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.
“You’ll be okay,” she says, as our roles from this morning are reversed.
I try to smile. “Thanks. I just—I’m meant to be a scientist on the ground. You know? I hate heights, I hate drops . . . this daredevil stuff is not exactly my strong suit.”
“Well, someone must have thought you can do it,” Suki replies. “That’s why you’re here.”
A light flickers above our heads, followed by the sound of a chime echoing through the cabin.
“That’s our cue!” Lark shouts over the din of the aircraft. “We’re ready for our first parabola! Follow me to the Float Zone.”
The others spring out of their seats, all too eager for the real-life roller coaster ride ahead. Suki and I follow, my heart in my throat as we step into the Float Zone and Lark instructs us to lie on our backs. I lie down next to Suki with Leo on the other side of me. As my body touches the floor, I realize how close he is, his skin just inches from mine. I turn my head in the opposite direction, a flush burning my cheeks.
“When the plane curves to the forty-five-degree angle, you’ll feel a g-force of 1.8 times the Earth’s gravity on your body,” Lark calls across the floor. “The best thing you can do at this point is stay still. Don’t make any quick movements until the free fall.”
Oh, God. She wasn’t kidding about the force. I bite back a scream as the weight of gravity presses against my chest. The blood rushes from my head to my feet, and it feels as though someone is yanking my insides with a rope, dragging every part of me down to the ground.
The plane’s engine turns quiet.
“This is it!” Lark shouts. “Get ready for zero g’s!”
I grip the floor with my hands, bracing myself. The plane dips, and I gasp as the excess-gravity weight melts off my body. Then, in one breathlessly quick motion, the plane plummets into free fall. My screams are all I hear, my terror is all I know as our seven bodies rise up off the floor like the dead resurrected. We flail our arms and legs, grasping at air while the plane shifts yet again—and then we are floating. We are flying.
A giddy sensation bubbles in my stomach. Something is happening to me up here, something I didn’t expect. I am floating upside down, my feet touching the ceiling—and I don’t feel like I’m going to die, or even throw up. It’s just the opposite. I feel as though all the weight in my life has been lifted, and I am free.
The chamber echoes with our intermingled whoops, shrieks, and laughter as the seven of us somersault through the air and float backward over the passenger seats. Leo drifts toward me as the plane dives yet again, and the two of us smack into each other on the ceiling. I burst out laughing, and he grins, impulsively taking my hand and twirling me through the air.
“I have always wondered what it’s like to dance on the ceiling,” he says with a wink.
My stomach flips, and this time I’m not so sure it’s from the zero gravity. I watch as Leo floats over to Asher, and then I lift my arms like a bird, skimming across the air to the main cabin and back again.
After each parabolic dive, one or two of my teammates turns a shade of green and reaches for the barf bag—but strangely enough, it doesn’t happen to me. My body is stronger than I thought. And as we plunge into our last parabola, I find that I can’t stop smiling. It’s hard to believe something so extraordinary, so magical, came from this experience I was dreading.
Until the plane touches down, I am light as air. I am weightless.
Our team returns to ISTC campus disheveled and delirious from the adventures of the day, all of us craving the same three things: shower, food, bed. But as soon as we step off the elevator and onto the Hab floor, those simple plans slip from view. A commotion is coming from the boys’ dorm—a guttural cry that pierces at my chest. Lark breaks into a run and we race after her, stopping in our tracks when we see a group of five finalists clustered outside a closed door, their faces grave.
“What’s going on?” Lark demands.
Dianna, the British finalist I recognize from the TV segment on the Twenty-Four, is the first to speak. “There was a typhoon in Tianjin last night—where Jian Soo’s family lives. The reports are saying it’s one of the most violent storm lashings China has ever seen.” Her voice drops. “The majority of the city is under the Hai River now, and . . . they haven’t found any survivors.”
I sink back against the wall, my heart breaking for the boy behind the door—for everyone in China. And all too quickly, my mind is picturing myself in Jian’s shoes, hearing the same shattering news about my own family. What if LA is the next city hit by disaster . . . and I’m not there? The thought seizes me with fear, renewing my desperation to get away from here—to get home.
“Dr. Takumi and our team leader are in there with him now,” the Australian finalist, Callum, says. “We just—we felt weird leaving without knowing if Jian’s okay.”
“He won’t be okay.” Leo speaks up, staring at the closed door. “Not anytime soon. You don’t ever get over something like this. The best you can hope for is to survive it.”
I look at him and it dawns on me—he must be speaking from experience. “Leo is right,” Lark says. “We should give Jian some privacy. Why don’t you guys go to the lounge and try to relax a bit? I’ll wait here and see if they need anything.”
I doubt any of us will manage to relax after what we’ve just heard, but we trudge toward the lounge anyway. What else can we do? Only Beckett splits from the group, and I wonder briefly what he’s up to before turning to Suki, who’s walking alongside me.
“Another city down.” I shudder. “I can’t even imagine what Jian is going through.”
But Suki doesn’t respond. She just gives me a sideways look before quickening her pace—as if she wants to get away from me. I watch her in confusion, wondering how her warmth from this afternoon could so quickly turn cool.
“Here’s a thought,” Katerina says once the ten of us are huddled up in the lounge. “Is there anyone in this room who hasn’t lost a family member to climate change? Does anyone here even have a safe home to go back to—one where you don’t have to worry about waking up underwater, or under rubble? When you think about it . . . we’re all like Jian Soo.”
I glance around and am struck by the sight of everyone nodding or murmuring in agreement. Everyone but me. I thought being forced to move three times in the past two years was bad, but I’m beginning to realize just how fortunate my situation is in comparison to that of the others here. The fact that my family is still intact is even rarer than I knew—and the realization makes me all the more anxious to hold on to them.
“I don’t even have a country to go back to if I get cut,” Asher says, studying the floor. “The flooding demolished most of the land.” He looks up, his expression determined. “Europa is my only shot.”
“It’s the only shot for most of us,” Dianna points out. She shuts her eyes. “We just have to pray the right six are chosen, and that the rest of us can handle the outcome.”
Someone stirs behind me, and I turn to see Leo push out of his seat, backing away from the lounge—away from this conversation. On impulse, I get up too, following him into the library.
“Are you okay?”
He keeps moving through the stacks, ignoring my voice until I reach for his arm, stopping him in the History of Spaceflight section.
“Leo. What’s wrong?”
“I can’t think about it,” he blurts out. His eyes are haunted as he stares straight ahead, like he is somewhere else entirely and I’m not there. “Can’t think about what would happen if I had to go home.”
“Why?” I whisper.
“It’s . . . like being trapped inside my grief.” He swallows hard. “Always waiting for them to walk through the door, listening for voices that will never come. I couldn’t do it anymore.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Leo. You—you don’t have to tell me anything else, if you don’t want to.”
I reach up to squeeze his shoulder, and his eyes refocus on me.
“I had a sister.” The words come tumbling out, as if they’ve been bottled up for too long. “Angelica. You would have liked her. She was smart, funny, the light of our family. A real firecracker, too. She could stand up to anyone, and no one could match her wit.” He smiles to himself, but then his expression falters. “I wasn’t supposed to ever see her like that—my baby sister underwater, her face—”
He breaks off, unable to speak, and I close the space between us, wrapping my arms around him as my own eyes well with tears. I can hear his heart pounding through his shirt, can feel his chest rising with each hollow breath.
“I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry. And I—I know how you feel, in a different way.” We break apart, and I lean heavily against the stacks. “My little brother, Sam, is everything to me. When he was diagnosed with his heart condition, and the doctors told us he was living on borrowed time—it nearly broke me. Especially when we discovered it’s from a genetic mutation, something I could have gotten too, but I didn’t.” I shake my head, the years of pain returning anew. “I’m the big sister. It should have been me instead.”
Leo looks at me with understanding.
“We’re supposed to be their protectors. Not the survivors.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Exactly.”
A clatter of footsteps echoes through the library as another group of finalists enters, jarring us from the moment. Leo and I step out of the stacks, a slight shyness between us now that we’ve both just revealed something so personal. But there’s something else too, and I can see it in his eyes before we go our separate ways.
It’s the feeling of solidarity—of finding a friend in the dark.
I can’t sleep that night, my mind spinning between thoughts of Europa and fears about home. It doesn’t help that I’ve now gone my longest stretch yet without talking to Sam or my parents. I can feel the hole of their absence like a physical pain, a wound made sharper by worry. I never had to wonder before how they were doing, how Sam was feeling—I was always right there, close enough to know everything with just a glance. But now all I can do is guess, and the uncertainty has me wide awake. If I could just talk to them, if I didn’t have to wait till the stupid scheduled video-chat, then maybe I’d be okay. . . .
And that’s when I remember—the envelope from Sam. I didn’t want to open it in front of Suki, but now that she’s fast asleep, I have my chance.
I throw off the covers and reach under my bed, grabbing the flashlight stowed there in case of storms. I tiptoe over to my backpack, the light’s thin glow hovering above it as I unzip the hidden compartment and pull out the white envelope. I tear it open . . . but there’s no letter to be found. Instead, I’m holding a metal flash drive. One that I recognize.
My heartbeat quickening, I shuffle through my backpack until I find my handheld tablet—the only personal electronic device we were allowed to bring to Space Training Camp, since it works without a cellular or WiFi connection. I power it on and plug in the drive, climbing back under the covers as it loads.
A spinning alien head pops up on the screen, and I stifle a gasp. It’s just what I suspected. Sam, you are one crafty little bro.
The drive contains my own hacking software—the prototype I coded two years ago, when I was desperate to access the Burbank Hospital computers. Sam was struggling to stay alive then, his heart fighting against the old medication, and I couldn’t just sit and wait. I needed the internal data, the files and DNA sequencing that hospitals never release—just in case I could see something that the overwhelmed, scattered doctors might have missed. So I put my computer skills to their best use. I was already adept at Python, so it was just a matter of coding the server scripts, and then I was in.
My software is how I hacked Sam’s DNA records and figured out that he needed a biotech drug instead of a pharmaceutical, and it’s what ultimately led me to come up with my DNA editing solution. But after that, I thought my hacking days were behind me. I haven’t touched this flash drive since then—but my brother had the foresight to make sure I didn’t leave it behind.
The thought gives me a burst of excitement even as a chill of fear runs down my spine. I know why Sam did this. He’s counting on me to get the inside intel that could stop this mission and bring the Twenty-Four home . . . but would I actually dare to infiltrate NASA computers?
On one hand, if my suspicions about the dangers and extraterrestrials are right, I would be protecting my fellow finalists—but after tonight, I’m not so sure they want to be protected. Is it at all possible that what’s out there on Europa is the lesser of two evils?
I drop the drive back into its envelope. I can’t make any hasty decisions—not when the possibility of getting caught hacking NASA would land me in jail, maybe even for life. For now, until I decide what to do . . . the most important thing is to make sure the drive stays hidden.