Apollo's Outcasts Read online

  "The Moon doesn't have an atmosphere," Nicole said patiently. "That means there's nothing to protect us from cosmic radiation. You don't have to worry about that on Earth, but radiation overexposure can be deadly up here. So the dome is covered by several inches of regolith except for the windows. That shields us while the mirrors collect sunlight from outside. See?"

  Melissa scowled and folded her arms across her chest. She didn't like to be made to feel like an idiot, but it served her right; Nicole was her age, but twice as smart and a Ranger as well. I hid my smile behind my hand. I had a feeling that my sister wasn't going to get away with goofing off at school here.

  By then the bus had reached the end of Collins Avenue. Another signpost showed the way to Loop Road on the left and Krantz Avenue on the right. Just before the bus turned onto Loop Road, Nicole pointed out the long black rows of the solar farm and the adjacent dome of the fusion reactor, located just off Krantz Avenue. "Two weeks of the month, we get our power from the sun," she said. "The other two weeks, we get it from that little tokamok over there. We've also got hydrogen storage cells under the city to provide us with electricity if either one of those goes down. So energy is the least of our worries."

  Loop Road led us back toward Ammonius. Across the road from the crater was a row of large hemispherical domes. A huge tandem rover, twice the length of our bus and with a open-top trailer riding on six balloon-like wheels, was parked near the closest of them. A chute had been lowered from its back end and two workers in moonsuits were using long-handled rakes to push regolith down the chute and through an open door in the dome wall.

  "Here's the industrial park," Nicole said. "Each of those domes is a part of a refinery that processes the ore collected from the regolith fields and extracts helium-3, ilmenite, rare earths, even trace amounts of oxygen and hydrogen...everything we can possibly get." She gave us a significant look. "This is Apollo's cash cow. Without it, we wouldn't be here."

  "And wouldn't Lina Shapar love to get her hands on that," Logan said softly. Hannah remained quiet, but she nodded in agreement.

  "Why are the fields all the way out in Mare Nubium?" I asked. "That's a long way from here, isn't it?"

  "About a hundred and sixty miles, yeah. On the other side of the crater walls. There's not quite so much helium-3 here in Ptolemaeus as there is in the mare, though, and we have to go through a lot of regolith to get even just a little He3. But the main reason is that the harvesters kick up a lot of dust, and that's a major problem for us. Regolith may look soft, but it's really abrasive, and it causes a problem when it gets through the airlocks. So putting the mining operations at a distance from the colony helps us keep it under control."

  Melissa eyed another truck as it slowly passed us on Loop Road. "So you have sent these things all the way out there just to get a load of dirt? That's..."

  "The way things are done." Nicole gave her an annoyed look, and then smiled. "If you have any suggestions, you might take it up with the city manager when you see him. I'm sure he'd love to hear them."

  Another patented MeeMee scowl, then Melissa turned her head away. Logan and I shared a grin but said nothing. Jan couldn't have done a better job of making my sister shut up.

  The bus continued along Loop Road as it turned south, heading for Apollo's western side. We came upon two domed pits, each a fraction of the size of Ammonius. Near them was an open pit, the horizontal boom of a rotary excavator slowly moving within it. "Those are the agricultural domes," Nicole explained. "The farms, we call 'em. Most of our crops are raised there, and we're building a third one now."

  "I thought you farmed in the crater, too," I said.

  "Mainly grass and shade trees for oxygen production. We also raise some livestock for meat...goats and chickens, mainly. Apollo is almost entirely self-sufficient. Once Ag Dome 3 is finished, there won't be much we'll still have to import from Earth except for electronics, replacement machines...and, of course, people."

  "I think you're well on your way to growing your own people, too," Gordie said, a sly smile upon his face. "You're a native, aren't you?"

  "Uh-huh...I'm a loony, born and raised." Nicole hesitated. "But I'd like to visit Earth one day, if I can," she added wistfully.

  Until then, it hadn't occurred to me that she might not have ever set foot on the world I called home. Glancing out the window, I saw Earth hovering above Ptolemaeus's southern rim, and wondered if it was as exotic to her as the Moon was to me.

  The bus continuing moving east along Loop Road, passing the turn-off for Miner's Road, which Nicole told us led toward the gap the trucks passed through to reach Mare Nubium. A short distance later, we came upon the southern end of Collins Avenue, where the cargo landing field was located. After passing short roads leading to warehouses and depots, once again we found ourselves at the intersection of North Field Road, where we'd begun our tour of Apollo.

  The driver turned left and the bus rolled toward Ammonius. It slowed down as it entered a ramp that had been excavated just beneath the crater wall. At the end of the ramp were a pair of large, tiger-striped doors. Tolley brought our vehicle to a halt and waited for the doors to open, then drove into a large room with a grated metal floor and a similar pair of doors at its opposite end. The outer doors closed behind us; the driver shut down the engine, folded his arms across his chest, and waited.

  "Why are we stopping?" Eddie asked.

  "This is a vehicle airlock," Nicole said. "Before it can be pressurized, we have to be decontaminated...ah, here it comes now."

  Through the windows, we watched as massive rollers, much like those in automatic car washes on Earth but covered with hairy black bristles, descended from the ceiling. They silently moved across the top and sides of the bus, dislodging the moon dust that covered the vehicle. As they did, there was a dull roar from outside, like that of a giant vacuum cleaner.

  "The scrubbers are magnetized," Gordie said, pointing to the rollers, "but they can't gather all the dust that's settled on the bus. So an exhaust system floods the chamber with nitrogen gas, which picks up the rest and sucks it away."

  "We have to do this every time a vehicle enters Apollo," Nicole added. "Same for anyone who goes out on the surface in a pressure suit. There's smaller airlocks for individuals, but they operate on much the same principle."

  For a minute or two, it was as if the bus was caught in the middle of a miniature cyclone; we couldn't see much through the windows except a swirling grey cloud. But the artificial dust storm quickly dissipated, and as it did, I heard a roaring sound that gradually increased in volume. Now that the bus was clean, the airlock was being pressurized.

  When the pressurization cycle ended, the doors at the far end of the airlock opened. Tolley restarted the bus, and for the first time we could hear the rumble of its tires and the dull squeak of its chassis as it moved into an underground garage. Buses, rovers, and other vehicles I couldn't immediately identify were parked alongside one another, electrical power cables leading from them to recharger units in the walls. Our bus backed into an empty space between two other buses. The driver shut down the engine again, then stood up and turned to us.

  "Okay, we're here," he said, the first time he'd spoken to us since we'd come aboard. "That'll be ten lunes, please."

  "What are lunes?" I asked, pronouncing the same way he had, as loons.

  "The local currency." Gordie stood up from his seat. "Don't mind Squid. He used to be a petty officer in the Navy before he moved here. Those guys are always cheap..."

  "Hey!" Tolley gave him a mock scowl. "Watch the mouth, flyboy!"

  Gordie ignored him as he headed for the rear hatch. "C'mon, grab your stuff."

  I pulled my bag from beneath the seat and followed him to the hatch, the others falling in behind us. The hatch was opened from the outside by a guy wearing a dirty pair of overalls. As I climbed down the stepladder he'd pushed into place, my nose caught a strong, somewhat familiar odor.

  I wasn't the only one who noticed. "
I smell gunpowder," Nina said. "Did someone light a firecracker?"

  "That's moondust." Gordie was waiting for us at the bottom of the ladder. "The scrubbers can't quite get all of it out of here, so don't touch anything. There's strict rules against bringing this stuff into the dome."

  Indeed, the garage reeked like the aftermath of a Fourth of July fireworks show. Melissa made an icky face, and Eddie sneezed and rubbed his nose on his shirt sleeve, but I thought it was pretty neat. The Moon smells like gunpowder, I thought. No one ever told me that!

  Once everyone disembarked from the bus, Nicole escorted us across to a nearby elevator. She waved a hand across a wall panel; its doors opened, and once we'd all crowded in, she pushed a button marked CR1.

  "The city manager is supposed to be meeting us topside," she explained as the doors slid shut and the elevator began to ascend. An exhaust fan beneath the gridded floor activated, sucking away what little regolith had managed to adhere to the soles of our shoes.

  "Good." Gordie nodded. "I'm going to need to talk to him about staying here awhile." His mouth narrowed into a tight smile. "I don't think I'm going to be welcome back home any time soon."

  Nicole said nothing, but there was a sympathetic look in her eyes. I was still reflecting upon the fact that our pilot was one more person who'd made a sacrifice to get me to safety when the elevator came to a halt.

  Its doors opened again, and we walked out into what appeared to be an ordinary airport security area. The wall sign read Customs. A guy in a blue uniform was seated at a desk and a woman in an identical uniform stood behind a nearby counter. Nicole told us to put our bags on the counter, and as the woman began to open them one at a time and sort through our belongings, we lined up at the desk.

  Gordie reached into a pocket, pulled out a leather card holder, and flashed something at the customs official. He waved the pilot through without comment, then motioned to me. "Name?" he asked once I'd stepped up.

  "Jamey Barlowe...James Y. Barlowe, I mean."

  "Age?"

  "Sixteen."

  "Citizenship?"

  "American...USA, I mean."

  "Reason for visiting?"

  "Umm..." I wasn't sure how to answer that. Before I could say anything, though, Nicole walked around to his side of the desk. Pulling a folded sheet of paper from her pocket, she placed it before him, then bent down to whisper something in his ear. The customs official listened without saying a word; a quick nod of understanding, then he looked at me and the others.

  "You're all cleared through on special recognizance," he said. "Your guardians will be required to file immigration requests within the next forty-eight hours. Until then, you're free to go." He turned to his companion and shook his head; she stopped searching our bags and zipped them shut.

  Grateful for the rescue, but mystified nonetheless, I picked up my bag and followed Gordie and Nicole through the doorway past the counter. "What was that all about?" I asked when we were out of earshot from the customs officers.

  "The city manager's office is aware of your situation." Nicole held up the paper she'd shown the guy at the desk; I didn't have a chance to read it, but it had an official-looking seal and signature at the bottom. "Essentially, the six of you have been granted temporary visas until your immigration status is worked out."

  "We're immigrants?" Logan asked.

  Gordie nodded as Nicole led us down a short corridor to a pair of glass double-doors. "Yup...and so am I, or at least until I upgrade my residency permit from part-time to permanent."

  I nodded, even though I didn't quite believe him. Officially, we might be immigrants, but all the same, I knew better. We were outcasts.

  We reached the double doors. Nicole held one open for me, and when I walked through, I had my first good look at Apollo.

  We stood on a veranda of a balcony on the lowest tier of the crater rim. The tier went all the way around the inside of the crater; two more tiers above it slanted upward toward the bottom of the dome, where sunlight shined brightly from the giant mirror at its apex. The tiers overlooked the crater solarium; over four miles in diameter, it was so vast that I could barely see its tiered walls on the opposite side.

  I'd seen pictures of Apollo, of course. It was often described as one of the great wonders of the century. But holos are one thing, and seeing the place with my own eyes was quite another. The solarium resembled nothing less than an urban park at the bottom of an immense bowl. Groves of small shade trees--dwarf maple, sycamore, pine--were clustered around pebble paths, while benches and gazebos were arranged beside broad, fresh-cut lawns. Foot paths led between small cottage-like buildings scattered here and there; just below was what appeared to be a livestock pen, with goats grazing within a nearby meadow. People strolled along gravel walkways; I spotted someone on a bicycle pedal past a couple walking hand in hand beside a small pond. There were even birds in the trees; a robin landed to the veranda railing, gave me a quick once-over, then flitted away.

  If I hadn't known that I was on the Moon, I would have sworn that I was back on Earth. Even Melissa, as jaded as she was, was impressed "Wow," she murmured. "I mean...y'know...wow."

  "Yeah." Logan was also wide-eyed. "I've seen the vids, but..."

  "Uh-huh." Gordie seemed to be enjoying our reactions. "It always gets me, too. No place quite like it."

  I was still staring at the solarium when a handful of adults--two men and two women--came up a nearby stairway. The oldest of the four was a tall, dark-skinned man in his mid-fifties; he approached our group and stopped before Nicole and Gordie.

  "Ms. Doyle, I take it that these are our guests?" he asked, and she nodded. "Good, very good," he said, then turned to Gordie. "And Captain Rogers...thank you for bringing them here. We're in your debt."

  "I'll remember that, Loren," Gordie replied, and the other man's smile flickered a bit. "Let me introduce you to..."

  "Allow me, please." The gentleman stepped closer to us. "I'm Loren Porter, Apollo's city manager. And these are--" he gestured to each of his companions "--Algis Lagler, our life support supervisor, Mary Rice, the chief of surgery at Apollo General Hospital, and Karl Ernsting, also on the staff of Apollo General. They'll be your legal guardians while you're with us."

  The three of them smiled and murmured greetings. They appeared pleasant enough, but there was still an awkward moment; we kids were meeting our surrogate parents for the first time, and no one seemed to know exactly what to make of each other. I was still trying to figure out who was going with who when Mr. Lagler walked over to my sister and me.

  "You're Melissa and Jamey?" A short, thick-set man with a trim goatee, he had a European accent that I'd later learn was Hungarian. "My wife and I are happy to be your guardians." A pause while Melissa and I took this in; we nodded, and he went on. "We know your father well, and your mother used to work in my department. Jamey, you've grown considerably since the last time I saw you."

  "Umm..." I didn't quite know what to say to this. "I guess so, sir. Thank you."

  Melissa was even more uncomfortable than I was, but for once she kept her mouth shut. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. Rice introducing herself to Eddie and Nina while Logan shook hands with Dr. Ernsting.

  That left only Hannah. As always, she quietly hung back a little, silently observing as introductions were being made. Then Mr. Porter walked over to her. "Ms. Wilford?" he asked, extending his hand. "Pleased to meet you. My wife and I will be taking care of you while you're here."

  "Thank you." Her voice was very quiet as she shook his hand. "I appreciate it."

  "It'll be our honor." Mr. Porter's voice became sympathetic. "I was a great admirer of your father. I'm very sorry for your loss." He took her bag from her and gestured toward the nearby walkway. "If you'll follow me, please...there's some people you need to meet."

  Hannah nodded again and moved to follow him. Just before she left, though, she glanced my way. Our eyes met for an instant and her face went red with embarrassment, as if she'd b
een caught telling a lie. Then she went away, leaving me staring at her.

  "Did he call her Ms. Wilford?" Melissa was confused. "I thought her last name was Johnson."

  I didn't have a chance to reply before Nina piped up. "You mean you didn't know?" she asked. I shook my head, and so did Melissa and Logan. Nina responded with an expansive sigh. "How dumb are you? That's Hannah Wilford...President Wilford's daughter."

  "Oh my God," Melissa stammered. "Oh, my God...oh, my God...oh, my God..."

  No one paid attention to her. We were watching Hannah and Mr. Porter as they walked away from us. When they disappeared through a door leading to a stairway, I looked at Nina.

  "How did you know?" I asked.

  "You didn't recognize her?" She gave me a patronizing smile. "I did. As soon as she got out of the car, I figured out who she was. I thought you did, too."

  I could have explained to her that the last person I expected to see at Wallops Island was the daughter of the president of the United States, but I turned to Gordie instead. "Did you know?" I asked, and he reluctantly nodded. "Why didn't you tell us?"

  "I didn't know myself until just before you showed up," he replied. "When the launch director told me that she'd be on the shuttle, he made me promise to keep my mouth shut. That way, if the feds had managed to stop the launch, the rest of you wouldn't have gotten in any trouble."

  "We're already in trouble." Logan was glaring at him; I'd seldom seen him so angry. "We're all wanted by the feds. What difference does it make if one of us is the president's daughter?"

  "Plenty." Dr. Ernsting had come over to join us. He was in his late twenties, with bushy brown hair and a pencil-thin mustache; we'd later learn that he was a psychologist, and with his German accent he couldn't have been more suitable for the role. "Sorry, Logan, but you have it wrong. The rest of you are just the children of federal fugitives..."

  "Just?"

  "Exactly, yes. The American officials don't want you as much as your parents. But Hannah is a fugitive herself. If anything, they want her even more than your folks. So, if you'd been caught and they'd found out that you knew who she was, then you could've been charged with aiding and abetting an attempted flight from the law."