LEO
I HEAR ASHER AWAKEN EARLY ON THE MORNING OF THE FIRST elimination, and I listen as he begins murmuring to himself in Hebrew. The sound is a comfort to my nerves.
My family was never very religious—we observed all holidays at Basilica di Sant’Agostino, and that was the extent of it—but in this moment, when our fates and futures lie in the control of someone else, I close my eyes, imagining my mother, father, and Angelica somewhere in the air above, listening to my thoughts. Maybe I can make up my own prayer . . . to them.
Watch over me today, famiglia. Please let me be one of the twelve still standing at the end of the night. Help me make it all the way to Europa as one of the Final Six—with Naomi there too, and Asher. Without you . . . this is all I have.
The alarm in our LED mirror bursts to life. I stretch and sit up in bed as Asher tucks what looks like a prayer book back in the desk drawer.
“Here goes,” he says, turning to me with a pale face.
I nod. “Do you think we’ll find out right away?”
“Maybe. But if they’re still not a hundred percent sure, they might drag this out as late as they can.”
Asher is right. At breakfast, we learn we’ll be undergoing a last-chance astronaut physical—a comprehensive exam to evaluate how our bodies are adjusting to the RRB and to ensure no new conditions or weaknesses have gone undetected. I can barely swallow two bites of my breakfast after hearing about all the medical poking and prodding that lies ahead. What if they find something that ruins my shot? I can’t fathom being so close only to lose it all in the last stretch. Glancing around the table, it’s clear my teammates share my anxiety. Even the possibly cold-blooded Beckett Wolfe can’t hide his nerves as he taps his foot restlessly against the floor.
Lark shuttles us to the main medical facility on Johnson Space Center campus, and as we step onto the main outpatient floor, five doors open in unison. One for each of us.
“Go on.” Lark ushers us forward, and I exchange one last look with Naomi before we each disappear into one of the patient rooms.
I sit on the examination chair, staring straight ahead as a soft-spoken nurse checks my vitals and draws multiple vials of blood for the array of tests. She listens to my ears and heart and puts me through one of those mindless letter-chart vision tests, all while I silently command my body to stay calm, to not betray my nerves with a jittery heartbeat or anything that the nurse might question. And then, after nearly an hour, I’m ushered into the next room—a small, sterile space with only a table and two chairs to fill it. A bearded man sits at one end of the table, consulting a clipboard.
“I’m Dr. Dwyer,” he greets me, extending his palm for a handshake. “I’ll be administering your final psych evaluation. If you make the Final Six, you will be hearing from me regularly while in space, as mental check-ins are a crucial part of the process when leaving Earth.”
“Sounds good.” I smile at him, trying to appear even-keeled and confident, despite the sight of this stranger giving me a chill of foreboding. To have someone brand-new evaluating us at the very last moment makes me even more vulnerable than I was before. What if I make the wrong first impression and have no time to change his mind?
“Have a seat,” he instructs me. “Today you’ll be completing the MMPI-3 standardized psychological test, which consists of a series of statements that you will label true or false. Let me know when you’re ready.”
I nod.
“Ready.”
“First statement. ‘A person should try to understand his dreams and be guided by or take warning from them.’ True or false?”
“Um.” I have no clue what he wants to hear—which leaves me no choice but to answer with my gut reaction and hope it produces the desired result. “True.”
“Next. ‘Once in a while, you think of things too bad to talk about.’ True or false?” My mind flashes back to the day that was supposed to be my last, when I came so close to making a terrible choice. If they knew . . . would they see me as another Callum?
I shake my head, giving Dr. Dwyer what I hope is a calm glance.
“False.”
And on it goes for the next hour, each question more unpredictable than the next, leaving me increasingly uncertain how I’m doing. Finally, we reach the last one.
“‘If confronted with a potentially threatening creature of foreign origin, your first instinct is to kill it and protect yourself.’ True or false?”
My head snaps up. What in the world?
“F-false.”
Dr. Dwyer nods and makes a series of scribbled notes before finally excusing me out into the hall where Lark waits. But I can’t get that last question off my mind.
I wonder if it has to do with Europa.
By five p.m., the judges are still deliberating our fates. Lark informs us that Dr. Takumi, General Sokolov, and the robots are sequestered somewhere on campus, reviewing our Astronaut Physical results and discussing the pros and cons of all twenty-two of us—and there’s no telling how long we’ll be waiting. With no training to occupy us, and no Wi-Fi, cell phones, or TV to distract us, we are alone with our suspense.
The teams are intermingled as we wait in the lounge, and I share a couch with Asher and Naomi, the three of us making a hopeless attempt at talking about something, anything, other than the draft. Seated on the other side of us are Dev Khanna and the Canadian finalist, a tall, slender girl with dark skin and eyes, named Sydney Pearle. She sits with her head between her knees, muttering something under her breath while Dev awkwardly pats her on the back.
“I know how you feel,” I say, leaning over to her. “There’s no real way to prepare for a competition on this scale.”
She lifts her face with a groan. “That’s not it.”
“She doesn’t know whether she wants to stay or go home,” Dev explains. “Which is a bit unusual in this crowd.”
Naomi and I exchange a look.
“Trust me,” she tells Sydney. “It’s not that unusual. And it’s hard to feel so . . . out of control.”
Sydney nods, looking at Naomi as if seeing her for the first time. “Yes. It’s maddening.”
“I wish I felt indecisive like you two,” Asher says glumly. “Then it wouldn’t be so hard if—if I get cut.”
“You have some of the best odds out of anyone,” I encourage him. “I mean, who else here is a trained pilot?”
“Jian Soo,” Dev chimes in, not exactly helping.
“Exactly,” Asher says, his voice dropping. “And even if I happen to be better at flying than he is, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Not when they have a perfect piloting machine in Cyb.”
Naomi wraps a comforting arm around his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Whatever happens, we can help each other get through it.” She glances at me. “Right?”
I stare at her and Asher, my two closest friends here, who I never imagined together in that way. But now, seeing them looking close and cozy brings a pang to my chest. What if they were to get chosen without me?
She looks at me questioningly, and I clear my throat. “Right. We’ll—we’ll be okay.”
A rush of footsteps comes clattering through the doorway, and we all glance up. Lark and two other team leaders burst into the lounge, excitement vibrating off their skin.
“They’ve made their decision!” Lark exclaims. “We’re meeting Dr. Takumi, the general, and the AIs in the cafeteria right now. Dinner will be served after the announcement.”
“Seriously?” Dev whispers to me. “Who’s actually going to eat after that?”
But I’m too shaken up to answer. This is it. I’m either going to continue on for two more weeks here and have an exponentially bigger chance at making the Final Six—or I’ll be released back into the emptiness of an earthbound life tonight.
As if sensing my emotions, Naomi squeezes my arm. I gaze down at her, and suddenly I am bargaining with the universe. If we both make it to the next round, I’ll stop skating around how I feel. I’ll tell her—even if it means rejection.
My legs are like lead as we march to the cafeteria. Dr. Takumi, General Sokolov, Dot, and Cyb stand in a line on the raised platform. Here we go.
Beckett and Katerina, who were missing from the lounge, are already seated at our team table when we arrive. I still haven’t spoken a word to Beckett since the bungee-jumping incident, and as I slide into my seat, I add an addendum to my prayer. Please let them cut the right person today: Beckett Wolfe.
“Welcome, finalists, to one of the key milestones in the Europa Mission.” Dr. Takumi greets us, his voice booming through the tense quiet of the room. “With the most impressive teenagers in the world to choose from, it was an extremely difficult decision. The ten of you leaving us tomorrow morning should know that it was a close call, and you have much to be proud of.” He clears his throat. “Without further ado, your mission pilot, Cyb, will announce the names of the twelve finalists moving forward in the draft.”
I can hear my heart thumping wildly as the robot shuffles forward.
“From the United Kingdom, Dianna Dormer,” Cyb’s mechanical voice calls out. “From India, Dev Khanna. From Ukraine, Minka Palladin. From Italy, Leonardo Danieli—”
“Yes!” I punch the air in celebration, almost dizzy from the sound of my name. I did it—I made it!
Beckett looks at me like he’s just tasted something rotten, while Naomi smiles at the sight of my happiness, and Asher thumps me on the back in congratulations. Suddenly, I’m nervous all over again. Asher and Naomi have to get chosen, too. I can’t imagine this place without them.
“From France, Henri Durand. From Canada, Sydney Pearle.”
The tension in the room mounts as Cyb reaches the halfway mark. I can hear Katerina’s legs jangling under the table, her feet tapping uncontrollably, while Beckett’s face takes on a purplish hue. Naomi fidgets in her seat; Asher takes short, shallow breaths. Only six more names.
“From Japan, Ami Nakamura. From the United States . . .”
Naomi’s head jerks up. I grab her hand under the table.
“. . . Beckett Wolfe!”
No. My spirits plummet as Beckett celebrates in his seat, high-fiving Katerina. My competition—and the most ruthless person here—remains. Naomi’s body sags at the realization that it isn’t her, though I can’t tell whether from relief or disappointment.
“From Spain, Ana Martinez. From Russia . . .”
Katerina sits up excitedly, and Beckett gives her a knowing smile.
“Evgeni Alkaev.”
Katerina’s mouth falls open. And now we’ve reached the final two. I grip Naomi’s hand again, closing my eyes and concentrating on her name, as if I can somehow manipulate the outcome.
“From China, Jian Soo.”
My shoulders slump. I look from Asher to Naomi and back again. After today, I might never see one—or both—of them again.
“Lastly, from the United States—Naomi Ardalan.”
I hear her gasp, feel my own breath return to me. And then I throw my arms around her, unable to contain the huge grin spreading across my face. She smiles back at me, and I wonder if maybe, in spite of herself, she really did want to stay. The feel of her hair against my cheek and her body pressed to mine has me almost intoxicated. Something flickers in my chest as I look into her shining dark eyes—and I pull back before I give myself away. That’s when I see Asher’s face, and it hits me with a blow. He’s leaving.
Katerina scrapes back her chair and runs from the room, the sound of a muffled sob following her. I expect Beckett to run after her, but it’s Naomi who goes, calling out for her to wait. I move into the empty chair, next to Asher.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” I tell him, wincing at the uselessness of my words. “It should have been you, too.”
Beckett leans in.
“Don’t worry, you guys will see each other again. You’re not long for this either, Italian.”
Rage boils inside me as I whip my head to face Beckett.
“Are you serious right now?”
He gives me a cold smile before pushing back from the table.
“Well, they don’t need two underwater specialists on the mission. And we both know it’s going to be me in the end.”
“You’re delusional,” I call out to his retreating figure as he goes to congratulate the rest of the twelve like a true politician.
“Don’t let him be right.” Asher finally speaks up. As he looks at me, I can see the crushing loss and disappointment reflected in his eyes. “If it can’t be me, I want it to be you—and not Beckett.”