Ambush (11 page)

It also takes very little change of direction for the movement to be felt. The robot body started to slide along the hull.

Without thinking—as if I were in gravity instead of outer space—I put out a hand to balance myself. The robot's right hand. The one with the torch.

The hand hit the hull, and the torch bumped loose.

This wasn't a total disaster. In the floating weightlessness of space, I could catch it before it went another 10 feet.

Except two feet away was the hydrogen tank.

I made a slow-motion grab for the torch, but it flipped end over end, in agonizing slowness, just out of reach.

I could see it happening but was helpless to stop it.

The torch flame touched the side of the hydrogen tank. All 2,400 degrees Fahrenheit of flame concentrated on high-pressure gas inside. The metal of the tank glowed briefly.

Silently I screamed. But it was too late.

Before I could think any more thoughts, all existence disappeared in a blinding flash far brighter than any star.

CHAPTER 2

I spoke into darkness. “Dad, I've got a headache.”

I could easily picture where I was. In the robot lab on the
Moon Racer
spaceship. The spaceship got its name because when it was first built, people said it would easily outrace the moon, which it could. The lab held a computer and a bed. I was on that bed, where my spine plug was able to make an X-ray wave connection to the computer hard drive.

The real robots—there were two—were stored in a cargo bay that gave them immediate access to the exterior of the ship. Although I had used my robot frequently on the surface of Mars, the only reason the robots would be needed during the
Moon Racer
's journey to Earth was during an emergency situation.

“Headache?” Dad chuckled. “You're lucky you don't have more than that. Welding torches and high-pressure hydrogen fuel tanks don't make for a good mix. I was monitoring your progress in here. You of all people know that the virtual-reality software doesn't mess around.”

I knew that Dad was holding the headset, which he had already removed. It had been blocking all sound from reaching my ears. Arms at my side, I was still strapped to the laboratory bed and needed him to remove the blindfold and straps.

“On the trip to Earth—I mean the real trip to Earth—the chances of hitting an asteroid are one in billions, right?” I said defensively. “And then the chances of a puncture near the fuel tank are … are …”

Dad removed my blindfold, and I blinked a couple of times. His smiling face loomed down at me. He had dark blond hair, like mine, and a large frame. I only hope that someday I'll grow up to be as big as he is.

“Tyce,” he answered, his face now serious, “that's the whole point of these virtual-reality training programs. To prepare you for any situation, no matter how unlikely. If for some reason you are called for any duty, you can't afford mistakes.”

He unstrapped me from the bed. I sat up.

“I'm sorry,” I said. I meant it. Dad was 100 percent correct. After all, he had to be. He was the
Moon Racer
's pilot, the one we all trusted with our lives. “Could you let me try another run this afternoon?”

His smile returned. “That would take you away from your mathematics, wouldn't it?”

“Much more important to know how to save a spaceship than it is to deal with logarithmic derivatives and triple integrals.”

“Perhaps.” Dad's grin grew wider. “But I was thinking of Ashley. I was getting the impression that she enjoyed the chance to do schoolwork with you.”

I coughed. “She just needs a little help, that's all.”

Dad laughed.

I pushed off the bed and began to float in the weightlessness. This was one thing I loved about space travel. I didn't need my wheelchair.

“Don't let her fool you. I've seen the background report on her. The worst grade she ever got in math was a 95 percent.” Dad rubbed my hair. “And your best grade has been … ?”

“So I don't like math that much,” I said.

I reached for my comp-board. It was floating beside the bed, where I had left it before the virtual-reality robot session. Dad had asked me to bring it but hadn't told me why yet.

Comp-board
was the term used for keyboard-computer, a portable computer with the screen attached directly to the back of the keyboard. The hard drive was embedded in the left-hand side of the keyboard, with discports on the right-hand side. When I was finished with the computer, all I had to do was fold the keyboard in half, then fold that against the back of the screen, and it would become a small rectangle about the size of a book. Smaller ones were available, but most people preferred a decent-size screen. Under the dome, the comp-board actually docked into my desktop computer, letting me access the comp-board hard drive but giving me access to a bigger screen.

“She's really that good in math?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” Dad said. “So maybe you should figure out why she always asks you to help her.”

To give me free use of my hands, I attached the folded-up comp-board to a latch on my belt. I grabbed a handhold—they were placed all through the ship to give passengers a way to travel in the weightlessness—and followed Dad out of the robot lab. We traveled down the inner corridor of the
Moon Racer
.

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“I need to tweak some of the autopilot controls,” Dad answered. “Our mainframe computer has been a little cranky lately. But we need to make a quick stop first.”

“Where?”

“I know you're trying to change the subject.” He laughed. “Let's get back to math.”

“Math?” I tried to sound innocent.

“Ashley wants
you
to learn the math better,” Dad answered. “Whatever lies ahead of you, I'm guessing it will involve exploration of the solar system. You're going to need advanced calculus to get any kind of education that allows for space travel.”

“If she wants me to learn better, why doesn't
she
teach
me
?”

He laughed again. “She is. Sometimes the best way to learn is by figuring something out for yourself, then teaching it to someone else. By asking questions that she already knows the answers to, she's making you do exactly that.”

“Oh.”

“She might have another reason too.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“All I'm saying is that she sure seems to smile a lot when she's around you.”

“Huh?”

“You figure it out.” Dad stopped in front of a closed hatch that led to a private bunk. The hatch was a circular opening, twice as wide as his shoulders. The “door” to the hatch slid open or shut by entering a code into one of the small keypads—one on the outside and one on the inside. He punched in the five-digit code.

“Hey,” I said, “this is Blaine Steven's bunk.”

“I know,” Dad said. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Me? He's already tried to kill me three different times.”

CHAPTER 3

The hatch door slid open, and my heart started to pound.

Blaine Steven couldn't be trusted. So why would my dad want me to talk with him?

“I think you should speak to him,” Dad said quietly. “He's been asking for you specifically. And this is after months of refusing to speak to anyone on the
Moon Racer
. He also asked that you take your comp-board.”

I shook my head. This all seemed so unreal. “You'll wait for me?”

“I'll be right here,” he said.

“I'm not sure I want to be alone with him,” I said nervously.

“He insisted,” Dad said. “And he won't be able to do anything to you as long as you stay out of his reach. Remember that. All you need to do is yell, and I'll be there.”

“Thanks,” I said. But I still didn't like the idea.

I floated into Blaine Steven's prison bunk. Dad shut the hatch behind me. The clank echoed. It felt like I had been shut into prison myself.

With only a couple of weeks of the journey left, why did Blaine Steven want to see me? And why did he want me to bring my comp-board?

“Hello, Tyce.”

The man on the far side of the bunk wore the regulation blue jumpsuit, with one difference. A wide metal band circled his waist. This band was attached to the wall by a short length of cable. It gave him just enough room to reach his e-book and other possessions and take care of his personal needs. Anywhere else but in weightlessness, a leash like this would have been cruel punishment.

“Hello,” I answered. Without friendliness. This man had tried to do a lot of damage to the Mars Project. And to me.

“Thanks for coming,” the silver-haired man with cold blue eyes said. He looked like a dignified judge. But I knew he used this respectable appearance to fool people.

I shrugged.

“I can understand that you don't feel much like talking with me,” he said.

I remembered what it had been like the other times we spoke. When he was director. In his office. Under the dome. On Mars. Where he had treated me like a blob of mud to be scraped off his shoe. I shrugged again.

“And that's all right. I can do most of the talking if you like.” Steven put his finger to his mouth as if he were silencing me. It didn't make sense. I was already silent. He pointed at my computer and gestured for me to give it to him.

I shook my head. How could I trust him with it?

“It is very important that we talk,” he said pleasantly. As he spoke, he acted as if he were typing on a keyboard. “I hope you understand that,” he said in the same pleasant tone. He put his hands together as if he were begging. Then he pretended to keyboard again.

“I also hope you will feel free to say anything you want to me.” Except his actions showed the opposite. Steven violently shook his head, mouthing the word
no
. He pointed to the walls around him and pointed to his ears.

Despite my intense dislike for him, I was curious. Did he mean that I shouldn't speak freely because the walls were listening?

He made the same begging motion as before and pointed at my computer again.

As crazy as this was, I made a decision to find out what he wanted. To play his game, if only for a minute. After all, I knew I could always yell for help and Dad would be there in a flash. “I'm not sure I want to talk to you,” I said. But I unfolded the keyboard, popped the screen up, and powered the comp-board. The screen brightened. I opened a new file in a word processing program. “What is there to talk about?”

Making sure I didn't get near Steven, I pushed the comp-board ahead. It floated toward him. He smiled with gratitude.

“I want to ask you about your faith.” Steven brought his knees up to give him a support for the comp-board. “Spending all this time alone in prison has given me a lot of time to think.”

“Faith?” I asked, shocked.

“I've been thinking about my life. What I've done with it. And what might happen if I die.”

This was the last thing I'd expected to talk about with Blaine Steven, the man who didn't seem to have a conscience. Who'd been willing to kill a couple hundred people under the dome to save some key scientists and their illegal experiment.

“I can see the surprise on your face. Take some time to think about your answer.” He put his head down and began to type frantically, humming loudly to cover the sound of his fingers on the keyboard.

When he finished, he pushed the comp-board in my direction. It slowly drifted through the bunk, and I reached for it before it floated past me.

Steven put his finger in front of his mouth again. But it was a warning I didn't need. Not after reading the first words he had typed onto the screen.

I lifted my head and nodded at Steven. I read more.

I typed:

I wasn't going to make much more of a promise until I knew more. Especially with a man I'd never liked, a man who couldn't be trusted. I pushed the comp-board toward him.

“Faith is important to you, isn't it?” he said in the same pleasant tone. I knew he was speaking for the benefit of the listening device. If there really was one.

“I can't tell you I have all the answers,” I said. “But, yes, it is important.”

As I spoke, he quickly read my answer and typed one of his own, humming the entire time. He pushed the comp-board back to me.

“I am beginning to see that faith is the most important thing a person can have,” Blaine Steven said. “And I would like it if you visited me more often so that we could talk about it.”

I hardly heard him as I scanned the screen.

Through the wall.
Dr. Jordan's prison bunk was on the other side of this one.

I typed a question in response.

Although I moved closer to Blaine Steven to give him the comp-board, I still made sure I was out of his reach. I waited as he typed frantically.