LEO
THE SECOND DAY OF TRAINING DAWNS, AND WE ARE THRUST back into the ISTC’s breakneck pace, with no more word from Dr. Takumi about the China tragedy. It’s as though we’ve grown so conditioned to natural disaster that we can only spare one night to reflect before it’s on to the next. Still, I can feel the shadow of last night’s news hanging over all of us at breakfast, underscoring the urgency of our mission, as Lark talks us through the training day to come. My stomach clenches at the sight of Jian Soo, showing up to the cafeteria with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and a stricken expression. Both of us will have to harness our grief while we are here—to let it propel us forward instead of backward.
After breakfast, Lark leads us through a series of corridors into the virtual reality lab: a vast space centered around a 360-degree video screen, its walls climbing with electronics and wires, the ceilings blinking with LED sensors and tracking cameras. Three swivel chairs sit in front of the screen, each with a joystick attached to an armrest. Stacked on each seat are a headset, boxy chest rig, and sensor-laden gloves. My fingers twitch in anticipation. It looks like we’re preparing to infiltrate a video game.
“Good morning, finalists.” General Sokolov steps into the room through a rear door, an ISTC tablet glimmering in her hands. The six of us stand at attention, giving her the military salute Lark taught us to return her greeting.
“Today, you’re going to experience the most high-tech training system astronauts have ever received on Earth,” she begins. “Once you’re hooked up to the equipment and sensors, the software known as DOUG—Dynamic Onboard Ubiquitous Graphics—will start modeling on the screen the very sights and scenes you’ll find in space from your vantage point on the Pontus. At the same time, your headsets provide a 3D virtual representation, plunging you straight into the action, while your seats move in sync with the simulation. So, sitting in this chair and donning the gear will take you as close as anyone on Earth can get to deep space—without ever leaving this room. You’ll find yourselves surprised by how lifelike it feels.”
Awesome. Asher and I exchange a grin.
“Today’s simulation places you near Jupiter orbit at the tail end of your journey to Europa, spacewalking during a pre-landing equipment check,” the general continues. “Three of you will be outside the Pontus performing your EVAs, connected to the ship by a tether. You’ll initially hear instructions from me through your headsets, but the purpose of the sim is to see how each of you reacts during an emergency scenario—one that just might require you to use your backup jetpacks.” The corners of her mouth turn up in a conspiratorial half smile. “Your goal is to make it back to the airlock in one piece, with your teammates, by the end of the sim. The three of you will be able to communicate with each other via your headset radios, just as you will in a real-life EVA. Got it?”
We all nod, though I can tell from the faces around me that I’m not the only one wondering exactly how this is going to play out. I watch as General Sokolov peers down at her tablet, giving it a series of swipes—and then the door behind us blows open, followed by the whirring and beeping sounds I recognize from yesterday.
I turn around to the sight of both robots, Cyb and Dot, marching toward the general at an eerily identical stride. The six of us step back, clearing the way for them, as their presence once again sends a jolt through the room. I can see my teammates standing up a little straighter, their jaws tightening, eyes locked on the AIs. They are the wild cards in all of this—the machines with the power to sway our destinies.
The general nods at the robots in greeting, then refocuses on us.
“Dot, Cyb, and I will plug into the simulation as observers, each of us reviewing your actions on the screen, as well as your heart rate, brain waves, and other physical reactions tracked by the wearable equipment. First up . . .” She glances down at her screen. “Beckett, Leo, and Naomi.”
My competitive instincts return at the sound of my name, and I remember the mantra that used to run through my mind before every international swim meet: Go make my country proud. I plan to do just that while I’m here.
The three of us approach the chairs in front of the screen, and General Sokolov fits the VR equipment onto our bodies, attaching the bulky white rigs to our chests and strapping the elastic LED markers to our shoes. I slide my hands into the haptic gloves, watching the palm sensors light up as I stretch my fingers. Last is the headset, a wireless black-and-white mask of machinery that promises to immerse us in virtual space as soon as the general gives us the go-ahead to lower it over our eyes.
She points to the joysticks found on our armrests. “When the simulation calls for you to use your jetpack, you’ll trigger the thrust with your joystick. As you know, jetpacks are self-rescue devices filled with propulsive gases. Wearing one of these manned maneuvering units on your back is like having a power you can access whenever you’re in need—the power to, essentially, fly. But it takes skill to control the thrusters.” She reaches for the stick, demonstrating its commands. “These are the motions you’ll use to ignite the thrusters, with a long thrust for speed and smaller thrust to steady your direction.”
Dot and Cyb cross to the console rig behind us, and I can hear the low hum of their machinery as they stand near me—like an AI form of breathing.
“Dot and Cyb, plug into the sim,” General Sokolov commands.
“Copy that,” the robots answer in unison, and my skin prickles at the surreal sound of their voices. It’s the first time I’ve heard them speak, and I never realized until now that Cyb is programmed masculine, Dot feminine.
“Finalists, lower your headsets to your eyes in three . . . two . . . one. Remember, we aren’t expecting you to know exactly what to do. We’re looking to test your instincts.”
I catch one last glimpse of Asher, Katerina, and Suki, watching us with rapt attention. And then I slip the mask over my eyes.
A cry of amazement escapes me as I look up to find myself floating in an inky black sky. A majestic, colorful spinning sphere looms far in the distance above me, casting its bright shadow over the darkness. Jupiter. Even at hundreds of miles away, the gas giant dominates the sky. It’s a few moments before I can tear my eyes away and take in the rest of my surroundings.
I am hovering on the edge of one of the Pontus’s outer modules, my feet skimming a platform between the side of the ship and the glowing wing of a solar panel. When I glance down, it appears my clothing has transformed from the ISTC uniform to a heavyweight space suit, with a thick tether cord running from my suit’s harness to a handlebar on the module. I spot a flicker of movement across from me, and then Beckett appears, crouching on the opposite solar panel. A crackling sound comes over my headset.
“Houston is reporting a damaged solar array interfering with our power supply.” General Sokolov’s voice echoes over the radio. “Leo and Beckett, we need you to find and cut the snagged wire and install the stabilizers—you’ll find the tools in your equipment belts, with step-by-step instructions downloaded to your wrist monitors. Do you copy?”
“Copy,” Beckett answers, and I’m quick to echo him. But inside my suit, I’m sweating at the realization that I have no idea what I’m doing—and he is the last teammate I’d ever choose to depend on for help.
“Naomi, with your computer skills, we’ve put you on the robotic Canadarm, positioned in front of our External Multiplexer-Demultiplexer. Please run diagnostics on the computer and confirm all systems a go for approach to Europa.”
“Copy that.” Naomi’s voice crinkles over the radio, and I glance up, my eyes widening at the sight of her balancing on the edge of a moving crane, swinging above the Pontus.
“Approaching the first solar array,” Beckett says, and I refocus on the golden panel in front of me, crossing toward it in the short, bouncy steps my tether allows as I fight against the change in gravity. I am first to spot the torn layer of solar cells, and I reach into the tool belt attached to my suit, pulling out a long wire that matches the image blinking on my wrist monitor screen. And then I feel something smack against my shoulder.
Beckett has caught up to me, the force of his motion knocking the tool out of my hands. The wire spins, floating away from me into the vacuum of space. I curse under my breath as Beckett sidles up to the torn array, ready to make this task his triumph alone.
“General Sokolov, I’m getting warning signals from the external computer. They’re coming through in Morse code and binary.” Naomi’s voice returns, muffled by a piercing, arrhythmic beeping in the background. “The message is, Incoming meteorites at direction nine o’cl—”
But before she can even finish her sentence, the stillness of space is broken by a flood of shards as meteorites come flying through the air toward us. I scramble backward, away from the solar panel and toward the module, but I’m too late—the rocks slice at my tether, and I shout into the void as my body is flung adrift from the Pontus.
“My tether’s gone!” I yell into the radio, before remembering the general’s instructions from the VR lab. Use the jetpacks.
I press down on my joystick, pointing myself back in the direction of the spacecraft and triggering the thrust. But I didn’t realize how powerful the jetpack’s force would be; it knocks the breath from my lungs. I weave and duck past the flying shrapnel, but I can’t get the hang of the pressure controls. Each push of my trigger blasts me too far, and now I’m spiraling through the air like an orbiter, moving too fast to feel my own limbs.
“Leo, slow down!” I hear Naomi shout through my headset. “You have to ignite a shorter thrust and redirect your position to three o’clock—” She breaks off with a scream, and I look around wildly, following her directions and maneuvering the thrusters with shaky hands, until I finally see the Canadarm through the shower of meteorites—cracked in two from the blast. Naomi dangles off the edge, reaching toward one of the handlebars on the Pontus module as the crane starts to whip around like a spinning top, but her gloves only grasp at air.
“Beckett, a little help, please!” I snap through my headset, before radioing the general again. “Naomi and I are both detached from the spacecraft. I’m using my propellers to launch toward her.” But Sokolov remains unresponsive, and I think I know why.
“I’m caught under the battery module,” Beckett groans, and I turn to see a figure in the distance hanging upside down from the spacecraft, his foot stuck in wire netting while his hand fumbles for his tool belt.
“Hang on!” Naomi calls out. “Looks like I can operate the Canadarm through my wrist monitor. Even with the arm broken, if I can just direct this piece of the crane to swing in the right direction, I can grab you both and we can make a jump for the airlock. Leo, can you close the distance with your jetpack? Aim for six o’clock.”
“On it!” I yell back, determination setting in as I push down on my joystick. This time had better work. I lunge forward through the void, using every spare ounce of my strength and coordination to direct my hurtling body toward the spinning robotic arm as it shifts direction, flailing toward the Pontus. Naomi reaches out, and my glove grasps hers.
“Almost there,” she says with a smile, and for a moment I’m mesmerized by her composure under pressure. But then the crane swings again, and I clamber on top of it in the nick of time, Naomi grabbing hold of my waist as the Canadarm whirls closer and closer to the Pontus.
“We’re about to drop down to the battery module, Beckett!” Naomi shouts. “Get your tether ready for us, and we’ll cut you loose and make it to the airlock together.”
But Beckett is one step ahead of us. As we circle closer to the module, I can see he’s managed to unearth a steel cutter from his tool belt with his free hand, and is slicing through the netting. Once extricated, he starts pulling his way across the spacecraft from handle to handle—heading for the airlock without us.
“Beckett, she said to wait!” I yell through the radio.
“This way makes more sense,” he argues. “I can get to the airlock faster and prep it for opening, so we don’t waste time there.”
Naomi and I exchange a glance. We know what he’s really up to—angling to be first, to win the challenge.
“If we don’t jump now, we’ll miss it,” she says, gripping my glove in hers. “Engage the thrusters one last time.”
I can feel my heart clanging as we let go of the crane, our two bodies propelling through open space with a gust of fuel. My free hand claws in front of me for one of the handles or knobs to break our fall, and then smack. My glove grips something solid, my feet scratch against metal—
“And that’s a wrap. Welcome back to Earth.”
A voice cuts through the scene. I shake my head to rid myself of the sound, still trying to get to the airlock . . . until it disappears from view. Someone lifts the mask from my eyes, but I’m not fully in the real world yet. My hand is still in Naomi’s, my feet kicking the legs of my chair as I try to make our way to safety. When I finally open my eyes, the sight of the room and its equipment is a relief and yet, somehow, seems all wrong. Naomi and I drop each other’s hands, and I notice a flush creeping up her cheeks.
“That was—that felt so real.” I blink up at General Sokolov standing before us. “I almost forgot it was just a sim.”
She nods approvingly. “That’s the idea. Our technology works with your consciousness to make the simulation as immersive and authentic as possible.”
“But why did it stop before we got to the airlock?” Beckett asks with a frown. “I was so close.”
Yeah, you were. I shoot him a glare. Traitor.
“I saw what I needed to see,” the general says, a cryptic expression on her face. “Now, all three of you did well and displayed strong instincts, but one of you in particular stood out. Cyb, I take it we’re on the same page?”
I hold my breath as the robot unplugs from the VR grid and wires, turning to face us. “For the ability to read and decipher machine code, the understanding of velocity and propulsion mechanisms, and ability to think on her feet, the winner of this round is the American: Naomi Ardalan.”
I watch as Beckett’s face turns to stone, and Naomi’s flush deepens. And to my surprise, as much as I wanted to win . . . hearing her name feels almost as good.
That night in the cafeteria, something is different. The buffet counters are dark, with none of the usual savory smells wafting through the room.
“What do you think is going on?” I ask Asher as we head to our table.
“No idea, but let’s hope nothing’s wrong. I’ve been dreaming about this meal all day.” He rubs his stomach hopefully.
We slide into our seats as Dr. Takumi enters the room, stepping up to the raised faculty platform and looming above us all with his rodlike posture and fixed gaze.
“From now on, dinner will be pushed back half an hour—however, you are all still required to meet here at the usual time so we can incorporate something vital into our schedule. It has to do with the RRB.” His voice takes on an almost reverent tone as he says the name.
“Radiation-resistant bacteria is the foremost reason the twenty-four of you are sitting here. Not only does the advent of the RRB make it possible for us to finally explore Jupiter orbit without risking deadly radiation exposure, but the vaccine’s age limit caused us to seek out a new pool of astronauts . . . and find you.” His eyes rove over the crowd, and my senses heighten as his glance lands on me.
“Those of you who make the Final Six will be required to self-administer daily injections of the RRB as soon as you enter the solar system’s radiation belt,” Dr. Takumi continues. “Not only will the RRB protect you during spaceflight, but it shields your body from Europa’s extremely hazardous rays—so missing a single dose could be catastrophic. That’s why we must use this time, the last days on Earth for six of you, to gauge your reactions to the experimental serum. If any of your bodies are going to react adversely . . . now is the time to find out.”
He clears his throat. “That said, each of you will receive nightly preemptive shots of the RRB, starting now. We’ve set up a small outpost for the NASA medical officer here on the Hab floor, just down the hall. That’s where you’ll line up every night before dinner to get your shots. Team leaders, please escort your finalists there now.”
“Well, this is interesting,” Asher says as we rise to our feet. He looks almost as uneasy as I feel. It never even occurred to me that some of us might not be able to tolerate the RRB. Please don’t let me be one of them.
We follow Lark and the rest of our fellow finalists out of the cafeteria and down a carpeted corridor, until we reach a pocket-size, sterile white room. A petite woman in a lab coat stands by the door, clipboard in hand.
“All right, who’s ready to go first?” she calls out in greeting.
No one answers, not even the most competitive among us. Instead, most of the Twenty-Four jostle for a spot at the end of the line. It seems I’m not the only one here who’s creeped out by needles. Still, it occurs to me now that volunteering to go first could be a mark in my favor—and I’ll take any slight edge I can get. I raise my hand, and the medic beckons me through the open door.
She motions for me to have a seat before slipping on a pair of latex gloves and filtering a glowing blue liquid into a hypodermic needle. As she preps my arm for the puncture, I look out at the crowd of finalists, watching us warily as they wait their turn. My eyes meet Naomi’s.
It might be that I feel closer to her because of what we experienced together in today’s training sim, or because she’s the only person here who knows my sister’s name. Either way, finding her face in the crowd is like a breath of relief. She smiles at me, and as the nurse plunges the needle into my arm, I hardly feel the sting.
But then Naomi’s gaze shifts, something pulling her attention behind me. It’s the row of blue vials, lining the office wall. I can almost see her mind at work as she studies them, her eyes narrowing, and my curiosity stirs.
What does she know that the rest of us don’t?