Space Case

by Stuart Gibbs

  Another roar sounded directly behind me. I looked back and found two more velociraptors in pursuit. I ran even faster, my legs pounding on the treadmill. I didn’t like this new motivator. I’d been perfectly happy in regular Yosemite without prehistoric carnivores to worry about. But I didn’t want to bother Chang to shut it off. If I did, he might stop talking about Dr. Holtz. As it was, he was eagerly unburdening himself, unconcerned by the dinosaurs.

  “And then the chance to come up here presented itself,” Chang was saying. “And I wanted it. I knew Holtz was going to be here. He was a lock for this place, the only person guaranteed a trip. So I had to take whatever issues I had with him and chuck them once and for all. There were a lot of hoops to jump through to get up here. A million interviews. Psych reviews. Physical exams. And if there was a part of your body they could probe, they probed it. If anyone thought I had an ax to grind with Holtz, I wouldn’t have made it past round one. And believe me, they asked. Over and over again. But like I said, I’m over it. The past is the past. What happened between Holtz and me is long forgotten.”

  The way Chang said it, it sounded completely honest and convincing, though I was a bit distracted by the velociraptors pursuing me. I wished I could have seen Chang’s face as he talked, rather than the back of his avatar’s head. In retrospect, deciding to grill a murder suspect in a virtual world hadn’t turned out to be such a good idea. But I didn’t have a choice now.

  I asked, “So, given that, then there’s no way that anyone who didn’t like Dr. Holtz could have gotten up here, right? NASA would have booted them.”

  “Well, not necessarily,” Chang admitted. “That was certainly the case for me, because I was coming here solo and there was a lot of competition for my slot. In the vetting process they were looking for any reason to ding you. But there are others up here who didn’t have such a rigorous assessment.”

  A bear burst through the trees ahead of us and scampered across the trail. Normally, that alone would have been exciting, but now three carnotauruses emerged from the forest in pursuit. They plunged into the trees and disappeared again without so much as a glance at us.

  “Who had an easy time getting approved for here?” I asked.

  “The whole Sjoberg clan, for starters,” Chang replied. “Since they bought their way in here, no one really cared much that they were a bunch of twits.”

  “Do you think any of them didn’t like Dr. Holtz?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Those Nordic dorkwads don’t seem to like anybody. And then there’s Dr. Marquez. Holtz tried to block him from even coming up here.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “’Cause Marquez is a lousy psychiatrist.”

  “What?” I stumbled slightly on the treadmill in surprise. “But he’s famous.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s good. The guy got his medical degree from a sixth-rate school in the Bahamas. He couldn’t diagnose a baked potato. Holtz thought he’d be a waste of space up here. But NASA trumped him. They wanted Ilina Brahmaputra-Marquez up here for her astrophysics chops—and they figured her celebrity husband would be good for publicity.”

  “You mean they only wanted Marquez for his name?”

  “Absolutely. Think about all the press coverage before we all came up here. Who got the most attention?”

  I thought back to the time after all the Moonies had been announced to the public. We had all become famous—but Dr. Marquez had been at a different level. He’d been invited on hundreds of talk shows and been at every NASA press conference. “It was Dr. Marquez.”

  “Right. The public doesn’t care about astrophysicists or geochemists. They care about famous people. NASA probably would have sent up a movie star if it didn’t mean bumping a scientist from coming here. Dr. Marquez was the next best thing. He was famous enough to get a lot of attention—and he filled the slot for a psychiatrist.”

  “But wasn’t anyone besides Dr. Holtz concerned that he’s not good?”

  “I’m sure someone was. But I know there were other people who felt it wasn’t that important to have a psychiatrist here at all, so they might as well send a lousy one who could get publicity for the moon base rather than looking for a good one who couldn’t.”

  There was a snort behind me, so close I thought I could feel the exhalation riffle my hair. I’d been so caught up in what Chang was saying that I’d momentarily forgotten about the raptors behind us. Now I spun to find three dozen toothbrush-size teeth ready to clamp down on my head, a strand of drool ominously dangling from them. I sprinted forward, pulling alongside Chang as the jaws snapped shut.

  “That was close!” he laughed. “You were almost an appetizer!”

  I didn’t think it was nearly as funny. My heart was pounding. “Did Dr. Marquez know Dr. Holtz tried to block him?”

  “Oh yeah. It wasn’t a secret. Holtz wrote a whole report detailing why Marquez was bad at his job. Marquez was livid. And definitely embarrassed. Then when NASA okayed him to come here, he figured that vindicated him. But Holtz kept dissing him. And he refused to ever let Marquez assess him up here. In fact he wouldn’t even talk to the guy.”

  “So . . . if Dr. Holtz had a mental problem, no one would have caught it?”

  “I suppose not. Although Holtz probably would have argued that Marquez wouldn’t have been able to diagnose it anyhow.”

  I wondered if a bruised ego was enough motivation to want to kill somebody. “Was there anyone else who didn’t like Dr. Holtz?”

  Chang’s avatar shot me a sidelong glance. “Why are you so interested in this?”

  “Up till yesterday, I thought everyone liked him. And then I started hearing that people didn’t. It’s pretty surprising.” This was an understatement. In truth I found the number of potential killers Dr. Holtz was racking up to be extremely disturbing. How could anyone who was so nice have so many enemies? I wondered. Or was Dr. Holtz not quite as nice as I’d believed?

  “You’re not thinking someone bumped Holtz off, are you?” Chang asked.

  “No!” I said, way too fast. “I . . . uh . . . I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s really hard to concentrate with these dinosaurs chasing us.”

  “You don’t like it?” Chang seemed genuinely surprised. “I think they’re cool.”

  “They creep me out.”

  “Oh.” Chang’s avatar frowned. “You know they can’t really hurt you, right? Even virtually. It’s not like they’ll eat your avatar if you don’t run fast enough. They’re only designed to stay right behind us and push our pace.”

  “I can think of lots of less scary ways to do that,” I argued. “Like, we could chase something. Rabbits. Or squirrels. Something that isn’t dangerous.”

  “You’re sure you want me to shut it off?” Chang sounded disappointed. “It gets really exciting right about . . . now.”

  We emerged into a clearing near Yosemite Falls—only we could barely see the cataract because there was a tyrannosaurus standing in front of it. It loomed over us, straddling the trail, and loosed a primal roar that jackhammered my eardrums.

  “Yes, shut it off,” I said. “I’m done.” I snapped off my goggles and stopped running.

  To my surprise, the readout said we’d gone almost two miles.

  “Look at that!” Chang crowed, his goggles now perched on his forehead. “I told you those raptors were good motivators! Nice run!” He held up his hand for a high five.

  I held up mine, and Chang slapped it so hard I thought it might come off.

  “Could you half-wits shut your stupid mouths for once?”

  I knew who’d spoken, even before turning to face him. There was only one person at MBA who was so relentlessly mean-spirited: Lars Sjoberg.

  He stood in the doorway of the gym, scowling, wearing pajamas, slippers, and a fluffy robe emblazoned with an MBA logo. (The robe was part of the Sjobergs’ deluxe tourist package.) There still appeared to be some dried coleslaw crusted in his white-blond hair. “It’s hard enough to sleep
in this dung heap without imbeciles carrying on at all hours of the night.”

  Chang’s muscles tensed, though I could tell he was trying hard to restrain his temper. He undid his gravity belt, stepped off the treadmill, and hung his goggles on the wall by the resistance bands. “We weren’t carrying on, Mr. Sjoberg. We were simply working out.”

  “At two o’clock in the morning!” Lars snarled. “A time when normal people are in bed!”

  “We couldn’t sleep,” I told him. “We’re too upset about Dr. Holtz.”

  Lars snorted in disgust. “As if that old fool didn’t cause me enough grief when he was alive.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Chang demanded.

  “All of you put this man on a pedestal when he deserved no such thing,” Lars groused. “He was an adviser on this base. A man who supposedly specialized in improving our quality of life off earth. Well, given that there is no quality of life here at all, I’d say that makes your Dr. Holtz a complete and total failure.”

  “Dr. Holtz’s job was to assess the effects of low gravity and space travel on the human body,” Chang said. “Not to run a spa for rich dinks like you. If you’re unhappy here, that’s your fault, not his. He didn’t ask you to come here. In fact he tried to prevent you from doing it. You came on your own.”

  “Only because NASA and its so-called scientists assured us this would be the adventure of a lifetime!” Lars stormed toward Chang, his pale blue eyes blazing. He seemed to be itching for a fight, every annoyance he’d felt at MBA now flowing out of him. “They all lied to us, including your precious Dr. Holtz. The man was a quack! A fool who knew nothing except how to shill for NASA.”

  Lars was now face-to-face with Chang. I’d never realized it before, but Lars was a big man, as tall as Chang. Though he was flabby around the middle, Lars looked like he could handle himself in a fight.

  “Take that back,” Chang said. “The man just died. He deserves some respect.”

  Lars poked Chang in the chest with his finger. “Not from me.”

  “Don’t touch me,” Chang told him.

  “I’ll do whatever I want.” Lars poked Chang in the chest again. “My family and I are leaving on that rocket, so we’ll only be in this godforsaken place a few more days. But during that time, you and your fellow so-called scientists will give us the respect we deserve.”

  “Oh, I’m happy to give you exactly what you deserve.” Chang’s hands clenched into fists.

  Lars had been waiting for this. He was already swinging his fist. I could see the hatred in his eyes. It seemed he’d been wanting to punch Chang for a long time.

  But Chang was ready for it. He sidestepped deftly. Lars’s fist grazed Chang’s nose and then slammed into the wall.

  While Lars howled in pain, Chang grabbed the loose end of a wall-mounted resistance band and yanked the band tight across Lars’s face, flinging the trillionaire backward into the wall. Lars’s head banged into the cement so hard it staggered him.

  Chang released the resistance band. The fight was already over. Lars reeled, struggling to focus on his opponent. “I . . . hate . . . you,” he gasped, and then collapsed face-first on the floor.

  Chang looked at me. “You’re my witness, Dash. This was self-defense—and technically, I never laid a hand on the guy.” He stepped over Lars Sjoberg’s prone body and left the gym, whistling so cheerfully it was unsettling.

  I stared at the unconscious trillionaire, worried. I’d just learned two very disturbing things.

  Lars Sjoberg was a dangerous man who’d had a big grudge against Dr. Holtz.

  And even though Chang Kowalski said he’d forgiven Dr. Holtz, he certainly wasn’t someone you wanted angry at you.

  Excerpt from The Official Residents’ Guide to Moon Base Alpha, © 2040 by National Aeronautics and Space Administration:

  SLEEP

  Although great care has been taken to provide the highest quality sleeping quarters at MBA, there is a slight chance you might experience some issues with sleep at night, especially immediately after your arrival. Sleep difficulties are not new to the space program, but you will be pleased to know that decades of research have greatly improved your ability to get a good night’s rest! With our dark, quiet sleeping spaces, steady oxygen flows, and comfortable mattresses, after a few days’ adjustment to life on the moon we guarantee you’ll be sleeping just as well as you did on earth—if not better!I

  * * *

  I. A full night’s sleep is actually not guaranteed. If you continue to have difficulties getting rest, please consult with the base doctor and/or psychiatrist for help. If sleeplessness persists, specialized drugs designed to aid sleep in non-earth locations can be prescribed.

  POSSIBLE SUSPECTS

  Lunar day 189

  Much later in the morning than expected

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.” The words were soft and gentle in my ear.

  I groggily pried my eyes open and found Zan Perfonic peering into my sleep pod. “What time is it?” I groaned.

  “Nearly lunchtime.”

  “What?” I sat up, cracking my head on the low ceiling. “Darn it! I overslept!”

  “It’s all right,” Zan said soothingly. “School’s been canceled again today. You’re not missing anything.”

  I lay back down, rubbing my head. “I couldn’t fall asleep,” I explained. “I was up until five in the morning.”

  “Well, you had an emotionally exhausting day yesterday. And a stressful night in the gym as well.”

  I groaned again. “You know about that?”

  “Everyone knows about it. It’s all anyone is talking about. Lars Sjoberg is threatening to sue NASA, Chang, and anyone else he can think of. Meanwhile Chang is saying it was self-defense—and that you can back him up. Although Nina has already viewed the security footage from the gym and she says the evidence looks like it’s in Chang’s favor.”

  I was starting to feel a little weird, having this conversation while I was still in bed. Under the sheets I was only wearing my boxers. “Do you mind closing your eyes while I get some clothes on?” I asked.

  “Oh, of course.” Zan ducked away from the entrance to my sleep pod. “Sorry. I didn’t want to barge in on you like this, but I really need to see what you’ve found.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve wanted to talk to you since yesterday.” I peered out of my sleep pod and saw Zan standing at the far end of the room, her back to me. She was watching the big SlimScreen, which was displaying a fictitious landscape full of rainbows and unicorns instead of Hapuna Beach. Violet must have reprogrammed it. I leaped to the floor and scurried over to the bureau. “I even came looking for you—”

  “Dash! I told you not to do that! No one can know we’re working together.”

  “I was careful. I didn’t tell anyone I was looking for you. I just looked.”

  “You haven’t told anyone about me? Or what we’re doing?”

  “No. I swear. Where were you last night?”

  “In the temp quarters. I’m sorry. I was wiped out from the trip here.”

  I yanked on a T-shirt and shorts. “Okay. I’m dressed.”

  Zan swung back to face me. “Did you get the footage of the air lock?”

  “Yes.”

  Zan’s face lit up in excitement. Her eyes were almost the exact same color as those of the unicorns on the SlimScreen behind her. “Well . . . ?”

  “Dr. Holtz might have been forced to go out the air lock against his will.”

  The news upset Zan—and yet she seemed excited by it too. I could understand why. I’d felt the same way: It proved we were both right about the death being suspicious. “How do you know?”

  “It’s better if I show it to you.” I’d slept with my watch on to protect it. I touched it to our tabletop SlimScreen, transferring the security footage Kira had found, then played it for Zan.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s forcing him to do anything,” Zan said.

  “Just wait.” I fast-forwar
ded to the point where Dr. Holtz started signing with his hands.

  “What’s he doing?” Zan asked.

  “It’s sign language,” I told her. “The way deaf people used to communicate.”

  “Oh. Right. Do you speak it?”

  “No. I had to have the computer translate it. Dr. Holtz said, ‘This is a murder. Earth killed me. Find my phone. Tell my family I love them.’ ”

  Zan took in a sharp breath and turned away. It looked like she was trying not to cry. She bowed her head and rubbed her temples, like she was trying to process everything.

  I froze the footage on the image of Dr. Holtz on the moon, staring up at earth. “Do you want to watch it again?”

  Zan shook her head. “No. Once was enough. To know that another person was behind this is so . . . so upsetting.”

  “Well,” I said cautiously, “Dr. Holtz doesn’t actually say that another person is behind this. He says the earth made him do it.”

  “Yes, that is odd. But I suspect it’s some sort of code for the name of whoever forced him onto the moon.”

  “Isn’t the sign language already code enough?”

  “Maybe not,” Zan replied sadly. “Maybe he was afraid the killer would watch the footage and erase it if they recognized their name. Which would mean the killer would have access to the security system . . .”

  “Nina,” I said.

  “She’s the only one with that kind of access here,” Zan agreed. “And she’s been trying to block any investigation since the beginning.”

  “But why would she want Dr. Holtz dead?” I asked. “And how did she force him to go out the air lock?”

  “I don’t know,” Zan admitted sadly. “Maybe there’s another camera angle that shows her. You might have to grab all the footage from around the staging area that night.”

  I started to say, “We did,” but caught myself at the last second, not wanting to mention Kira. “I did. There’s no one else visible in any shot except Dr. Holtz.”

  Zan sighed. “Then she must have gotten to him earlier somehow. Sometime between his conversation in the bathroom and the time he went out the air lock. Something important transpired in those two and a half hours. Dr. Holtz says, ‘Find my phone.’ He must have recorded something on it. Do you have any idea where it might be?”