Meck stepped into a cavernous structure filled with natural light, which came from a yawning entryway to his left. Outside stretched a concrete expanse, and he spotted airliners milling in the distance. This was an airport hangar.
“Rocket launches are not wasted on prisoners,” the sergeant said, as they strode past aviation mechanics tending to their machines. “Your pod will ride beneath the wing of a commercial flight. At the appropriate altitude, the pod will disengage and propel itself beyond the gravity well. After that you’ll be on a course for the Moon.”
Meck bit his lower lip. “Do the pods ever malfunction?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But we usually recover the prisoner alive. Stop here.” She looked upward to consult more paperwork, then scanned a row of torpedo-like containers on the hangar floor. “That’s yours, right there,” she said, pointing.
The orange, three-meter cylinder bore scratches and dents, and a nasty scorch mark running down its side. She knelt to unlock a small hatch, revealing a keypad inside. “Not much to look at, I know, but it’s certified for vacuum. You should be fine.”
She punched in a command and the passenger bay opened. Meck was reminded of the inside of a coffin. He peered in and immediately wrinkled his nose.
“Sorry about the smell,” she said. “Lots of people have taken this ride, and after three days they can get pretty ripe. We ask for new padding every year, but it’s never in the budget.”
He climbed inside and lay down, looking at the gray hangar ceiling as he waited. The sergeant leaned in and pulled a nylon harness over his shoulders. Her ponytail dangled as she worked. Meck hunted for a witty comment, maybe a joke about his predicament, but nothing came to mind. He felt heavy straps slide over his ankles.
“The takeoff and climb are easy, like any other flight,” she noted. “Launch will be more stressful. Just do your best to relax and focus on your breathing.”
“What should I do if something goes wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said simply. “You’re a prisoner now. You have no control over anything.”
“Great.”
She leaned in closer, so no one could hear. “If it helps, I admire your courage. Somebody needs to find out what’s going on up there, so good luck. You ready?”
He nodded.
She lowered the lid and darkness surrounded him as it hissed into place. The hangar noise softened to a dull thrum. “Get this one out to the flight line,” he heard her muffled voice yell. The sealed pod felt safe and cozy, like a cocoon, and Meck drowsed until a lurch jolted him awake. The pod was moving. He pictured an airport tractor towing him around like so much luggage.
The pod halted. More voices and the whine of a hydraulic lift. The lid vibrated as an air gun fastened four lugs. They were mounting him to the wing. Meck wondered if any passengers were watching from their seats, peering through the little windows. Look, a parent might be saying. That’s what happens to bad people. They get sent to the Moon.
Next came the shrill of a jet engine, which grew so loud it couldn’t have been more than a few meters away. Meck felt the airplane taxi to its runway. The shrill intensified as it careened down the tarmac. His bound hands strained for his ears.
The plane glided into flight, and as it climbed the noise gradually abated, with the engine settling into a soft growl. He heard wind rushing over the pod, but soon that too was gone as the plane reached cruising altitude. Meck sighed relief.
Four gunshots struck the lid. He realized belatedly that they were not shots, but the explosive bolts that had bound him to the wing. When they fired he separated from the plane, and immediately the sensation of freefall tickled his belly. He braced for launch.
Strangely, the pod’s engine made no noise, and its silence added to his bewilderment. Meck endured the crushing weight of nine gravities as he sped through the upper atmosphere. His chest ached, and his eyeballs felt as if they might burst. He focused on breathing as she had said, filling his lungs as best he could. Red tendrils appeared in his vision. His fingers and toes tingled.
A square of light appeared before him, just a few centimeters from his nose. It resolved into an image, a stern face staring directly at him.
“Keep breathing,” the man said. “You are nearly done.”
Meck felt a soft warmth rising from his legs into his torso, moving for his head. He closed his eyes.
“Keep breathing!”
He obeyed, and the warmth gradually receded. His lungs grew stronger, now free of the agonizing pressure.
“Congratulations,” the man said. “You survived launch, thanks to me. Do you know who I am?”
“No,” Meck panted, which was, of course, a lie.
“I’m the administrator of the Lunar Ultra Security Penitentiary. You may call me Warden, or sir.”
Comments (0)
See all