Moonbase Crisis: Star Challengers Book 1

by Rebecca Moesta

  “That is precisely what I said.”

  “Yes sir, we’re ready,” King answered for both of them.

  After checking their helmet seals and life-support readouts, the three cycled through the rovers airlock and emerged onto the lunar surface.

  JJ couldn’t suppress her excitement at being outside again. She hopped up and down a few times, getting the feel of the suit. She wanted to run and jump and twirl, but there was work to do. “Should we make a bet about who can find that meteorite first?”

  “I think being methodical will help us find it faster,” King said.

  They spread out and moved over the ground with dreamlike slowness. Over the suit radio, Major Fox said, “Since very little changes here on the Moon, it is sometimes difficult to determine if a crater is fresh or ancient. Much of the lunar soil is rubble stirred up by eons of meteor bombardment.” He moved ahead, scanning the regolith.

  JJ and King moved apart, each looking at the large and small rocks strewn on the ground, trying to find something out of the ordinary. “So, lovely weather we’re having,” JJ said, trying to start a conversation.

  Over the suit radio, Fox said, “Technically, there is no weather as we know it on the Moon, since weather refers to the state of the atmosphere—”

  “And the Moon has no atmosphere,” JJ finished for him.

  “I guess that makes it easy to tell what it’s going to be like outside,” King said.

  “Precisely,” Fox answered. “Sunlight equals boiling hot, and darkness means freezing cold.”

  “Too bad Dyl isn’t here to take notes,” King joked. “I think there might be a quiz later.”

  Major Fox did not seem to pick up on King’s humor. “Some terminology is not accurate when applied to the Moon. I would be remiss if I did not instruct you.”

  JJ looked down at the ground, intent on the search and enjoying the conversation. “Dyl said the meteor came in at an angle. Will the crater be shaped differently?”

  “No.” Fox gestured with a gloved hand at the pockmarked surface of the ground. “If you’ll look around you, all the craters basically have a round profile, regardless of the direction and angle of the impacting object. But craters do have distinct features: a floor, walls, the rim, a central peak—such as you see momentarily when a drip falls into a pool of water—and a blanket of ejecta outside the crater, made up of material thrown out during the impact.

  “Because we know precisely when this meteorite landed and were able to ascertain the direction from the MCC trackers, we can plot its course and determine its origin. This particular rock will tell us the composition of the meteoroid cluster it belonged to.”

  JJ searched, but the small craters around her looked similar, little divots in the lunar dirt.

  “I think I found it!” King reported. “This one looks different from the others.” JJ bounded over to him and saw a circular gouge two meters wide surrounded by a fan of paler regolith. “The, uh, ejecta looks fresh.”

  “Yes, I believe that’s it,” Major Fox said. Together they took up tools and excavated carefully until they uncovered a basketball-sized lump of rock, rough-edged and pocked with its own texture of tiny craters.

  “I’ve seen meteorites that landed on Earth,” JJ said. “They were all polished smooth, melted and hardened from nearly burning up in the atmosphere.”

  “Yes. You are quite right, Cadet Wren, this is pristine.” Major Fox hefted it in two gloved hands, assessing the rock, “It definitely feels dense and heavy, so it must be an iron meteorite. There are three broad categories of meteorites: iron meteorites, which are basically lumps of iron as their name implies; stony meteorites, which are more like common rock; and stony-iron meteorites, which are a mixture. Each type comes from a different part of an asteroid or a planetoid that has broken up.” Impressed by the specimen, the major placed it carefully in a container. “We can get good science out of this. Good work, Cadets.”

  As the major led them back to the rover, carrying their prize, King asked, “Would it be possible for me to drive this time, sir? I’d like to learn, and you said I didn’t need a permit on the Moon.”

  “Absolutely, Cadet King. I think you’ve earned the privilege.”

  JJ thought about the fresh meteorite in the sample container. “Don’t meteors usually come in clusters? Why did we only see one?”

  “Perhaps this one is a lone wolf.” Major Fox sounded unconcerned. “Or it may be a precursor of many more to come.”

  ***

  Eleven

  Song-Ye was not impressed by the agricultural module, though Dr. Romero seemed to think it was Eden on the Moon. Rows of multi-tiered tables filled the room. Each tier held a long plastic planter with plants poking out through holes in the top. The upper half of the domed ag bubble was transparent to let sunshine reach the wide array of growing plants.

  “The ceiling panels filter out harmful solar radiation, but let in enough light for our plants to complete photosynthesis. When it’s dark outside we use low-power growth lights.” Dr. Romero was a slender dark-eyed woman in her early thirties, who kept her dark hair pulled back in a braid. Her voice was soft, her manner pleasant.

  “So let me get this straight,” Song-Ye said. “You earned a degree in biology, went to medical school, became an astronaut—and now you’re a hydroponics farmer? Don’t you have more important things to do?”

  Dr. Romero raised an eyebrow at her, then turned and headed down one of the rows of plants. “First of all, we use aeroponics—water mixed with nutrients, that we mist directly onto the bare roots. And second, what could be more important than growing food? We’ve established an ecosystem here away from Earth.”

  Song-Ye followed her. “Well, that doesn’t exactly take an Einstein, does it? I mean, I have a virtual farm on my computer at home, and it doesn’t take all that much thought. I can leave it alone for weeks at a time, if I want.”

  Dr. Romero pressed a button, adjusting the nutrient mix to a row of tomato plants. “Really. Do you eat the virtual food you grow?”

  “Very funny,” Song-Ye said. “Of course not.”

  “Do you breathe the oxygen the plants produce?” Romero pressed.

  Song-Ye rolled her eyes. “They’re not real plants, so they don’t make oxygen.”

  The doctor nodded thoughtfully, as if she had expected the answer. “Well, these do, and we eat the fresh fruits and vegetables. Why do you think these plants are here?”

  Song-Ye thought for a moment. “For science experiments? And maybe as a hobby to keep you from going crazy up here with nothing else to do.”

  Romero gave a snort. “Hobby? Not exactly. We have something to do every hour of the day, and this garden is vital to the moonbase. The meals sent up on the supply ships are prepackaged, so these crops are the only fresh food we get.”

  Dr. Romero showed Song-Ye how to check the readouts on each kind of plant, and asked her to inspect a row of new soybean sprouts for her.

  “You’re right that we do science experiments in the ag bubble,” Dr. Romero said. “Our research will help farmers on Earth grow better crops, but these plants are also an important part of our life-support systems.”

  Song-Ye frowned. “But you don’t need plants for your oxygen. Major Fox said you extract most of it from ice in the Moon dirt.”

  “True, we break H2O down into oxygen and hydrogen. But plants process a lot of the carbon dioxide that we exhale and convert it back into oxygen.” She drew a deep breath of the moist, fresh air. “How are those seedlings?”

  Song-Ye hadn’t really been paying attention. She shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

  Dr. Romero came over to check the readings for herself. “These are not fine, Cadet Park! They’re in the danger zone. They’re way too dry. You need to take your assignment here seriously.” The woman looked at the tubing behind the planters and fiddled with a nozzle, adjusting the flow. “Ah, here it is. The line feeding these sprouts was clogged.” She shook her head. “If I hadn’
t caught that, the plants would have died within a day, and we would have had to start all over on this batch.” She gave Song-Ye a hard look. “I thought you cadets were here to help. Telling me that everything is ‘fine, I guess,’ is completely irresponsible. Our lives depend on even the smallest actions here.”

  Song-Ye wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. She was a straight A student, and always did whatever was necessary to get good grades. She wanted her parents to be proud of her, even though they were too busy to notice—unless her grades went down.

  But school wasn’t exactly a life-or-death situation, and Song-Ye was used to thinking that nothing she did really mattered. In fact, she tried not to care about things or people. She didn’t make friends easily. Her father’s ever-changing diplomatic assignments moved the family to a different city every time she got close to anyone, and Song-Ye had stopped trying to find friends. She had begged her parents for a dog, cat, or ferret, as a companion to take with her from place to place. But they had said it was too much trouble.

  “Sorry,” she muttered to Dr. Romero. “I didn’t mean to ruin your plants. I promise to pay attention.”

  Together, the doctor and Song-Ye cleared the nutrient lines to the stacked planters. For hours, the two concentrated on the tedious—and, she realized, relaxing—work that kept the plants alive. They started a new planter of strawberries. Song-Ye liked knowing that what she was doing was useful for a change.

  After they were finished with the routine, Dr. Romero smiled and said, “Thank you for your help, Cadet Park. That was excellent work. Now, let me show you one of my favorite parts of the ag bubble.” She led Song-Ye to a clear box the size of a small aquarium. The top and sides were perforated with breathing holes. From inside, a plump brown-and-white hamster stared out at Song-Ye, its tiny paws clasped together as if begging to be played with.

  Song-Ye caught her breath. “Oh, it’s so cute! May I hold it? I didn’t know you were allowed to have pets on the moonbase.”

  Dr. Romero grinned. “Newton is officially a science experiment, not a pet. But I think he might like to be held for awhile.”

  Song-Ye held the hamster gently, petting him while she talked playfully. He cuddled right into her palms and up against her chest. She beamed at the doctor. “I’ve never met a space hamster before. What does Newton’s spacesuit look like?”

  “He doesn’t have one really, so he can’t go outside,” Dr. Romero said with a chuckle. “But on the trip here from the ISSC, I kept him in a clear exercise sphere. Sometimes—just for scientific research, of course—I let him float weightless in the supply ship. He looked so cute rolling around inside his ball in midair.”

  Song-Ye wished she could have seen the little hamster in zero-g. She giggled as Newton ran up the sleeve of her flight suit to perch on her shoulder. The little creature nuzzled her neck, and before she knew it, had climbed into her suit collar and wriggled downward, tickling as he went.

  Dr. Romero opened the door and passed through to the connecting corridor, on her way to make a daily report to Chief Ansari. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “You can play with Newton for a few more minutes, Cadet Park, then put him back in his tank.”

  “I can’t put him away,” Song-Ye laughed. “He’s in my suit, going down my back!” She squirmed as Newton began to crawl down her leg.

  “Well, you’d better catch him before—” Dr. Romero began, but it was too late. Newton emerged from the bottom of Song-Ye’s flightsuit leg and scurried toward the door of the ag bubble.

  Song-Ye watched with dismay as Newton scampered through the door to make his escape, and bolted between the surprised doctor’s legs. Song-Ye dashed after the fugitive hamster.

  ***

  Twelve

  An exhausted Chief Ansari stood in the MCC, regarding Dyl with mixed feelings. “If we followed the schedule, my shift would have been over hours ago. But Major Fox has not yet returned from his meteorite retrieval mission with your friends, Dr. Wu is busy out in the astro bubble, and Dr. Romero is working with Cadet Park.” She let out a sigh. “If I go to the hab bubble for a rest, Cadet Wren, can I count on you to monitor communications?”

  “No problem,” Dyl said. “I can handle the comm system if any messages come in.”

  Ansari remained skeptical. “Only do what is absolutely necessary. In most cases an entire shift will go by without anything happening. The CMC on Earth only communicates with us once daily, and that’s usually just a formality. Major Fox will give you updates on his progress outside.” She paused for emphasis. “If you have any questions—any questions—or if you notice any unusual readings, come and get me immediately.”

  She seemed to be having second thoughts, but Dyl reassured her. “Get some rest, Chief—you’re just a module away.”

  After transmitting a message to Fox out in the rover, Ansari gave Dyl a last glance over her shoulder, and went to her quarters. Even in the low lunar gravity, the chief’s footsteps sounded tired.

  That was how Donovan Dylan Wren found himself all alone in the Moonbase Control Center at the comm station. Commander Zota’s mysterious “classified message” to the moonbase must have impressed Chief Ansari enough for her to give Dyl a chance, and he didn’t want to let anyone down.

  No problem, he reminded himself. The responsibility felt heavy, but Dyl knew he could always call for help if he needed it.

  From movies and TV, Dyl was familiar with the bustling Mission Control of the old Apollo program, a gigantic room crowded with people, everyone working old-fashioned computers with stiff keyboards or using slide rules and chalkboards. Even at the Challenger Center, Mission Control had been a busy place with stations for communications, navigation, medical, data, and so on.

  In his imagination, Dyl had always pictured the control center of a futuristic moonbase as crowded, with technicians and scientists at every console. Outside, in the vicinity of the base, there would be scientific experiments, geological samples being collected, exploration in progress. Teams would work on construction projects, excavations in the craters, or low-gravity factories creating rare and valuable materials to ship back to Earth.…

  But Dyl was alone on duty, and the MCC was rather quiet. With the regular moonbase crew at one-third of capacity, he was glad that he and his friends could help complete some of the backlog of work. If the base produced less than expected, no matter how unrealistic the expectations, interest on Earth would shrink even further.

  His comm station was quiet. Hourly computer-generated updates were transmitted to Collaborative Mission Control on Earth, but more often than not there was nothing to tell. The CMC people were professionals and did their work without incident. The moonbase had been operating without problems for many years.

  At first, when Ansari gave Dyl this responsibility, he had felt very important, but at the end of his first hour alone, he was bored with sitting around and looking at an unchanging screen. When the time came, he toggled open a communication channel to the outside team. “Rover vehicle status, Major Fox? Over.”

  “Status nominal,” came the British officers reply. “We have secured the meteorite and will be returning to base shortly.” Dyl dutifully entered the report. He checked in with the astro bubble and received a nominal status from the gruff and distracted Dr. Wu. Dyl went through his entire checklist and transmitted the report back to Earth.

  “Everything’s just fine,” he said to the screen. “Not much going on here.”

  He was surprised to see a message line appear, targeted at him specifically. Incoming Video: Private Message for Cadet Donovan Dylan Wren.

  Dyl stared at it for a few moments. Their time here on the moonbase had seemed so strange, and he had wondered what they were meant to do. Now, an incoming video? He accepted the transmission, watched the screen fade to be replaced by an image of a handsome dusky-skinned man with a familiar scar on his cheek. The cadets had originally thought his uniform was just like the others from the Challenger Center, but now it seeme
d different.

  “Greetings.”

  “Commander Zota!” Dyl exclaimed, then lowered his voice, not wanting to bring Chief Ansari running in to see what was the matter. First, he wanted some explanations.

  The man’s expression was serious. “Cadet Wren, I trust that you and your companions have settled in at Moonbase Magellan?”

  “Yes! But … what’s going on? Did you know this wasn’t a simulation?”

  “I was aware, Cadet Wren. I was quite honest about it, if you’ll recall. I told you all in your briefing that you would go to the Moon, and you did. I said you would wear real spacesuits, and you did. There are no tricks or special effects up there—just science. You truly are in humanity’s first manned moonbase.”

  “Okay, Commander, but that brings up a lot more questions. How did we get here? Even the moonbase staff can’t figure it out. And what are we supposed to be doing? Did you plan this?”

  Zota nodded, giving him a faint smile. “Indeed, you have a lot of questions. Yes, I arranged the experience for you and your friends. It was necessary. And now that you have all grasped the reality of your situation, you deserve some explanations. That’s why I risked this transmission.”

  Dyl felt a rush of relief. He had been anxious about the new situation, and after more than two days—when they had expected to be at the Challenger Center for only seven hours—he was starting to worry that they would never get home. “Why didn’t you come with us?”

  “Alas, it is not possible. The reasons are complicated, but I must remain in your time of history.”

  “My time, not our time? Don’t we all have the same time?”

  “Obviously not. I am from the future … farther in the future, in fact, than you are now.” He paused a moment to let that sink in. “I traveled back in time with an urgent mission—and you cadets are a part of it. You are just the seeds, and I hope that many more from your generation will follow your example. You could be humanity’s only hope.”