Shanghaied to the Moon by Michael J. Daley Read Free Book Online Page A

to tell the truth. It went haywire! You have to help me!”
    â€œHave to? Like fate, huh?” He laughs, a dry, tight sound.
    â€œPlease …” My teeth chatter. I notice the chill air for the first time. Running off, I forgot my jacket.
    â€œSit down.”
    â€œNo! We’ve got to go away from here!”
    â€œIt isn’t easy to hide from TIA, kid. Gotta think, so sit down.” He slaps the bench.
    He’s going to help me! My knees fold from relief and I collapse onto the seat next to him. He knows what we’re up against. Maybe he can come up with a plan.
    He shrugs out of his jacket, wincing as he draws his arms from the sleeves. He wraps it around me. It settles heavy on my shoulders. The pockets must be crammed with stuff. Smells a little sour, but it’s sleep-hot. I pull my legs into the cave of it, too.
    â€œHave a sip of this.” He takes a squeeze bottle out of his pants pocket. He folds my fingers around it, urges them toward my mouth. “Do it. I’ve seen shock plenty of times, kid, and that’s where you’re headed.”
    Dad’s let me sip wine before, but this stuff grabs your attention in a whole different way.
    â€œHey, that’s enough!” He snatches it back, fires in a mouthful for himself. “When did this happen?”
    â€œFifteen minutes ago? Longer since we’ve been talking.”
    He looks at the Chronomatrix on his wrist. His lips draw thin and straight.
    â€œGo buy a soda. Machine’s right there.” He points to a cluster of vending machines along the same wall the bench is against.
    He’s crazy! “We can’t sit here drinking soda!”
    â€œNot to drink. For that bruise on your cheek. Gotta get something cold on it to stop the swelling.”
    I pull the jacket tight and head for the soda machine, press my thumb to the charge plate.
    TIA can trace that.
    I never worried about TIA before. Mark knows a lot …
    Mark! Has anyone told him yet? Does anyone know anything yet? Or is Mrs. Phillips still zonked out?
    She shut the Counselor down. Maybe she was going to help me. I just ran away. What if she’s hurt? I just ran.
    Two Helium Zingers drop out of the slot. I might drink one. Supposed to be good for queasy stomachs. When I come back to the bench, he sits rigid as a block of ice, staring out at the ships on their launch-pads.
    â€œTend to that bruise.” He doesn’t even glance at me. “And keep your mouth shut.”
    Gingerly, I press the cold, sweating can to my right cheek. Hiss in a sharp breath. But the cold feels good. Slowly, I rotate the can.
    â€œOkay.” He lurches to his feet with a curse and a grab at the small of his back. “Come on.”
    He bends down only far enough to catch the strap of the duffel bag. He hitches the strap over his shoulder, then, Igor-like, limps toward the rear of the station. I stand up, but it’s tricky holding the sodas and keeping the jacket from falling off. He’s around the corner already. I rush to catch up.
    He’s standing behind some kind of wheeled thing.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” He shrugs the duffel into the back of the thing. “Haven’t you ever seen a golf cart before?”
    â€œNot with wheels !”
    â€œGet in.” He hitches up his right leg and works it over the sidewall into the driver’s side. The cart tips as he shifts all his weight onto that foot and hauls the rest of his body in using the steering wheel.
    â€œWhere are we going?”
    He gestures toward the ocean and now I see that the cart is parked at the beginning of the long road out to Pad 12—must be at least a mile. The ancient concrete is heaved and shattered, but there’s a smooth path of fresh sand down the middle of the decayed roadway. Two ruts are packed hard from frequent trips. His berth. He’s been living out there with the rocket! Probably cleared away any surveillance stuff. But