Cosmic (17 page)

It was the diagram of the instrument panel that put the fear in me. The little drawings of the buttons seemed to jump off the page and shoot toward me like Death Guild spears. Buttons! The button! Max and Hasan were out of my sight. They could be dishing out nine different kinds
of Doom right this second.

I pushed myself into the air and shot up through the hatch like Superman, banged my head on the ceiling of the minibus, somersaulted toward the command module, wriggled through the air lock and there was Max, standing right next to the green button, about to press it.

I have no idea how I got from the bottom of the module to the top so quickly. But I was between him and the button faster than I could think about it and the two of us were wrestling through the air, knocking into pipes and sleeping bags and handles and dials.

Florida got herself right next to the button and shouted, “So Hasan wins! Isn’t that right, Dad?”

This caught Max’s attention. “Hasan wins?”

I said, “Well, I can’t see him—can you? Doesn’t that make him the last to be found? That means he’s the winner.”

You could hear a little rumble of dissatisfaction brewing somewhere inside Max. I was half expecting him to put his head back and howl like a wolf.

Then I said, “Of course, if
you
find him, then you’re the winner.”

And he was off. I told Florida to stay and guard the green button while I went off with Max and Samson Two to find Hasan.

And here’s the thing. We couldn’t find him.

The command module—no sign. The
Dandelion
—no sign. The cockpit—no sign.

Hasan had gone missing.

In space.

“Hasan is not on the rocket. Therefore, Logic says, he got off the rocket.”

“Samson Two, you’re always telling us what Logic says. Who is Logic—your imaginary friend? Why don’t you say something yourself instead of letting Logic do all the talking.”

“He left the rocket.”

“Well, Logic says you can’t leave a rocket. Because it’s in space.”

“Logic says if someone leaves a rocket—which Hasan has—then the rocket isn’t in space. It’s a simulation.”

We searched the rocket again.

We didn’t find him.

Florida said, “You know, there was this television program once where everyone thought they were in space and
it turned out they were in Essex or something.”

“I know.”

“And then,” said Samson Two, “what about the Apollo space program, where they managed to convince everyone they’d been to the moon?”

Max said, “They never went to the moon!? Are you sure?”

Florida said, “Of course they went to the moon. Mr. Bean went to the moon. We talked to him about it.”

“Well, I hate to call anyone a liar,” said Samson Two, “but if they went to the moon, why did they never go back?”

“Oh, people always say they’re going back and they never do,” I said. “My parents went to Spain on holiday once. They said they were going to go back every year, but they never did.”

Samson Two was not going to let go of this. “Have you seen the picture of the American flag on the moon? The flag is flying, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s no wind on the moon. So how would the flag fly? It’s an obvious fake.”

I said, “Maybe, just maybe, the people who went all the way to the moon knew there was no wind up there so maybe, just maybe, they put a little bit of wire in the top of the flag to make it stick out. After all, they did build a whole load
of rockets with six million moving parts each so maybe, just maybe, they actually thought of putting wire in flags.”

Samson Two didn’t even blink. “Logic,” he said, “says just open the door and see.”

“Okay, Logic. Why not do that? Go on, Logic.”

“I will.”

“I didn’t say you; I said ‘Logic’.”

“Logic says I’ll do it.”

“No, Logic says I’ll do it. I’m in charge. I’m the one responsible. I’ll go outside.”

Why did I say that?

Going outside a rocket in space is called EVA—extra-vehicular activity. Unfortunately I’d missed the part of training where we did that because of Eddie Xanadu’s electric Ribena. The others remembered the important things—how to put the helmet on, how to connect your oxygen, how to check the EVA suit. There was a section in the manual about how to open the airlock. And suddenly there I was, ready to go into space. I was standing inside the airlock and Florida was pointing to a coiled yellow rope. “That’s the safety harness,” she said. “It ties you to the rocket so you don’t just drift off. Put it on straightaway. You’re dead without that.”

I fastened myself into the safety harness. Florida sealed
the inside door behind me, and for a minute I was bobbing by myself inside the airlock. It was like standing in a lift. It seemed so ordinary—apart from the fact that I was levitating—that I started to think that maybe Samson Two was right. Maybe we weren’t in space. Maybe we were in some kind of simulation. Then the external door started to open. There was just a slant of black at first. Black so solid that it looked like a wall. It was hard to believe that things could move around in it. Then I started to see the underside of one of the
Dandelion
’s silver sails. I’m saying now that’s what it was, but it was hard to tell. It was so dazzling that you couldn’t really make out the shape. It blazed like the filament of a really strong lightbulb. Then the door opened wider. And I was out there in the black nothingness. Floating free.

Suddenly I collided with one of the sails and rolled around under it until I hit one of the struts and something made me grab hold of it. I hung there like a kind of mad Christmas decoration and for a second or two it was completely the most cosmic thing ever. The huge moon was in front of me and my feet seemed to be dangling in a kind of milky bath of stars. In a moment I was going to turn myself round and see if I could see the Earth. Meanwhile I was enjoying how intense it all was. The space between the stars was blacker than anything I’d ever seen. But everything that was
shining—the sail, the moon, the stars, my metal cuffs—was shining a million times brighter than you’ve ever seen anything shine. Even my yellow safety cord seemed to shine. I remember hanging there watching it slither through my legs and snake off into space. I remember thinking, Hey, I’ve got a safety cord; I can let go. And at the same moment thinking, If one end of it is fastened to me, what’s the other end fastened to?

Nothing.

It was just drifting off into space.

I’d fastened myself to the cord, but I had not fastened the cord to the module.

All I can remember after that is my own hands. My own hands gripping the struts, trying to hold on. My own hands shuffling painfully slowly along the sail toward the module. I thought about going hand over hand, like on monkey bars, but I was too terrified to let go with one hand even for a second. It seemed to take hours to get back to the side of the rocket. I was sweating and my heart was thumping. By the time I was next to the rocket, my helmet was starting to steam up.

That’s when I realized I wasn’t really sure which way it was back to the hatch. I’d rolled over so many times under the sail, I couldn’t remember now whether I came out of the back or the front.

I worked out that if the yellow cord was streaming past me, then it must be pointing in the opposite direction to the one I had come from. Also I knew I couldn’t see the moon from the hatch, so the hatch must be at the end farthest from the moon.

Underneath the sail, there was a strut attaching it to the module. I edged down that and found the sill of the compartment the sails had been in before they popped out. I gripped that and followed it toward the back.

It took ages. By the time I got to the end, I was too tired to do anything except hang there, staring straight at a couple of rivets and a big metal panel. I knew the hatch must be nearby, but I couldn’t see much by then because of the condensation in my helmet. I was also starting to worry about how much oxygen I had left.

I ran my hand over the panel until I came to the edge of it. There was a double row of rivets there, just wide enough to squeeze my fingers between. That should hold me for a second. I brought my other hand over and squeezed that in too. Then I reached out to find the next panel. Did the same. I was just clinging on by my fingertips the whole time.

I was crawling along the outside of something that was moving faster than a train.

I tried to find the hatch with my fingers. But suddenly my foot caught on something. It was stuck. I brought the
other foot round to it. Yes! Two feet fitted inside. I ran one foot along the inside rim of whatever it was. Then I froze. The rim seemed quite sharp and metal. What if I ripped the suit? I stayed still for a while, trying not to breathe.

I was sure now that it was the hatch below me. I just wasn’t sure how to get the rest of myself down there. I tried crawling down with my hands but keeping my feet tucked in. It only took me so far. I was going to have to try to jump down. But what if the moment I let go, I just shot off into space?

I had no choice. I had to risk it. I let go of the side of the rocket and at the same time, tried to push my legs inside as hard as I could. In my mind, this would make me slide elegantly, feet first, back inside the hatch. In fact, I banged my knees. The pain made me curl up into a little ball so for a second or two I was floating completely free in space. But the momentum of curling up made me turn right over and as I came round, I was passing the bottom of the hatch. I grabbed it and dragged myself inside. There was plenty to hold on to in there. I felt around blindly with my fingers and pressed a button. I could hear the airlock door closing behind me. I still wasn’t out of danger. But I was so happy to be back inside I started to take my helmet off. I wasn’t sure how to do it and fumbled around for a bit. When I finally got it off, I could see again. And the first thing I saw was the hatch door just clicking shut. If I’d known the
proper way of undoing the helmet, if I’d got it off more quickly, the door would not have been fully closed and my head might have exploded, although I’d probably have suffocated first.

I stood with my forehead against the metal door. It felt so cool and so solid. I loved the way it didn’t try to run away from me and leave me in space. It seemed like hours before the door opened—long, happy hours of just standing still, not gripping anything, not scared, appreciating the various properties of metal doorways.

As soon as the hatch opened, all the children were floating there in front of me, bobbing up and down like a bunch of cherubs. And they just looked so
alive
. I know it sounds mad, but I could see every one of their eyelashes. I wanted to count them. I could hear their breathing. I could hear eyelids opening and closing. Everything. It was like I’d completed a quest and all the rewards I’d earned—the health, the experience, the strength—were flooding into me. It was like I’d gained a superpower. Superhearing. I could’ve just stood and listened to them breathing and blinking all day. I wanted to hug them, to be honest, but obviously that would have been too weird.

Florida said, “Did you find him?”

“Who?”

“Hasan. You went outside to look for Hasan.”

“No, he’s not out there.” I was so happy that I’d rescued myself, I’d forgotten about rescuing Hasan.

“What is out there?”

“Well, you know, the universe and stuff.”

“If he’s not out there, and he’s not in here, where is he?” said Florida. “He can’t just have vanished.”

Max said, “First the Earth vanished and now Hasan has vanished. Everything keeps vanishing. Maybe we are going to vanish!”

I said, “Shh.” Among all the new sounds I could hear—eyelids opening and closing, muscles and bones moving, electronic equipment buzzing, a counter from the travel Monopoly set hovering under the seats, I had noticed another sound—louder and rougher—coming from inside the wall, near the driving compartment. I floated over to it. To me it sounded deafening, but I knew that the others couldn’t hear it at all. Because when I was looking for Hasan earlier, I hadn’t heard it either. It was my new superhearing that picked it up. I felt around on the wall for a bit and found a little gap between the panels. I pushed on one panel and tugged on the other, and there was Hasan, snoring.

He woke up, looking so pleased with himself. He said, “Did I win? When the soldiers came to my village I hid in a space behind the water tank for three days. I have had
plenty of practice at hide-and-seek.”

I said, “Of course. I forgot about that.” It was strange to think that this might be only the second most dangerous game of hide-and-seek Hasan had ever played.

“So I won?”

“Yes. You won. You did really well.”

“So,” said Max, “he won. Finally I am a loser.”

I looked at him. With my superhearing I could almost hear his heart beating faster than usual. Then it seemed to calm down. “You know,” he said, “it does not feel so bad.”

Florida shoved him and he floated backward all the way to the other side of the minibus. He laughed all the way. Watching him made me feel good. I knew then that the green button was finally safe from him.

I said, “Let’s measure you all on the height chart. See if you’ve grown.”

Florida looked at me like I’d gone mad. “You were only gone ten minutes. How would we have grown?”

“Space, isn’t it? Like Samson Two said. Less gravity on your spine.” They all lined up and I marked off their new heights next to the door, just like Mom used to do with me at home.

Samson Two said, “The power of suggestion is amazing. We’ve all grown an inch or so, just like we would’ve done
if we were really in space.”

“We are really in space,” said Max. “Mr. Digby went outside, remember?”

“Yes,” said Samson Two, “he went outside, read a newspaper and then came back inside.”

I was tempted to say, “Okay then. If you don’t believe me,
you
go out there.” But I took a deep breath and said, “Okay. But you know, say it’s only a simulation, we’ll still need to know the proper altitude and the proper angle of departure to get the speed we need from our return trajectory. Can you work stuff like that out?”