NAOMI
WHAT I JUST SAW CAN’T BE REAL. IT’S NOT . . . HUMAN. I FEEL the blood roaring in my ears as I watch Leo shake hands with Dr. Takumi, and I wonder who he really is—what he is. But then he catches my eye across the pool, flashing me that dimpled grin, and the familiar warmth in my chest replaces my fear. Still, as soon as we’re back in uniform and leaving the diving pool, I pull Leo aside.
“What was that? I’ve seen you swim before—I knew you were good, but holding your breath like that? It was almost like you were . . . amphibious.”
“It was crazy, right?” Leo’s cheeks flush as he smiles, and I realize he thinks I’m simply complimenting him.
“Crazy is a good word for it,” I say dryly. “I’m not trying to downplay how great a swimmer you actually are, but . . . was there something different going on today?”
Before he can respond, Lark motions for the five of us to follow her to our next training session on the Mission Floor. Leo and I hang back a few paces as we follow our teammates down the long corridor to the elevator bay, keeping our voices low.
“Well?” I press him. “What exactly happened in the water?”
“I don’t know. But I felt something different as soon as I got in the pool,” Leo admits. “It was like a—a physical, instinctual charge. I don’t know what it was. Maybe heightened adrenaline or something?”
I shake my head.
“No. Adrenaline doesn’t completely alter your physicality. It doesn’t give you otherworldly speed or the ability to go without breathing.” I look into his eyes. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
Leo folds his arms against his chest. He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want me bursting his bubble. But I have no choice.
“It’s the RRB. That has to be what caused this. You and Suki both had a reaction, only in your case, it wasn’t adverse. At least not yet.” I think quickly. “I’ve got to find a way to get a sample of the serum, so I can find out what’s in it. I just know there’s something they’re not telling us, something off—”
“No,” he interrupts me. “I don’t want to see you get in trouble, and that’s exactly what will happen if you go poking around and try to swipe the RRB. And besides, I need this. I need to be one of the Final Six. If the serum is helping me excel and get to Europa, then I don’t care what’s in it.”
My mouth falls open. I can’t be hearing him correctly.
“You can honestly say that? After last night, after Suki, you can really be so—so callous?”
He winces.
“I’m not being callous—you know how terrible I feel about what happened to her. But if Suki were here right now, she would say the same thing. She would tell me not to jeopardize my chances when things are going well.”
“Yeah, and it was that attitude that put her in the hospital,” I retort. “Whatever is in the RRB has proven to be both powerful and dangerous. This isn’t just about Suki or you or me. All of us who take it are vulnerable.”
We’re nearing the elevator bay now, just steps away from the others. Leo stops in his tracks.
“What do you want from me? I can’t help the fact that I want this mission, that I need it. Just like I can’t help the fact that you don’t.”
His words catch me off guard.
“I—well, we’re friends, right?”
A funny expression crosses his face as he nods.
“And friends look out for each other,” I continue. “I don’t want to see you end up in a situation anywhere close to what happened to Suki. So I need to find out if what I suspect is true—and I need you to trust me.”
Leo hesitates before replying.
“Fine. Just as long as your sleuthing doesn’t get either of us in trouble.”
“Come on, you two!” Lark’s voice calls out, and Leo and I quicken our pace to join the rest of the team.
As we step into the elevator, I feel someone’s eyes on us. It’s Beckett, his expression cold and calculating as he stares at Leo. A shiver runs through me, and I wonder just how much of a target Leo has on his back . . . and if his performance today might cost him.
Returning to the Hab after our training day, we again step into a scene of chaos. Finalists from two other teams are swarming the halls, their faces red and stricken, their bodies racked with sobs, while the team leaders try in vain to calm them. Leo and I turn to each other in fear, and I grab his hand on instinct as I brace myself. What is happening?
Lark pushes through the crowd, trying to get answers, while I catch snippets of conversation through the pandemonium. “Callum.” “Submersible.” “ . . . went mad.” “Dead.”
I recoil in horror. I heard wrong—I must have.
I spot Ana Martinez from arrival day crying in Dev Khanna’s arms, and I rush toward them.
“What’s wrong, Ana? What’s going on?”
She breaks away from Dev and looks at me with wild, panicky eyes. “It’s Callum. He—he’s dead. It happened right in front of us. G-gone, just like that.”
Bile rises in my throat. My mind flashes back to the Australian finalist sitting beside me during Dr. Takumi’s welcome speech. And I can’t breathe.
“How?” Leo whispers.
“We were doing the submersible drills. Our team was last in the diving pool today,” Dev says shakily. “Everything was going fine, and then when it was Callum’s turn . . . It was the craziest thing.”
“What happened?”
“He turned on the thrust-booster, just like he was supposed to—but then he suddenly climbed out of the submersible while everything was still running. And he . . . he swam right under the propellers.” Dev squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, as if to rid himself of the image. “Lieutenant Barnes was screaming at him to stop, he jumped in the water after him, but it was too late. The submersible cut him up in seconds.”
I stare at Dev, struggling to comprehend the gruesome story.
“Why—why would he do that?”
“That’s what makes no sense,” Ana wails. “He was happy; he was doing so well here, and he was excited about the mission. But then today, from the start, something was different about him. It was almost like he was . . .” She shrugs helplessly, and Dev finishes her sentence.
“Possessed.”
My heart hammers in my chest. I turn to Leo, and I can see in his eyes that he knows what I’m thinking. The RRB.
Footsteps come thundering toward us, and we step back as Dr. Takumi and General Sokolov enter the hall, their faces grave.
“Everyone into the library,” Dr. Takumi directs us, and we fall into step, shuffling numbly behind our leaders. Once we’re all seated around the long reading tables, Dr. Takumi clears his throat, looking out at the sea of stunned faces.
“Finalists, I know you’ve been through a terrible shock. The general and I, Lieutenant Barnes, and all of the staff here at ISTC are devastated by what happened to Callum Turner today. For his teammates who were on the scene, we know how traumatizing it must’ve been to witness. But it’s important for you to understand that this was an isolated incident.” He pauses. “It appears Callum Turner had an undiagnosed psychiatric condition that our initial vetting failed to pick up on—which explains his fatal behavior today.”
What?
“The robots first reported something amiss when monitoring his physical reactions and brain waves during the virtual reality simulation,” General Sokolov speaks up. “We scheduled a psychiatric evaluation for him for tomorrow, but” —she hangs her head—“we were too late.”
I glance around me, wondering if my fellow finalists are buying this convenient story. But I can already see it on most of their faces: acceptance. I know how easy it is to cling to the first answer you’re given in the haze of shock, but I shake my head in frustration, convinced Dr. Takumi and the general are manipulating us into believing what they want.
“I just got off the phone with one of Houston’s leading psychiatrists, who confirmed that in a patient such as Callum, stress can trigger symptoms and breakdowns like what occurred in the diving pool,” Dr. Takumi continues. “We deeply regret exposing Callum to an environment he wasn’t equipped to handle. We also regret the impact this is having on you, his teammates and cofinalists.”
I raise my hand. “What was his condition, exactly?”
“I’m afraid the specific details must remain confidential, out of respect to Callum’s family,” Dr. Takumi says smoothly.
Convenient once again. I take a breath, daring myself to ask the next question.
“And are you sure it’s not the RRB? What if this was a reaction to that, like what happened to Suki?”
Every face in the room turns in my direction, and I can feel Leo tensing up beside me. When Dr. Takumi finally answers, his voice is controlled and calm—but I can see the threat in his eyes as he looks at me.
“I think we made it clear this has nothing to do with the RRB. As the general said, Cyb and Dot reported irregular brain wave activity in Callum before he received his first dose of the vaccine. Again, this was an isolated incident.”
He turns his sharp gaze away from me, toward the rest of the watching crowd.
“We will all mourn Callum, and we won’t forget him. But know this: in every landmark achievement in the history of mankind, there have been unfortunate casualties along the way. It’s as my predecessors at NASA always said: risk is the price of progress.” He lets the words linger before continuing, “We’ll leave you in the capable hands of your team leaders for the rest of the day. Take this time to comfort yourselves and your teammates. We’ll be back to our mission in the morning.”
His speech might have worked on the others, but my suspicion is only growing. I have to get my hands on the RRB—I have to get the answers we all need.
As soon as everyone is out of their seats, I scan the faces around me, looking for the person who can give me at least one clue. Jian Soo is standing near the computers with the French finalist, Henri, and I elbow my way toward them.
“Jian,” I murmur. “I know Callum was your teammate, and I’m so sorry. This is—this is really weird timing, I know, but I have to ask you something. Last night, when Suki was having her—her reaction to the RRB, she kept repeating something in Mandarin.”
He raises an eyebrow, and nods at me to continue.
“It sounded like tā hái huózhe. Is that—is that a real phrase?”
Jian lets out a sharp exhale.
“Are you sure that’s what she said?”
“I couldn’t get it out of my mind. So, yes.”
Jian stares at me.
“She was saying, ‘It’s alive.’”
As if I needed more proof of Dr. Takumi’s priorities, that night we’re escorted to the medical office for the RRB shots as usual. You would think that today, of all days, he would let us forgo the injections, but even the loss of a finalist isn’t enough for him to pause our strict schedule. There is only one benefit of going back and risking another dose: it gives me an opportunity.
“Remember how I asked you to trust me?” I whisper to Leo, pulling him aside on our way there. “I’m going to do something, and I need just a tiny bit of your help. It’s for Callum and Suki.”
“What is it?” He gives me a wary look. “Don’t forget that I also asked you not to get us in trouble.”
“This is nothing,” I assure him, though I have a feeling he might disagree. “So as soon as I get in the chair, but before the nurse takes out the needle, I need you to just . . . cause a distraction. Something that’ll make her turn away from me and keep the focus on you for the quick minute it’ll take me to grab a vial. Once I turn around and give you the signal, you can go back to normal. Cool?”
“Um. What kind of distraction? And you do know there are security cameras in the building, right?”
“Yes, but even if there’s a camera right there in the medical office, which I doubt, I’ll be so quick that you wouldn’t see anything. And the distraction can be anything—I don’t know, pretend to trip and twist your ankle or something.” I shrug. “Don’t worry about having an audience, either. We can be near the end of the line, so most of the others will be in the cafeteria by the time I go up.”
Leo groans. “I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?”
“Nope. And compared to other plans I’ve come up with, this one is pretty tame.”
“Fine.” He sighs, and I give his arm a grateful squeeze.
“Thank you. I know you won’t regret it.”
We join the rest of our teammates and cofinalists outside the medical office, waiting silently as the line trickles down to the last few. As each finalist goes up, wincing at the prick of the needle, my palms sweat with the realization that any one of us could be the next Suki—the next Callum. And then it’s my turn.
I give Leo an encouraging nod before I step forward, into the office. One . . . two . . . The nurse motions me toward the chair and I take my seat, swiveling it just slightly so that I am within arm’s length of the wall of vials. Three.
The sound of coughing comes right on cue, weak at first, and then growing louder, more urgent. I try not to smile.
The nurse pauses in front of her instruments as the coughing escalates, and Leo yells in a choked voice, “Water!”
“One second,” she tells me, before hurrying to tend to him. And then, adrenaline surging, I turn in my seat to face the vials. The glowing pale liquid beckons me, and in one quick motion, I snatch a vial from the back of the shelf, stuffing it in the zippered pocket of my hoodie. I release my breath and turn back to face Leo, who is getting thumped between the shoulder blades by the nurse. He meets my eyes, and I scratch my ear, giving him our signal.
“That’s better!” Leo blurts out, pretending to take a gulp of air. “Something must have gone down the wrong pipe, but I can breathe now.”
And as the nurse returns to me, I give Leo a grateful smile, mouthing the words thank you.
Back in my dorm for the first time since morning, I stare at Suki’s now-empty side of the room. The bed is stripped, her desk bare, our shared closet purged of her clothes and shoes. Even the scent in the room is different and chemical-tinged, as though someone scrubbed the place clean while trying to remove every trace of her. It’s like she was never here at all.
“But I won’t forget you, Suki,” I whisper to the empty bed. “I promise I’ll find out what happened—to you and Callum.”
It hits me with a jolt that whoever came in to clear out her things might have taken the opportunity to snoop through mine, and I race over to the closet, grabbing my backpack. My fingers tremble as I unzip the hidden compartment. Please, please, please still be there . . .
I let out a long exhale at the sight of the flash drive with my hacking software, still nestled safely in the zippered compartment. I run my fingers over the drive in relief before setting it aside and rifling through the bag until I find just what I need.
Some girls stock their carry-ons with extra SPF or clothes for a rainy day. I, on the other hand, am the type to pack a portable electron microscope whenever I travel. It may sound weird, but you just never know what you’ll find when you leave home. A foreign insect or an unusual pebble in the streets of somewhere new becomes a form of art when placed under a microscopic lens. And I’m about to find out just what kind of art is hiding in this radiation-resistant bacteria.
I pull out the microscope and a miniature bottled water from my backpack, bringing them both to my desk. My eyes flash to the door, double-checking that it’s firmly shut, before I pour a drop of water onto the microscope slide. My heartbeat quickening, I retrieve the RRB vial from my pocket and unscrew the top, revealing the icy-blue, viscous serum within. I empty a bit of the serum onto the slide with the drop of water, place the glass coverslip over it—and then I peer into the lens.
Impossible. I shake my head at the sight before me, blinking rapidly to try to clear my vision. Bacteria cells are prokaryotes—they’re not supposed to have a nucleus. And yet . . .
I take a breath, wait for the thudding in my chest to slow, and then return my eyes to the lens, expecting something different this time. But still I find three unmistakable nuclei . . . where there should be none.
The RRB is a literal exception to every rule of Earth’s bacteria.