The Mirror on the Moon That Still Answers
The Mirror on the Moon That Still Answers — a science story. 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder Science.
Page 1
The mistral came off the sea like a slap, slamming into the lavender terraces and tearing the canvas awning clean off Odile's garden workbench. It billowed up into a wild orange kite, snapping over the rows with a crack like a whip. "Grab it before it reaches the terrace edge!" Odile shouted, already hauling herself up with her cane. Nour sprinted barefoot between the lavender rows, beads clicking, diving to pin a flapping corner with both hands. Tomás pounded after the other end, long legs scattering gravel, dropping to his knees to jam a stone onto the fabric. Pamplemousse barked and bounded low through the stalks, flattening a third corner with his whole round body. But the awning's metal pole, ripped free, toppled sideways off the bench and struck the glass calibration cube sitting there, and it split clean across with a sharp, final crack that silenced everyone at once.
Page 2
The shutter groaned like something woken too early. Ingrid threw her whole weight onto the hand-crank, boots braced wide on the steel floor, and Tomás grabbed the handle beside her, hauling down with both long arms until the jammed gears shrieked and the shutter inched open a sliver of cold stars. Meanwhile Nour upended the spares box, digging elbow-deep, and sent bolts and lenses skating and spinning across the steel floor in every direction. Odile stamped her cane down to stop one rolling lens before it vanished under the telescope mount, then bent and scooped up a scattering of washers before they rolled further. Pamplemousse trotted low among the rolling bolts, sniffing, until his nose caught on a crate label half-buried under washers. He barked once, sharp and proud, pawing at it. Nour scrambled over on her knees and held it up to her brass lens, squinting hard at the faded ink. Tomás let go of the crank for a moment to peer over her shoulder, and the shutter slipped back an inch before Ingrid caught it with her shoulder and shoved it open again. Nour's face fell as she read the label aloud.
Page 3
The trolley's wheel caught dead in the gap between platform and stone, and no amount of shoving budged it. The whistle shrieked once, sharp and final. 'No time!' Odile barked, thumping her cane on the ground. Tomás grabbed one padded end of the crate, waist-high and as long as his whole arm span, while Ingrid seized the other, and together they heaved it off the jammed trolley, staggering under its awkward weight. 'Lift on three — one, two, up!' Ingrid shouted, and they swung the crate high, shoving it through the narrow sleeper door just as the carriage gave a lurch. Nour scrambled up after it, hauling herself through the doorway by the handrail, her puffs bouncing. Odile followed, cane first, levered up by Tomás's steadying hand under her elbow. Last of all came Pamplemousse, launching himself in a low scrabbling leap across the gap, his harness mirrors throwing bright sparks under the station lamps as the train began to roll beneath the lit clock and the dark shapes of the palms.
Page 4
The train lurched into a bend and the crate, waist-high and heavy as a sack of flour, slid clean across the compartment floor. Tomás threw out a long arm to stop it and got dragged a step instead, boots skidding on the carpet. "It's getting away!" he shouted. Ingrid dropped to her knees and jammed her boot under the crate's base while Nour scrambled over a folded bunk to loop rope around the brass handle. Odile hauled the other end tight and knotted it to the luggage rail bolted above the window. Pamplemousse barked and braced his short legs against the crate as if his weight might help. The train swayed again and the crate held, groaning against the rope. Then Nour's mug of hot chocolate, balanced on the fold-down table, tipped sideways and flooded across her distance chart, the numbers blurring into brown. She gasped and grabbed the soggy paper up by its corner. Odile unwound the cloth tied to the end of her long silver plait and pressed it flat over the chart, blotting the liquid away in careful dabs until the numbers reappeared, smudged but readable.
Page 5
The library ladder soared up the gallery wall, taller than three Ingrids stacked together, its rollers screeching along the rail as Tomás scrambled up rung by rung. 'Careful,' called Odile, steadying the ladder's base with both hands and her crescent cane hooked through the bottom rung. High above, Tomás wedged his knobbly knees against the top shelf and hauled the dusty 1969 crate free, looping the rope through the pulley bolted overhead. 'Lowering now!' he shouted, letting the rope slide through his palms. Below, Ingrid planted her boots wide, arms up, catching the crate's weight as it dropped the last stretch into her chest. Nour hopped from foot to foot, lens pressed to her eye, while Pamplemousse spun circles beneath the dangling crate. When Ingrid set it down and popped the stiff lid, the corner cube inside caught the gallery lights and threw rainbows leaping across the hanging aeroplanes and the long white Concorde nose, making everyone gasp and shield their eyes at once.
Page 6
The spiral stair twisted up forever, narrow as a chimney, and Tomás went first with the padded cube hugged to his chest, boots ringing on the iron steps while Ingrid climbed behind with a hand braced under his elbow to steady any wobble. Nour scrambled up last, clutching the weather printout flapping against her coat. On the lead rooftop walkway, waist-high railings ran along the parapet, the Eiffel Tower glittering gold across the rooftops. Odile set the cube into its mount and swung a torch beam across it, grinning as it threw a sharp bright dot onto the far wall. "Clean as a whistle," she said. But even as Ingrid cheered, a grey wall of cloud came rolling in low and fast, swallowing the tower whole. The printout tore loose from the ledge, cartwheeling toward the edge — until Pamplemousse flattened himself flat across it, both front paws pinning the paper down. Nour dropped to her knees and smoothed it flat under his nose. "Everywhere's clouded," she said, tracing the map, "except here — the Pyrenees are clear."
Page 7
Without warning a sprinkler head burst up from the grass beside the Ariane 5 and sprayed a wide silver fan straight across the rocket park. Nour shrieked and ducked, but Tomás just laughed and kept hauling, his long arms heaving the padded crate up onto the roof-rack of the battered mountain van, a van barely taller than Ingrid herself. Ingrid braced underneath, shoulder jammed against the crate's base, pushing with both legs until it thumped flat on top. Water streamed down everyone's collars as Nour and Tomás scrambled up to cross ropes over the crate, pulling each knot tight with both hands. Meanwhile a bag of market oranges someone had dropped burst open, and the fruit rolled bright and fast between the Ariane 5's tail fins, each fin taller than a grown-up. Pamplemousse tore after them, nose down, nudging orange after orange back with his flat round head while Odile called encouragement from under the spray, holding her cane up like a conductor's baton.
Page 8
The cable car door was barely taller than Ingrid's shoulders, and the crate, waist-high and stubborn, refused to fit flat. "Tip it on its corner!" Odile called, bracing her cane against the cabin floor. Tomás and Nour grabbed opposite edges and heaved, leaning the whole crate up onto one point like a giant sugar cube balanced on its tip. Ingrid shoved both arms out, holding the folding door wide against the wind, muscles straining as the crate scraped through with a groan of wood. They'd barely wrestled it inside when the cabin lurched hard over pylon two, the whole cage bouncing on its wire. The crate's padded lid popped open and the glass cube slid loose, tumbling through the air — Tomás lunged, dropping to one knee, and caught it flat against his chest with both arms wrapped tight. Pamplemousse barked once, skidding across the floor to brace against the crate so it wouldn't tip again. Everyone froze, breathing hard, snowfields swinging past the windows below.
Page 9
Ice furred every girder of the dome, thick as fur on a cold bottle, and their breath puffed white as they worked. Tomás grabbed a broom taller than himself and hammered at the frozen shutter rail, chunks of ice cracking loose and skittering across the steel floor. Nour scrambled along beside him, sweeping the smaller crust away with quick, hard strokes, beads clicking in the cold. "It's stuck solid!" she shouted, breath fogging her lens. Ingrid braced her shoulder against the dome's curved wall, waving the others over. "All together, now — push!" They lined up, boots slipping, and shoved with everything they had, Pamplemousse barking and bracing his stubby legs against the floor as if he too were pushing. The whole dome groaned, shuddered, then rolled on its track in a shower of falling snow, flakes swirling under the lights. While they caught their breath, Odile knelt at the laser bench, fingers steady despite the cold, fitting the rescued glass cube into its mount and bolting it down tight with a satisfied click.
Page 10
Ingrid plants her boots wide on the railing-side of the terrace, waist-high console humming under her hands, and slams the fire button with the flat of her palm. A thread of green light leaps up off the laser bench, taller than the dome behind it, and shoots straight into the black sky toward the Moon hanging bright above the sea of cloud. Everyone freezes, counting. One. Two. The counter clicks — tiny, bright, triumphant — and Odile thumps her cane once on the stone in delight. Nour scrambles to the big slate board nearly as tall as she is, grabs the chalk stub from her raincoat pocket, and scrawls the numbers fast, pressing hard enough to squeak. Tomás swoops down, scoops Pamplemousse up under his arms and hoists him onto the broad railing so the dog's nose points at the green thread climbing into the dark, his stubby tail going wild against Tomás's teal sleeve.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
- Format: 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder Science
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