The Final Six

by Alexandra Monir

  “I know. But if we can get drafted together—”

  “Or better yet, go back to LA together,” she interrupts, giving me a meaningful look. “You would love Sam and my parents, and we could have an actual life—”

  I stop her words with a kiss. I’m not ready to contemplate getting cut. Not yet—maybe not ever.

  Is it wrong of me to wonder if there’s some way I can have it all . . . the girl and the mission?

  The next couple days fly by in a blur of training sessions with the general, Lieutenant Barnes, and the AIs, while my evenings are filled with Naomi. Even though neither of us shares a room anymore, we know not to risk another attempt at outsmarting the cameras and sneaking into each other’s dorms. Instead, we spend every last second between dinner and curfew together, keeping up a pretense of platonic friendship in front of the others, while our eyes tell a different story. The only place we don’t hold back is the Telescope Tower—the spot Naomi says is our safest bet for avoiding the cameras. We make it our own, the place where we can finally hold each other and kiss, after hours spent an arm’s length apart.

  I fall asleep with her sweet scent on my lips; I wake up with her face in my mind. Being with her is like flying in zero gravity, even while my feet are planted firmly on the ground. There’s just one flaw to this new magic in my life: losing her would wreck me. And the closer we get to the reveal of the Final Six—the more possible that scenario becomes.

  With T-minus five days left, we learn that our schedules will be shifting to mostly private training in each finalist’s area of expertise. While I’ll be spending these last days getting one-on-one instruction in drilling through Europa’s ice crust, Naomi will be in the Mission Control Center with the capsule communicator, aka CAPCOM, deciphering coded computer messages and working flight-velocity equations. It’s clear to all of us what the transition to specialized training means: Dr. Takumi and General Sokolov are auditioning us for the six crew positions.

  My suspicion is confirmed when I show up to the diving pool for what I assumed was a private session, only to find Beckett there too. So I was right: the two of us are going head-to-head. I turn my face as soon as I see him, though I can feel his eyes boring a hole into my back. I won’t acknowledge him; I won’t let him psych me out.

  “All right, my two divers!” Lieutenant Barnes says cheerily, oblivious to the tension between us. “Who knows the best way to drill through thirty kilometers of ice quickly in space?”

  Am I supposed to know this? I stay quiet, hoping Beckett doesn’t have the answer either. Thankfully, the lieutenant plunges ahead.

  “A nuclear hydrothermal drill!” he answers for us. “Here’s how it works: the underwater specialist on the Final Six will set up the drill on the landing site of Europa. Once in position and switched on, a nuclear power source in the drill will heat water and spit it back out in the form of high-powered jets to melt through the ice. At the same time, rotating drill blades beneath the water jets will chip away at the ice.” He smiles. “And that is how you will pierce Europa’s ice shell and descend into its rocky ocean and land below.”

  Adrenaline courses through me. I have to beat Beckett—I have to be the one chosen for this job.

  “The actual drill we plan to use is being finalized at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab right now, so today we’ll be working with a smaller prototype. But first, let’s warm up. Give me a twist dive followed by a two-hundred-meter freestyle.”

  “Are we racing?” I ask the lieutenant, already grinning at the prospect. The First Nephew is about to get crushed.

  “Yes. Leo, you can take the ten-meter board.”

  I can’t resist a smirk in Beckett’s direction as I climb up to the higher diving board while he is relegated to the three-meter. As I step up to the ledge, I glance down at the prick mark on my arm from last night’s RRB shot, wondering if Naomi was right about it. Will I feel . . . different in the pool again?

  I have my answer as soon as I hit the water. My skin is vibrating, my insides pulsing with the sensation of something coming to life within me—something faster than human. And as I fly through the pool, I think of the word Naomi used. Amphibious. The way I move underwater without needing a breath . . . there does seem to be something almost amphibious about me now.

  I touch the wall, ready to lean back and wait for Beckett to catch up. But then I see . . . he’s only a few strokes behind me. How is that possible?

  “Well done, both of you!” Lieutenant Barnes calls out, not looking nearly as stunned as he should be, considering we both just swam faster than Olympians. What is going on here?

  “Lieutenant Barnes!” Beckett calls out from his lane opposite mine. “I’ve been working on that breath-holding technique we talked about and I’ve gotten pretty good. Let me show you?”

  “Sure.” Lieutenant Barnes nods, and Beckett hoists himself out of the pool and approaches my diving board—the ten-meter. A chill runs through my veins as Beckett executes a near-perfect backflip and stays underwater, the lieutenant gleefully calling out each minute he stays under. He makes it a full seven minutes—not as long as my fifteen-plus, but an unprecedented improvement over his last two-minute hold. And as I watch Beckett break through the surface and speed to the end of the lane, it’s obvious that I’m not the only one benefiting from the strange side effects of the RRB.

  Naomi was right. There is far more to the RRB than we’ve been told. Once again, I remember Elena’s warning words. But now I’m beginning to have an idea of what the ISTC had in mind . . . the kind of weapons we are intended to be.

  Twenty

  NAOMI

  THE TWELVE OF US ARRIVE IN THE ALTITUDE CHAMBER TO FIND General Sokolov waiting for us at the center of the ice, standing beside a man we haven’t seen before. A heap of aluminum and canvas lies at their feet, folded up like a parachute, and I wonder if we’re in for another extreme activity. Is parachuting over Houston next on the agenda? But then the general introduces her guest as Mr. Anthony Nolan from Bigelow Aerospace, and I feel a flicker of excitement. I’ve been following Bigelow’s science ever since I was a kid.

  “Now that we’re getting so close to departure, today is about learning how to live day-to-day in deep space,” General Sokolov begins. “Bigelow Aerospace has done a remarkable job of building an expandable habitat for the Final Six on Europa.” She gestures to the folded materials on the ice. “It doesn’t look like much now, but once inflated, it just might rival some of your own homes on Earth.”

  “The habitat is built to withstand all the elements, provide radiation and ballistic protection, and remain in mint condition for twenty years,” Mr. Nolan adds. “And today, you’re going to learn how to assemble it once you land on Europa.”

  Leo gives me a gentle nudge, and a grin that makes my heart constrict. I know what he’s saying with his smile. This could be ours. But I can’t let my mind go there yet; I can’t let myself contemplate a world without my family—just as I can’t imagine living a world away from Leo now that I’ve found him. There’s only one way this can end in my favor . . . and it’s all out of my hands.

  “So that stuff would make up our entire home for the next twenty years?” Beckett asks, eyeing the yards of aluminum and canvas. Clearly, it’s no White House.

  “Due to space restrictions here in the Altitude Chamber, we are only inflating one room of your habitat today—the crew community room, otherwise known as a den,” Mr. Nolan answers. “However, the tools and science are the same for one room and module as they are for the entire eighteen-hundred-square-foot Europa habitat. You’ll just need to be prepared for a long day of working the pressure equalization valve.” He points to a steel spigot that runs the length of the ice floor, nearly blending in with it. “Who wants to give me a hand?”

  “I will,” I volunteer, curious to try it, and he beckons me over. Once we’re at the center of the ice, he instructs me to hold up one end of the canvas while he grasps the other, and then he grabs the valve with his
free hand, feeding bursts of air into the hole in the canvas. A popping sound echoes through the chamber as it slowly inflates.

  “It sounds like we’re microwaving popcorn,” I remark, watching as the canvas expands.

  Mr. Nolan chuckles. “It sure does. Here, have a go at it.”

  He hands me the valve, and as I press the trigger, a surge of air blasts into the canvas with surprising strength. “Nice,” I say, smiling at my handiwork. We now have almost half of a room standing.

  The rest of the twelve each take take a turn at the valve, and as I watch the yards of material transforming into a full-size room, I am reminded of what I love about science. From almost nothing, we have created something—something that can support human beings for twenty years. It’s like magic. In fact, sometimes I think that’s exactly what science is: the magic we look for in stories, without realizing that it exists in all the inventions and creations around us.

  As the hour draws to a close, we stand back to admire our hundred-square-foot inflated room. It’s hard to believe it used to be just a heap of fabric.

  “Would this really shield us from all the elements?” Minka, the finalist from Ukraine, asks as she pokes its soft exterior. “I mean, if we ever experienced on Europa anything like the storms and disasters we’ve had to deal with here on Earth, would this habitat be enough to protect us? It looks so . . . light.”

  “The habitat is far more durable than it appears, and these materials were chosen with ultimate protection in mind,” Mr. Nolan assures us. “But remember: the recent destruction of most of our Earth was a man-made tragedy. Right now, Europa is a pure, untamed wilderness of ice that you will need to terraform, make habitable—and then protect. We learned the hard way on Earth that no amount of technology or wealth is worth polluting and destroying our planet over. You can’t afford to make the same mistake on Europa.”

  Finally, one of the authority figures here is speaking to something I believe in. Europa shouldn’t be blindly colonized—it needs to be preserved. And if I’m right about Europa’s intelligent life, as I’m certain I am . . . how are we supposed to protect and maintain the purity of this new environment, if the very thing to protect it from just might be us?

  Once again, I reach the same conclusion: Earth is where it’s safest—both for us humans, and for Europa’s undiscovered life.

  That night, I stare at the flash drive in my hands, knowing that this is the moment. I’ve waited long enough, analyzed and triple-checked every bit of code, and I’ve even covered my tracks by programming my tablet’s IP address to reroute to a fake street address in Texas if traced. There’s nothing left for me to do now but finish the hack.

  Of course, even with all my careful planning, the risks remain. If my work isn’t quick and clean, I could compromise Dot—and if Dr. Takumi or General Sokolov senses something amiss with the robot’s systems, they could run a malware scan and find evidence of my tampering. They won’t necessarily know it was me, but as the only engineer here, I am the obvious culprit.

  If I get caught, I’ll be thrown in jail for treason, maybe even tried as an adult. But if I don’t attempt this, the world will never know about the extraterrestrials—and we’ll be sending six human lives straight into their path. There is no question what I must do.

  I plug the drive into my tablet and enter my algorithm to unlock the AIOS software. It takes longer than I expected, twenty minutes of sweating in front of the screen as I work the code, until finally . . . yes. I cover my mouth with my hand, both thrilled and slightly terrified to see that it worked. My screen fills with Dot’s monitoring signals and functions—the kind of access granted only to ISTC higher-ups. All I have to do now is type in my commands.

  I take a moment to consider the best way to receive the data I need from Dot. The easiest method with the least amount of risk would be to instruct the robot to send the files directly to my tablet—but this rudimentary device I brought doesn’t have the storage space or capability to receive such advanced files on top of the AIOS software. There’s no chance of me getting back into the robotics lab either. Which means . . . I need Dot to bring the files to me.

  Using binary code, I type in a command for the robot:

  Download all data on biosignatures from Europa. Bring the results to the private room of finalist Naomi Ardalan before morning. Discuss with no one.

  After I hit Send and tuck the flash drive back in its hiding place, another challenge awaits: disabling the security camera in our hallway. I think quickly, weighing my options. There’s no clear-cut way to stop the film from rolling without access to the ISTC computer that controls the cameras—but maybe I could blind the lens.

  I rush to my backpack, retrieving the pouch Sam refers to as my mad scientist kit: filled with odds and ends that are capable of pulling off an experiment on the fly. I rummage through it, momentarily considering petroleum jelly to blur the lens instead, until my hands close around something even better: my mini LED flashlight. That’ll do the trick.

  I throw on a hoodie and then, gathering my courage, I open the door and steal through the dark.

  The main flaw with this plan is that it requires me to shine an ultrapowerful light straight ahead, to not only blind the lens but also obscure my face as I approach the camera—hardly subtle if anyone else happens to be wandering the dorm in the middle of the night. I just have to pray that I’m the only one on our floor who is daring—or foolish—enough to be up past curfew.

  I make my way toward the blinking camera, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. And then, in one quick motion, I blast the LED light directly overhead, creating a lens flare. I hold the flashlight aloft for as long as my nerves allow, until I’m certain the lens is shot. And then I switch off the brightness and pick up my pace, tearing through the dark back to my room. I’m nearly there when I hear it—the sound of something moving behind me.

  I whirl around, but all I see are shadows cast by the furniture and framed photographs. It must have been my paranoid imagination.

  Except . . . as I push through the door into my room, I can almost swear I hear quickening footsteps.

  I stay up waiting until dawn, but there is no sign of Dot. As I shower and get dressed in a sleep-deprived fog, I wonder if I made some kind of mistake. Did I mess up when entering the algorithm or the machine-to-machine command? I replay my every move in my mind, but I can’t pinpoint the flaw. Even if the robot was recharging on sleep mode, I know that it’s programmed to wake up at a command. So . . . what went wrong?

  I rack my brain for a solution, another way to get the biosignatures from Dot. And then I remember that today’s training schedule includes a group robotics-operations session with the AIs. Could I maybe work this to my advantage?

  After breakfast, I pull Leo aside into the first private place I can find: an empty utility closet.

  “This is hot,” he says, pulling me in for a kiss.

  As much as I’d love nothing more than to melt into Leo, I force myself to stay on track.

  “I have a favor to ask you,” I say, pulling back from his kiss. “I need a moment alone with Dot to—to finish my plan. My only opportunity is during group training, but I’ll need Cyb and the others occupied.”

  “Let me guess,” Leo says, raking a hand through his hair. “You need to use my powers of distraction once again?”

  “I’ve already thought of something that should do the trick,” I tell him. “But I should probably warn you that it might mark you as difficult in the robots’ eyes. Then again, I questioned an actual NASA official about this at the very beginning, and I’m still here.”

  Leo groans.

  “What are you getting at?”

  I take a deep breath.

  “Asking Cyb point-blank about the failed mission to Mars. Athena.”

  Leo leans against the wall, his shoulders slumping.

  “Isn’t there some other way? Something else I can do that isn’t speaking out of turn or coming across like an instigator?”
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  “Not unless you can think of something compelling enough to take everyone’s eyes off Dot—and me—for a good five minutes. Plus, Robotics Ops is one of the only times it’s just us finalists and the AIs, with no human instructors or team leaders around, which gives us our best chance.”

  “I don’t know.” He sighs. “Even though I—I am starting to believe your theories about the RRB, I still believe in the mission, too. You know how much I want, need to make the Final Six, and Cyb is a decision maker. If this could hurt my chances . . .”

  “I understand,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry.” Maybe I am asking too much.

  “What will you do, then?”

  “I’m not sure,” I reply. “But I’ll have to think of something. Maybe when I’m at one of my private training sessions in Mission Control, I can get near Pleiades—”

  “The NASA supercomputer? No. No way.” Leo holds up his hands, exhaling. “Let’s just go with the plan that doesn’t involve any more hacking. I’ll do it. I’ll ask the question.”

  “You will?” I look at him in surprise and delight.

  He chuckles. “Yes, you weirdo. This better be worth it.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck. “It will be. I have a feeling.”

  We take our positions as soon as we reach the Mission Floor, with Leo standing right in front of Cyb and me off to the side—the closest in the room to Dot. I try to make eye contact with the AI, but her head is swiveled away from me, watching Cyb lead the session.

  “As you’ve seen in your simulations, there are points on our journey that require two of you to perform a spacewalk while Dot and I, and the rest of the crew, remain inside. During that time, if ever there is a communication failure, we will rely on the new telemetry software in your space suits to monitor your status,” Cyb explains. “Today, we’ll be showing you how to read the telemetry signals, and going over emergency procedures.”