The Haunted Airlock

By Michael Carroll

Illustrations by Michael Carroll

         "It's a real mystery," Dad said as he and Mason walked the short distance from the airlock to the waiting rover. "This robotic arm on the front of the rover works fine in the garage, but outside it grinds to a halt."
         "Do you think it's the cold temperature?"
         His Dad shrugged through his environment suit. "Could be. Or the low pressure. We'll see what we can see. Climb on in and grab the arm controls. I'll stay out here and watch what happens."
         Mason pulled the airlock door open and climbed up into the rover. He sealed the lock behind him. The pressure rose, and the inner doorway shooshed open.
         The moment Mason took his helmet off, he smelled the rich aroma of Mars. Fine dust clung to the dashboard of the cab. Even after the airlock's cleaning cycle, some of Mars got through. Mason breathed in the slightly dusty odor. The air was laced with the medicinal peroxide smell, but there was something else. It was the scent of Time, of ages past, when Mars had gurgling streams and thundering volcanoes. The musty aroma spoke stories of more distant lands that Mason had only imagined: Ramses and Tut's mummies…Ali Baba's camel caravans… and sandworms from the classic story Dune.
         "There's nothing like being out in it," Mason said.
         After half an hour of testing the arm, Mason's dad peered in through the windshield and jabbed a finger toward the garage. "Let's get it back inside. I think it's an electronics thingy in the elbow. Electronics sometimes don't do well in the cold. I'll slap in another one and it'll be good, I bet."
         Mason said, "Thingy? Is that a technical term?"
         "Absolutely. Like deelie or thing-a-ma-bob."
         Mason took a last look through the windshield, across the bright, open landscape. The distant hills of Meridiani stood sharp against the tan sky. Piers of rock thrust out of rounded piles of boulders, reaching their jagged claws toward a smattering of ice crystal clouds overhead.
         As his dad settled into the seat beside him, Mason tapped out a rhythm on the sill. His dad pushed the key to start the electric motor. "That something you boys are working on for the band?"
         "Yep."
         "How's that going?"
         Mason shrugged. "Not so hot. If we don't find another instrument that can play some kind of melody, we're sunk. Tregon and I are percussionists."
         "True enough. You've been beating on things ever since you could pick anything up." Dad flipped a switch and tapped commands on the touch-screen.
         "Yeah, well, it's not much of a concert if you don't have a tune. Got to have something with notes. Tim was going to be our lead with a sort of xylophone he was making. But it's not going to work, and he doesn't want to be in the talent show anyway. So then we asked Chelsea if she could be lead vocalist, but she's already doing a skit with a bunch of other kids. Besides, she said the competition has to involve something we made by hand, and she says her body came with its voice already installed, so it doesn't count."
         "I'll bet the judges would stretch the rules. What about her brother? Doesn't he sing?"
         "Titus makes sounds. It's an editorial call whether or not he's actually singing."
         Dad snorted. "Well, there's always next year."
         Mason leaned forward in his seat. "No! Everybody's going to be there. It's a Settlement-wide thing, and Tregon and I are firstborns on Mars. We've got to at least make a good showing, and Tregon says we've got to be the best!"
         "I'm sure you'll figure something out," Dad said as he nudged the rover into its berth in the garage.
         With the rover safely stowed in its berth, Mason stepped to the garage door for one last look at the Martian landscape. A line of dramatic buttes marched across the Meridiani plain, peppered here and there with weathered craters. Layers of Martian history painted stripes of rust, umber and ochre against rock and cliff. Set against the dark backdrop, the tanks and habs of the Settlement glistened in the sunlight.
         Mason noticed footprints coming and going from the hatch of the north maintenance airlock, just to the right of the garage area. That was strange. Hardly anyone used the north airlock.
         "Coming?" Mason's dad radioed.
         "Yeah, just a sec." Mason leaned out the garage doorway for a better look. Two people had left footprints in the sand as they exited the airlock. But only one set of footprints went back in. And that wasn't all: the tracks headed away from the Settlement. The only things in that direction were the nuclear power plants. That was a restricted area. Nobody ever went out there.

         "Got to close up shop, kiddo," Mason's dad called.
         If anyone went missing, everyone in town would know immediately. Where had the second person gone? Why hadn't they come in the way they’d left?
         "Dad, why would people go out to the reactors? Dr. Graham told me they almost never need maintenance or anything. They practically run themselves."
         "Dr. Graham ought to know. Some people do enjoy the hills in that direction. Your mom loves the view of sunset over that way."
         Mason frowned. He wasn't convinced. The trail of boot prints bothered him, big time. He turned to follow his dad back inside. But he had to figure out what happened at the north airlock.
         After he stowed his suit and checked in with Ops, Mason took the long corridor to the north airlock. He walked slowly, dreading the dim, lonely place he was headed. He half wished someone was going with him. At the same time, he was glad no one would be there to see how foolish he was being. If he was being foolish.
         The inner door to the airlock was closed, but not sealed. The lights indicated that the lock was full of air, safe to enter. Mason pushed the door open. Its hinges screeched like the raven in his Edgar Allen Poe eBook. He shivered, and mumbled "Nevermore, Mr. Poe."
         As he stepped through the hatch, two feeble lights cast an amber glow across the long room. Equipment and pipes filled the cramped space. Along one wall, a row of environment suits hung like bodies sucked of their juices. Mason reminded himself to lay off the scary reading for a while.

         Fresh dust clung to one of the suits. He reached over. It felt cold, as if it had been worn outside recently. The nametag was a temporary. Mason pulled the suit up toward the light to read the handwritten name. The letters were shaky and rough: P. Geist.
         "P. Geist," he mumbled. "Geist…"
         The door clanged shut behind him. Mason jumped. He lunged toward the door. Was he trapped? Was someone about to flush the air from the airlock?
         He pulled the ring handle. The hatch swung open easily. At the end of the corridor, a shadow disappeared around the corner. Strange music—a cross between panpipes and flute—faded away in the dark hallway. Goosebumps scattered up Mason's spine. It was definitely time to head for home.

*
**

         Mason couldn't remember the last time he was this happy to see his eleven-year-old sister, but Mariah was a welcome sight after the airlock adventure. She stepped into his bedroom with the look of a game-show host.
         "Dumb-drummer boy Tregon called. He's on his way over," she announced.
         "Good. I just had an interesting chat with EMMA, and I have something I’d like to discuss with both of you."
         "Don’t tell me: you plan to have Tregon program EMMA to sing for your band?” She tossed her blonde ponytail. “The contest judges are sure to disqualify you for that!”
         “No, it’s not about the band contest,” Mason said. “I wish we could use EMMA, though. That xylophone Tim tried to build sounded like a bad headache."
         “So what’s to discuss? Can Lian be in on it, too? She's coming with me to check on the greenhouse strawberries."
         "Can your friend keep a secret?" Mason asked.
         "I am very good at secrets," Lian said from beyond the door. The young Chinese girl stepped into the room, smiling. "What is secret?"
         Before Mason could say a word, Tregon's voice split the air. "Never fear—Tregon's here!"
         Mariah rolled her eyes. "Gee, it's getting crowded in here."
         "Love you too, Mariah."
         "Hello, Tregon," Lian said.
         Mason stood up. "Look, guys, we need to talk. Tregon, close the door."
         "Ooh, sounds serious." Tregon wiggled his fingers as if he were playing a piano, then slammed the door. "All secure."
         Mason rubbed his hands together. "Here's the deal. Something weird is going on around here."
         Tregon said, "You have an eleven-year-old sister, and you're just realizing that there's something weird here?"
         Mason held up his hand. "Come on, guys. This is serious. When Dad and I came in from outside today I spotted two sets of fresh tracks leading out of the north airlock, but only one set coming back in."
         "That's easy—" Mariah said.
         Mason stopped her. "But there's more. I found a suit in the airlock, and it's got a name on it. It's not a name of anyone who lives here. And it's not the name of any registered visitor, either. I checked with EMMA, and she accessed the files."
         Tregon leaned forward. "What's the name?"
         "P. Geist."
         Lian looked puzzled. "Geist?"
         "Geist. G-E-I-S-T."
         "Sounds German," Mariah said.
         Tregon snapped his fingers. "It is German. P. Geist. Don't you see?"
         "See what?" Mason asked.
         "What if the P is for Polter?"
         "Who's Polter Geist?" Mariah asked.
         The color had drained from Mason's face. "It's not a who. It's a what. Poltergeist."
         "Excuse me," Lian said. "Please define poltergeist?"
         Tregon's gaze locked on Mason as he said, "A poltergeist is a ghost. A noisy ghost."
         "Well, that's creepy," Mariah said airily. “But I can explain why there were only one set of footprints coming back.”
         “Oh?” Mason prompted.
         “Sure, a couple went to see the sunset, and the guy carried the girl back in!”
         “Very romantic!” Lian said.
         “Ugh,” Tregon and Mason said in unison.
         Mariah waved her hand as if to swat a fly. "Whatever. Lian, you want to go to the greenhouse, and let these guys have their ghost stories?"
         "Sure."
         Tregon shook his head. "Girls."

*
**

         The greenhouse felt warm and misty. Mariah led Lian to the far end. A row of strawberries basked under a set of special lights. They laced the air with a sweet smell, like candy or perfume.
         "Here they are, my little pretties." Mariah checked the water flowing beneath the roots. She cradled one of the larger strawberries in the palm of her hand. "What do you think?"
         "Yummy! Can I have one?" Lian asked.
         "No, not yet,” Mariah said. “Every strawberry is on my chart. I check these every day, and when they get ripe—Hey! What the—?"
         Lian put her hand on Mariah's shoulder. "What is wrong?"
         Mariah dropped her hand. Her face was as red as a ripe strawberry. "Somebody's been here. Somebody's been eating my fruit!" Mariah frowned, more puzzled than angry. "Everybody knows the rule: no picking fruit or cutting flowers without permission of the greenhouse manager. This will ruin my experiment! I need to chart the growth of every strawberry so we can figure out how often to water them to get the best growth. Who would do such a crummy thing?"
         "Sounds like we have another mystery," Lian said. "Do polter-ghosts eat strawberries?"

*
**

         It was field trip day in school. Mason's class had just completed their unit on energy—a subject that Mason enjoyed. Zapping things was right up his alley. Electricity poured into every corner of the Settlement from many sources. But the main supply came from the nuclear plant. Mom, who was teaching the unit on energy for school, thought it would be a good idea to visit the place, and it sure beat self-paced study with holovids. Mason wished he could enjoy the trip more, but the band competition darkened his outlook.
         "Did you ask Tyler about his home-made guitar?" he whispered to Tregon.
         "No go. He took it apart and made it into a mini-microwave to heat his lunches."
         "Lunches?"
         Tregon shrugged.
         Mason shook his head. "Three weeks until the competition. We’re toast."
         Mom and Dr. Graham, Settlement’s nuclear power manager, sat in the cab of the rover, while Mason and Tregon sat with four other students in the rear in full environment skin suits. The rover lumbered toward the outer ring road of the settlement. Mom talked while she drove.
         "Kids, for those of you who don't know him, this is Dr. Graham, our expert on the reactors. As you know, the power plant is normally off limits to all but authorized personnel. Before he would agree to let you visit, Dr. Graham made me promise that you all would learn and obey the safety rules. Can someone tell me the first safety rule?"
         “Visitors must stay in sight of their escort,” someone yelled.
         “Good,” Mom said. “Another?”
         “Don’t touch anything,” another kid said.
         “Especially the nukes!” Tregon added. Everyone laughed.
         Dr. Graham turned in his seat. "First thing, kids, these are not 'nukes.' Nukes are things that blow up in wars. These are reactors or power plants, okay?"
         Jasmine, who was sometimes annoying, leaned over and whispered to Mason, "Doc’s got a great British accent. It makes him seem so… polite, or something."
         "I don't know about his manners, but he's probably brainy, dealing with nukes and all," Mason said.
         "Reactors," she hissed.
         "Right."
         The rover pulled up to a hill of gravel and sand. The dirt mound stood two stories tall. This dirt barrier would protect the settlement in case the reactor ever had a radiation leak, as unlikely as that was. On its far side, a bay had been cut into the hill. At the back of the scooped-out area stood an open, cave-like doorway behind a clear plastic dome. The dome had only a slight pressure inside, just enough to keep it inflated and to keep the dust from getting in through the clear doorway. Beyond, in the dark, rose large gray boxes with lots of pipes leading into and out of them. A perfect place for a ghost.

         Doc Graham said, "Before we get out, let's take a quick look out the window. What do you suppose those pipes are for?"
         Half a dozen hands went up. "Cooling!"
         "Heat transport!"
         "Espresso!"
         Mason noted that the last comment came from Tregon, naturally. Doc described how the reactors used uranium oxide to heat gas which then turned turbines to make electricity. There was absolutely no pollution, no dirty air, no waste. Mason gazed into the gloom. Was something moving behind the reactors?
         "You see the long bumps in the ground, leading from the reactors back to the settlement? Those are buried pipes, and inside those pipes are the cables that carry the electricity back to your important things like computer games and holovideos." He winked at Mason's mom. Mason wondered if one of those pipes would make a good musical instrument.
         Tregon raised his hand. "But what if the nuclear reaction inside gets carried away and the thing blows?"
         Doc smiled. "I was just waiting for that. Actually, the thing is much harder to keep going than it is to shut down. Our nuclear fuel is not explosive." As Doc spoke, Mason strained to see into the darkness beyond the reactors. Something seemed not-quite-right. "If a reactor warms up, the nuclear fuel rods pull away from each other, so they cool down again. In fact, there are several automatic safety systems that the reactors use to keep the core in check…"
         Mason didn't hear much else. He was too busy staring out the window into the cool darkness beyond the opening. A dim light shone somewhere behind the reactor at the left. He felt a hand on his shoulder. "You going to come with us, or sit here slobbering?" Tregon said.
         The group cycled through the rover's airlock, four at a time, and stood at the edge of the hill. Doc swept his hand toward the reactors. "We're a ways off from Settlement here, and this nice hill makes a good shield for any annoying radiation that might be around. Remember that right now, as we stand here, Mars is giving us more background radiation than these power plants do. We've never detected any extra here. Lots of backup systems to prevent that. It's just to be safe, you understand. Now, shall we see some reactors?"
         A chain fence stretched across the front of the reactor enclosure. It had no lock, but a small sign hung from it with red letters spelling out CAUTION: NUCLEAR POWER/HIGH VOLTAGE DANGER. Dr. Graham lifted the chain to the side to let the students in. The group stepped toward the flimsy doorway in the dust dome.
         Suddenly, Mason didn't want to go in. He had the strangest feeling that someone—or something—was in there…watching. But what would everyone else say? Tregon would never let him hear the end of it.
         He forced his foot forward. Then the other. Step. Step. Closer to that sinister darkness. Was this the place where those mystery footprints led? He followed the students through the plastic wall, into the cavern. Three reactors sat on a poured concrete floor, surrounded by piles of Martian sand and rock.
         To Mason, the strangest thing about an environment suit was that you could hear your own footsteps, but no one else's. It reminded him of the time when his hearing aid went into safe mode and shut down. He listened to the tapping of his own feet while his friends milled silently around him. Kids were shuffling around behind Dr. Graham like a gaggle of goslings following mamma goose.
         Doc pointed to various things that Mason recognized from his studies: redundant cooling pipes so that if the flow of cooling gas was blocked, other pipes could take over; gauges that showed temperature of gas going to the turbine, linked back to the Ops center for continual monitoring; springs holding the delicate reactor hardware so that any jolt would not harm its operation.
         But Mason's attention was on the back wall. There, cast across the concrete surface by a dim light, a shadow stood. It wasn't moving. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Maybe it wasn't a person after all. No one else was supposed to be here, were they?
         Dr. Graham gestured for everyone to follow him toward the rear of the enclosure. At that instant, the shadow bent, then sprang into the darkness. Mason wheeled. He leapt around the corner of the reactor. It was a dead end. He spun around. The space under the awning was empty. Beyond lay rock and sand and no people…no ghosts. Nothing.
         “Safety rule number one! Who's missing?" came Doc's voice over the headset.
         “Mason!” His mother said as he quickly stepped back into view.
         “Sorry Mom,” he mumbled. “Got distracted.”
         Mason joined the group, but he kept glancing behind himself.

*
**

         "So, Dad, if there were a new person at the settlement, you would know, right?" Mason asked.
         "I could look it up, but we're a small community. I'd probably see them around,” Dad said. We do have visitors, you know. Guest scientists. Visiting engineers. That sort of thing."
         "But you haven't met anyone new recently."
         "Nope. No one new has come into the settlement since last month, and those visitors only stayed a couple days. Are you hoping for an angel to come rescue your chances of winning the band competition?” Dad asked with a smile.
         Mason shook his head, sadly. "It’s probably too late for that. But I think I saw someone snooping around at the reactor today.
         "What?" his dad asked. “Did you talk to Dr. Graham about it?”
         “No. All I saw was a shadow. I probably imagined it.”
         "Your mother told me you dropped out of sight of the group during the tour. She wasn’t too happy. You told her you were distracted? You that worried about the band?"
         Mason shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it.
         Life was dark and dismal. The annual settlement-wide competition was just two weeks off, and Mason's band, such as it was, was missing a main instrument, and someone to play it. It takes time to make a musical instrument. Dad was right: he was looking for a supernatural rescue, or maybe something to blame losing on. What he needed was a plan, not a wild ghost chase.
         While Mason pondered his talent-show-disasters and Twilight Zone encounters, Mariah had other things to worry about. Who was stealing her strawberries? Why?
         The greenhouse was darker than usual. It took her a moment to realize the reason: the rear lights were off. That was odd. She wished Lian was with her now, but this was her turf. She would be fine.
         Cautiously, Mariah made her way through the dark rows of plants. As she passed the halfway point to the back, she could just make out the sounds of a sad, breezy wail. Was air leaking from a seal, or was someone crying? The sounds went up and down in pitch in a haunting melody. Goose bumps spread up her back as she dashed to the far wall. She tapped the light pad. The greenhouse fell silent. As the overheads glowed to life, she saw him. Face to face, through the leaves of her precious strawberry plants. A pale face floated beyond the stems and green leaves. Large eyes bulged from wrinkled, white skin, and an impossibly red mouth dripped with…was that blood?
         She screamed. The lights went off again and the face disappeared. Mariah realized she had fallen back against the wall, against the light switch. She turned the lights on again. There was no sign of the pale apparition. And just as that mysterious face had disappeared, so had another strawberry.
         It was time for action, time to get out of that greenhouse, and time to call security. Mariah yelled out, "You're not going to get away with this, you—you—strawberry stealer!" She dropped her chart and ran down the center aisle. Plants and tubes brushed against her legs. Water sloshed from trays. Her feet pounded on the concrete floor, making an echoing slap that only added to the creepy feeling of the place. She bashed into the hatch, then flung it open. She spun left, and ran down the corridor, through the common area. She pulled a comlink from the wall and dialed Ops. "This is Mariah Callahan," she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. "We… have an intruder… A thief! In the Greenhouse!"
         "Stay there, Mariah. This is Mr. Galvin. We've sealed the greenhouse hatches. I'll send somebody down right away. You okay?"
         "Fine, thanks," she said, but her heart was clogging her throat. She felt hot on the outside from her mad dash down the hall, and chilled in her core from what she'd seen.
         She heard footsteps pounding down the hallway. Two men from Ops rounded the corner. One was Mr. Galvin. "Mariah, you can stay or come with us."
         "I want to be there!"
         She ran behind them, still out of breath. They reached the greenhouse hatch which was now sealed. Mr. Galvin slammed his hand against a pad next to the door, and it swung open with a hiss. The place was dark and quiet. Breezes pumped through the vast, leafy blackness. The lights came on. Mr. Galvin called into his wrist com. "Anything on the closed circuit cams?"
         "Nothing," came the voice. "But there's something strange. After Mariah left, and after we sealed the greenhouse, someone punched in an override code and left."
         "An override code?" Mr. Galvin repeated.
         "What's that?" Mariah asked.
         "It's a security code that only a few people have. It opens everything in the Settlement."
         "Sort of like a master key," the other man said. "There are only a couple people who have one, and we know where all of them are."
         "None of them were here, that's for sure," Mr. Galvin added.
         "That's too weird," Mariah said, hoping to be talked out of her comment. But Mr. Galvin only nodded.

*
**

         A few minutes later, Mariah rushed into the apartment to find Mason and Tregon in the living room, looking despondent.
         Mariah panted in excitement. "I saw it! I saw the poltergeist! In…the…greenhouse! Pale. Googly eyes. Mouth…dripping with blood!"
         Tregon looked skeptical. "Blood?"
         Mariah looked down at her shoes. "Well, it looked like blood." But she knew what she had seen. She met their gaze. "I saw a face in the bushes. In the dark. And another strawberry is gone." Mariah stopped to catch her breath.
         Mason said, "Well, you have to admit, the strawberries are some proof."
         "And,” Mariah continued, “Mr. Galvin said someone used a security password to escape the greenhouse."
         "Escape? Is that what he said? Escape?"
         "Not exactly. But if the security people say something's up, something must be. Right?"
         "Maybe," Tregon said. "I guess we’ll find out later. I’ve got to go home for dinner." He stood up, looking completely deflated, and slunk out the door.
         Mason looked at Mariah. "He's depressed about the talent show."
         "I'm almost killed by a ghost and you guys are worried about a concert! I've got to tell Mom and Dad."
         "Kids," Mom's voice came from down the hall. "Wash up. We've got dinner guests."
         "Great," Mason mumbled. "Dad will expect me sit and talk to them, and I need to think."
         Mariah's heartbeat had dropped to nearly normal by the time she and Mason got to the table. "Mom, something happened in the gr—"
         "Honey, you'll have to tell me later. Company's almost here and I need you kids to help."
         "Who's coming?" Mason asked. “Dad told me earlier there weren’t any new visitors.”
         "He didn’t know about them until an hour ago."
         "Hey kids," Dad called as he entered the room. "Company! I want you all to meet Dr. Kitashima and Dr. Preminger."
         Dr. Kitashima stepped into the room. She was a short, Asian woman with jet black hair and a kind face. She reminded Mariah a little of Lian’s mother. Mason and Mariah stood up to shake hands.
         "Dr. Kitashima is an expert on raising tilapia fish," Dad said.
         "Yes," she said, "and a long-time friend of Dr. Preminger's."
         As Mason shook her hand, Mariah let out a pinched squeak.
         For a moment, her Dad looked embarrassed, but he continued on as if nothing had happened. "And this is Dr. Preminger. He's a nuclear engineer. He's from the international Nuclear Regulatory Administration. He wants to compare notes with us on how we operate our nukes."
         "Reactors," Mason said reflexively.
         "Yes," Dr. Preminger said. "Very good, young man."
         Mariah's face was as white as Dr. Preminger's. She stood stiff as a fossil, staring at the dinner guest. Under his head of white hair, his face was a pasty white, and his eyes peered from thick glasses.
         "Anything wrong, honey?" Dad asked.
         Dr. Preminger interrupted. "I'm afraid I owe your daughter an apology. You see, I'm up to something else, too, and it was supposed to be a bit of a secret."
         Mariah leaned forward. "Secret?"
         "Do you kids know what a fire drill is?"
         "Sure," Mason said. "We have them sometimes to make sure we're ready to put out a real fire. It's practice in case one ever happens."
         "And they do at times," Dad added.
         Dr. Preminger folded his hands together. "Exactly. Fire drills help you prepare if anything goes wrong. I'm here for a different kind of drill. Can you guess?"
         Mason slapped his hand on the table. "A nuclear power drill?"
         Dr. Preminger smiled. "Yes, yes. Just like a fire drill. I'm here to help your power engineers practice, and to make sure they are ready for anything that might go wrong. It was all a big secret until this young lady came along." Preminger laughed, pointing at Mariah.
         “You’re the ghost from the greenhouse!” Mariah blurted.
         Dr. Preminger laughed.
         “And the shadow I saw on the tour today?” Mason asked.
         Dr. Preminger nodded. “Guilty, as charged.”
         "But what were you doing in a greenhouse?" Mariah asked.
         Dr. Preminger looked sheepish. "Well, that. See, when I'm missing Earth, I go for walks—not so easy to do outside here. That's one thing that gets me into trouble. And when I saw the strawberries on my greenhouse tour, they reminded me of home more than anything else. Their smell. Their taste."
         "You've been eating the strawberries?" Mom barked.
         Dad held up his hand. "Dr. Preminger has already been scolded."
         The engineer looked down at his plate. "I did not know those beauties were a carefully controlled experiment. And by such a lovely experimenter." He nodded at Mariah. "Please accept my apologies."
         Before Mariah could speak, Mason said, "So it was your footprints leading away from the north hatch. You didn't come back in?"
         Preminger smiled. "Not that way. It was a good excuse for a walk. I went around past the power plant. I often watch the sunset from there, as I've been spending so much time at the reactors themselves. From there, it's an easy walk to the maintenance hatch in the far wall."
         "What about the suit in the airlock? P. Geist?"
         "I wrote my own name tag,” Dr. Preminger said. “They didn't make me an official one since my visit here was a secret. 'P.' is for 'Preminger', and then I wrote 'Guest', not 'Geist'. I'm afraid I don't write well in an environment suit," Preminger said. "The gloves, you know?"
         Mason laughed. “My friend Tregon thought P. Geist stood for poltergeist! We thought you were a ghost!”
         Mariah remained unconvinced. "Yeah, well, if he’s not the ghost, then what made that weird music I heard in the greenhouse. Something…not human."
         Dr. Kitashima spoke up. "Otto, have you been playing again?"
         "Yes, yes," he nodded. "As I said, I miss home, and I used to play the flute. There wasn't room in my weight allotment for a musical instrument, so I made one here. Want to see? I can play a dinnertime sonata."
         Dr. Preminger pulled a small piece of metal tubing from his jacket. He had drilled holes in it. One end was capped by a valve similar to one Mason had seen on the reactor tubing. "I'm still not completely accomplished at this new instrument, so please bear with me."
         For the next ten minutes, Dr. Preminger serenaded his hosts with popular songs, classic pieces, and even a song he made up. "I call this one Walking Through Mariah's Strawberry Patch."
         Everyone clapped. After a scrumptious dessert, Mariah said, "In a few weeks we should be able to have strawberry shortcake. I hope you can come back."
         Dr. Preminger said, "I would love to. I only wish I could make up for those missing strawberries somehow."
         Mason held his finger up, as if testing the wind. "I think I have an idea for that. Dr. Preminger, have you ever played in a band?"

THE END