172 Hours on the Moon Page 15

  “We’ve decided it will take place imminently. Five astronauts will be going. And three teenagers.”

  “Teenagers?” Stanton asked, giving the man an odd look.

  “Yes. The plan is to send them up in July, two years from now. The rocket will be a — well, what should I call it? — an upgraded version of the Saturn V rockets from the Apollo program from the sixties and seventies and …”

  “You’re going to use an old launch rocket?” Stanton asked, incredulous.

  The man waved his hand. “No, no, no, it’s brand-new. It just looks like the Saturn V. The same for the command module and the lunar lander. Upgraded, somewhat enlarged versions of the ones from Apollo 11. You know, TV loves stuff like that. But anyway, yes, where was I? Right. The mission will include a hundred-and-seventy-two-hour stay on the moon and utilize DARLAH 2 as its habitat.”

  “Dar … what?”

  “DARLAH 2. An unused lunar base by the Sea of Tranquility. Built back in the seventies.” Stanton raised his eyebrows. He simply could not believe what he was hearing. “You’ll learn the who, what, where, when, and why of that later, Stanton. The immediate issue is that our engineer, Riley, has to withdraw from the mission. His wife is expecting his third child.”

  “Good for him,” Stanton replied, still baffled by everything the man had just said. He hardly knew where to start asking questions.

  The man looked peeved and remarked snidely, “Yes, of course, let’s all put on paper hats and throw him a party, eh? Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is this: Mr. Stanton, we would really like to have you on the team next summer for this moon mission. Are you in?”

  Stanton didn’t know what to say. What was the man saying? That he could go to the moon after all? But he had given up on that. Totally and completely.

  Or had he?

  Yvonne found the two of them out there in the parking lot and realized instinctively, in the way only a spouse could, what the conversation was about. She wasn’t going to risk losing her husband to space. She’d finally helped him forget that dream. She rushed up to them, shaking her head vigorously. “No. Whatever it is you’re asking, he won’t do it.”

  The man from NASA pretended not to notice. “I’m sorry to have to be so impatient, but I’m afraid time is of the essence. So, Stanton, what’s it going to be?”

  If only he’d listened to Yvonne that day.

  Caitlin, Wilson, and Stanton reached the equipment room a minute later. Heavy spacesuits in a variety of sizes hung on the walls, along with boots, gloves, helmets, and oxygen containers. Caitlin quickly found the equipment they needed and started getting them into their suits.

  “We need tools,” Wilson announced. “And the plans for the generator.”

  Caitlin disappeared into the next room and came back with what he’d requested. She helped them hook up their oxygen tanks and asked them to put on their helmets before she sealed them into their suits. Then she took them by their arms.

  “Can you hear me?”

  They both nodded.

  “Good. Do you see this gauge on your left arm? That shows how much oxygen you have available. We haven’t had time to fill them up completely yet, so there’s only thirty-five minutes in each. Pay close attention to your gauge and maintain radio contact, okay? I want reports on everything that happens in there.”

  Stanton eyed Caitlin uncertainly. “What do you mean, in there? We’re going outside.”

  “You have to go outside to get to the hatch that provides access to the generator. It’s one level below us, which means you’ll have to climb down the ladder and follow the corridor in. Use the flashlights and look for any obvious breaches in the power supply before you start troubleshooting. And please, remember, guys — I know you know this already, but under no circumstances can you take your helmets off down there. There’s no air supply to that room, and you’d suffocate in seconds. Do you understand that?”

  Two helmets slowly nodded.

  “Then it’s time. Come on.”

  Stanton and Wilson followed Caitlin into the decompression chamber, where she asked them to get ready. She went back to the equipment room, sealed the hatch, and started the procedure that emptied the chamber of air. After that she opened the outer hatch, and the two men made their way outside.

  The sky above them was blacker than anything they had ever seen before, and yet the sun was reflecting brightly on the gray surface.

  They felt very far from home indeed.

  Stanton and Wilson carefully made their way around the outside of module four, looking for the hatch to the power generator. They spotted it right away, right at ground level, just outside the building. They found a wheel on top of the stainless-steel hatch, and together they tried to rotate it. But it was fastened tight, as if it were sealed shut, and their clumsy astronaut gloves didn’t make the job any easier. They had to squat down and force the wheel with all their strength — but finally the hatch opened.

  Wilson shone his light down into the hole.

  Did he see something?

  He strained to see and felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Yes.

  There.

  There was a ladder there, just as Caitlin had said. It extended forty to fifty feet down into the darkness.

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “What do you think?” Wilson asked.

  Stanton leaned over the hole. “I’ll go first.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Wait until I’m down before you follow. I’ll give you the go-ahead.”

  “Okay. Caitlin, do you hear us? Stanton is climbing down the ladder now.”

  “Received, Wilson,” a female voice came crackling through the comm speakers in their helmets. “Stanton, watch your oxygen tank when you enter the opening. You don’t want it to get stuck. The opening’s quite narrow.”

  “Yes, I see it. I’ll be careful.”

  He kneeled down by the opening, backed into place, and set his feet on the top rung.

  “I’ve got a foothold. I’m climbing down now,” Stanton reported. He cautiously jiggled the oxygen tank on his back through the opening and climbed down, rung by rung. The actual hole was scarcely bigger than he was with all his equipment on, but with a little acrobatics he made it down to the bottom of the ladder. He turned his light inward and saw the narrow corridor Caitlin had mentioned. It couldn’t be more than twelve feet long, and he caught a glimpse of the generator at the end.

  “I’m down. Everything okay,” Stanton reported. “It’s tight, but there’s just enough room for two.”

  “I’m coming down,” Wilson replied, and began his descent.

  In the meantime, Stanton investigated the corridor more closely. Thick cables covered the ceiling and the walls, but as far as he could see there was nothing wrong with them. He continued down the corridor, checking his oxygen gauge. Still twenty-eight minutes left. There wasn’t any to spare, but it ought to be enough. He noticed the beam from Wilson’s light behind him and was relieved to see that his colleague had made it down safely, too.

  “Found anything?” Wilson asked.

  “Nada. Let’s take a look at the machinery.”

  They moved over next to the generator and ran their lights over the panel.

  “Would you … are you seeing the same thing I am? Do you see that? There?” Wilson asked, pointing to where the main switch should have been. Half the panel appeared to have been smashed.

  “Yeah,” Stanton replied, stunned. They shone their lights up at the ceiling but didn’t find any signs of anything that could have fallen and hit the panel.

  “It’s just destroyed, Wilson.”

  “Wilson, what’s the status?” Caitlin’s voice came over the intercom again.

  “One second, we’re investigating. It seems that …”

  “Maybe we can hook things up somewhere after the panel? Remove the cover? That would make the job easier, don’t you think?”

  “Guys, what’s going on?”
>
  “Caitlin, we have a problem.”

  “A problem? What problem?”

  Stanton passed on the information: “We’re going to try to take off the cover to see if we can circumvent the switch.”

  “Check your oxygen,” Caitlin reminded them. “How much time is left?”

  “Twenty-two minutes,” Stanton reported.

  “Okay, see what you can do.”

  Wilson pulled out two screwdrivers from the tool bag. Stanton took one and started loosening the left side while Wilson went to work on the right. They both worked as fast as they could, but it still took them close to ten minutes to get the whole cover off. It still wasn’t looking good. Whatever it was that had hit the panel, the force had been so great that it had destroyed nearly all the wire connections and circuit breakers and made one big salad out of them.

  “I’m not sure we can make it, Stanton,” Wilson said. “It’s totally destroyed, and time’s running out.”

  “Wait a minute.” Stanton pushed Wilson aside. “Let me try it. Pass me a pair of pliers. And get the blowtorch ready.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “We’ll open it up and cut our way into the main breaker. With a little luck, we can solder in a new line.”

  Wilson seemed frozen.

  “Wilson? The pliers?” Stanton urged.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Wilson responded, stunned.

  Stanton refused to listen. “The pliers, please.”

  “Stanton, look at your gauge. Eleven minutes. And we need at least six to get back to DARLAH. I’m sorry, but this lunar mission was just canceled.”

  “Damn it, Wilson, don’t give up. The pliers, now! Every second counts!”

  “Caitlin, we’re coming back,” Wilson reported. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “Received,” they heard Caitlin say.

  Deep down Stanton knew Wilson was right. Soldering in a new line would take time. A half hour at least, maybe more. If they could even find the right place to attempt the hookup. The only choice was to head back. He couldn’t even bring himself to think about what the others would say. And the teenagers, those poor young kids …

  “Stanton, we have to go. Now!”

  Grudgingly he followed Wilson back to the ladder. Wilson stopped on the first rung.

  “Stanton?” he said slowly. “I didn’t close the hatch when I came down.”

  “So?”

  “It’s closed now.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Maybe it …” Stanton bit his tongue. It hadn’t blown shut; nothing blew shut in a vacuum. “Are you sure?”

  “Totally sure. Seven minutes left on your oxygen gauge. Let’s get this baby open.”

  And they tried. And tried.

  They could have slammed their bodies against the hatch until they nearly killed themselves, but it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Because that hatch was locked.

  From the outside.

  “Caitlin?”

  She heard the panic about to overwhelm Wilson’s voice. He was hyperventilating in his helmet.

  “What is it?”

  “Bad … news. The hatch. It’s locked.”

  Caitlin refused to believe what she’d heard. “But that’s impossible,” she protested.

  “We have five minutes of oxygen left, Caitlin.”

  “Are you sure? Try again! Hurry!”

  Wilson’s voice became hysterical. “We’ve tried everything! It’s locked, goddamn it! Do you hear me?”

  Caitlin felt the desperation grip her. “What about the blowtorch?” she asked. “You can cut your way out!”

  “That steel is way too thick. You know that.”

  “We’re coming out there to get you!”

  “There isn’t time. Four minutes.”

  “There’s time. There is time! If you breathe calmly, as little as you can. Stay completely calm, understood? Nadolski and I are coming!”

  “Caitlin?” That was Stanton’s voice.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s going to take you twenty minutes to suit up and get out here, maybe another few minutes to open the hatch.” Unlike Wilson, Stanton was completely calm, almost relaxed. “It looks like our tickets were just one-way. I’m sorry about this, Caitlin. So awfully sorry. But I think it’s best if you guys go home now.”

  “Stanton? Stanton? Do you hear me? Stanton? Wilson? Damn it! Respond! Do you hear me?”

  They heard her. But there was no point in responding. They slowly climbed back down the ladder again, without saying a word to each other. They walked back to the generator and sat down side by side. Stanton held Wilson’s hand. They looked at each other, smiled weakly. Then they put their hands on their helmets, opened the latches, and took them off.

  Stanton had just enough time to picture one last thing before the vacuum rendered him unconscious.

  He pictured Yvonne, that day she’d bought a new bicycle at the flea market. One of those old bikes with the fat tires. She had been standing in the garage pumping air into the tires when he got home. A second later she was sitting on it, riding around him in tight circles repeating that it had only cost her five dollars.

  A totally, completely everyday event in the life of any old person.

  And yet now it was as distant as could be.

  DINNER

  Mr. Himmelfarb was sitting at the dinner table in the nursing home, trembling. His fever had gone up over the last twenty-four hours. He had cold sweats and was staring vacantly into space, the plate of mashed potatoes untouched in front of him.

  The staff seemed to think there was a simple explanation for his attack by the pay phone. Perhaps he was exhausted from believing that the people on the screen were really in his room with him. But if they could have seen inside his head, if they could have seen what he had seen, they surely would have handled it differently. They probably would have dropped whatever they had in their hands and run for their lives, out, away, gone.

  But all they did was make sure the TV was taken out of his room and make sure he didn’t wander into the TV lounge with the other residents. Now there was next to nothing for him to do other than sit in his chair and stare at the wall. And until recently he would have been perfectly content to do just that. But something had changed in Himmelfarb’s head. His body was nearing its end — his breathing was more labored, his face looked haggard, and a steady stream of drool dangled from the corner of his mouth — but that thick, dogged, impenetrable fog in his brain had burned off somewhat and left him more lucid than ever.

  He didn’t like it at all.

  Himmelfarb still hadn’t so much as even tasted his food. All he’d done was to move the end of his spoon back and forth through the potatoes in a pattern that only he was aware of. He was in the process of dying, yes, and yet he understood everything. This new moon mission had nothing to do with fund-raising or public relations. It had nothing to do with scientific lunar research.

  His mind told him that he had to warn the staff, but it was no use. The words were there, but he couldn’t get them out. They just came out as gurgling, drooling saliva.

  He pictured those poor teenagers who were inside DARLAH now. What would become of them? He didn’t want to think about it. It wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his fault, was it? Or was it? He never had told anyone what had happened.

  You should have done that forty years ago, Oleg. You’re going to burn in hell for this, you know that.

  There was nothing he could do.

  He coughed. Again. He coughed with all his might, and two small drops of blood landed on the tablecloth in front of him without anyone noticing.

  He was going to die now. And he knew it. He coughed again, and more drops of spit landed on the tablecloth.

  Now they were looking at him. All of them. Thirty-two eyes stared as he carefully set his spoon down on the tablecloth, pushed his chair back from the table, stood up, and quietly said, “No one is going to survive.”

  The
sound of his voice forming the words surprised him most of all. He was talking. He was doing it. There was still time! Time to say everything, all of it!

  After that he took a couple of wobbly steps backward, spun around, lost his balance, and fell.

  One of the aides had already stood up when he pushed his chair back from the table, and she almost grabbed him before his head hit the floor. The last of the senses that was still working in the old man’s body, his vision, was suddenly replaced by an inky blackness.

  Custodian Oleg Himmelfarb was no longer a part of this world.

  It wasn’t long before he was removed and the only one left in the dining room was the aide who had tried to catch Mr. Himmelfarb. The other patients had been moved into the lounge, where they were immediately placed in front of the television. To everyone’s relief, the Weather Channel was turned on.

  The aide had only been working at the facility a few weeks, and this was the first death she had ever witnessed. And yet it didn’t frighten her, because ultimately it was the most natural thing in the world for the elderly to die. After all, when you got right down to it, that was why they were here, even though most of her job had to do with convincing the old people of the opposite.

  She stood up to go into the break room. But something stopped her. Something caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

  Mr. Himmelfarb’s plate.

  It was still full of mashed potatoes.

  But in the middle of it she could see that he had written something. Letters, some kind of code, scratched into his food. She saw the spoon resting next to his plate, still with a bit of potato left on the narrow tip.

  She read what he’d written:

  6EQUJ5

  SILENCE

  Just hours before, eight people had been sitting in the living room. Now there were only six, but the silence that surrounded them seemed colossal. Caitlin had been forced to walk the somber path back from module four, and she had to struggle to keep her own hysteria at bay.

  When she found herself face-to-face with the rest of the mission crew, they all realized right away that something was wrong, but none of them had thought anyone had died.