by Jeff Miller
“I’m the only one still with NASA.”
“Really? Where is he now?”
“Something of a disagreement. The participants of the program parted ways, and he left for the private space race.” Finch groaned. “Commercial missions, the wave of the future.”
“And who were the others? Did they go with him?”
“Clint and Elle Minor. They were married during training,” Finch said, his normally stoic voice cracking slightly. “They piloted the first manned mission to Mars.”
He turned to the wall opposite him and Neil. It displayed a framed photograph of the married astronauts, both climbing into a craft that looked like the stolen Whiptail from the video Finch played earlier. It wasn’t as streamlined, but it was still similar to the craft now joyriding through the galaxy.
“Lost in space—terribly tragic. Almost a year ago to the week,” Finch said delicately. “They were in the first human-sized Whiptail we constructed, The Golden Gecko. With our new technology, one-way missions were thought to be a thing of the past. They left behind two kids.”
“Did you know them? The kids?” Neil asked.
“I only met them a handful of times,” Finch answered before erupting into a small coughing fit. “Excuse me for a moment. Think I need a little water. Back at twenty-one hundred hours—you know, I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, Andertol.”
None of them regarding shuttle simulators, I hope!
The commander exited the hallway, and Neil was alone once again. He stared at the faces of immortalized space travelers and wondered if any of them had also lied during the application process.
Oh, the Minors.
The name of the missing couple struck a bell. Neil remembered his parents glued to the nonstop footage of the first manned mission to Mars, and when it went awry. Neil’s mom watched all day, hoping a distress call or radio signal would offer their whereabouts.
Unfortunately Neil had a pretty good score going in Chameleon, so his attention was elsewhere. After a few weeks, his mother finally gave up hope, along with everybody else.
“Neil Andertol, you slippery serpent!” Biggs yelled, appearing from the locker room to wrap Neil in a bear hug.
Biggs looked at least two inches taller, like a stretched-out version of himself with a pointier Adam’s apple. He’d apparently hit something of a growth spurt over the summer, but still looked like a shaggy, unwashed mop that had come to life.
“Biggs! So good to see you, too,” Neil said, muffled by his friend’s chest. He pulled his head back and took a gasp of fresh air. “Just don’t crush my lungs with your giant adult man arms. Did you get that operation where they put horse bones in your body to make you taller?”
Biggs dropped Neil and straightened his jumpsuit.
“No, but good to know that’s always an option for later in life,” Biggs said to Neil. “Man, Neil Andertol. In the flesh. There’s so much I want to catch up on with you. You gotta see the new game—Harris and I are really close to having something!”
“Oh, that’s right! You’re actually helping with Feather Duster 2?” Neil questioned, remembering Biggs’s offer of support to Harris for all smell-related game additions.
“It’s been a blast. Harris is, like, really smart. I’m talking Wikipedia smart,” said Biggs. He probably had Jones pull a few strings to get him off the hook for capturing a Chameleon. He wasn’t a truly evil person, really.
“Your smell thing is working? You ever get past bacon?” asked Neil, remembering Biggs’s last enterprise.
“Smells . . . well, smells are getting there—maybe a bit too much wet-dog smell at times, but we’re close.”
“Dude, that’s so awesome. I can’t wait to play it. And smell the parts that don’t smell like golden retrievers.”
“And that’s not even the good news!” Biggs said, his face lighting up. “You, sir, are looking at a man making a new language.”
“Like a whole new one?” Neil wondered, waving quick hellos to the rest of the group as they trickled into the hallway. Everyone tried doing a slow-motion, space movie walk, decked out in official-looking uniforms.
“Are you making up new words?”
“We’ll use standard words, all the greatest hits. It’s a new sign language,” Biggs said, moving his hands like two swimming octopi.
“Right now people in America only have one option for sign language. So I’m making The Universal Biggs Language, or TUBL for short. For anyone interested in switching things up. Or learning thirteen different hand symbols for the word pancake.”
“It sounds to be a noble enterprise, Master Biggs,” said Riley, his pudgy frame stuffed into a half-zipped jumpsuit.
“Riley!” Neil exclaimed.
“Salutations, my fellow space cadets!” Riley shouted, tugging on a sleeve to get his outfit to cooperate. Trevor, the Jasons, and Yuri joined everyone, forming two makeshift lines at opposite sides of the hallway.
“Been a bit tough with long-sleeved garments since the stocks,” said Riley, in his comforting but bizarre way of speaking.
“Like, the stock market?” Trevor questioned Riley.
“No, ’twas out in the town square’s stocks for a few moons,” Riley replied, referring to a wooden contraption, designed for public ridicule, that locked his head and hands in place. “Standard Renaissance fair punishment for an undutiful swineherd. I’ll be fine, just have a fanciful popping sound in one shoulder is all.”
Formerly Neil’s online nemesis, Trevor was more filled out since the beginning of summer, having lost a bit of the baby fat from his face. His freckled cheeks were subtly tan, and he still had what most people would consider a huge head.
“I had a hunch they’d want us to beat that Shuttle Fury game,” Trevor said to Neil, closing in on Neil’s spot at the front of the line. “You didn’t finish it either, did you?”
“No, not really. More like Shuttle Furious, am I right?” Neil answered, completely ripping off Jones’s joke. The group laughed, and Neil felt a bit of unearned relief. The truth was getting easier to twist with each pass.
“I figured you couldn’t beat that space thing. Nobody could; it’s impossible,” Trevor said. “I tried to find any kind of cheat code just to see what happens in the end but couldn’t find anything online. Nobody’s beaten it—that game must be completely top secret. Or just so awful nobody played it.”
Neil nodded slowly, choosing not to reveal the true origin of the game. It felt cheap to steal Jones’s joke one second and credit him the next.
Sam and Corinne filtered in from the girls’ locker room, gleefully catching up with each other. Neil wanted to go run and talk to Sam and poke fun at her braces, but farther down the hall appeared a determined Finch. Sam stopped in her tracks at the sound of the commander’s voice.
“This way, everyone,” said Finch, and strode toward a red emergency exit. It was the opposite direction from the hangar, where Neil had thought a sweet aircraft would be waiting for them.
Must be a ship already warmed up outside.
The group hustled down the hall, each one doing their best not to joyously dash toward whatever adventure awaited.
“You guys talkin’ about the NASA game?” whispered Yuri, strands of greasy, long black hair covering just his right eye. “I couldn’t make it much past halfway. Too hard.”
“It might be the hardest game I’ve ever played,” said JP, whose gelled hair still retained the properties of cave stalagmites.
Jason 1, now wearing a handmade beanie, and Jason 2, probably wearing a superhero costume under his jumpsuit, groaned in unison.
“Yeah, I got to that warp speed level, but everything was super difficult and technical,” Jason 2 chimed in, his boots looking to be triple-knotted.
Finch pushed through the emergency door and onto a large patch of grass softly lit by a half-moon.
The group hesitantly followed as Finch continued off paved ground into lush Bermuda grass. With a few more strides he was
almost to the edge of the salty ocean waves, which Neil had smelled earlier.
“Excuse me, sir? Aren’t we supposed to be training to fly space shuttles or something?” asked Corinne. “I think they’re that way—in the hangar. Where shuttles live.”
Neil agreed, and also wondered which ocean it was. The tops of waves curled over in plateaus of white water as moonlight melted onto everything. If Neil were home like any other Friday night, he’d be hours into a game of Chameleon.
A bubbling and gurgling started about thirty yards from shore. It charted a course toward Neil, slowly revealing the top of a grayish-black vehicle.
It was a stealthy craft that shared sleek angles with the design of the Chameleon and Whiptail, but was shaped a bit like a stingray. Maybe twenty yards across, its thin edges tapered up to a bulging center. What would normally be the head of the sea animal was the cabin of the ship, its eyes the cockpit’s two windows.
“NASA public transportation,” Finch said. “Always on time.”
The craft smoothly spun in the water, and the main cabin’s rear hatch opened toward Finch and his gaming crew. Saltwater beaded off its shiny exterior as Finch stepped onto the back of the ship.
It was completely empty, apparently controlled by autopilot. Flashing computers lined the walls, and two silver poles ran the length of the ceiling. Neil figured they were for balance while standing, as he didn’t see any seats. All twelve recruits followed their commander, who sealed the door shut once Riley finished climbing aboard.
“Recruits, this is the Ray. Our lift to the SQUID,” Finch said.
“You guys really have a thing with the animal names, don’t you?” Neil said as Finch gave him a glare. “You did say to keep questioning.”
“What kind of miles per gallon you get on this beast?” interrupted Waffles, his hyperactive body pressed up against the unstaffed control panel at the front of the vessel. With thirteen passengers, space was limited.
“Submarines don’t go by miles, dude,” Dale said to his brother. “Maybe nautical miles?”
“And did you say ‘squid’? I’m vegetarian. Just so you know,” said Sam.
“And I haven’t been eating anything with more than three vowels in it, so just something else to keep in mind,” Biggs added. “Oh, I’ll make that a question. Do you have any space oats on your SQUID?”
“Okay, we’re getting the hang of questioning everything. We can save some for later,” said Finch with a hint of exasperation in his voice. “And lucky for you we’ve got freeze-dried PB&J on the SQUID, which stands for Space-Quality Underwater Immersion Domicile.
“Most astronauts train there for a week or so before their mission. Our training facility offers the most realistic space training in a zero-g, underwater environment. Astronauts used to do immersion training in huge pools, and that was merely scratching the surface. One night here, and we’ll see who among you is cut out to be an astronaut.”
Now we’re talking.
AS THE SHIP’S HATCH CLOSED WITH A SOFT HISS, ENGINES below the floor buzzed to life, and Neil could feel vibrations through his thick boots. The craft lurched from the shoreline and plunged back underwater. Floodlights on the front of the ship sent schools of tiny shimmering fish darting in opposite directions.
Neil watched the submersible cruise toward an underwater structure awash in fuzzy lighting. It had a giant circular main level and four tunnel arms that extended down into separate smaller structures. It really looked like a squid with tentacles.
“This is awesome,” muttered JP.
“This already feels like space,” said Jason 1. Neil agreed.
The vehicle drew closer and entered an air lock underneath the main structure. The entrance resealed, and the water in the transition room flooded out.
The room was sparse, with just a sturdy yellow-and-black door marking the way out.
“And we’re home,” said Finch. “After me, recruits. No time to waste.” The hydraulic door of the shuttle opened, and the group rushed out into the small windowless air lock. Finch placed his thumb against a scanner, and the door slid open after a series of beeps.
Neil wondered what might happen to unauthorized thumbprints.
“Some extensive underwater security, Commander Finch,” JP remarked.
“Well, a lot of unsavory people would be very interested in the information and training that happens down here. Some things are best left classified,” the NASA official responded.
Finch moved across the threshold of the doorway into the SQUID, interior lighting illuminating the shiny silver-and-blue floors and walls. The place was pristine and very new, with the main section of the SQUID serving as a kitchen, library, and classroom. The main floor had the NASA logo emblazoned in sparkly paint, and another blue-suited NASA official was standing in wait.
She had short black hair, which was lightly hair-sprayed and parted to one side. Her skin was a radiant light brown, and she had eyebrows that looked like sharp apostrophes.
“Good to see you, Dallas,” said Finch.
“Sir,” saluted the soldier opposite the commander. More NASA specialists and scientists scurried around her in all directions, flying past like worker bees. They wore the same sterilized white outfits from before, carrying laptops and messy spools of diagnostic cables.
“Any leads on our hackers?” Finch asked.
“None yet, but we’re working nonstop, sir.”
“Recruits, allow me to introduce you to Dallas Bowdin, my right-hand woman and chief CAPCOM, or capsule communicator,” said Finch to his group of twelve. “She runs operations on the SQUID.”
She looked to have the same stern eyes and gritty disposition as Jones.
And there’s that clenched jaw muscle!
“Welcome to the SQUID, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice slightly raspy, like Sam’s. “Now down to business.”
Neil’s eyes darted quickly around the room, watching the contained insanity held within the underwater facility. There were no more than ten NASA workers motoring around the SQUID, but they moved like crazed speed walkers.
He counted six separate doorways out of the main structure. Two were marked as the men’s and women’s barracks, with the others most likely leading to the tentacles.
“As you’ll see, each tunnel leads down to a unique training simulation,” Bowdin explained. “We’ll start tonight, and you should all have enough time to complete each section by tomorrow morning. Ideally, we’ll be able to determine crew positions by training scores. But first things first: in twenty minutes, you’ve all got a date with the Vomit Comet.”
Neil looked at his watch, and he couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy and reluctant. Not only would this be his first date, but he didn’t necessarily trust methods of transportation that spoke so freely of puking.
“For now, everybody find bunks. And I need two volunteers,” Finch said to the group, pointing at Sam and Neil. “Our first duo on kitchen duty. Just grab some snacks from the kitchen for after the Vomit Comet. You’re going to love our freeze-dried cuisine. We make sure to fine-tune every recipe. I did a four-hour debrief on the chicken Alfredo alone.”
“As long as it’s better than those MREs, we’ll love it,” said Waffles.
“Ugh. It’s been years since my Air Force days, and I still have nightmares about those. You kids are in for a treat.”
Finch began rounds to tour the facility, checking illuminated touch pads built into the walls of the SQUID. Biggs and JP headed for the bunks, while Dale and the rest followed Finch, eager to see the rest of the secret underwater station.
“So is one of these things where we train to fight sharks? Or did I hear you incorrectly,” trailed Waffles’s voice as the group plodded into a corridor.
Soon Neil and Sam were left alone in the main circular room.
They wandered toward the kitchen, mesmerized by their surreal enclosure. Glass skylights overhead let the natural moonlight mix with the blue LED bulbs lining the room, an
d the two friends roamed the SQUID in silence, reflections of water dancing on the floor below.
While Sam was, by all accounts, Neil’s best friend, there was an awkward silence hanging between them. It wasn’t like they hadn’t spoken for a while, as Neil received Sam’s message earlier in the day; it just felt like forever since they had actually talked. Just about games, or their day, or being grounded for triple-knotting a younger sister’s karate belt.
Neil remembered entire weekends spent talking with Sam, and now he was struggling to come up with a sentence.
He turned to Sam and finally opened his mouth. He mustered a sputtering wheeze.
“You okay there, champ?” Sam laughed.
“I was just gonna say you look pretty official,” Neil said to his friend in her new NASA duds. “Like you were meant to wear that jumpsuit.”
Sam’s hair seemed to be longer and shinier than before, like one of the actresses in a shampoo commercial who constantly twirled her hair while holding a tiny dog.
“Astronaut Neil Andertol has a pretty good ring to it, too,” said Sam. “Seems much cooler than just a plain old pilot.”
“Hey, don’t hate on pilots,” Neil replied. “But Astronaut Gonzales sounds pretty good, too. You play that bad boy in Scrabble, and there’s some points comin’ your way.”
What? Was that a Scrabble joke?
“Neil, you are the weirdest person I know. In a good way,” she said, her soft brown eyes sparkling. “And I really think I’m ready for space. I’ve been practicing all summer on that simulator.”
“Oh, that’s where you’ve been when you were abandoning me to fly with only Biggs?”
“Oh, whatever,” she replied. “You’re like the king of that game. I’m sure noobs were lining up to copilot.”
Neil could only wish she was right. He’d spent an entire summer buckling down to master Chameleon, and it seemed like the only people who talked to him were his babysitter, mom, and the beef jerky–loving Tyler.
