 1976. The other modules are from the period between 1974 and 1976. By pressing the buttons near each safety hatch, you can move freely between modules one, two, and three, but I would ask you not to go into module four without permission from Commander Nadolski or myself. The same is true for the computer room, the greenhouse, and the oxygen generator in module three. Access to those is restricted and by permission only. I’m going to give each of you a map of DARLAH 2 so you get your bearings. Caitlin?”

  “Yup,” she replied, and went over to a cupboard, retrieved a stack of maps, and handed them out.

  Mia took one, thanked her, and studied the drawings.

  “Otherwise, what else is there?” Coleman thought for a moment. “Ah, yes. The room next to us is the communications room. This is where we’ll maintain contact with Earth and where it’ll also be possible for you guys to call home via radio if you need to. But only if it’s absolutely necessary. This is not your average phone booth. We’ve also scheduled one press conference per day. These will be done via a linkup from the communications room. Nadolski will give you lists of which press conferences each of you will be attending. I shouldn’t need to mention this, but I will anyway: Do your best to appear as positive as possible. Whether you’re here to do your job or because you won a contest, we’re all in the same boat. To resume …” He paused a little too long, searching for the right words. “To resume studying the moon and procure support and financial resources
for NASA to do just that.”

  It was at about that point that Mia started nodding off. Coleman continued to recount details about the base, what they were allowed to say during the press conferences, and what was classified information. He had a gentle voice, deep and pleasant, but also sleep-inducing. His tone reminded her of a car that just kept going and going in a straight line through the desert.

  Nadolski took over from Coleman, and his rougher, more dynamic voice woke Mia back up again. Or maybe that was Antoine’s fault, because he had just placed his hand on hers. Whatever had gotten her attention, she heard that rock samples would be collected, solar winds would be studied, and gravitation would be mapped in the areas from the Sea of Tranquility to Plinius and the big valley by the Sea of Serenity. And magnetism — there was a lot about that. Mia struggled to pay attention without quite pulling it off. Midori, on the other hand, was taking notes enthusiastically.

  Antoine leaned over to Mia and whispered into her ear. “I was wondering, if you … well, if you’d like to come to bed — I mean, um, sleep in my room — with me?”

  The thought made her surprisingly uncomfortable. Of course she wanted to share a room with him. But at the same time she had also been looking forward to sharing a room with Midori. And what would Midori think about having to sleep alone? On the way over from module two, Mia had felt like she was in full control of the situation, but now she suddenly felt like everything was moving too fast.

  “Maybe,” she said. “We’ll see.”

  Antoine looked a little disappointed and leaned back in his chair. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

  Once again Coleman moved to the middle of the group.

  “Okay. We’ve been through the most important things. Now I suggest that we all move into the communications room for our first press conference. There’s half an hour set aside for it, and you’ll all be asked questions by the journalists gathered in Houston. After that, we’ll head over to the kitchen” — he flung out his arms — “and eat our first dinner on the moon together!” His awkward gesture seemed to emphasize how absurd and wonderful he thought it was to finally use this base that had been waiting for astronauts since the 1970s.

  They moved into the communications room in a herd and sat down on benches in front of two cameras on tripods. The engineers, Wilson and Stanton, readied the equipment, and a minute later the broadcast was under way. Nadolski did most of the talking; the others commented on a couple of the journalists’ technical questions.

  Antoine was selected to speak on behalf of Midori, Antoine, and herself. Mia felt a little embarrassed about being shown on TV like this, as if she had suddenly been transformed into some kind of epic nerd. She thought about her friends, her band, the other people from her school who were surely sitting back home watching and commenting on every little movement she made. She instinctively pulled her hand back when Antoine tried to hold it.

  “Commander Nadolski,” a question from Houston began, piped through a speaker in the ceiling. “What will be the most important goal for NASA in the next one hundred and seventy hours?”

  As Nadolski started answering, he was interrupted by more signals from Earth.

  “Commander Nadolski,” it came again, “what will be the most important goal for NASA in the next one hundred seventy hours?”

  “Excuse me, we’re obviously having some technical difficulties here. Coleman, I don’t think Earth can hear us.”

  Coleman stepped over to the communications desk while Wilson and Stanton checked the microphone.

  “I don’t understand. Everything looks like it’s working fine here,” Stanton said.

  “Try transferring the signal to one of the other channels,” Wilson suggested.

  Seconds ticked by.

  “Commander Nadolski,” the voice said once again. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but my question was: What will be the most important goal for NASA in the next one hundred seventy hours?”

  “We hear you, we hear you, we hear you!” a frustrated Nadolski shouted at the microphone, and then turned to his colleague. “Damn it, Stanton,” he muttered. “What’s going on?”

  But Stanton didn’t have a chance to respond. That very second the TV screens went dead, and the fluorescent lights on the ceiling blinked a few times before they also died. The room was completely black for a few seconds before the emergency power kicked on and bathed the room in a dark red color. Mia glanced nervously at Caitlin, who in turn was staring at Nadolski.

  And then the alarm went off.

  “What is it now?” Nadolski growled. “Is there really nothing that works here?” He flipped the radio transmitters off and on, but nothing happened. Coleman ordered everyone back into the living room.

  “Danger. Danger. Local power generator failure. Error code F548,” an automated, metallic voice droned over the alarm system.

  “What the …?”

  Sixteen eyes stared at one another in the dim red light, flitting around the room, as if everyone were waiting for someone to take charge.

  “We have to go outside if we’re going to fix it,” Coleman said quietly, making it clear that he was not entirely comfortable with the thought. “The local power generator is outside, between modules three and four.”

  “We’ll do it,” Stanton and Wilson said. “We’ll fix it.”

  “Are you sure?” Coleman asked.

  “Yeah. We’re going now,” Stanton affirmed with grim determination.

  “We’ll need help putting on our suits,” Wilson added.

  Coleman didn’t give them a chance to change their minds, responding quickly, “Caitlin will help you with that. The rest of you wait here.”

  Mia grabbed Antoine’s hand again.

  “Didn’t I say everything here was ancient?” Midori complained in a low voice. “No wonder it broke before we even touched it!”

  “Midori! Not now,” Nadolski said, giving her a stern look that made her — and everyone else — stay quiet.

  Nadolski asked everyone to sit down. “It’s not supposed to be like this, of course. But there’s no danger. Really. This will be resolved quickly. Coleman” — he gestured to the aging astronaut — “will you come with me?”

  The two of them went out into the corridor together. Nadolski stopped right under one of the red lights, and in the gleam from it he asked: “Tell me, Coleman. Can you explain one thing to me?”

  “What?”

  “If the emergency power turns on … and the system comes up again …”

  “Yes?”

  “Then why doesn’t the radio equipment work?”

  Coleman stared at him. “I don’t know,” he responded. Nadolski squinted hard at him, as if he didn’t quite believe that Coleman was telling the full truth.

  Back in the living room, the three teenagers sat in silence, but they were all thinking the same thing: When the emergency power kicked on, then it was serious.

  If the main power didn’t come back, they may never make it back home.

  REPAIR

  Stanton and Wilson followed Caitlin to module four. The red emergency lighting flooding the corridors made the whole place seem unreal. To Stanton it was like a warning that he never should have said yes to the man who came to see him that Saturday two years earlier. Hadn’t his wife asked him not to do it, too? Yes. But then, he had never really believed that anyone would give him the opportunity anyway.

  Peter D. Stanton had been an astronaut at NASA for six years, but he still hadn’t logged as much as a single second in space. There weren’t many spaceflights that required a man with his particular engineering background, and the two expeditions that he had been selected for had been canceled because of budget cuts. Stanton had been content to be an astronaut who never got to experience space, even though his name was on the crew list for the next lunar expedition. But that was years away, and Stanton had been at NASA long enough to know that there was no point in getting his hopes up. A lot could happen in that amount of time. />
  For many people in the space program, being an astronaut without having left Earth was synonymous with being a failure. But Stanton didn’t see himself that way at all. Preparation for a space mission took an extraordinary amount of time. Astronauts hardly saw their families for a full year before they left; month after month of sixteen-hour workdays was the routine. And that didn’t fit into Stanton’s calendar anymore. Now he had a lot more time to spend with their three young daughters, aged three, five, and seven, because for a significant portion of the year when he lived up north in his home state of Minnesota, he almost never got home from work later than three in the afternoon. Stanton had found a balance in his life that made him truly happy, and as he followed Caitlin to module four, he wished again that he’d made a very different choice on that fateful day two years earlier.

  It had been a totally normal Saturday morning in August. Stanton and his wife, Yvonne, were walking down an aisle in a Walmart, with the kids in tow, looking for canned tomatoes. When the man in the dark suit showed up, Stanton knew right away who it was. He didn’t know him personally, but he’d heard a lot about him and knew he was way up the ladder in the NASA hierarchy. But Stanton couldn’t imagine what in the world this man was doing all the way up here in the upper Midwest, and as he and Caitlin approached module four, it hit him that he’d never asked, either.

  The man had shaken Stanton’s hand and then turned to Yvonne and said, “Excuse me, but would you mind if I borrowed your husband for a second?” The man never waited for a response.

  Without hesitation, Stanton followed him through the store and out into the parking lot. It was raining. The man had two black umbrellas in his briefcase. He opened one and handed it to Stanton before opening the other above his own head.

  “Let me get right down to it, Mr. Stanton. We don’t have much time. Here’s the issue: I’m sure you’re aware that NASA is planning to send people back to the moon.”

  Stanton nodded.