T-Minus Two

by K. G. MacGregor

Zion shook out the contents of one of the fishnet bags onto the pool deck. “Today’s task is worth twenty points to your team. Each bag contains two plastic water jugs with screw caps, four of these plastic zip ties,”—she waved them in the air—“one rubber hose with couplings on each end, and two washers that fit into those couplings. Your job is to use the zip ties to mount these two jugs on the crossbars of the scaffold. Then you take off the caps and connect them to each other with this hose. Easy-peasey, right?”

  That sounded simple. Too simple.

  “I forgot to mention…we don’t want any water in these jugs. How are you going to do that?”

  “Keep them level with the opening down,” Marlon said.

  “Correct. This is a precision exercise. If you tilt your jug even a little with the cap off, it’ll fill up with water. If that happens, you need to get it out. Bring it back up and empty it if you have to…whatever it takes. But you’ll lose a point every time you break the surface. That includes chasing down any floating pieces that get away from you. You also lose a point for every half-liter of water I drain out of your assembly when we raise the scaffold. Questions?”

  One second…two seconds…

  “Each tank has approximately ten minutes of air, give or take a few minutes. Don’t assume your partner has the same amount as you.”

  With the air tank strapped on her back, Mila followed the rest of the team into the water to check the seal on her mask. According to the air gauges, she had more minutes than Andi.

  I can do this. I have to do this.

  Zion tossed their fishnet bags into the water, where they floated on top.

  Andi said, “First thing we do is secure this bag to the scaffold so it doesn’t float up.”

  “I have more air than you, so if one of us needs to go to the top, I’ll do it.”

  “Works for me.”

  As Zion finished passing out their equipment, Mila visualized completing their task. “I’ve got this figured out, Andi. Just follow my lead.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not. Just do this one thing without arguing, and I’ll…I’ll let you be in charge next time. Deal?”

  Zion yelled, “Good luck, mateys! Down you go.”

  It took both of them kicking furiously to get the air-filled jugs to the bottom of the pool, where they tied the bag to the scaffold. With her foot hooked on the lower crossbar to control her buoyancy, Mila loosened the opening of the bag and snaked her hand inside to grab the zip ties, which she looped through the belt on Andi’s air tank for easy access.

  One of the washers escaped while they were removing the first jug, but Mila was able to snatch it before it floated out of reach. To keep that from happening again, she grabbed the other washer and placed both of them in Andi’s glove for safekeeping.

  The pressure against her ears made her head hurt, but her typical anxiety about being underwater was allayed by having something urgent to do. This wasn’t about the water. She had plenty of air. No one was holding her down.

  It also eased her nerves to see everyone else absorbed in the task. On their right, the Fagans were working together in similar fashion with Brandon taking the lead and Libby assisting. Jancey and Marlon were side by side, each strapping a jug in place. Theirs was a different kind of teamwork, where they trusted one another to work independently. Impressive.

  With Andi holding the first jug in place, Mila strapped it vertically to the crossbar, leaving just enough play to tighten it later in case it wasn’t level. They repeated that procedure with the second jug.

  The next part was trickier, but first she took a moment to check Andi’s air supply. Down half. They’d be lucky to get one end of the hose in place before she had to bail.

  Ever so carefully, Mila unscrewed the cap on the first jug, watching closely for air bubbles. None appeared, confirming they’d gotten it level. She carefully tightened the zip ties to hold it firm.

  As she began to unscrew the cap from the second jug, Libby Fagan kicked the scaffold on her way up to the surface to retrieve something that had floated away. The wobble caused their open jug to take on about ten centimeters of water. That would cost them three or four points unless they got it out.

  Andi pointed up but Mila doubted there was time to unstrap it and get it to the surface.

  After a deep breath, she removed her mouthpiece and pressed the air hose against the opening of the jug. Though most of the bubbles escaped to the surface, the water level inside rapidly fell until it was nearly even with the opening—just in time for her to return the mouthpiece and take a much needed gasp of air.

  The second jug was slightly off-kilter and took on water as soon as she removed the cap. With Andi holding it straight, Mila tightened the straps and repeated her trick with the air hose to restore the water level.

  The hose was a different animal, open on both ends and already filled with water. She took another deep breath and blew through one end until she felt no resistance, then quickly pinched each end of the hose to seal it.

  This was where she needed Andi most, but her air tank was nearly empty. She stayed long enough to place one of the washers in the coupling and the other in Mila’s hand.

  Mila needed one extra hand to hold the jug steady while she screwed in the coupling. Out of options, she loosened her grip on the hose and allowed it to fill up again. One last coupling to go, and her own air supply was dangerously low.

  Directly across from her, Jerry too was working alone. The Fagans were swimming up, while Jancey and Marlon were already out of the pool.

  She placed the final washer and pulled out her mouthpiece to suck on the hose. Suck, pinch the hose, spit, breathe. Suck, pinch, spit, breathe. Suck, pinch, spit, breathe.

  Breathe, breathe. Her air was gone.

  Suddenly it was worse than all the times her cousins had held her under water. Fighting a powerful urge to inhale, she screwed the coupling into place. Then she pushed against the floor of the pool and rocketed to the surface.

  * * *

  Marlon stretched across the table and tapped his water glass to Jancey’s. “You’ve still got it, Major. I’ve been hoping we’d get paired together.”

  Between them, they’d probably logged four hundred hours of underwater training at the EVA lab in Houston, dressed in heavy spacesuits with bulky gloves. Unsurprisingly, they’d earned all twenty points in their pool exercise, which qualified them for the round of thirty-two.

  “It hardly seems fair.” She dragged her breaded fish filet through the puddle of poi and took a bite. Foul, foul stuff, that poi. Rich in fluorine…good for bones. “From the looks of things, they put a little more thought into the pairings for this round. I noticed a lot of shifts.”

  “Me too. I guarantee you all the rookies thought that pool exercise was hard. They have no idea what kind of abuse they’re in for when the real training starts. Remember the Vomit Comet?”

  That was their name for the aircraft that took them through parabolic maneuvers to simulate weightlessness. Everyone—Jancey included—had gotten nauseated.

  “Ugh. Let’s not talk about that while we eat,” Jancey said. “I have to hand it to Sir Charles and his team though. They’ve put together a pretty good series of tests on a low budget. Precision skills matter when it’s time to step outside and put on a new heat shield. Anyone who mucks it up or gets rattled in an exercise like this doesn’t belong in space.”

  “You like our chances, Jancey?”

  She thought about it all the time, alternately whipping herself into an indignant frenzy that the selection committee might pick someone else versus assuring herself she was the only logical choice. That went double now that she was paired with Marlon.

  “That depends. If they choose based on science, reason and test scores, I don’t see how either of us could lose. We’ve both proven we can live in space without a brain bleed. That ought to be a primary consideration. Competition-wise, I’m most concerned about the married couples. If ju
st one of them proves mildly competent, Sir Charles might be inclined to pick them just for the PR splash.”

  Marlon was nodding along, his lips fixed in a scowl. “If you’re free this weekend, maybe we should go get married.”

  A bizarre suggestion that she momentarily entertained. “Seriously?”

  “I know you like women, but—”

  “Thanks to the National Enquirer, the whole world knows I like women. And because of that, I have a feeling our funders would question our integrity.”

  “Probably…but it says a lot about both of us that we’re willing to put the mission in front of our personal lives.” Marlon had always kept his private life private. Probably because the gossip at NASA was that his longtime girlfriend was a certain Playboy Playmate of the Year. “What do you think of the Fagans?”

  “They’re smart, and I wouldn’t rule out anyone with robotics experience. Their skills are complementary. They seem to work well together but he’s kind of an asshole to Libby when he thinks nobody’s listening.”

  “No kidding. He snapped at her when Zion gave them eighteen points. Hell, I thought that was pretty good considering he’d never had any underwater training. And those two girls…I forget their names.”

  She pointed her fork at him. “Todorov and Toloti…and once they reach the age of eighteen, they’re called women.”

  “Sorry, women. Twenty points. I expected twelve, fifteen at the most.”

  “Todorov—she’s the one who worked on the modifications to the propulsion system—she’s smart. And she aced the concentration tests.”

  “Still…she’s just a kid.”

  “Twenty-seven. I joined NASA at twenty-one and went up seven years later.” She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “By the way, I heard a rumor. They’ve put all the top candidates so far in the Blue and Green groups. That’s all of us. Everybody from NASA, plus two from the European Space Agency and two from Japan. The astronaut from India landed in the Red group. Shows what they think of India’s space program. Anyway, I figure as long as we stay ahead of everyone in our group, we should be good for the analog trial.”

  It was more than a rumor. She’d gotten inside information from Grace, and knew for a fact the committee considered everyone in the Blue and Green groups to be viable contenders. Once they got down to sixteen, the married couples would be paired together automatically, while the remaining candidates would choose partners for the final test, the analog trial. Six weeks on Mauna Kea in conditions meant to simulate Mars.

  “I’m not worried,” Marlon said, shaking his head. “Jerry’s a tough competitor but Gunther’s a little on the quirky side. Even if they both got through this round, I don’t see Jerry choosing him for the analog. He’ll have to break in somebody new. And let’s face it—there’s no way the committee’s going with two women, so we don’t have to worry about Todorov and Toloti.”

  The cynic in her hated to admit he probably was right. “I’d like to think I’ve helped disprove the sexist trope that women aren’t as capable as men.”

  “Can’t argue with that, Jancey. Why do you think I was so glad when I saw my name next to yours on the board this morning?”

  “Instead of Jerry? You two would have made quite a team.”

  “Jerry might have been my first choice for a short-term mission, but not for this. He’s a test pilot. What good would it be to build a whole city on Mars if the people who lived there starved to death? One of the people on that ship needs to make sure there’s enough food to thrive, and I can’t think of anyone I’d trust to do that more than you.”

  Marlon was right. The best team would be an engineer and someone with the skills to cultivate food. No matter what sort of PR splash the committee wanted to make, the future of the Tenacity Project depended on the success of its first pair of colonists. They’d be foolish to choose a team without those essential competencies.

  “I’m inclined to agree,” she said. “I get the feeling Sir Charles and his friends see it that way too. Look how they’ve paired us. Gunther’s a chemist, Jerry’s a test pilot. Toloti is a chemist too, and Todorov’s an engineer. Libby Fagan’s a botanist, and—”

  “And her husband is an asshole.”

  * * *

  Mila straddled two of the study carrels, logged into both computers at once. BattleStorm filled the screen on the right, a game she could only observe since she had no joystick. Vio was on the left, also juggling two monitors, and doing her best not to get killed by JanSolo.

  “If I had a stick, I’d blow him away,” Mila said.

  “No, you wouldn’t. You can’t even kill Toloti.”

  “Did you have say that name? I deserve at least five minutes of the day where I don’t have to think about her.”

  Vio winced and ducked sideways as if to dodge an actual laser shot. “What did she do this time?”

  “She drew breath. Isn’t that enough?” Mila shuddered at the memory of finding her razor in Andi’s toiletries bin. “She acts like we’re married or something.”

  “Hold on, I’m about to be killed.” In a hail of laser pings, Vio’s avatar retreated from the battle scene only to be pursued by JanSolo, who finished her off. “Unbelievable. That’s the most points I’ve ever scored and I’m still dead.”

  “I have to go so I can rest up for whatever terrible fate The Powers That Be have planned for me tomorrow. Let’s hope they don’t try to drown me again.”

  With a wave to the media specialist, she exited through the glass door into a light rain that felt as warm as bath water. When she first arrived in Hawaii, she’d found the heat and humidity oppressive. While her opinion hadn’t changed, her attitude had. It was ridiculous to complain—even to herself—about anything unpleasant on Earth while she was vying to go to a far bleaker planet and a life filled with hardship. Someday she would surely miss the warmth and the smell of fresh rain.

  “Todorov!” The voice belonged to a man wearing a hooded rain jacket. As he walked closer, she recognized him as Brandon Fagan.

  “Yes?”

  “What you did today…I bet you thought you got away with it, but I saw you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Go ahead. Play dumb like you don’t know. My wife and I know, and don’t think we won’t report it.”

  Her mind raced back to their underwater exercise. “I have no idea what you saw or what you think you saw. If you have a problem with something I did, take it to Zion.”

  She stormed off toward the dormitory, furious at his accusations. At the same time, it bothered her to think she might have broken the rules during the underwater exercise. Was it cheating to use her air hose the way she had? It couldn’t have been. Whatever it takes. Those were Zion’s exact words.

  Besides, they wouldn’t have had a problem in the first place had Libby not kicked the scaffold. If anything was cheating, it was that. Sabotaging their opponents.

  Andi was already sacked out when she reached the room.

  As quietly as she could, Mila readied for bed, still fuming about Brandon Fagan. Maybe she should be proactive about it. Take the matter to Zion, explain what she did and that she might have misunderstood the directions. It could cost her and Andi several points, but the committee would value her integrity. Unless Fagan went behind her and told them he’d pressured her to come clean.

  Or she could ignore it for now. Explain herself only if confronted. That would bolster her contention that she didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.

  Even with her clean conscience, she tossed and turned. Not good, since tomorrow’s exercise was rumored to be the toughest yet. By four o’clock, only sixteen candidates would remain. Eight teams set to compete in the analog trial.

  She needed rest and she wasn’t getting it.

  Brandon Fagan had probably done that just to get under her skin. Such an asshole.

  Chapter Seven

  Jancey was the first of her group to arrive in the library’s conferen
ce room. Already uneasy about the day’s exercise, she bypassed the coffeepot and poured herself a glass of water. The last test before the analog on Mauna Kea. Grace had warned her it was a doozy.

  Marlon was next to enter, and he took the adjacent chair. “Missed you at breakfast. Oh, I forgot. You’re staying in some cliffside mansion with one of the funders. I bet you had Eggs Benedict out by the pool.”

  “Hardly. It was a poached egg over steamed spinach. And we ate on the veranda. Makes it easier to keep the eggs warm.”

  “Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “I heard some grumbling at breakfast about this test. Only one of the teams from the Red group passed. Nobody from the Orange. Must be a killer.”

  “We just need to stay focused and not make any stupid mistakes.” That’s all it would take to end their chances. Their NASA training had instilled an urgency about even the smallest detail. They couldn’t think about the last cut at four o’clock until they got this test behind them.

  The team of Toloti and Todorov arrived next, with the latter taking the seat on Jancey’s other side. Her dark eyes were outlined in red, with puffy bags underneath.

  “Excuse my French, but tu regardes comme de la merde.”

  “I feel like shit too. Can I ask you a question?” She was clearly worried about something. Toloti too, apparently, since she leaned closer to listen. “Yesterday in the pool, Libby Fagan kicked the scaffold and we got water in one of our jugs.”

  “I saw that. We still had both of our caps on or we would have taken on water too.”

  “Yeah, we took on half a liter at least. We’d already strapped our jugs in place, so instead of taking it up to dump it, I took off my air hose and blew it out. Was that cheating?”

  Just when Jancey thought it was time to give Todorov and Toloti their due, they did something to underscore their youth and naiveté. “If you were in space and got water where it wasn’t supposed to be, would you leave it there and take your lumps or get it out?”

  “I’d get it out.”

  “And that’s exactly what you did, so why are you second-guessing yourself?”