The Life Below

by Alexandra Monir

  EIGHT (8) NEW FILES FROM HOUSTON MCC, a bubble onscreen reads. PERMISSION TO UPLOAD?

  I click to accept, and the others crowd around me as we wait for the documents to load. The first six file names are self-explanatory—separate checklists for each of us—but it’s the seventh that catches my eye.

  “‘The Final Six, Episode 1,’” I read aloud. “What the heck is that?”

  “Must be the docuseries on us,” Beckett says over my shoulder. “It’s supposed to air weekly on all the major news channels across the world. Go on, play it.”

  I roll my eyes and press the button, and the cinema screen on the wall above us flickers to life. Sweeping music starts playing over a breathless montage, showing the six of us landing on the helipad for our training camp arrivals, juxtaposed with the moment when each of us learned we’d been chosen in the final draft. My heart stops at the split-second shot of me standing next to Leo on the Johnson Space Center steps, a shared agony reflected in both of our faces when my name is called without his. The montage moves on, the music growing more epic as the scene shifts to the rocket rising above the launchpad, but I’m still back on the steps with Leo—my heart shredding into pieces all over again.

  The poised, commanding faces of Dr. Takumi and General Sokolov fill the screen next, as they sit across the Newsline desk in front of anchor Robin Richmond.

  “Shouldn’t they be too preoccupied worrying about our safety to go on a publicity tour?” I grumble, but Minka shushes me, leaning forward to hear what they have to say. The interview starts with Takumi and the general making the usual grandiose statements about the magnitude of what we’re accomplishing, how it’s the honor and privilege of their lifetimes to be leading the six of us, yada yada, with of course zero mention of any extraterrestrials or dangers waiting for us on Europa.

  I get up, turning my back on the screen as my mind returns to those last moments with Leo. Until I hear the words “pairing up the astronauts,” and my spine stiffens. That better not mean what I think it does.

  “Well, yes, of course. There’s a reason we chose an equal number of each gender.”

  I turn around to see Dr. Takumi’s lips curving up in a smile that doesn’t suit him.

  “The benefit of this extended journey on the Pontus is that it gives our space colonists time to get to know one another, form connections, and see who they are compatible with before officially partnering,” he continues, as bile rises in my throat. “In several years—our estimates range from five to ten—Europa should be able to support new human life, at which time we will recommend the first conceptions.”

  “Oh my God.” I stare at the screen, aghast.

  “That’s so unbelievably hetero of them, assuming we’d even want to partner up like that,” Minka says, wrinkling her nose in disgust. We’ve finally found something we can agree on. “What century is this supposed to be, the twentieth?”

  “No one can make you, or any of us, do it,” I tell her. “We’ll be on solid ground by then, away from their control.”

  “Yeah, but that’s exactly when you’ll want to procreate. It doesn’t matter how you feel about any of us,” Beckett says, and I give him an incredulous look. Did he really just say that?

  “It’s all biological,” he continues breezily. “Five to ten years as one of only six people in the world, and trust me—biology is bound to kick in, and you’ll be desperate to add new life.”

  “We’ll never be that desperate,” I shoot back.

  “Ouch,” Jian says wryly, and I can tell from his expression that he’s only half kidding. But at this point, I don’t care whose feelings I might have hurt. The only thing I’m actually desperate for is a way out.

  “I wonder why they didn’t tell us about this sooner,” Dev says, staring back at the screen.

  “It was always implied, though, wasn’t it?” Sydney takes a step closer to him, as if subconsciously claiming Dev for herself.

  She’s right. Deep down I knew this was the expected outcome, and Leo had known it too. It added another wrenching layer to our good-bye. And now, as I try to imagine pairing up with one of the guys here—all I can feel is the sting of dismay.

  MESSAGE ORIGIN: *** CAUTION—ID UNKNOWN ***

  MESSAGE RECIPIENT: PONTUS SPACECRAFT—EARTH-MARS TRANSIT

  ATTN: ARDALAN, NAOMI

  [MESSAGE STATUS: RECEIVED—ENCRYPTED]

  Dear Naomi,

  I wish I could have written you sooner, and that this message could tell you everything I need and want to say. There’s so much I want to share, and I will as soon as I can—but I have to disappear for a while. I promise it’s for a good reason, one that I think—hope—you’ll feel is worth it. I’m going to miss your words and your voice, your eyes and your smile, even more than I already do now.

  I wanted you to have something of me for the weeks ahead, when I’m not able to video-chat or write. This song was my mom’s favorite, and now that I’m older, I finally understand the lyrics. They describe how I feel about you.

  Te voglio bene assai.

  Leo

  Seven

  LEO

  “HERE WE GO. YOU READY?”

  I look over at Asher sitting next to me in the virtual reality flight simulator, and I grin.

  “Ready.”

  My seat shoots back into the reclined position, my legs at ninety degrees. A three-screen tablet unfurls above me at eye level, while a piloting hand controller slides under my palm. I click the blinking green triangle on-screen to start the automatic ground launch sequencer, which Asher just taught me how to use, and call out, “We’re a go for auto sequence start.” I pause. “I’m supposed to activate something next, right?”

  “The main engine hydrogen burnoff system,” Asher says, reaching overhead to show me the command on the touch-screen panel.

  “Ground launch sequencer commanding main engine start,” a smooth, automated female voice echoes from inside the cockpit. “Five . . . four . . . three . . .”

  The vibrations pummel the flight capsule, rattling and shaking all four walls, as the engine roars to life. I have to strain to hear Asher’s voice in my headset above the noise, while I use the hand controller to throttle the main engine up and down.

  “Approaching main engine cutoff!” Asher calls. He joins in the countdown: “. . . Two—one!”

  Suddenly my body is flying forward in its seat, my safety straps the only thing keeping me from bursting through the window shield. I let out a whoop as a wild surge of adrenaline floods through me, my stomach flipping upside down, my skin turning numb from the speed.

  “Entering MAX-Q!”

  I refocus on the screens, remembering from the lecture Asher gave me over breakfast that this is the most dangerous part of launch—when the ship reaches maximum pressure from the outside air rushing past the speed of sound. “One . . . two . . .”

  I’m already holding my breath before he gets to three. Just one more step, and the launch sim is complete. But then my body slams to the side as the ship makes a sudden swerve.

  “What was th—”

  I break off as the capsule lurches back and forth, like an angry animal trying to shake us loose. And then it starts spinning wildly, and my fingers are fumbling with the tablet screen in front of me but we’re moving too fast, I can’t see—

  “It’s a malfunctioned maneuvering thruster!” Asher shouts, scanning his screen. “To regain control, we need you to go into the main altitude control system and—”

  The capsule makes a sudden swoop, starting to nose-dive, and I cut Asher off with a yell.

  “Wrong direction, wrong direction!”

  I jab at the controls on the touch screen, but now we’re pitching down at too great a speed, the ground looming closer than the sky. I push on the hand controller, I try to reignite the rockets, but a blinking red alarm alerts me of our insufficient fuel. We must have used up the amount needed on the ascent, and now that we’re plummeting, there’s no going back up.

&n
bsp; “Looks like we’re headed for an emergency water landing,” Asher says grimly. “Aim for the section of the ocean that’s highlighted on the screen in front of you, then decelerate once your wheels align with the water. And don’t forget to deploy the parachutes.”

  I grip the hand control, my stomach sinking along with our ship as I steer us toward the last place I intended. And then our capsule comes slamming to a stop, splashing down on the water with an impact that nearly yanks us from our seats. A slow beep echoes through the capsule, and Asher pulls off his VR headset.

  “Well, you crashed the sim, but on the bright side, you probably didn’t die.”

  I groan, tearing off my headset.

  “That was embarrassing. I completely failed that test.”

  “Let’s just hope there won’t be any actual malfunctioning thrusters on Dr. Wagner’s ship.” He gives me a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep practicing until you know how to troubleshoot your way out of almost anything.”

  “There’s no time for that.”

  Asher and I jump as a third voice fills our headsets. I wonder how long Greta’s been listening, and if my performance was as much a disappointment to her as it was to me.

  “I need you two to see something. Meet me in my upstairs office. Now.”

  Asher raises an eyebrow.

  “This should be interesting.”

  We climb out of the training capsule and run up the stairs to Greta’s real office, the one overlooking her underground lab, rather than the public-facing show office in the main compound. My palms grow sweaty the closer we get to her door, where we find her deep in conversation with Lark, both of them staring at the monitor mounted above her touch-screen desk.

  “What’s wrong?” I blurt out.

  My question is answered as soon as I follow their eyes to the screen. It’s me—my photo alongside Lark’s and Asher’s, with a ticking news alert flashing underneath. “EUROPA MISSION FINALISTS, TRAINER, MISSING.”

  “Damn,” Asher says under his breath. “That was fast.”

  The image shifts to two familiar figures standing at the top of the ISTC campus steps, their faces like stone as they stare into a crowd of cameras and flashbulbs. My throat turns dry as Dr. Takumi starts to speak.

  “It has unfortunately come to our attention that two eliminated finalists—who, incidentally, were roommates during their time at Space Training Camp—have gone missing, along with a member of our faculty. We have reason to believe this may be an act of retaliation against the ISTC over their eliminations, and we can only speculate that they’ve taken their former team leader against her will.”

  “What?” I recoil in disbelief. Of all the ways I imagined them handling our disappearance, I never predicted this. I guess I didn’t give them enough credit for being this cold, this mercenary.

  “How transparent,” Greta mutters. “I know they’ve figured out by now who you’re aligned with. This is just a stunt, trying to publicly shame you three into abandoning our plans.”

  “We are calling on you, global citizens, to contact us if you have any information on their whereabouts,” the general says, her voice dripping with fake sincerity. “And of course, if any of these three individuals are spotted, they must be apprehended and brought to local authorities at once.”

  Asher sinks into the nearest chair, and I feel a crush of guilt that my friend—who earned honors for his piloting in the Israeli Defense Forces, and has been nothing but good his entire life—is now a target, with his reputation smeared. All because of me.

  “That’s it,” I declare. “You two should get out of here now—show yourselves, let the press know you were never missing and that it’s all a big misunderstanding. Whatever training is left, Dr. Wagner and I can handle it.”

  “No way,” Lark says. “All coming forward will do is give Takumi and Sokolov access to us, and they’ll hunt us till they get the answers they want. About you, Dr. Wagner, everything. Not to mention what they’ll do to me for jumping ship.”

  “She’s right,” Asher says, giving me a brave half smile. “And besides, anyone who really knows us and hears that story . . . they won’t believe it.”

  I rake my hands through my hair, feeling beyond helpless.

  “I’m sorry, guys.”

  “What we need to focus on now is how to truncate your training so you can depart sooner than planned, possibly as early as this weekend,” Greta says, her words giving me a fresh jolt of adrenaline. “Now that there’s heat on us, we can’t afford extra time on the ground—”

  She breaks off midsentence, her eyes flying to the band around her wrist as it starts flashing with pulses of red light. And then a robot’s voice, one that sounds like Corion, echoes through the room.

  “Police at main gate. Do you copy? Police at main gate. We couldn’t fend them off this time. Beginning intruder protocols now.”

  I freeze in place. This isn’t happening. Not now, not when I’m so close, not to my friends—

  “Over here!” Greta directs us, and I spring into motion, following her to the wall farthest from the door. She runs her palm over one of the wall panels, and I watch as yet another camouflaged space juts forward, this one some type of supply closet. She pushes the three of us inside, where there’s only inches of room to hide out alongside vials and lab instruments. I hear Greta’s footsteps grow fainter, and then it’s just the three of us, balancing our weight in the cramped, dark space.

  No one says a word, even though we’re clearly alone. The only sounds are of our muffled breathing and the hum of the room’s electronics, until Lark lets out a gasp.

  “They’re coming,” she whispers, staring down at a red-flashing wristband identical to Greta’s. Light pulses through it, spelling a Morse code message in the dark. “Don’t let anyone hear you breathe.”

  And then, on cue, we hear the swing of the door as it flies open. Several sets of footsteps come thundering into Greta’s office, and I can hear my own heartbeat now, clanging so loudly in my ears that I’m sure it’ll give us away. I feel nails digging into my arm and I turn to see Asher, his face a mask of panic.

  We can hear Greta fuming at the officers, talking a mile a minute, first in German and then in English.

  “This is absolutely ludicrous. You have no evidence, nothing that gives you the right—”

  “In here!” one of the men yells, and my heart stops. They found us—it’s over. Instead of joining Naomi on Europa, I’m going to be trapped in a jail cell—

  Someone is flinging open drawers, shoving papers to the floor. That’s when I realize it’s not us that they found.

  “Care to explain this?” one of the men barks.

  “Just—examining a theory,” Greta says stiffly. “It turned out to be false.”

  Something in her tone tells me that whatever they’re looking at, the policeman wasn’t supposed to see. If only the closet had slats so I could find out what it is . . . But then we hear the footsteps changing direction, moving away from us, out of the room. And I can breathe again.

  It’s fifteen minutes before Greta rejoins us. I know because I was staring at Lark’s blinking wristband the entire time, wondering with each passing minute if Greta wasn’t coming back; if they’d found something to arrest her for. Finally we hear her voice on the other side of the door, sounding both drained and triumphant.

  “They’re gone. I managed to convince them that you three have nothing to do with Wagner Enterprises.”

  “Well done.” Asher exhales as she opens the closet door, letting us out. “I thought we were goners.”

  “Not today. But it’s only a matter of time before they come back, likely with Takumi and Sokolov in tow,” Greta says, her mouth set in a thin line. “Which means we need to revisit the discussion about launching Leo well ahead of schedule, so that all three of you can be out of here by the time the government figures out exactly what we’re up to.”

  “Let’s do it.” I stand up straighter, filled with deter
mination. “Let’s launch as soon as we can. Tomorrow.”

  “Whoa. Dude.” Asher coughs. “I mean, you did just crash the last flight sim. I know you’ll be ready eventually, but not that fast. I say we continue the training schedule we’d planned.”

  “I’ll practice all night, then,” I reply, thinking fast. “I’ll even sleep in the simulator! I just . . . can’t risk missing this, if they come back and find us next time.”

  Greta looks between the two of us carefully.

  “One more full day of training, and then we will reassess,” she decides. “I’m not sending anyone to space unprepared. But the longer we wait, the greater our risk.”

  My stomach knots as I realize the subtext behind her words.

  If I can’t be ready by tomorrow, I may not end up going at all. And if we get caught before I make it to launch—then my future isn’t the only one that will go up in flames.

  I haven’t had a single shot of RRB since the night before I was cut from the draft, so it sends a shock wave through me when I see the familiar blue serum swirling inside the syringe in Greta’s hands. It’s after dinner, and just the two of us remain in her office. Lark and Asher have already gone to their rooms for the night, but she asked me to stay.

  “I would have thought you’d be against injecting this—this stuff,” I blurt out as she reaches over to roll up my sleeve.

  “I developed this ‘stuff,’” she answers calmly, and I pull my arm back in surprise.

  “But—but then that means you’re responsible for what happened to Callum and Suki. Weren’t they part of the reason Lark left ISTC in the first place? How could you ever think injecting alien bacteria is a good idea?”

  My head spins, as once again my confidence in Greta and this whole situation is shaken.