Asher elbows me in the ribs, a grin lighting his face. He’s sure to snag the copilot seat, and I know he must be thinking I’m a lock for underwater specialist. And I should be—it’s the job I was born to do. But as Beckett flashes the general a confident smile, I feel a pang of worry.
“Most of the journey will be flown in cruise control, thanks to the new algorithm technology implemented in our flight computers and avionics,” General Sokolov continues. “However, three key stages in the spaceflight must be executed manually, due to their complexity and the higher degree of risk involved. That would be the escape trajectory from Earth, the rendezvous with the Mars supply ship, and the landing on Europa. While Cyb and the copilot keep us on course, we’ll need two members of the Final Six to complete an Extravehicular Activity, or EVA—otherwise known as a spacewalk—and oversee the docking of the Pontus to the Mars supply ship. If anything goes wrong there . . .”
“We die?” Naomi guesses.
“You die,” the general confirms. “But the remaining four will still be expected to fulfill the mission.”
I hear Katerina gulp beside me, and I can feel the ripple of tension running through the six of us, but the general is already moving on, opening a round hatch at the back of the capsule and crouching onto her hands and knees.
“Follow me.”
We crawl through the tunnel behind her, making our way from one equipment-filled module to the next, as she points out the functional cargo block that provides our power and propulsion, the utility hub that stores our payload racks and emergency supplies, and the crew quarters, where we’ll spend most of our time onboard—complete with private sleep stations, a galley kitchen, gym, a communications bay with a pair of large-screen desktop computers, and two bathrooms with “space toilets.” My pulse quickens as I take in our surroundings.
I can picture myself here so clearly. I can see the shadow of my future self sitting in the communications bay chair; I can feel the pride and elation of delivering progress reports to Houston and the watching world. I know the choice isn’t up to me, but in my mind, I’m already there.
“There’s something about the geometric design in here.” Naomi speaks up, turning around slowly. “The whole spacecraft reminds me of someone, actually—of Dr. Greta Wagner’s work.”
General Sokolov pauses, looking at Naomi in surprise. “That’s an astute observation. The Pontus was, in fact, a collaboration between SpaceInc and Dr. Wagner.”
Naomi’s face lights up, and she breaks into the first real smile I’ve seen from her yet.
“So Dr. Wagner’s involved in the mission? Is she coming here? Do we get to work with her during our training?”
The general purses her lips. “I’m afraid not. While we are grateful for her contributions to the Pontus, we chose to end our contract with Dr. Wagner.”
“What?” Naomi stares at her. “Why?”
“She had some differences with the rest of the team,” Sokolov says cryptically. Before any of us can ask what that means, the general turns on her heel, moving toward a tube-like tunnel at the back of the crew quarters. “Now, through the passage straight ahead, we’ll reach one of the most critical structures in the entire spacecraft: the airlock.” She pulls a lever, and the passage door shudders open. “You all go in first. I’m right behind you.”
Beckett climbs inside, followed by Katerina and me, all of us forced to shimmy forward on our stomachs through the tight confines. I hear the sound of a steel plate shifting into place as the general closes the hatch, and then her voice echoes through the tunnel.
“The airlock is the last thing you’ll see before exiting into open space, and your first stop upon returning to the ship from your EVA. As you move between the Pontus’s controlled, breathable environment and the toxic realm outside, the airlock’s pressure prevents the outside poisonous gases from entering our spacecraft. And as soon as you hang up your suit, the airlock mechanism automatically filters out those same gases.” She pauses. “I’m sure now it’s clear why a simple failure to immediately secure the door would get you killed.”
“Yes,” the six of us respond in unison.
We reach a heavy round hatch with six interconnected latches covering its surface. General Sokolov crawls past us and demonstrates how to work the rods to unfasten each latch, until the airlock door swings open and we tumble inside.
“Don’t worry. This will be a lot more graceful when you’re floating in zero g,” the general says as Katerina and Naomi smack into each other and Beckett hits the floor with a thud. The general looks up sharply as the last of our team, Suki, topples inside. Sokolov’s eyes flit between the open hatch door and my teammate.
“Didn’t you hear what I said about closing the hatch, Suki?”
Suki’s face drains of color. “Y-yes. I did.”
“And yet you were the last one into the airlock and failed to follow my express command.” The general’s voice is ice cold. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach as I watch her stare Suki down.
“But I—it’s only because I thought you were going to—”
The general grabs Suki by the shoulders and pushes her toward the hatch. “Go back in the tunnel.”
Suki eyes the general nervously but does as she’s told, crawling through the hatch. Once in the tunnel, she presses her hands against the open door, her mouth forming a question—just as the general slams the door shut from the inside, barely missing Suki’s fingers. The airlock chamber turns dead silent.
“What’s going on?” Suki’s muffled voice calls from outside the steel-plated door. “How do I get out of here?”
“You don’t,” the general says. “Not until your next training period in thirty minutes.”
“What?” Suki’s voice rises in panic. “But there’s hardly any air in here. I won’t be able to breathe!”
“Imagine that feeling magnified to the hundredth power,” General Sokolov says coolly. “That is what will happen if you or any of your teammates use the airlock improperly in the vacuum of space.” She turns to face the rest of us. “You’re all receiving a crucial lesson, one that will save your lives if it sticks with you.”
And then, proceeding as if Suki weren’t trapped in a confined space behind the hatch door, the general moves deeper into the chamber, motioning for us to follow. But I can’t concentrate, my mind back in the tunnel with my teammate. I can tell Naomi feels the same way, and as General Sokolov shows us the equipment lock where we’ll purify our space suits, I catch her sidling away from the group, edging her way toward the hatch door. What is she about to do?
Instinctively, I take a few steps closer to her, while staying within the general’s line of sight. Naomi presses her face to the hatch and begins to speak.
“Can you hear me, Suki? It’s Naomi. We need to keep you relaxed, and your pulse even. As long as you don’t panic and deplete your oxygen levels, you have enough air in there to survive for more than double the time. Close your eyes—let’s see if we can trick your consciousness into falling asleep . . .”
Something tugs at my chest as I watch her, risking a punishment of her own to help a girl she only just met. I glance behind me at General Sokolov, in the middle of demonstrating the space suit purification mechanism, and I catch her gaze flickering in Naomi’s direction too. But the general doesn’t react. She simply watches Naomi out of the corner of her eye while continuing with the lecture, an unreadable expression on her face.
Lark is waiting on the Mission Floor when we emerge from the space capsule, and she zips us from the Pontus mock-up to our second training session on Level 4. I can smell the chlorine even before the elevator doors open, and my muscles clench on cue. Time to compete.
“For years, this floor was home to the Neutral Buoyancy Lab,” Lark says, taking us through a long white hallway. “NASA engineers built an underwater mock-up of the International Space Station, and astronauts-in-training, like myself, would wear neutral-buoyancy suits to simulate the microgravity of space
while we practiced for our EVAs. But when the Europa Mission was approved, Dr. Takumi had this place redesigned and repurposed for something else: preparing the Final Six for the underwater operations necessary to terraform Europa for human settlement.”
She pushes open a set of double doors, and my mouth falls open. From the colossal pool and elevated diving boards to the dozens of countries’ flags dotting the walls, it’s like we’re inside one of my old Olympic dreams. But when we step closer, I spot the differences. I’ve never seen a swimming pool this deep—it appears almost fathomless—and sitting about fifty or sixty feet underwater is a massive block of ice. The ice is covered in crisscrossing red ridges . . . just like the surface of Europa.
A man in a diving wet suit crosses the floor toward us, and Lark gives him a salute before taking a seat in the stands.
“Welcome, finalists. I’m Lieutenant Barnes, United States Navy SEAL and PADI master scuba diver.”
This is my moment. I straighten my shoulders, my adrenaline kicking into gear as he speaks.
“As you know, the Final Six’s first and most crucial task upon landing entails drilling through Europa’s ice crust to reach the ocean and rocky surface beneath—the most Earth-like segment of Jupiter’s moon, where we will build our human colony,” he says. “We need one exceptional leader and athlete to serve as underwater specialist and spearhead this effort, but the other five must become scuba-certified divers as well.”
It has to be me. What are the chances that anyone else here can come close to executing the kind of deep dives I performed as a scavenger in Rome? I was tailor-made for this, my body built for it.
“On that note, today we’ll begin with a diving tutorial,” Lieutenant Barnes continues. “You all have bathing suits on under your uniforms, correct?”
We nod, as Lark’s instructions from last night suddenly make sense.
“Good. Once I hand out your diving equipment and wetsuits, change out of your uniforms and meet me at the edge of the pool.”
I’m about to tell him that I actually don’t need any equipment when it occurs to me that I might want to keep that particular trick under wraps until the right moment. I stay quiet as Lieutenant Barnes passes out backpacks filled with scuba tanks and rebreather sets, diving helmets and masks. And then out of nowhere comes a whirring sound, followed by a series of beeps punctuating the air. We all turn in the direction of the sound—and find the lead robot, Cyb, advancing through the double doors toward us. The sight makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“It must be here to evaluate us,” Katerina says, watching Lieutenant Barnes jog over to the AI. And as the six of us exchange glances, I can feel an instant shift in the mood, an undercurrent of competition crackling between us now that Cyb is here. I already knew I had to be at the top of my game today, but this is starting to feel as high stakes as the Olympic moment I once visualized.
I’m so preoccupied staring at Cyb, straining to hear what it’s saying to Lieutenant Barnes, that I fail to notice my competitor moving past me and tossing his uniform on the floor. It isn’t until I hear Asher murmur “What is he doing?” that I glance up—and see Beckett climbing up to the three-meter diving board.
“Oh, boy.” Naomi cringes.
I hold my breath, watching as Beckett stretches his body in a pencil-straight shape, assuming a dive pose. His form looks good so far. . . . And then he leans his head forward and lifts his legs, leaping off the springboard in a swan dive.
His entry is flawless. My heart sinks at the realization that my edge is no longer mine alone.
“You don’t need to teach me that one, Lieutenant,” Beckett boasts from the water. And though he’s speaking to Barnes, his eyes are locked on Cyb, making sure the robot saw.
Lieutenant Barnes arches an eyebrow.
“Noted. Does anyone else consider themselves exempt from this lesson, or should I continue?”
The thumping in my chest tells me what I have to do. I may not be a pompous jerk like Beckett, but right now, I need to take a page out of his playbook. I have something to prove.
I strip off my uniform and walk right past the three-meter diving board Beckett chose—climbing up to the ten-meter instead. I hear someone say “Oh, God.” And it’s the last thing I hear before my body tenses, my muscle memory taking over as I perform a twist dive from thirty feet high, somersaulting through the air before entering the water with a clean splash.
Nailed it. If this were a meet, I would outscore Beckett in both difficulty and execution. And this is what happens when you try to show the rest of us up, Beckett Wolfe.
He climbs out of the pool with a scowl on his face while our teammates gape at me. I glance up at Naomi, who watches me with raised eyebrows and a half smile. The thought that I might have impressed someone as accomplished as her makes my shoulders puff up with pride.
“Well done,” Lieutenant Barnes says at last, striding toward me with Cyb at his side. “You must be Leonardo Danieli.”
“That’s me.”
I hoist myself out of the pool with a grin. I’d almost forgotten how good it feels to do what I love, what I’m best at. For a second I can almost imagine that I’m home, that Angelica and my parents are there in the stands, whistling and cheering my name just like they used to at all my swim meets. But then I feel the heat of Beckett’s glare and am returned to the present moment.
Something tells me he won’t take this embarrassment lightly.
Eight
NAOMI
WITH THE MORNING WE’VE HAD, I’M EXPECTING OUR AFTERNOON training to be a little more sedate—maybe even in an actual classroom, so we can sit and catch our breath after the past few hours of crawling through space capsules and diving into freezing water. But of course, my wishful thinking is way off base. It turns out that our most action-packed hour is still ahead of us.
Our first clue is when Lark escorts us down to the first floor and through the main entrance doors, leaving the ISTC campus behind. A tram shuttle is waiting outside, and that’s when she reveals what’s in store.
“Today wasn’t just about diving underwater. Get ready, because you guys are about to experience an in-air, parabolic dive!”
Lark’s voice is brimming with enthusiasm, but her words fill me with dread.
“The Vomit Comet,” I murmur.
“That’s right!” Lark grins at me, clearly missing the trepidation in my voice. “We’re going to take a parabolic flight around Houston on a special A500 Zero-G plane. Once the plane reaches an altitude of twenty-four thousand feet and an angle of forty-five degrees, it will free-fall in the air—which simulates the effect of being in orbit. So today, each of you will discover just what it feels like to be weightless in space.”
“Awesome!” Asher exclaims, fist-bumping Leo and Katerina. Suki gives a rare smile, and even the First Nephew looks cheered out of his dark mood from the past hour. Are my teammates all adrenaline junkies or something? How am I the only one here freaked out by the thought of nose-diving in a plane? My hands are already sweating, my pulse accelerating. I never could stand the feeling of my stomach dropping out from underneath me—it’s the reason why I’ve sworn off thrill rides since I was a little girl, after a particularly hairy experience on the Pirate Ship at the Santa Monica Pier. Exhibit A for why I’m not cut out to be an astronaut.
I keep my clammy hands pressed to my knees during the tram ride to the Space Center heliport, blocking out the snippets of conversation around me as I try to pretend I’m back with Sam and my parents, that I’m relating the story of “this crazy thing we did at space camp!” from the safety of home.
A gleaming plane with the Zero-G logo painted in blue lettering waits for us on the heliport, its cabin door open and air stairs unfurled. My breath turns shallow as the tram skids to a stop and Lark directs us to the aircraft.
“Let’s go!”
My teammates race up the steps and into the plane, free of the panic that holds me in its grip. I don’t want
to do this, I don’t want to do this, I don’t—
“Come on.” Lark nudges me forward. “I’ll be in there with you.”
I swallow hard and force one foot in front of the other until I’m inside the cabin. There are only a few rows of seats in the back while an empty, white-painted chamber takes up the rest of the space. I slide into an empty seat next to Suki as Lark starts passing out barf bags to store in our pockets.
“This is known as the Vomit Comet for a reason, so don’t be too embarrassed if you throw up. One of NASA’s medical officers is standing by in case any of you need extra attention, but most likely you’ll experience only mild airsickness. And don’t worry—the more you practice, the more your body will adjust. That’s why in the days leading up to launch, astronauts will often complete up to forty parabolas at a time.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my stomach already roiling at the thought of the rapid ascent and plummeting drop ahead of us. It’s nerve-racking enough that we have to do this once—I can’t even contemplate the idea of “practicing” forty times in a row, as if free-falling in a plane is some kind of sport.
“We’re about ready for takeoff, so sit tight and wait for the signal. Once we reach altitude, remove your shoes and follow me to the Float Zone,” Lark says, gesturing to the empty white space stretching ahead of us.
The wheels below us push forward, scraping off the pavement. Inhale, exhale, I instruct myself, though I can barely manage to take a full breath. The plane soars into the sky, the pilot steering us up a treacherously steep incline, and I grab Suki’s arm involuntarily, desperate for something, anything to hold on to. She squeezes my hand, her first friendly gesture since we became roommates.