Coleman. His name was Coleman. Not Cohen, not Kaufmann. Coleman.
And then came the landslide. He remembered everything that had happened at Goldstone the day that picture was taken. It washed over him, almost making him lose his balance.
He remembered Coleman, the reports, the events on the moon. He could clearly picture the grainy image the astronauts of Apollo 17 had taken in the lunar highlands while doing their EVA. Coleman was the one who had shown it to him one afternoon in the fall of 1979, and just the thought of it made him shudder.
The picture had shown astronaut Eugene Cernan climbing onto the LRV. He looked awkward, as if he were in a hurry and couldn’t get away fast enough. And less than a hundred feet behind him in the Taurus-Littrow valley was the reason. A dark silhouette, its contours blurry, but obviously not wearing a spacesuit, wearing ordinary clothes, was coming toward him. Mr. Himmelfarb had met Eugene several times. A nice guy, who unfortunately was never the same after the Apollo mission.
That might have to do with the fact that the figure in the background in the picture who was walking straight toward the rover bore a striking resemblance to Eugene himself.
DARLAH. They’re going to start using the base.
But we agreed never to go back there.
Never.
He got his wallet out of his jacket and found his shoes next to the closet. Carefully, so as not to subject his frail body to any sudden movements, he leaned over and picked them up, sat down on the edge of the bed, slipped them on, and left his room. He walked down the hall as quickly as he could, heading for the pay phone by the stairs.
There’s still time. They can still abort and come back if they haven’t landed yet.
We have to tell them everything. All of it.
He didn’t see anyone in the hallway. The few aides who were working were busy with patients in the other wings of the nursing home, which gave him unrestricted access to the pay phone in the hall.
His hands shaking, he fed some coins in, and dialed the old main number for Goldstone. It didn’t even occur to him how remarkable it was that in his sudden state of clarity he could actually recall the sequence — but it didn’t matter. The memory was futile.
“The number you’re trying to reach is no longer in service.”
Of course. It had been so long since he’d called there. Of course they’d have totally different numbers by now.
He flipped through the phone book attached to the phone by a metal cable.
K. L. M. N.
There it was. N.
NASA.
He found the number for Kennedy Space Center. Called it.
There was a recorded message. A menu, and choices. Too many choices. It was confusing. He tried pressing 0 with the hope that an operator would pick up. No … just robotic, inappropriately cheerful recordings.
He looked at the time. There ought to be people there now.
He tried again, but no matter what sequence of numbers he used, he couldn’t reach a human being.
Desperation and fear were starting to get the upper hand and he slammed down the phone. He felt his heart pumping faster and his chest ached. Cape Canaveral, it occurred to him. I’ll try Cape Canaveral. He flipped through the phone book, found the number. Dialed.
A young man answered.
“Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, how can I help you?”
And with that Mr. Himmelfarb should have started explaining. He should have explained everything, all he knew, what they needed to do, why the mission had to be called off immediately. That he needed to speak to Dr. in person, as soon as possible.
But he couldn’t get a word out.
His memory was back, but the speech center of his brain wouldn’t obey. Nothing would come out of his mouth besides muffled sounds, no matter how hard he struggled to pronounce everything correctly.
“Sir, is there something I can help you with?”
He gurgled and tried harder. But it didn’t work.
Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me.
“Sir, are you still there?”
Let me just say one sentence. Let me just warn them. That’s all I’m asking.
“Sir, I’m going to have to hang up now.”
No, don’t, don’t. Just give me a little time.
“Good-bye.”
Damn!
He felt an enormous wall of rage rising within him and almost blacked out. With more force than he thought his old hands contained, he attacked the pay phone using the receiver as his weapon. He struck huge cracks in the plastic enclosure, shards flying in all directions, and yanked on the receiver, ripping the cord out, but he didn’t relent. The handset finally broke apart in his hands, the pieces falling to the floor. But Himmelfarb continued to smash the phone with his bare fists. He rammed his shoulder into the metal plate on the front, and coins tumbled out and clanked noisily to the floor. It’s too late, he thought, raising both hands over his head. Pain shot up into his arms as he slammed his body into the pay phone. It came off the wall, dangled for a second, and then tumbled to the floor with a crash. Mr. Himmelfarb stood there in silence next to it until the aides came running. Still, he could think only one thing:
They couldn’t go back.
They had to stay away.
Never go back there.
DARLAH 2
Antoine raised his hands to his throat, fumbling to find the fastener on his helmet.
“Let me help you. One second.” Coleman came over to him and helped him undo the fastener. “There.”
Antoine pulled the helmet off and took a breath.
There was something about the air. He noticed it as soon as they emerged from the decompression chamber into the first of the old modules. The air seemed old, stuffy, like it had given up on the thought of anyone ever breathing it. Nothing besides time had been moving around in here. The egg-white walls were covered with equipment and electronics that were clearly from the 1970s. Big LEDs in various colors and patterns blinked as they moved farther in toward module two. Outmoded computers were rattling off numeric codes and strips of information none of them could interpret.
Beyond that, it was disconcertingly quiet; only their footsteps on the steel grating on the floor made booming echoes with every step they took. It made Antoine feel like he was in a church, that he should be respectful and reverent. But then that thought was interrupted by another, darker one that he couldn’t explain.
God isn’t here. God doesn’t even know about this place.
“I suggest we split into two groups,” Caitlin told Nadolski. “I’ll take the kids. You take Wilson, Stanton, and Coleman to the communications room and report back to Earth.”
Nadolski nodded and looked peeved. Who was actually in charge here? He was, wasn’t he? After all, he was the mission commander. And here was Caitlin, nothing but a pilot, seizing the reins.
“Fine,” he replied tersely, motioning to the men that they should follow him. Caitlin handed Antoine the camera and asked him to film their trip into module two for the audience back on Earth. He moved to the back of the group and got them all in the viewfinder as they proceeded. Caitlin stopped at the first hatch and spoke directly into the camera:
“A number of you at home may be surprised that there appears to be gravity here in DARLAH. Because the base was built for long-term stays, one of the problems NASA struggled with was how to create artificial gravity. This was important to minimize muscle atrophy in the astronauts who would be spending long periods of time up here under near weightless conditions. A highly specialized system located below the floor in the computer room generates a local gravitational field of 0.97G. That’s about the same as on Earth, where gravity is 1G.”
The two groups of four were now lumbering farther into the base in their unwieldy EV suits. If moving around on the surface had been difficult in the beginning, the transition back to dealing with gravity again in the same gear was even harder. They had to walk slowly, setting one foot in front of the
other, concentrating on keeping their balance. To the TV audience, it must have looked ridiculous. But for Mia, Antoine, Midori, and the other astronauts, there was nothing funny here.
The tension and anticipation was thick in the air as they walked through the base for the very first time. Every ten yards or so they encountered a new steel hatch that Caitlin would activate by pressing the button on the wall next to it. They could hear the hydraulic pumps that opened the hatches with a pyiffff sound, letting them into the next room. Inside, they could hear all of these sounds plainly and clearly. Caitlin explained that it was because the sound waves had air to move through, making it possible for the ear to perceive them.
“Everything in here is absolutely prehistoric,” Midori complained as they made their way to the next safety hatch. “How can you guys be sure everything is still working?” She stopped in front of the hatch and eyed it skeptically for a minute, before she beat Caitlin to it and pressed the activation button. The door slid open. Pyiffff.
“Just because it’s old doesn’t necessarily mean it’s bad,” Caitlin retorted cheerfully. “Think of it this way. I’m thirty-two. Compared to you guys, I’m old, right? But that doesn’t mean I don’t work as well as you, does it?”
“But that’s totally different,” Midori protested, taking a breath. “It smells really weird in here. Stuffy, kind of.”
“It’ll get better, Midori,” Caitlin replied, proceeding on through the hatch into module three. “Just wait until completely new air has started circulating through the modules. Then it’ll be better.”
“But you guys have tested this base, right?” Antoine asked. Midori’s words had struck a nerve with him, and now for the first time on the expedition he was feeling a little less confident. “I mean, you’re sure everything’s working the way it’s supposed to?”
“Absolutely,” Caitlin replied gently. “It might look old, and I suppose it is old, everything you see here. But it’s still in tip-top shape. Every single little piece and microchip was thoroughly tested before it was sent up into space. And after assembly it was checked again. So I can promise you that it works. Besides, do you really think NASA would take the chance of sending you guys up here if they doubted the equipment? Not to mention sending along a camera and broadcasting it all live to everyone in the whole world?” Her voice sort of quivered a little as she spoke.
“I don’t know,” Antoine said meekly.
“After all, you guys have to remember that the computers they had in 1969 were good enough for people to land on the moon. And the last time I checked, it wasn’t like a PlayStation could do that.”
The discussion stopped there. But to themselves they were all thinking the same thing: How sure can you really be? They continued the last little way to the B wing corridor without saying anything else to one another.
Mia and Midori got to share a room. Antoine was assigned the neighboring room. All the others would be living farther down the corridor. First a room for Caitlin, then Wilson and Stanton’s room, then a single room for base manager Coleman, and all the way at the end of the corridor, Nadolski’s room. On the other side of the corridor there was a big kitchen and farther down a spacious bathroom that they would all share.
Caitlin took them on a brief tour. The kitchen was strangely old and futuristic at the same time. It seemed like someone had tried to copy a 1970s science-fiction movie, everything all egg white with rounded corners. Two big doors along the one wall were labeled PANTRY and COLD STORAGE. Caitlin stopped in front of them.
“Here’s our food supply,” she said with a grin. The teenagers looked at one another.
“What do you mean?” Midori exclaimed. “You mean we’re going to be eating whatever’s in there?” She opened the door labeled PANTRY and peered in. Rows of shelves were covered with cans and boxes, all stamped with the logos for NASA and DARLAH. “But all of this is from the seventies, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” Caitlin said. “It’s freeze-dried. Lasts practically forever.”
“Well, I for one am not going to be eating that. You can just forget it,” Midori fumed.
“That’s up to you. But don’t forget we’re going to be here for one hundred and seventy-two hours, Midori. That’s a whole week, you know.”
That message seemed to sink in with Midori. She thought about it for a minute before she added: “Well, then I hope you guys have some Asian food stored up here, too, and not just a pile of hamburgers.”
“I doubt you’ll find sushi in there, if that’s what you mean, but we may be able to dig up some noodles.” Caitlin looked at the clock. “Okay, it’s five o’clock. There’ve been a lot of impressions already. I suggest you go back to your rooms, so you can take off your suits and relax for a couple of hours. I’ll come by at seven, and we’ll go over to the living room in the A wing and meet up with the others before we head to dinner. Does that sound okay?”
None of them had any objections; they’d been longing to take off the suits. Only now did they realize how tired they actually were. Antoine trudged down the corridor behind Midori and Mia toward their bedrooms. All three stopped at the girls’ door, and Antoine just stood there.
“Antoine?” Mia asked, looking at him askance.
He gave the two girls a gloomy look. “If either of you wants to have your very own room on the moon right now, you’re very welcome to mine. It isn’t exactly … how I envisioned it.”
Mia took the hint and gave him a wry smile. “Okay, Antoine. Come on. Your girls will look after the poor little Frenchman who’s afraid of being alone.”
Antoine flung out his arms and looked around as if to say, Can you blame me? and followed them into the room.
Caitlin stood in the doorway for a second. “You guys have two hours starting now, is that okay? I suggest you spend that time sleeping, not chatting. And Antoine?”
“Yeah?”
“No funny business with the girls, okay?”
“Oui, madame,” he replied politely, and with a knowing smile, she left.
The bedroom was more like a little closet with a small, round window and an even smaller closet. Two bunks were mounted on the wall, one over the other, but there was no table, no chairs, nothing else.
“Where do they expect me to sleep?” Antoine asked.
“You were the one who insisted on being in here with us, weren’t you?” Mia replied.
“You mean I’m supposed to sleep on the floor?”
The two girls looked at each other.
“You can sleep wherever you want,” Mia said as neutrally as she could.
But the truth was that she wasn’t indifferent. She knew very well what he would choose. She’d seen the signs in the last several days, how he was always nearby, following her every move.
“Well then, can I sleep next to you, Mia?” Antoine asked.
“Sure you can.” She knew her response was too fast because Midori rolled her eyes and turned her back as she pulled off her bulky spacesuit.
Mia claimed the bottom bunk. She took off her suit and kept her underwear and T-shirt on before climbing in under the covers. Antoine followed right behind her. He carefully lay down next to her at the very edge of the bed. Midori climbed up and lay down in the top bunk.
But none of them could sleep.
Not that they tried, either. What in the world would be the point? You come to the moon and the first thing you do is go to sleep? That was the most idiotic suggestion in history.
Instead, the three teenagers stared out their little round window lit by the strong, clear light reflected from the moon’s surface outside. It was so incredibly deserted. Almost beautiful. None of them could think of anything to say. They just lay there in awe of the view.
As time went by and no one spoke it was as if the view slowly changed. A veil of something threatening somehow came over the beautiful silence. They all noticed it, even though no one said it in words.
Perhaps that’s what made Midori say, out of the blue: “Have
you guys heard the story of Kuchisake-onna?”
“The story of what?” Antoine said.
“Kuchisake-onna, the slit-mouth woman.”
“Nope. How come?”
“I just happened to think of her,” Midori said from the bunk above. “She lived on Hokkaido in the eleven hundreds and was married to a powerful samurai. You know what a samurai is, right?”
“Of course,” said Mia quickly, and then realized that maybe she didn’t exactly understand it.
“A kind of merchant soldier for a nobleman, right?” Antoine tried to explain.
“More or less. Anyway: This samurai’s wife was uncommonly beautiful, one of the most beautiful women in the whole country. She was also extremely vain. And unfaithful.”
“I’m liking her less and less already,” Antoine said.
“Yeah, I know, right? The samurai felt the same way, because he found out about her unfaithfulness. And he attacked her in revenge, sliced open her mouth from ear to ear while he screamed, ‘Who’s going to think you’re beautiful now?’”
Midori let a few seconds go by before she continued. “According to the legend, she still roams around Japan at night. And her face is always covered by a surgical mask.”
“I thought almost everyone in Japan wore surgical masks outside,” Mia said.
“That’s exactly the point,” Midori replied. “A lot of Japanese people wear surgical masks when they’re in places with a lot of people, to avoid spreading bacteria or catching a cold or stuff like that. That’s why it’s so hard to spot her. But you know it’s her when she stops you and asks, ‘Watashi kirei?’”
Mia was about to ask what that meant, but Midori beat her to it. “Am I beautiful?” Midori translated.
“Ew,” Antoine said.
“And if you say yes, she takes off her mask, shows her mutilated face, and asks: ‘How about now?’”
172 Hours on the Moon Page 13
