NAOMI
I MAKE IT TO THE CAFETERIA IN THE MORNING WITH BARELY A minute to spare, still groggy from a night of the nightmares that have been plaguing me since Suki left. I slip into my seat just as Dr. Takumi rises to make one of his announcements, and I brace myself, almost afraid to hear whatever news he has for us this time. But it’s not another report of an RRB reaction—it’s something else entirely.
“As vital as your physical skills and academic intelligence are to the mission, there is another factor that plays an equally crucial role in determining who will make up the Final Six,” he begins. “That would be your mental and psychological state. The passing of Callum Turner is a tragic reminder of that.”
I stiffen in my seat. So he’s sticking to that story, then, instead of pointing the finger where it really belongs.
“The personality tests you completed back when you were in school, during the scouting phase of our mission, helped secure you a spot here. However, as we saw with Callum, these tests were far from foolproof. As we prepare for the first round of eliminations later this week, we must employ more in-depth psychological evaluations—which will begin after breakfast today.”
Leo and I exchange a nervous glance. The last thing I need is to have one of Dr. Takumi’s followers trying to peer into my soul—or guess at my plans.
“To prevent human bias and emotions from affecting the psych evaluations, we are handing control of this task over to our robots,” Dr. Takumi reveals. “Dot and Cyb were the only ones to suspect Callum’s instability, and they understand exactly what we are looking for. And seeing as they will be traveling and living alongside the Final Six, it is only appropriate to have them closely monitor the personalities involved.” His eyes sweep across the room, watching all twenty-two of us. “The best advice I can give you is to be completely honest in your answers. By saying what you think we want to hear, you may inadvertently hurt your own chances. And there’s no need to worry about self-consciousness in front of your teammates. Each of you will be meeting privately with the robots.”
My heartbeat quickens. There’s no denying that time alone with the two most advanced robots in existence is the stuff of my scientific dreams—but I always figured I would be the one studying them. I didn’t expect to be on psychological trial in front of two flawless machines, who probably have some kind of sensors that light up whenever they detect me lying. How am I supposed to outsmart perfection?
The far-off voice of my former computer sciences teacher echoes in my mind: There are two keys to understanding and manipulating machines: you must have a keen grasp of both the binary number system and logic.
Both binary and logic play into my strengths. I’m not sure how I can possibly implement them into my upcoming session with the robots . . . but I’ll have to try.
Lark steps in and out of our training sessions throughout the morning, pulling us off the Mission Floor one by one for the psych evaluations. Asher goes first, and I’m dying to ask him how it went, what the robots were like and what kinds of questions they asked—but Lark already warned us to keep our sessions confidential. All I can do is gauge the reactions of my teammates as they return, noticing whether they appear rattled or relieved. And then it’s my turn.
Walking with Lark to the elevator bay, I realize this is my first opportunity alone with her to ask about Suki. I take a deep breath as we step onto the lift, trying to play it cool, but my words still come tumbling out in a rush.
“Lark, I—I’m really worried about Suki. We haven’t gotten any updates, and I don’t know if she’s still here or how she’s doing—but I know she can’t go back to Singapore. The situation is awful for her there, and the only family she has left is her stepfather, who’s a—”
Lark holds up a hand to stop me. “Suki’s not returning to Singapore.”
“She’s not?” I breathe a sigh of relief.
“No. She is in a medical facility here in Houston. Doctors are hoping they can reverse the effects of her catatonia.”
“What?” My stomach plummets. “They’re hoping? You mean she’s still not any better? What happens if they can’t heal her?”
The elevator stops at the fourth floor, and Lark leads the way.
“I’ve been checking up on her through Dr. Takumi, but it’s still too early to determine any sort of prognosis. As I said, the doctors are hopeful. But if they can’t reverse her symptoms, Suki will remain in the care of the ISTC’s medical team, providing a human case study for the development of the RRB. Either way, she will be taken care of.”
“But—but—she’s not a lab rat!” I protest, horrified by what I’m hearing. “She’s Suki. She was brilliant and meant to do great things, and—and that could be any of us in there!”
Lark stops midstride, placing a hand on my shoulder. “She can still achieve great things, even now. By helping us refine and perfect the serum that will keep the Final Six alive and thriving on Europa.”
I feel bile rising in my throat at the implication behind her words. While Suki lies defenseless in a hospital bed, they plan to treat her body and mind like some kind of brutal science experiment? How can Lark be okay with this?
“They’ve gotten to you—” I start to say, but Lark gives me a sharp look before raising her eyes to the ceiling. I follow her gaze to a blinking green light. Security camera.
“There are casualties of every mission,” she says, her voice a tinge too loud, as if performing for someone out of sight. “I know that better than anyone. All you can do is keep moving forward. Do your best here—in Suki’s honor.”
I nod and stay silent the rest of the way, as my mind spins with questions about Suki and the scope of Dr. Takumi’s plans, about Lark and where her loyalties lie. We pass one closed door after another in the labyrinth-like corridor until Lark finally pauses and pulls out her key fob in front of a blue-painted door. “Welcome to the robotics lab.”
I hold my breath as we step inside, entering a vast warehouse-like space with cables coiled all along the floors and long tables littered with metals, wires, computers, and tablets. At the center of the room, emitting an unearthly glow, are two six-foot-tall, egg-shaped pods.
“Are those the sleep pods?” I ask, staring.
“Yes. That’s where Cyb and Dot go to recharge their batteries—literally.”
As she leads the way through the sprawling space, we pass a row of robot heads and torsos in black storage cases—like dismembered body parts lying in their coffins. Even though I know they’re under-construction AIs, the sight still sends a shiver through me.
Lark steps through an archway and into a smaller room within the lab, a study humming with the sound of machinery, centered around a glass touch-screen desk. I follow her inside, and I stop in my tracks as I come face-to-face with the bronze and platinum humanoids. I open my mouth to speak, and find that for the second time in my life, I am starstruck. I haven’t felt this way since I met Dr. Wagner—like I’m standing before the highest realm of possibility, the place where science and miracles collide.
“Hello, Naomi,” Cyb greets me in a crisp, male-programmed voice.
“Hi,” I reply, my voice coming out slightly above a whisper.
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” Lark says. “Remember to just relax and give the first honest answers that come to mind.”
“Um. Okay.”
“Have a seat,” Cyb commands, gesturing to the chair opposite the glass desk. Dot shuffles toward me, and I try not to gasp as the AI proceeds to attach wired sensors to my chest, abdomen, and fingertips, and wraps a blood-pressure cuff around my upper arm. My nerves mount at the realization that they are monitoring my physiological reactions, and I say a silent prayer for my body to not betray me.
Cyb presses a spot on the touch-screen desk, and then swivels his head back up to face me.
“Naomi, how would you assess your time here thus far?”
“Um, well . . .” I shift in my seat. My thoughts are all jumbled as I stare from the robots to the sensors on my body, but I force myself to focus. How can I work this to my advantage? “It’s different than I imagined. Some things have been better than I expected, and others have been . . . worse.”
“Please elaborate. Which parts have proven to be a challenge?”
“I can’t get the image of Suki’s last night out of my head,” I answer, watching them carefully as I wonder what information they have on her and Callum—and what I might be able to glean. “It hurts to be in my room without her, or to think about what might have been if I’d only forced her to go to the medic. And then what happened to Callum, I just don’t believe—”
I break off before I say too much. Dot leans over the touch-screen desk and makes a series of rapid tapping motions, as if taking notes. I watch, mesmerized by the sight of the robot’s humanlike hands, consisting of three fingers and a thumb.
“Naomi.” Cyb’s voice jolts me back to attention. “What don’t you believe?”
“I—I don’t believe he’s dead. I mean, I know it’s true, but I just can’t believe it happened,” I improvise, trying not to think about how my vitals must be spiking on the monitors right now. Dot makes more of her tapping motions over the desk, and my heart sinks. I must be making some kind of impression.
“What are the other difficulties you’ve faced here?”
Trying to prove the secret behind this RRB we’re getting injected with, I say silently. Trying to uncover what Dr. Takumi is hiding from us about the mission, before it’s too late. But of course I can’t say any of that. Instead, I tell the robots a different truth.
“Being away from my family. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. There are other finalists here who are eager to get away from Earth, and I understand. But I . . .” I take a deep breath, looking Cyb straight in his artificial eyes. Be honest. Maybe this will help them trust me. “I’m not one of them. I need to be with my family, especially my little brother, Sam.”
Cyb nods. “Thank you for sharing. Now, tell us the positive aspects. Are there areas here at ISTC where you feel yourself thriving?”
“Yes,” I admit. “If I separate myself from the feelings about leaving my family, and if I can manage to get past what happened to Suki and Callum, then this place is in many ways a fantasyland for someone like me, with all the groundbreaking science around every corner. Starting with you two, actually. But . . .”
“But what?” Cyb presses.
But it’s a fantasyland with a dark side.
“But I have a hard time letting go,” I say instead. “Although there are times when I have, like in the Vomit Comet or the virtual reality sims.”
“And with Leonardo Danieli.”
My head snaps up. Did . . . did Cyb really just say that?
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve detected a connection between you and finalist Leonardo Danieli,” Cyb says smoothly. “Wouldn’t you say that’s been one of the positives of your time here?”
My throat turns dry. Even with Cyb’s emotionless tone, I can hear the subtext in his seemingly innocuous words. We’re watching. We see more than you know.
“Leo and I are just friends,” I stammer, when I find my voice. “But yeah, he’s—he’s awesome. My closest friend here.”
I clear my throat nervously as Dot and Cyb turn to each other and nod.
“All right. We have a few general questions for you now. You may not understand why these are the questions being asked, but that’s not important. What matters is answering promptly with the first thought that comes to mind.” Cyb swipes the left-hand corner of the desk, and I can see the reflection of text lighting up the glass.
“Do you believe that everything in the world is relative?”
“Yes,” I answer. That’s an easy one. “I do.”
“Do you trust reason above feelings?” Cyb peers closely at me.
“Um . . .” I falter, unsure which answer is the truth. I am a scientist, therefore I should be ruled by reason. But it’s my gut, even more than my reasoning, that’s been telling me something shifty is afoot with the Europa Mission.
“If I can add a third choice, I would say I trust my educated intuition most of all,” I finally answer.
Cyb doesn’t object and moves on to the next question.
“Do images, words, or ideas often come to your mind unbidden?” the robot asks.
I shake my head. That’s a weird one.
“Do you have suspicious ideas about the world around you?”
I freeze. Is Cyb asking because the AI somehow knows what I’ve been thinking about the mission? Or are all the finalists being asked the same question?
“I don’t think so,” I lie, forcing myself to meet the robot’s eyes. “I would say I’m no more suspicious than your average person.”
“Lastly, if you were forced to fight in self-defense, what would your preferred method be? Would you use your own body, your environment, or weapons?”
Another weird question. I rack my brain, thinking aloud.
“Well, I’m not much of a fighter. Technology is my weapon of choice.” The flash drive waiting in my dorm room comes to mind, and my face turns hot. “Um, I’ll go with environment.”
“We’re nearly done now.” Cyb double-taps the desk and then turns back to me. “I just need you to take a look at some images here.”
I join Cyb and Dot behind the desk, watching in amazement as the glass turns cloudy, colors swirling together in front of me, until they form the shape of a bat extending its wings.
“Please memorize the image,” Cyb instructs, before the colors scramble together again and then fade into the clear glass. “Tell us what you think it looked like.”
“It’s the Rorschach test,” I say, remembering the disappearing inkblots from my Intro to Psychology class. The way I interpret the images will tell Dot and Cyb whether or not I have any psychological disorders. If I knew how to manipulate the test, this could be my way home—but I can’t go anywhere until I prove my theories about the RRB and Europa. I’m in too deep.
“I see a bat with its mouth wide open and its wings outstretched,” I reply, going with the honest answer.
After giving my interpretation of two more inkblot pictures, it’s finally time to go. But while I’m relieved to be done with the test and out from under the robots’ watchful eyes, a part of me is reluctant to leave this room—the place the answers lie.
My words to Leo last night replay themselves in my mind. If there are biosignatures to be found, they have to still be stored within Dot and Cyb. I gaze up at them now, my eyes fixating on the metal plates covering their torsos—the place where the AIOS software resides. The place where I’d break in and retrieve their secrets, if only I could.
After all, based on what he said about Leo . . . it seems Cyb is already collecting secrets of mine.
We can hear the wind from the cafeteria that night, its gusts rattling the windows all through dinner. A crack of thunder echoes in the room, and as I look at the tense faces surrounding me, I know I’m not the only one worrying about what this means. We’ve been so sheltered here at ISTC, with all the barriers and fortifications keeping the tide at bay, that it’s been easy—at least for me—to pretend that we’re safe from the raging storms as long as we’re here. But this is the first time the sounds of outside have infiltrated our walls . . . and it makes me wonder what’s coming.
“I can’t stand the thought of having to go back out there,” Katerina says, eyeing the window. “It’s crazy to know we’re just three days away from the first elimination.”
“Don’t worry. I bet you’ll get chosen, right along with me,” the ever-confident Beckett assures her, giving Katerina a flirtatious smile. Gross. He glances at Lark. “Don’t you think so?”
“You know I can’t say a word on that topic,” Lark reminds him, before taking a bite of chicken tikka masala from tonight’s menu. “Besides, I honestly don’t know. I mean, I have my opinions, but Dr. Takumi and the general haven’t told me which way they’re leaning.”
“Well, have you given them your input on who you think the Final Six should be?” Beckett asks, watching her carefully. I try to catch Leo’s eye to make a face, but he is preoccupied, staring at Beckett with a slight frown. Come to think of it, he’s been acting weird since the bungee-jumping day.
Lark laughs, waving Beckett off. “Again, no comment. Dr. Takumi has made it very clear that I’m not to discuss this with you. However, I can confidently say that any one of you would be a true asset to the mission.”
“I’m so nervous.” Asher buries his head in his hands. “What’s even the point of trying to eat?”
“Does this mean none of you feel any . . . different about the mission, after what happened to Suki and Callum?” I ask. Lark shoots me a warning glance, but I’m genuinely curious. Aren’t they at least a little less gung-ho now?
“I feel awful for them, of course I do. But I trust Dr. Takumi when he says the rest of us should be safe,” Katerina replies. “And if you knew what I’d be going back to . . .” She shudders. “Besides, how could you not want to be one of the six humans in the world to live out an adventure greater than anything in history?”
“Sounds like that doesn’t interest her,” Beckett says, jerking his thumb in my direction, before turning to Lark. “Maybe she should just go home now, if her heart’s not in it. I’m more than happy to carry the American flag on my own.”
“Um, I’m right here,” I snap at him. Just because he happens to be correct that I’m not ready to take a one-way trip off our planet doesn’t mean I’ll sit back and let him try to undermine me.
“That’s not how this works, Beckett,” Lark says, arching an eyebrow at him. “Having the right set of skills and characteristics matters more to the mission leaders than who’s the most eager.”
While he grumbles into his plate, I turn back to Katerina.
“Could you go somewhere other than Russia? I mean, if you didn’t get chosen.”
“I don’t even want to think about what I’d do,” she says flatly. But to my surprise, Lark backs me up again.
“Actually, it’s smart to think about and prepare for either scenario,” she says. “The reality is, not everyone gets to go to Europa. And I’m sure there are some things from your normal lives that you’d be glad to return to. Right?”
“I don’t know where I’d go,” Leo speaks up, shaking his head. “But it won’t be Rome. There are too—too many ghosts for me there. I would have to start over somewhere new.”
“I can’t go back to Israel either,” Asher says, staring at the table. “Our entire land is under the Mediterranean now. Before the draft, I’d just moved in with my aunt and uncle to their two-room flat in Surrey. I know I’m lucky to have a roof over my head, but . . . I never thought I would have to become a yerida.” He glances back up at us. “That’s what we call those who emigrate from Israel. I would have stayed forever, on the same street where I grew up, if I could have.”
“You realize how much of yourself is wrapped up in where you’re from once it’s taken away,” Leo says.
The two of them share a knowing glance, and I suddenly feel out of my depth. I don’t have a right to be a part of this conversation, not when I have my parents and little brother waiting for me at home—when I have an actual home, period. It’s strange to think that my intact family marks me as different, unrelatable, in my teammates’ eyes. And as I gaze across the table at Leo and Asher, a wave of helplessness washes over me. There’s nothing I can do to change their situations . . . nothing.
“You can try to keep a part of it with you, though,” Katerina says. “After Moscow went under, I found I missed the nights most of all—the way the monuments looked all lit up, the energy in the capital city before everything sank. So I started painting it all from memory, and even though I’m not the best artist, it really helps. It’s sort of like reliving your past on the canvas.”
“That’s a beautiful idea,” Lark says. She turns to Beckett. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he asks, gruffly.
“You’d go back to DC, right? Is there anything you miss about home, or would look forward to seeing again?”
A funny look crosses his face, and then he nods. “Yeah, the White House doesn’t suck. My uncle lets us live there, since it has all the best flood barriers and weather protections. But I don’t think I’m going back.” He lifts his chin. “I was always meant for something bigger.”
“I guess in three days we’ll know,” Asher says, taking a deep breath.
I glance back at Leo, wondering how much time we have left. How much longer will his friendship be in my life?
In three days, we’ll know.