NAOMI
I TURN AROUND FOR ONE LAST LOOK BEFORE THE DOORS CLOSE behind us, cutting me off from any semblance of normal life. I can feel the gravity of this place pulling me farther away from Sam and my parents, and for a moment my feet refuse to move. And then a girl with chin-length dark hair and a nose ring elbows me in the ribs, muttering, “Hurry up,” and I force myself into motion, following the pack of finalists down a long hallway.
Dr. Takumi and General Sokolov bring us to a halt in front of the elevator bay, where framed, autographed photos of astronauts from the past adorn the walls. I move closer, my heartbeat picking up speed at the image of Sally Ride upside down in zero gravity, at Scott Kelly and Mikhail Kornienko stepping into the Soyuz. It’s surreal to think we’re standing within the same walls where, ages ago, these legends were made. I wonder what they would think of the Europa Mission—if they, too, would balk at the risks.
“Armstrong shouldn’t have to share a wall with that guy,” Beckett Wolfe comments to no one in particular, making a face at the portrait of Yuri Gagarin hanging beside Neil Armstrong’s. “There was just no one at his level in those days.”
I cringe, dying to correct him but not quite in the mood to draw attention to myself. Thankfully, there are other finalists here eager to school him.
“You do know Yuri Gagarin was the first human in space, right?” interjects a boy I recognize from the TV segment on the Twenty-Four. Jian from China, I remember. The pilot.
“Sure, but the goal of the space race was to get to the moon,” Beckett says, drawing out the word to prove his point. “Not to just chill out in orbit. That’s why we won.”
“Yuri Gagarin was a hero.” General Sokolov steps in, narrowing her eyes at Beckett. “I’d hardly refer to his landmark achievement as ‘chilling out.’”
That shuts Beckett right up. I meet Jian’s eyes, and we exchange a grin. I have a feeling this will be the perfect place for the First Nephew to overcome his superiority complex.
The general leads half of us into one of the oversize elevators and up to the third floor, where we reconvene with Dr. Takumi and the rest of the finalists in a stark white corridor, with signs pointing the way to the Space Center Auditorium. I recognize the gray-carpeted theater as soon as we walk inside, with its array of flags framing a curved stage. This is the setting of every historic NASA press conference I’ve seen on-screen—only this time the audience seats are empty, waiting for us to fill them. A group of adults in ISTC uniforms mills about onstage, a hush falling over them as we enter with Dr. Takumi.
“Take your seats in the first two rows,” he instructs us, before sweeping up the steps and onto the stage.
I sit between a boy with wavy brown hair and a lopsided grin, who introduces himself as Callum Turner from Australia, and the girl with the nose ring and lilting accent, Ana Martinez from Spain.
“Nice to meet you,” I whisper to the two of them before Dr. Takumi steps up to the podium, harnessing everyone’s attention with his direct gaze.
“Finalists, welcome to your new home and training grounds. Joining me onstage are the ISTC faculty, made up of the top minds in aerospace and science, who will be preparing you for the mission ahead,” he announces. “We’ll begin by dividing you into four teams of six. Each team will be overseen by one of our faculty: experienced, retired astronauts known as team leaders, who will serve as your chaperone and guide throughout this process. Meanwhile, your teammates are the finalists you’ll be training and spending most of your time with here—and you will be evaluated on how well you work together and get along. We’ve put careful thought and consideration into each team, to encourage a spirit of both competition and cooperation.”
It’s like the first day of school, but with fatal consequences. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, wondering which of these strangers I’ll be stuck with.
As Dr. Takumi launches into staff introductions, my uneasiness gives way to interest. These are no ordinary teachers—they are a mix of scientists, engineers, and former astronauts from around the world, combined with sergeants and lieutenants from the United States Army. Looking at the faculty in front of us, it’s clear that we’re in for the space-travel equivalent of boot camp.
“Of course I saved the best for last,” he continues, looking down the line of his staff with a secretive smile. “Not long ago, the world watched as we sent two humanoid robots on a flyby probe of Europa, to gather data and confirm the habitability of Jupiter’s moon. The success of that first mission is the reason you are all sitting here today.” Dr. Takumi pauses for effect. “Since the robots have already proven themselves indispensable and have a firsthand knowledge of Europa . . . they will be accompanying the Final Six on the mission.”
My mouth falls open.
“No. Way,” I whisper to Ana beside me as the room buzzes with excited murmurs. We all know which robots he’s talking about—we followed their progress religiously, the same way our parents geeked out over the Mars Curiosity rover before us—and the thought of traveling through space with them is like a fantasy beyond anything my childhood self could have dreamed up.
“Without further ado, I’m proud to introduce you to the most advanced artificial intelligence currently in existence: Cyb and Dot!”
The curtain drops to reveal two majestic machines. They are the size and shape of humans, with terrestrial legs and dexterous fingers, but their bodies are encased in shells of machinery, like powered suits of armor. Dot’s body is bronze and Cyb’s is platinum, denoting their difference in status, while their faces are masks of metal, with a pair of round blue camera lenses for eyes. Sliding plates on each of their torsos reveal a digital tablet—the wand that activates the magic of AIOS, the Artificial Intelligence Operating System. I’m practically salivating at the sight of it. And as the robots march to the front of the stage, I can’t help rising to my feet, leading the room in a spontaneous standing ovation.
I know all the work that went into creating such exceptional AIs—the complex algorithms and encoders that gave Dot and Cyb their brains, the hundreds of sensors and dozens of PowerPC processors that make up their guts—and I feel a twinge of longing. To get to learn from these robots and one day develop artificial intelligence of my own . . . that’s a dream that gets my blood flowing.
I just don’t want to have to leave the planet in order to achieve it.
The robots turn to give Dr. Takumi and General Sokolov a formal salute, and the general crosses the stage to join them.
“Cyb has been programmed to autopilot the spacecraft to Europa, and will therefore serve as my proxy commander,” she reveals. “Dot will provide backup support. Because of their importance on this mission, and their ability to form unbiased opinions based on logic, the robots will join Dr. Takumi and myself in deciding the first eliminations. Which brings us to our next piece of news.” She glances at Dr. Takumi, and he nods for her to continue.
“Right now, the abandoned Athena supply ship is still orbiting Mars and carrying with her two decades’ worth of preserved food and resources. By including a Mars rendezvous on your trajectory to Europa, we’re able to not only salvage some of the billions invested in the Athena mission, but more importantly, provide for all of your needs on Jupiter’s moon. There’s just one problem.” She lets out a long exhale. “Based on this week’s images and data from SatCon, we have reason to suspect a fuel leak.”
My eyebrows shoot up. That would mean—
“Without a human crew to patch the leak, the supply ship will eventually run out of fuel—and tidal forces will pull her out of orbit.” The general’s voice echoes my grim thoughts. “Luckily, that process takes time . . . but not long enough for us to have the luxury of four months of training.”
“That’s why we’re moving up the Europa launch to one month from now,” Dr. Takumi announces, to the sound of our gasps. “Likewise, your training will be compressed into a more rigorous four-week course. It may sound daunting, but with Cyb and Dot joining you on the mission, that amount of training should be sufficient. You won’t be entirely alone up there.”
I feel my throat closing up in panic, as the shock of his words reverberates through the room. One month? How can anyone be ready that quickly? To have to leave Earth so soon—
“Meanwhile,” he adds, “half of you will be eliminated from the draft in two weeks’ time.”
Judging by the aghast expressions I see all around me, most of my fellow finalists have zero desire to go home so early—but the thought sends hope flooding through my chest. While the others are busy trying to impress the robots, I can make a point of falling below their radar, presenting myself as a perfectly average, elimination-worthy candidate. And then I’d be safe from Europa. In just two weeks I could be on my way home.
Except . . . there’s the not-so-small matter of the promise I made to my brother, and to myself. I have a theory to prove first, and succeeding would mean that I can ensure all of us get to return safely to our families. Pulling this off before the first elimination will be a major stretch—but I have to at least try.
“Now, let me address the elephant in the room.” Dr. Takumi’s voice takes on a warning tone, pulling me out of my thoughts and back into the present. “We are well aware that some of you might be tempted to sabotage or diminish your cofinalists, in order to advance your own standing in the draft. The ISTC has a zero-tolerance policy where this is concerned, and anyone who attempts it will face severe punishment.”
I stifle a laugh. They certainly don’t need to worry about that with me.
“Others among you may have the opposite aim. Some of you might try to play down your abilities, to sabotage your own chances.” Dr. Takumi’s eyes move across the room, studying each one of us, and my face turns hot.
“You should know that we can see right through any of these attempts,” he continues. “The twenty-four of you will be closely monitored, both during training and in regular psychological evaluations. If we find you guilty of self-sabotage or attempting to thwart one of your teammates, you will be punished accordingly. Lesser infractions will require you and your family to pay a steep fine, while larger crimes carry the same sentence as resisting the draft: long-term imprisonment.”
The room is dead silent now. Fear churns in my stomach as I realize the risks I’ll be taking with my plan. But it’s not impossible, a voice in my head whispers. I can still investigate and expose the mission from the inside—I’ll just have to outsmart a bunch of brilliant adults and two AIs in order to do it. Great.
“And now, without further ado, let’s assign your teams!” Dr. Takumi smiles broadly, a jarring transition from his talk of crimes and jail time. “First up is Team Lark.”
A young woman bounds to the front of the stage, tall and willowy, with dark skin and braided black hair. She must be in her twenties, unusually young for a retired astronaut, and I find myself wondering what her story is.
“When I call your name, please come up to the stage and form a line behind Lark,” Dr. Takumi instructs. “First on the team is . . . Asher Levin from Israel.”
A boy in the row before me jolts out of his seat. I watch as he makes his way up to the stage, raking a hand through his auburn hair, the expression behind his glasses a mixture of pride and nerves.
“From Singapore, Suki Chuan.”
There’s a shuffling a few seats down from me as Suki slides out of our row. She walks up the steps with her head held high, a look of steely determination in her eyes—the picture of poise. I have a feeling I’ll look like a bumbling deer in headlights in comparison when my own name is called.
“Next, from the United States, Beckett Wolfe.”
Beckett strides up to the stage with a smirk, barely mustering eye contact with Asher and Suki while shaking their hands. I don’t envy those two getting lumped into his team.
“And, also from the United States, Naomi Ardalan.”
What? My head jerks up in surprise. Why would they put both American finalists on the same team? I can tell my counterpart is thinking the same thing, as his smile twists into something sour. The First Nephew clearly doesn’t appreciate having another American here to steal his thunder.
“Go on,” Callum whispers beside me, and I push out of my seat, forcing a deep breath as all eyes in the room momentarily focus on me. I climb up to the stage, even as I’m itching to run in the opposite direction, and take my place beside Beckett.
“Hey.” Asher leans over and offers me a handshake, while Suki gives me a tentative smile. I smile back at them, relieved to have a couple of friendlier faces on my team.
“Just two more to go for Team Lark,” Dr. Takumi continues, and I brace myself, wondering who will be joining us next.
“From Italy, Leonardo Danieli.”
Him. My spirits lift as the boy from the videoconference grins and makes his way toward us. Something tells me this team will be a little more bearable with him on it.
“Ciao,” he says, a charming dimple appearing in his cheek as he shakes my hand. “You can call me Leo.”
“Hi, Leo.”
I hold his gaze a second longer than I should, almost missing the announcement of our last team member: Katerina Fedorin from Russia, a former Olympic figure skater. As she joins us, Dr. Takumi nods in satisfaction at the sight of our completed team.
“The six of you may be excused. Lark, please show your finalists to their rooms and common areas.”
“All right, team.” Lark turns to face us. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The grand tour begins on the fifth floor, which Lark refers to as “the Hab”—the place where we will sleep, eat, and spend all of our downtime between training. The elevator doors open onto a blue-carpeted corridor, and we follow Lark as she leads the way to the first stop, the cafeteria.
“We’ll meet here every morning for breakfast at seven a.m.,” she says as we step through the automatic glass doors. “Lunch is a quicker, on-the-go meal provided for you in between your training sessions, and then we’ll return here for dinner in the evenings at six thirty. You’ll find there’s one thing in particular you don’t have to worry about at Space Training Camp.” She winks. “Rationing.”
“What do you mean?” I blurt out. I don’t dare get my hopes up, but if she’s saying what I think she is—
“The government agreed to waive all ration restrictions for the Twenty-Four,” she replies. “Since, after all, anyone making the journey into space needs to be in peak condition. So you may get homesick, but you’ll never go hungry.”
I meet the eyes of my fellow finalists, nearly all of them looking as gleeful as I feel at the prospect of eating until our bellies are full. I know I can’t get used to this, that I’ll be back to living on canned soup and bread when my prayer is answered and I make it back home—but I can have my fill while I’m here. The thought has me practically light-headed with anticipation.
“We’ll eat meals as a team, right here,” Lark continues, tapping her knuckles on one of the long folding tables filling the center of the cafeteria. She points to the now-empty buffet counter, which snakes around the back of the room. “Each day’s menu alternates between the different cuisines of our represented countries. Tonight, you have a choice of both American and Chinese food.”
A choice? That’s almost as unbelievable as no rations. I catch Leo peering around the cafeteria wide-eyed, and my stomach growls in solidarity.
Lark leads us to the library next, and I feel my body begin to relax at the comforting sight of the stacks, at the nostalgic scent of leather-bound books. Libraries have always been my happy place, and as long as I have one I can escape to here . . . well, I just might survive whatever is thrown at me.
“What’s the deal with the Wi-Fi?” Beckett asks, eyeing the row of desktop computers.
“Internet access is only available to finalists here in the library,” Lark answers. “We have a list of preapproved websites you can access, and online video-chatting will also be made available to you once a week, to contact your families—”
“Wait, what?” I interrupt. Lark shoots me a look of disapproval, clearly not a fan of being cut off midsentence, but I can’t help myself. “What are preapproved websites? Does that include email?”
“Considering that you are all training and competing for a spot on the most important mission in history, Dr. Takumi and General Sokolov can’t allow for any unnecessary distractions,” she says tersely. “So that means email, texting, and all social media are off-limits at ISTC. However, those of you who are chosen for the Final Six will have full internet access at all times aboard the spacecraft.”
I stare at Lark in disbelief. I was counting on emailing my family every day, on having round-the-clock messages from Sam and my parents to hold on to whenever I missed them too much to breathe. That was supposed to be my one solace while we were apart. I should have guessed it wouldn’t be that simple. We might as well be prisoners here.
“And I thought leaving my phone behind was tough,” Asher says with a woeful shrug. But I’m not as able to let it go.
“So basically we’re restricted from contact with the rest of the world, until the point at which we literally have to leave the world?” I give Lark a desperate look, hoping she’ll recognize how unfair this. Maybe she can go to bat for us—
“Don’t worry,” Beckett says, his voice dripping with condescension. “As soon as you get cut, you can go running back to posting selfies.”
I flash him a withering glare and am just about to make a snappy comeback when Lark holds up her hands.
“Enough. Trust me when I say that you’ll be so busy here, you won’t even have the time or energy to go online. And now, if you’ll follow me, there’s more to see in this room.”
Lark leads the way past the stacks and into a lounge opening off the library, complete with leather armchairs, a projection screen, and a cabinet lined with DVDs.
“This is where most astronauts-in-training like to relax in the hour break between dinner and curfew,” she says. “And if you still haven’t gotten your fill of space by the end of the day, we have all the movies you could want, even the old classics like Interstellar and Hidden Figures.”
“What about Apollo 13?” Katerina asks with a sly grin.
Lark pauses. “Yeah. Believe it or not, we do have that one.” She clears her throat. “Okay, one last stop before I show you to your dorms.”
I follow Lark and my teammates out the door, still stewing over the ironhanded internet restrictions. Why was I the only one to object? Maybe my cofinalists are afraid to rock the boat, but how could they not care that we’re being effectively shut off from the outside world? Plus, “preapproved websites” sounds like just a fancy term for censorship. I’m willing to bet my life that Space Conspirator won’t be on it, or any other site that doesn’t further the Europa Mission’s agenda. This isn’t the NASA I know, that I grew up worshipping.
Then again, no one here is even pretending that it is. The ISTC has taken over . . . and that means a whole new set of rules.
Once the seven of us are piled into the elevator, Lark presses the button for the top floor. “Most of your time will be spent indoors, so Dr. Takumi has generously made the Telescope Tower available to the finalists during your downtime. It may be small, but it’s my favorite spot on campus.”
The lift doors open to the outside heat. We follow Lark down a concrete pathway to a spiral staircase, which leads to the circular balcony above us. A tall sheet of plexiglass serves as a railing, making it impossible for anyone to fall . . . or jump. And at the center of the tower is its namesake, a long and lean equatorial mount telescope, pointed skyward.
“Cool,” Leo murmurs, stepping up for a closer look.
In the past, I would have been the first to run and peer into the lens. Ever since my grandparents bought me my first kid-size telescope, showing me how I could see the same stars from my Los Angeles backyard that they once gazed up at in Iran, I’ve been entranced by them. But now, knowing how dangerously close I am to being sent up there . . . for the first time in my life, the sight of a telescope feels more like a warning.
“You can see some of the most distant planets and stars in our solar system from here,” Lark says. “Including Europa.”
A shiver runs through me. There is something more than a little eerie about seeing the place where six of us will be forced to live and die—looming above as just a speck in the sky.
Lark glances at her watch, and then turns toward the stairs.
“All right, let’s show you to your dorms.”
We make our way back to the Hab, and this time Lark turns in the opposite direction from the cafeteria and library. This new corridor is softer, with plush carpeting and rounded windows, colorful mission patches and photographs decorating the walls, and even the occasional accent table adorned with books on display. It’s like crossing from an industrial space into a residential one.
“The girls’ dorm is to the left, boys’ to the right,” Lark says as we reach a fork in the corridor. “There will be two of you to a room, and you’ll find your rooming assignments posted on the door.”
My stomach nose-dives at her words. It’s not that I expected we’d each get our own room . . . but I certainly hoped.
Lark leads us through the girls’ dorm hallway, passing doors with plaques bearing the names of finalists from other teams, until we reach one belonging to us. Naomi Ardalan & Suki Chuan. I give Suki a small smile, wondering if she feels the way I do about rooming with a stranger.
“You have a couple hours to unpack and settle in before we meet back at the cafeteria for dinner.” Lark reaches into her jacket pocket and hands us each a laminated pass. “This serves as the key both to your room and the approved common areas. Make sure to keep it safe, and remember—this pass won’t open any doors beyond your own room and the spaces I just showed you. All other rooms, corridors, and buildings here at ISTC are off-limits unless you are with me or another member of staff. That means absolutely no venturing to the Mission Floor, the labs, or anywhere else on your own. All that’ll get you is the wrath of Dr. Takumi, which, trust me, you don’t want to see.” She looks intently at each of us. “Do you understand?”
I join the others and nod obediently, but I can feel my heartbeat quickening. Why all the secrecy? Why are we confined to just four spaces on this massive campus?
What are they hiding?
The door closes behind us, plunging me and Suki into silence. For a few moments we just stand there, both of us frozen in the awkwardness of the situation. But then I clear my throat, force myself to get a grip. I may not be much of a social butterfly, but I need a friend here. Maybe having a roommate will turn out for the best.
“So, um, what do you think? About all this?” I ask, realizing as the words come out of my mouth that I really do suck at making small talk.
“I think . . .” She takes a shaky breath, and for a second I wonder if she’s going to tell me something real—but then her expression closes up. “I think we should try to get some rest while we can. We’re going to be on an exhausting schedule.”
She strides forward and flicks on the lights. Our luggage is already here waiting for us, and Suki drags her bag to the bed farthest from the door, effectively claiming the quieter side of the room without asking me. But I have bigger things to worry about than a potentially inconsiderate roomie.
I sink onto the bed on my side and glance around at our surroundings. The room is about what I expected—small and stark, with two twin beds, a pair of matching white desks and swivel chairs, and a closet and chest of drawers to share. The walls are bare, save for a large, sleek mirror near the door. At first I’m surprised that the ISTC even bothered with such fancy mirrors in each room, until an LED screen lights up within it. A message on the screen displays our names and today’s schedule, with a clock reminding us that we have T-minus two hours until dinner.
“I would have preferred a window to that,” I tell Suki, nodding at the Mirror Screen of Stress.
“Hmm” is all she says in response, before opening her duffel bag and folding her clothes into our chest of drawers. I’m in no hurry to unpack, but Suki is making it clear that we’re not about to break the ice and bond. I might as well fix up my side of the room with some reminders of home.
I hop off the bed and grab my carry-on, unzipping the compartment that holds my photos and posters. I pull out the framed photo of me with Dr. Greta Wagner from the science fair two years ago and set it in a place of honor on my desk, then use a couple thumbtacks from the desk to pin up my favorite poster, of Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue. And then I unearth my most precious photo of all—from Persian New Year, back when I was fourteen. My father is leaping over a blazing fire per New Year tradition, a childlike grin on his face, while me, Sam, and Mom watch with our arms around each other, practically crying with laughter. It’s an image that’s always made me smile—until today.
Nothing can make this place feel like home, not when my family is a thousand miles away. And if I thought I had a solid plan up my sleeve to get back to them, Dr. Takumi’s litany of rules and restrictions is forcing me to reconsider everything.
“I—I think I’m going to take a nap,” I fib to Suki. Of course there’s no chance I’ll fall asleep, but I need an excuse to turn away from her—to hide my face and let the inevitable tears fall.