Read Online Shanghaied to the Moon by Michael J. Daley - Free Book Online

lot less trouble than on Earth—almost graceful. Can’t say like a dolphin, not the way he looks, more like one of those manatees.
    I hear a hatch clatter. Then another. Then his voice. “Bring that duffel when you come, kid.”
    My eyes fix on the joystick. It glistens, still moist with his sweat.
    I can fly this thing. Just couldn’t think very well with it tumbling before. I’ll go to Olympus Space Station. Wait for Dad there. Safe from Counselors. Safe from this guy’s flying.
    I undo my harness so I can reach the hatch. I haul on the dock hatch first, but I’m the one who moves instead. My head slams into the rivets around the rim. What am I, the Universe’s punching bag all of a sudden?
    My own fault this time, though. You’ve got to do things different in zero-g. I hook my foot in a harness strap, pull again. The hatch swings closed.
    I settle into the pilot’s seat. Buckle up. Look at the controls. They’re a kaleidoscope of confused colors. In simulators, there’s a mission profile already in the FlightComp. I’m starting from scratch.
    Calm down. Look for function blocks.
    Okay, there’s the FlightComp. I key in for undocking. A few panels come to life.
    Now what?
    The ship-to-ship intercom buzzes. “Cuttin’ out?”
    I jump, but he can’t see that. “Thought I might.”
    Talking tough helps me feel tougher.
    â€œChecked the thruster reserves yet?”
    It takes a few seconds of searching even to find the fuel gauges. Inside the three small, round dials, the neon red needles rest hard to the left—empty!
    His lousy flying used up all the fuel! Sweat blooms on my face. If I cut loose without fuel, the PLV would fall out of orbit. This tiny capsule isn’t built to withstand reentry. I would’ve burned up.
    Out the window, beyond the razor-straight edge of the shuttle’s tail, beyond the geometrically perfect cone of the engine nozzles, the ragged west coast of Africa is a long, long way down.
    â€œToggle back into standby, kid. And don’t forget the duffel.”

7
    MISSION TIME
    T plus 00:31:07
    THE tunnel leading from the docking ring to the airlock chamber is so narrow even I can’t stand straight in it. Pushing the duffel through the hatch, I drop after it feetfirst. Grabbing a handhold, I stop inside the tunnel to close the capsule hatch, then the hatch on the docking ring. I drift into the airlock chamber, a cylinder twice as roomy as the capsule and reeking of mothballs.
    The smell comes from a space suit lashed to the curving wall. Bulky, old style, and small. For someone under four feet five inches. A dinosaur compared to the suit Dad had, it’s probably been in storage for the last fifty years, like everything else about the old spacer.
    Why isn’t there one for him? That’s not safe, especially in a tub as old as this one. Leaks happen.
    Anchoring my foot in a wall strap, I pull the airlock hatch into the docking tunnel closed. Two other narrow tunnels lead from the air lock, each a little longer than I am tall but both too narrow to stand up in. One goes into the shuttle. The other, sealed off by a closed hatch, connects to the enormous canister in the cargo bay. Through the air lock’s hatch window, the bright blue handle of the canister’s hatch catches my eye. I’m tempted to take a peek. Maybe it’s a habitat or science module. Maybe I could find out what this mission is about. But then again, it could be full of mission support equipment in an airless can. Too risky.
    Turning away from temptation, I snag the strap on the duffel and kick off into the tunnel leading to the crew section of the shuttle. There’s a little backward tug as the duffel strap goes taut, then the bag sails into middeck with me. I’m closing fast on a wall covered with broken lockers. With no way to stop! I smack the wall, rebound into the oncoming duffel, and stop tangled with it in