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

midair.
    Action and reaction. I’m a living physics experiment!
    One of those uncontrollable moronic grins takes over my face. Pretty quick, though, the look of the place sobers me up.
    Middeck is about fourteen feet wide, ten long fore to aft, and eight tall deck to ceiling. The shower, toilet, and environmental control unit stick into the open space, creating odd angles. It feels roomy after the capsule, but it wouldn’t feel that way with a crew of six living and working here.
    The place shows signs of real heavy use: scratches, scuff marks, stains on everything. The privacy screen that should surround the toilet is missing. Dents and gouges mar the front panel of the environment control unit, like someone used a hammer on it. No wonder the air stinks.
    This just gets worse and worse. After a moment’s hesitation, I seal the air lock behind me. No escape that way.
    The scar cramps as I turn the handle. I’ve over-stressed my hand opening and closing so many hatches. They’re everywhere. Kind of brings home the fact that space is out there. That it has to be kept out.
    â€œYou lost, kid?”
    â€œComing.”
    Facing the air lock, in the right ceiling corner along the back wall there’s a small, square opening that leads to flight deck. A ladder is mounted on the wall beneath the opening—ridiculous in zero-g, but needed when on the ground. Of course, this old tub is never going Earthside again, not with all the damage to the outer hull and heat tiles that I saw on approach.
    Leaving the duffel behind, I kick off for the ladder, then yank on a rung. Too much force! I go careening through the opening, slam into the sidewall, and ricochet into the ceiling. I’m headed for a belly flop when the old spacer grabs my shirt. The wild ride ends just inches above the floor.
    â€œMake every move slow and easy, kid, or you’ll bust something.” He gives my shirt a little twitch that rotates me slowly upright.
    I grab a hand strap in the ceiling. The transfer of momentum twists me helplessly toward the rear of flight deck. The side and back walls should be crammed with electronic equipment, but all the consoles are gone. In the gaping black holes, the multicolored cable harnesses wave slowly in the air currents like the tentacles of sea anemones.
    Through the rear windows, the capsule is visible at the end of the docking tunnel: a round lollipop on a stick, not much bigger than the golf cart. Behind it I can see the curving top of the mystery canister and the silvered spheres of the fuel and oxygen tanks poking out of the doorless cargo bay.
    There’s a slight jolt, and a sharp sound, like a firecracker. The shuttle lurches, then abruptly steadies when the spacer fires a stabilizer. The capsule shoots away in a puff of gas. It plunges into the atmosphere on a tight arc. Orange fire trails from it, burning away its outer shell until the internal pressure bursts it apart like a popped balloon. A thousand sparkling streamers drift toward the clouds. There go my 3-Vid goggles. I run my finger over the empty clip on my belt.
    â€œA moment of silence for the deceased.”
    Now what’s he talking about? I twist to face him. He’s in the seat on the right, adjusting controls. The flight systems are all there and sparkling like new. That’s a relief!
    â€œJust did you a big favor, kid. It’s not easy to evade TIA, but being dead helps.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œIt’ll be on the news tonight. Crazy old spacer out for a last joyride, didn’t quite achieve orbital velocity in an ancient piece of crap. Sad. Since the cameras show you going with me, you’re dead, too.”
    â€œYou almost killed us for real!”
    His mouth sets flat. Spoiled his fun, mentioning that. Didn’t cheer me up any, either. “Strap in.”
    â€œYou never asked me if I wanted to come.”
    â€œI gave you your chance. I told you to get