May’s Moon; an extract

CHAPTER ONE

Click. Michael May fastened the last strap on his space suit and lifted on his helmet.

‘Primary life support system secure?’ shouted the bald-headed man in front of him.

‘Check!’

‘Helmet secure?’

‘Check!’

‘Suit sealer secure?’

‘Check!’

Michael looked around the hangar. Forget Tom Hill’s dream of driving a Bugatti Veyron. Forget Darren Fletcher fantasizing about playing left wing for Chelsea. This had to beat the whole lot: for the first time in his life, Michael wished that eve...