Free Shanghaied to the Moon by Michael J. Daley

must’ve made a mistake, something Mark might get suspicious of, especially once the Counselor tells him about the ad. That’s it!
    â€œWhat about the ad? They just have to watch for a ship coming from Earth.”
    â€œWe’re not coming from Earth.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? We’re in orbit around Earth right now!”
    â€œThe guy putting up the money for this trip has a few friends at Space Command. They’ve fixed it so the best anyone might see is a radar shadow … a ghost ship … just right for a pair of dead men, huh?”
    So someone else is involved in this mission. And they want to keep everything secret.
    â€œWe’re not going to call Mark, are we?”
    He shakes his head. “Now you’re catching on.”
    I finally understand how it is. Nothing I want matters. I’m being shanghaied to the moon, just like thousands of men and boys in the past who got kidnapped to crew sailing ships.
    He faces the controls. “Start reading at number seventy-five in the sequence.”
    â€œI could be six feet tall and read checklists. Why are you bringing me with you?”
    â€œLike I said. Left something important on the Moon a long time ago. You’re going to help me get it back.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œThere’s no time to explain now. Read to me.”
    â€œI won’t.”
    â€œSuit yourself.” He keeps setting switches.
    I get more and more nervous, watching. What if he’s making mistakes? If I’ve got to go, at least I want to get out of orbit alive! “What’s the next item?”
    â€œEighty-four,” he says.
    I flip the pages and scan until I find the right place. Call out, “Eighty-four. Switch D on.”
    â€œCheck.”
    â€œEighty-five. System seven on.” We fall into a rhythm, like a chant. He stays half a beat ahead of me. He knows the settings by heart. I’m nothing more than backstage help, like a prompter in a play. He’s different than he was in the capsule. No trouble with the buttons. No complaints from the computer. But he’s not faced with a crisis. There’s no pressure. No need for quick decisions or lightning reflexes.
    â€œOne hundred twenty: fuel tank A valve to on.”
    â€œCheck.”
    Monotonous stuff. Our voices drone on, bringing an echo of other voices with that special quality only heard between astronauts and mission control. Steady voices full of letters and numbers recited in the cool monotone of professionals.
    I feel as if I’ve done this before.
    â€œOne hundred seventy, intermix heater switch D to on.”
    â€œCheck.”
    But of course, in a way, I have. In simulators. In the hundreds of 3-Vids I’ve watched. There are always scenes just like this. Even in my dreams.
    â€œTwo hundred: igniter switches to on.” And yet, the echo shadowing our voices seems different, almost like the start of a squiggly.
    â€œCheck.”
    â€œTwo hundred four: lock ignition circuit into NavComp.”
    He runs a systems check of the NavComp. That’s the master computer in charge of integrating every aspect of the flight plan. The NavComp’s most important job is to coordinate the maneuvering thrusters to keep the ship on course no matter what else is happening.
    â€œCheck.”
    My fingers slip turning the last plastic page. That unwelcome feeling of nausea starts in my stomach. Scared. Plain and simple. I want to go to the Moon, but not with this old spacer in this old tub. As long as we’re in orbit, I have some options. He could drop me off at Olympus Space Station. I might be able to get a message to Dad and Mark before they hear the news.
    â€œLose your tongue?” There’s challenge in his voice. He knows I’m scared. Why shouldn’t I be? He hasn’t even told me his name, let alone what this mission is all about!
    â€œI’m sorry. I don’t want to go.”
    â€œYou want