Shanghaied to the Moon by Michael J. Daley

That’s why the landing sequence sounded familiar. I’m retracing the flight path taken by the Eagle on the first Moon landing!
    Did he pick this simulation at random, or is that where he’s sending me?
    â€œFive thousand!”
    I’m supposed to do something.
    â€œPitchover!”
    Oh, right. I have to rotate the squid and brake for landing.
    â€œDo it!” A small firecracker goes off next to my ear. The squid jiggles. He’s pounding on the hull! He does it again.
    I flinch and jab a thruster by accident. The nose flips. Stars craters stars craters blink on the monitor as the squid cartwheels out of control. Red lights dance around the window.
    â€œWhat the … stabilize!”
    I try, but the rapid black-white flicker of the monitor makes me dizzy.
    â€œCut main thrust!” His urgent voice drills into me.
    I do. The cartwheeling stops, but not the spin. I fire a thruster to counteract it. Wrong one. The squid rotates faster. The display strobes into a frenzy of shattered light.
    â€œThe other one!” He whaps the hull. “The other one!”
    He’s so worked up; this is real for him. I lay on the right thruster until the spin stops.
    â€œNozzle forward! Hurry!”
    My mistakes have flung me at the surface! The squid is down to a thousand feet before I get the nozzle aimed right.
    â€œFull throttle!”
    Ram it to one hundred percent. A warning buzzer: low fuel.
    I’ve been here before—out of luck. My hands automatically drop and drift away from the controls in defeat.
    â€œLateral! More lateral!”
    He’s still trying to save this landing. Before I can figure out what he means, I’m the newest crater on the Moon.
    A fierce grip closes on my ankle. He yanks me out. It feels like being sucked down a drain. My chin thumps the instrument board, ribs rake over the opening. He lets go. Helpless, I tumble, then crash against the wall. Flailing on the rebound, I snatch a landing strut and hold tight.
    â€œWhy didn’t you lateral? You could’ve made it!” He glares across the engine nozzle. The veins in his neck bulge hugely. His forehead glistens with sweat. Crazy as Mark’s basketball coach. Even during practice, he acts like the world has ended if you miss a foul shot.
    I rub my ribs. “That hurt !”
    â€œNot as much as hitting the Moon will hurt!”
    â€œIt’s your fault I messed up.”
    â€œHow do you figure that?”
    â€œI lost my concentration when I recognized Tranquility Base. That wouldn’t have happened if you just told me! Everything’s a secret with you.”
    â€œYou’re a sharp one, kid, I’ll hand you that.”
    â€œSo that is where you’re sending me. Why?”
    â€œWhy won’t matter if you can’t land.”
    â€œI’ll do better next time.”
    â€œThere isn’t a next time!” He lunges for me. I dodge, but he pivots over the landing struts and catches my wrist. He slaps my hand against the cold metal skin.
    â€œFeel her, kid.” I try to pull my hand away. He holds it there, a commanding look in his eye. “She’ll take you to the Moon and back if you become a part of her. Otherwise, she’ll kill you.”
    As if I wasn’t already in enough danger! My gaze follows down his forearm, where gray hairs stand upright from tensed muscles. The ship’s thin skin dimples under my hand. A crash landing would shred it. The shrapnel would rip open the space suit of anyone inside.
    Decompression. Lungs ripped inside out. Blood boiling.
    My gaze slides, fixes on a thruster. I close my eyes, feel my way back into what was happening, spin out a series of maneuvering options …
    â€œI guess I should’ve skimmed with a little lateral thrust.”
    â€œThat’s the idea.” He lets go. “Get in. Try again.”
    I flex my right hand. Little zaps from stressed nerves shoot across the scarred palm.