Here is Your Eighth Literary Gift. I am still author Andy Zach. You are who you’ve always been. Welcome to your second week of gifts. We’ll start off with my newest book, Secret Supers in Space. You can get the paperback now or pre-order the ebook. If you want a free book to review, click here.
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My past gifts to you are here:
- 25 Days to Christmas – 25 Literary Gifts for You
- Your Second Literary Gift! – 24 Gifts to Christmas.
- Your Third Literary Gift! – 22 Gifts Until Christmas
- Your Fourth Literary Gift! – 21 Gifts Until Christmas
- Your Fifth Literary Gift! – 20 Gifts Until Christmas
- Your Sixth Literary Gift! – 19 Gifts Until Christmas
- Your Seventh Literary Gift! – 18 Gifts Until Christmas
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Secret Supers in Space is my second sci-fi series’ third novel. You’ll meet the Secret Supers, four disabled seventh-graders with superpowers as they attend Space Camp. Sadly, they get Shanghaied to outer space. Here’s the chapter when they realize their predicament.
Chapter 9 – Space from Secret Supers in Space
“Hello, Elon.”
Elon Musk’s face appeared on Papa Smith’s cell phone. Papa’s face was covered by a Guy Fawkes mask.
“How’d you get my phone number?”
“I picked it up on the internet.”
“I’ve got to change my number. Bye.”
“Wait! I’ve got important information on your SpaceX launch to the ISS.”
“Oh? What?”
“We’ve kidnapped the crew.”
“That can’t be.”
“Here they are.” I patched in the video of the ISS crew in the lower salon of the submarine.
“But we’ve gotten signals from the Dragon capsule.”
“Yes. We’ve synthesized their voices. And we have four more captives in the capsule—four seventh-grade kids from Space Camp.”
I cut to the live feed from the capsule. The kids were just waking up and removing their helmets.
Your Eighth Literary Gift Continues in Space
“No!”
“But yes. Now, I assume you want the kids and astronauts back safely.”
“Of course, but—“
“So deliver eight billion in Bitcoin to this account.” Papa’s Bitcoin account appeared on Elon’s screen. I sent a text to Elon’s phone with the same number.
“I’ve got Dogecoin.”
“You can buy Bitcoin.”
“Yeah. I’ve gotta think about this.”
“Don’t think too long. The deal expires in a day.”
“Then what?”
“Either I’ll double the price—or send the kids down. Uncontrolled.”
“They’ll die!”
“Right. You’ve got twenty-four hours from now, five p.m. Eastern time.” Papa hung up.
He took off his mask and grinned at me.
“Boy, I love hanging up on Elon! Thanks for your help.”
I grinned back. “I love having the Secret Supers right where we want them. And their powers won’t help them in space.”
“You ready to contact them with our deal?”
“More than ready.”
The Secret Supers in Space
Dancer woke up. Where was he? He felt terrible. His head hurt, and his whole body ached. Blurrily he recognized the familiar inside of Jeremy’s backpack. It was pretty dim inside. He peaked out the window. Just a few lights shone in the room. He seemed to be on the floor or wall. It was silent. He was floating. He was in zero-g.
Somehow he’d gotten into outer space, probably on the ISS rocket. Wait! He remembered. How could he have forgotten? He never forgot anything. His last memory was of the villain from Coaster World, Becky Robinson, who had grabbed him and injected him with something.
His headache must be from the drug, but why did his body ache? One whole side was sore. Oh. If he went up in the rocket, he had been subjected to four gravities of acceleration. That was enough to bruise him.
Now what? He crawled to the top of the backpack and wriggled out. Then he drifted helplessly. Oops. He should have pushed off harder. Scanning the capsule, he saw he was drifting toward a seat base, but if he snagged the seat covering, he could climb up to check on whoever was in it.
What’s a Hamster to Do?
His nose would hit first. He’d bounce off and away from the seat. He twisted his body around so his lower feet hit first. The landing was slow and gentle. He crouched without pushing until all his feet were against the metal base. Now.
His feet scrambled toward the seat cushion. He moved outward but also up. He was going to miss it. One last twist and somersault and the nails of his right paw caught the seat cover. He gripped as hard as he could pulling his whole body toward the seat. His paw tore through the synthetic material.
He wrenched his body around. His left paw grabbed the seat, then the right, then all four. Whew. He finally felt secure. Zero-G was no joke.
Step by step he made his way up the cushion to the sleeping astronaut. On the chest he could feel the slow breathing through the suit. He crawled to the transparent faceplate. Dan. How could he wake him?
The cabin air seemed fine to him. He tried opening Dan’s face mask. There’s a switch. Pop! Now, could he get some extra oxygen?
The control screens were about six feet away, but that didn’t matter in weightlessness. He launched himself toward the controls. His nails couldn’t activate the touch control screen, but the palm of his paw worked. He cranked up the ventilation and the oxygen. Good thing he’d studied the SpaceX Dragon manual. Now to open everyone else’s face mask.
Dancer the Hamster to the Rescue
Down he floated to the next Secret Super. Jeremy. He felt the breeze from the increased ventilation on his fur. He popped open Jeremy’s helmet.
Next was Kayla and then Aubrey. Phew! The Supers weren’t kidding about zero-g excursions being tiring. His whole body was tense from twisting and maneuvering. He crawled back to Jeremy and awaited their awakening. He pulled his phone from his uniform and began texting. It was tricky. He had to hold with his back paws on Jeremy’s suit while he typed.
“O-o-o-h,” groaned Kayla.
“Mmmph?” snorted Jeremy.
Is . . . that . . . you . . . Jeremy?
“Ungh, why’d you wake me up? Oh, here’s Dancer. He’s pushing his phone at me. Let’s see what he says.”
Suddenly awake, Jeremy sat bolt upright. Or would have, if his seat harness had permitted it. “We’re in the Dragon capsule, in outer space!”
Right. Just look straight ahead. There’s the control panel and our trajectory toward the ISS.
“Oh. I was too sleepy. Ooo, what a headache! Dancer says we were all drugged by Becky Robinson.”
I knew we were in trouble when I heard she’d escaped prison.
“Is that you, Kayla?” Aubrey murmured sleepily.
Yes, Aubrey. We’ve been kidnapped again by the villainess from Coasterworld. Only now, we’re in the Dragon capsule in outer space.
What Happens Next?
“Where am I?” Dan cried. “It’s dark in here, even using everyone’s eyes.”
“We’re on our way to the ISS in the Dragon spacecraft. We’ve been kidnapped, Dan.”
“So we’re really in space? Let me float.” Dan unclipped himself from his seat and floated upward.
“Good idea!” Aubrey copied him. The two bounced around the capsule like a pair of untethered piñatas.
“Let’s take a closer look at that control panel, Kayla. We’re in the pilot and copilot seats. Pull this lever and we move toward the panel.”
Sounds good. I guess I’m the pilot. I remember my training at Space Camp. But I don’t think I need to do anything. It’s all automated.
“Right. Let’s see if mission control is listening. Mission Control? This is Dragon, Jeremy Gentle here.”
Your Eighth Literary Gift – Your Mission Control
“Hello, Jeremy Gentle. This is your mission control,” said a female voice.
“Four of us were kidnapped and put in here. Wait, what do you mean, ‘my mission control?’”
“I’m dedicated to managing your fight. You’re non-standard astronauts, and I’ll put you on a non-standard flight. Prepare for orbital adjustment burn.”
“What? We’re on track. We don’t need any adjust—” The adjustment rockets burned. The Dragon left the track to the ISS, and warning lights appeared.
“What’s going on?” Aubrey peered over my shoulder at the screen. “We’re going off track.”
“You’re off the track for the ISS, which is right where I want you.”
“Who are you?” Dan tilted his head to the side, to listen better.
Dear Old Becky
“Don’t you recognize my voice?” The woman’s voice suddenly sounded elderly. “I’m dear old Becky Robinson. You meddled with my plans at Coaster World. Now I’ve meddled with your plans—for good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, dear Jeremy, you’ll become my criminal minions—Super Villains—or you’ll die. Hahaha!” she cackled.
Wait, what? Ask her about her plans. Dan, see if you can scan around Cape Canaveral and find her.
“How will you do that? We’re up here and you’re down there, wherever.”
“You’ll agree to be my servants forever, Aubrey. Or I’ll crash you down to the Earth as a fiery meteor.”
“That doesn’t seem to be negotiable.”
“Right! That’s the idea, Jeremy.”
Good! Keep her talking. Give Dan a chance to find them. Kayla thoughtcasted.
“This is hard.” Dan frowned. Both hands were on his head as he concentrated.
I passed Kayla Dancer’s cell phone. She read, “can you contact real mission control q.” Dancer couldn’t type the punctuation mark with his paws.
Where are we? Scanning the control screen, she saw their path over the Earth. They were in an orbit five-hundred-miles high, a hundred miles below the ISS. They were passing over Cuba.
So if Cuba is there, then Cape Canaveral is there. She pointed with her arm at the approximate angle. She turned the view screen toward the Earth. There were the Everglades, Miami, and up the coast, Cape Canaveral.
Resistance Is Futile
Here goes. MISSION CONTROL! THIS IS THE DRAGON CAPSULE. THE SECRET SUPERS ARE ABOARD INSTEAD OF YOUR ASTRONAUTS. WE HAVE LOST CONTROL OF THE SPACECRAFT TO OUR KIDNAPPERS. SEE IF YOU CAN RETAKE CONTROL.
“Wow, Kayla, that was loud!” Aubrey said.
I was trying to get help. I’ve never transmitted five hundred miles before. And keep it quiet. We don’t want Becky to know.
“Was that you, Kayla, my little secret super? I heard your message even here,” Becky said.
Oops.
“Don’t expect NASA or SpaceX to help you. We have complete control of your spacecraft and communications.
“Even here? Where are you, Becky?”
“Ha-ha-ha. Wouldn’t you like to know, Dan, so you can read my mind? You’ll never find me. The world’s too big to scan it all.”
“I know. How about a hint?”
“You’re a funny man. But enough joking around. You’ve got twenty-four hours to surrender your lives to me forever. By the way, we’ve got your parents and the NSA agents who were protecting you. Any lying or betrayal and they all die. Mwah-ha-ha! Your mission control is out.”
Your Eighth Literary Gift Concludes
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