2 SPACE MADNESS

2 SPACE MADNESS Lunar day 252 Still awfully freaking early in the morning "Who was that?" Dad asked over the radio, sounding worried. Instead of answering, Nina told us, "Come back right now. That's an order." Then she was gone. Obviously, we were no longer her number one priority. "Dash," Dad began. I could hear the sadness in his voice. He obviously felt bad about cutting off our catch.

"I'm on my way back," I told him. Goofing around on the lunar surface didn't seem right if someone was in trouble. I bounded back toward MBA as quickly as I could, concerned about what might be happening. NASA had assured us that life on the moon would be as safe as life on earth, but like so many other promises the agency had made, that hadn't turned out to be true. Dr. Holtz had been murdered, Nina had almost died when her space helmet broke, and Kira and I had nearly been killed by a meteorite shower—and that didn't include the dangers of rocket explosions, malfunctions in the base's life- support systems, or dozens of other potentially deadly issues. Life on the moon was basically long stretches of boredom punctuated by quick bursts of terror. Dad and I entered the air lock, shut the outer door, depressurized the inner chamber, and clambered out of our suits. Normally, we would have cleaned the moon dust off them right away, but since this was a potential emergency, we left them piled on the air-lock floor and slipped back into the base. Even though it was extremely early in the

morning, MBA was now buzzing with activity like a stirred-up anthill. Our fellow Moonies, wakened by the scream, were drowsily staggering out of their residences, rubbing sleep from their eyes and trying to figure out what was going on. There were two levels of residences at MBA. The upper one exited onto a catwalk that overlooked the air-lock staging area, so we could see everyone on both levels as they emerged. Upstairs, Dr. Ilina Brahmaputra-Marquez, our astrophysicist, was advising her children, Cesar, Roddy, and Inez, to stay in their room while she investigated the situation—although her husband, Dr. Timothy Marquez, our base psychiatrist, looked more nervous than any of his children. (Back on earth, Dr. Marquez had written a bestselling book on psychiatry, but as my parents often pointed out, that didn't actually mean he was a good psychiatrist.) Next door to them, Kira Howard, the only girl my age at MBA, wasn't getting any instruction at all from her father. As usual, Dr. Howard's mind seemed to be somewhere else. He was constantly thinking of new ways to improve life at MBA—and since so many aspects of our lives needed improving, he was always getting distracted, even in

the midst of a possible crisis. Downstairs, Dr. Iwanyi, one of our astronomers, had emerged from his room without his family, which probably meant his wife, Dr. Goldstein, our botanist, and their seven-year-old son Kamoze, were still asleep or had opted to stay in the room. Meanwhile, Dr. Daphne Merritt, our roboticist, looked like she wished she were still in bed. Normally, Daphne was joyful and chipper, but now she seemed groggy and grumpy. Drs. Kim and Alvarez, our geologist and water-extraction specialist respectively, were struggling to put on their robes and slippers, while Dr. Janke, the Peruvian astrobiologist, was engaged in urgent conversation with Dr. Balnikov, the hulking Russian astrophysicist. Meanwhile, Chang Kowalski had already leaped into action. In addition to being our geochemist and resident genius, Chang was also in far better shape than anyone else at MBA. On earth he'd been an extreme athlete; now he still worked out in the gym up to four hours a day. Although Chang lived on the first floor, he had already scaled the steps to the second-floor catwalk. He was racing toward the Sjobergs" tourist suite—

which led me to believe that the terrified scream had come from there. I suddenly didn't feel quite so concerned anymore. Up to that moment, I had been worried that something bad had happened to someone I liked. However, I hated the Sjobergs. I hated them even more than I hated using the space toilet, which was really saying something. They were a family of trillionaires who'd coughed up a ton of money to be the first space tourists, and they were the worst people I'd ever met in my life. I wasn't the only one at MBA who felt that way; everyone else despised them too. Lars and Sonja, the parents, were amoral, abusive, and downright nasty. Patton and Lily, their sixteen-year-old twins, were brutal and mean. In addition to their general awfulness, the Sjobergs had recently sabotaged the base's robotics system to bolster their own investment in a rival lunar- tourism business. As punishment, Nina had taken away all their ComLink privileges, so they could no longer communicate with earth. Since this removed the few things that had given them pleasure— contact with friends, movie and book downloads, access to virtual-reality games—the Sjobergs were

miserable. But rather than apologize and make amends, they had responded by becoming even more obnoxious than before. Even so, it wasn't like I was happy that something bad might have happened to one of them. But I would much rather have had something bad happen to a Sjoberg than anyone else at MBA. All the other Moonies were so focused on the Sjoberg residence that no one noticed Dad and me returning to base through the air lock. Then Mom emerged onto the catwalk. Violet trailed behind her in purple Squirrel Force pajamas, still half asleep. Except for Nina's residence, ours was the closest to the air lock, almost directly above it. Mom glanced toward the staging area, probably wondering if Dad and I had made it back from outside. So Violet looked our way as well and caught Dad in the act of closing the inner air-lock door. She was suddenly wide awake. "Were you just outside?" she exclaimed. Even though Violet was quite loud, there was enough going on that no one else heard her. Except Chang Kowalski. He spotted us, but instead of saying anything, he simply gave Dad a conspiratorial wink and continued on toward the