3 BLOODTHIRSTY GELATIN

3 BLOODTHIRSTY GELATIN Lunar day 188 Breakfast time School was canceled because of the crisis. Back on earth I would have been thrilled for a sudden day off. But on the moon a day without school is even worse than a day with it. This isn't because I really love school; I don't. It's because at MBA there is nothing else to do. I couldn't use my newfound freedom to go surfing or mountain biking. Instead I was cooped up in the same place I always was, but now without anything to occupy my

time. Which placed me in the bizarre situation of begging my parents to let me attend school. "Please," I pleaded. "I don't have to go all day. Only a few hours." "I'm sorry," Dad said. "Nina gave a direct order." "Come on! Can't I take just one class?" "No. You're not going to school today and that's final." "My teachers all work out of their homes," I argued. "And I'm not doing anything. So why can't I just ComLink them and take my classes?" "Nina wants all Links left open for communication with NASA," Mom replied. My whole family was now in the mess hall, having breakfast. Or rather, Violet was having breakfast. The rest of us were still too shaken up. I had tried to eat a rehydrated cinnamon bun, which is one of the best space foods we have, but my stomach was so jumpy I'd only managed a few bites. Many of our fellow Moonies seemed to be having the same problem. Most everyone was passing on the solids and simply drinking their reclaimed-urine coffees. Violet, however, was happily scarfing down reconstituted waffles. Mom and Dad were letting her listen to music so she wouldn't notice what else

was going on; she had her earbuds in and was happily rocking out to her favorite band, a retro-ska dance group called Coronal Mass Ejection. Between the waffles, the music, and the fact that school had been canceled, it might as well have been Christmas for Violet. "There are two hundred fifty-six ComLinks," I told my parents. "That's more than ten for every person here. What could Nina possibly need all of them for?" "I think it's standard emergency procedure," Dad said. "I know," I countered, "but the emergency procedures were designed for something like an asteroid strike or an oxygen leak, weren't they? Technically, this isn't even an emergency anymore. It's not like Dr. Holtz can get more dead." My mother glanced at Violet to see if she'd overheard this, but Violet had her earbuds firmly jammed in her ears. Mom then fixed me with a hard stare. "I don't think that sort of talk is appropriate." "Sorry," I said. "It's just that, without the Links, I can't talk to my friends on earth. Or download a book. Or watch a movie." "It's only temporary." Dad looked to the other

tables to make sure no one was within eavesdropping range, then lowered his voice. "Things are going to be a little unsettled here for a bit. No one ever expected Dr. Holtz to have an accident like this." "That's because it wasn't an accident," I said under my breath. "Someone forced him to walk out that air lock with his suit on wrong." Mom sighed. "Dashiell, we've already discussed this. You have no proof of that." "Dr. Holtz would never have gone out the air lock without a partner," I protested. "He was always warning us that it's almost impossible to put a space suit on right by yourself. He was the one who came up with the buddy system for going out on the surface in the first place!" "That doesn't mean it was a murder," Dad countered. "There are plenty of reasons he might have decided to ignore the rules. Maybe it had something to do with this big discovery of his. Maybe he had to get something off the lunar surface." "And risk almost certain death?" I asked. "No way. Dr. Holtz was the most cautious person I ever met. He wore a helmet to ride the stationary bike!"

"Even the most cautious people make mistakes," Mom told me. "And furthermore, there doesn't appear to be any evidence of foul play." "It's only been an hour," I muttered. "I'm sure some will turn up." Mom and Dad exchanged one of their concerned looks. They'd been doing this a great deal that morning, like they were far more worried about me than they were about Dr. Holtz. Dad said, "Dash, you're a smart kid. You're very mature and precocious for your age, and we love that about you. But sometimes that brain of yours works a little too hard to see patterns where there might not be any." "Dealing with the death of someone close to you is always difficult," Mom added. "We all have our different mechanisms for confronting a tragedy like this—" "I'm not making this up!" I snapped, way too loud. Everyone in the mess turned toward us, so I had to lower my voice again. "You didn't hear Dr. Holtz in the bathroom last night. If you had, you'd be just as sure as me that this wasn't an accident." My parents recoiled from me. My outburst had caught them by surprise—but I think it convinced

them I wasn't merely having problems dealing. "Well, if this was a murder," Dad said, "then you're right, some evidence ought to turn up. But if none does..." "I'll drop it," I finished. "There's something else you should know about Dr. Holtz that's important...," Mom began, but she didn't get to finish. Dr. Timothy Marquez was approaching our table; Mom fell silent so he wouldn't overhear her. Dr. Marquez is the Moon Base Alpha psychiatrist. NASA is very concerned about our mental health— living in an enclosed space far from earth is a good recipe for going nuts—so we all have mandatory evaluation sessions once a week. Dr. Marquez is the only Moonie who was really famous before being selected to come to MBA. He wrote a bestselling self-help book called Turn That Frown Upside Down and appeared on tons of talk shows. Despite this, I've always found him a little weird. He has a lot of nervous tics and is a little too intense for me. He takes his job way too seriously and is always sticking his nose in everyone else's business, like he was doing right then. "Is everything all right over here?" he asked,