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

lost.”
    â€œI needed your help.”
    â€œAnd I’m giving it to you!” He faces forward, slaps down a toggle. “We can discuss the finer moral points later. Right now, I need a clear head to get us safely out of orbit. So stop your whining and obey my orders.”
    I don’t move from my hold on the ceiling grip. “If you leave orbit like you dock, we haven’t got a chance!”
    He stops working. Without looking at me, he says in a quiet voice, “Your feelings were in control in that capsule, kid, not your head. That’s bad news.”
    â€œWe’re talking about you!”
    â€œYou’ve got to master your feelings. Find a separate place for them. A box in your mind. Box in your heart.” He traces the square frame of the keyboard on the center console between the seats. “It’s the way to stay alive out here.”
    â€œSo something got out of your box in the capsule?” I’m not dense. He’s admitting his mistake, even as he lays these words of wisdom on me. “And now it’s back in, right? I can just relax and enjoy the trip?”
    He turns his head, stares with those ice-blue eyes. “You’ve got spunk. I like that.”
    He reaches for a thick book clamped to the right bulkhead. He sails it at me. I catch it and start to drift toward the rear wall from absorbing its energy. Quickly, I grab for the hand strap to anchor myself.
    Spreading the book open in midair, I see that it’s the preignition checklist for the main rocket motors. The thick plastic-covered pages are reassuring. If there’s one thing I learned studying the first Moon missions, it’s that astronauts spend a lot of time reading from checklists—long, boring lists—over and over again. They never complain. One switch in the wrong position might mean disaster. Even today, with many more automated systems, there are certain things a pilot wants to be sure of for himself.
    â€œAnother thing that keeps you alive is going by the book. That’s easier with a copilot. How about it, kid?”
    Copilot?
    The empty chair next to him is identical to the pilot’s seat. The joystick. The controls. They’re connected to real thrusters. Real rockets. With the book, I can keep an eye on him. Watch for mistakes.
    A little push and my feet drift over the computer terminal between the two seats. A touch on the button-studded ceiling brings my rump down into the chair. I cinch the harness buckle.
    He doesn’t exactly smile, but he does say kind of friendly, “Welcome aboard.”
    The three big monitors on the flight console display numbers and course plots. One reads TRANSLUNAR INJECTION and shows a free-return trajectory used by the Apollo Moon missions.
    â€œYou’re not going to go that way, are you?”
    â€œYou recognize the course?” He sounds impressed.
    â€œYeah, the Apollo missions used it. The Saturn V could barely lift the Apollo stack into orbit, let alone carry enough fuel for a powered run. But there must be enough fuel in our tank to go the faster routes.”
    â€œLooks can be deceiving, kid. That tank’s big, but its not full. And only one rocket motor works.”
    I should’ve guessed. “So, how long is it going to take us?”
    â€œIf I can get full power from that motor, I’ll be able to flatten the trajectory enough to get us there in two days.”
    I can’t believe it! I’m going to be stuck practically elbow to elbow with this guy for two days? That’s long enough to have to use the toilet, and sleep, and for muscles to start going flabby. Then I see the bright side.
    â€œBut that’s so slow. Won’t they be able to track us?” It comes out like a question, but it’s pure hope.
    â€œSpace is big, kid, really, really big. You know how hard it would be to find a ship this small?”
    He’s so smug, but is he really smart enough to pull it off? He