Dare Mighty Things

by Heather Kaczynski

  My mother was all wrinkles—her brow, her frown lines, her wringing, nervous hands. Dadi looked solemn and regal and utterly unperturbed by the fact that she’d only woken up about twenty minutes ago. Gauresh couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed before sunrise, and my father had to be at work.

  Neither of them said anything. I shifted my weight, anxious to get through this part, impatient to be on the plane even though we’d arrived with plenty of time to spare. Part of me was worried they’d take it all back, change their minds. “Well, good-bye, I guess.”

  My mom crushed me to her chest before I even finished getting the words out. “Be careful,” she said, her voice quaking, and seemingly unable to get out more than two words at a time. She held me at arm’s length, eyes watering freely. “Be good. Try hard. Be safe. Make—try to make some friends, huh?”

  She wiped at my cheek with her thumb as though I was the one crying. I was surprised to feel wetness there. “It’s not summer camp, Mom.”

  “I know, I know. But you can’t go through life alone. One friend. That is all I ask. Okay?” She smiled through her tears. “And I’ll see you in a few months.”

  I was about to tell her this was about space travel, achieving my dreams, not about making friends. And that I wouldn’t be home anytime soon, unless I failed.

  But I didn’t. I wrapped my arms tight around her, closed my eyes, and counted to three. I told myself these were the last seconds of my old life. Tried to enjoy them. “It’s okay, Mom. I just want to do something important with my life.”

  Then Dadi took my arms in her fierce grip and looked deep into my eyes. “You are like your father,” she said. “You go after what you want, no matter what anyone else tells you. It is hard for parents to accept. But for good or ill, you will make your own destiny.” She pulled me into an embrace. “Good luck,” she said, and kissed both my cheeks.

  I inhaled deeply, holding the air in my lungs, and imprinted this moment in my memory. Her words felt prophetic. The universe seemed open and waiting for me, and I was ready to meet it.

  TWO

  ONE DELAYED FLIGHT, two layovers, three Beethoven sonatas, and five days of exhaustive medical-clearance tests later, I found myself sitting in a chilly NASA auditorium in Houston.

  It was August first—my eighteenth birthday.

  I’d left the hotel an hour early so I’d be able to sit in the front row and maybe eavesdrop a little. The first person I noticed was the man onstage. He looked older but no less intimidating than the pictures of him in my textbooks. His closely shaved hair was mostly gray now, but it was him, incredibly real and breathing in front of me: Charles Pierce, the first man on Mars. I actually gasped out loud, then covered my mouth, embarrassed.

  He stood in a gray flight suit beside a woman in a pink pantsuit with teased blond hair. The two hadn’t said a word above a whisper, and not even my excellent hearing caught anything interesting.

  A handful of other candidates arrived shortly after me, each taking seats spaced far from one another. I caught a pair of Desi boys sitting together. A hijabi girl with a deep-purple headscarf and the most precise eyeliner I’d ever seen. A few stereotypical muscle-bound jock types. A room full of sharp eyes and strong bodies and ambitious, hungry faces.

  A blond girl with a low ponytail, wearing white jeans and a white blouse, stared openly at the other candidates as though they were test subjects she was observing. A white guy who looked like he’d just walked off his father’s yacht was trying to flirt with the blond girl, and she was utterly ignoring his existence.

  I was glad to be left alone, even though I was bursting to say it out loud, just to share it with someone else: that’s Charles Pierce!

  So far, I was unimpressed with my competition. Even if they were probably all valedictorians and had skills that rivaled mine, most of these people wouldn’t have my drive, my connection with NASA. They couldn’t. I’d guess there were some strong candidates—maybe a handful who appeared intelligent, who sized me up like I was doing to them, and there were quite a few impressive physical specimens. But the rest seemed average, watching vids on their cells and texting like they were in class. No different from my spoiled rich prep-school classmates back home. I was familiar with that type: they had the ego, but not the skills to match.

  Suddenly a kid dropped into the chair beside me, making me jump. It was a Latino guy with a head of black curls. He was wearing a plaid shirt like the ones Uncle Gauresh liked, unbuttoned and loose over a cartoon character T-shirt. He dumped his bag on the floor, the sound echoing loud enough in the quiet hall to make me cringe.

  “Howdy.” He stuck out his hand. “Emilio Esteban. You can call me either one, I like ’em both.”

  Nobody else was talking, at least not above a whisper. After a second of hesitation, I shook his hand. I didn’t want to seem like the cold blonde in white sitting three rows back; that was a fast way to make enemies. From what I could tell, she’d shut down the yacht boy’s advances, and he had moved on to easier prey.

  My mother’s voice chided me in my memory. One friend. Just one.

  “Cassie,” I said.

  “Cassie . . . ?” he prompted.

  “Gupta.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cassie Gupta. You on board with all this crazy space shit?”

  I inhaled deeply to give myself time to find patience. “Yes.”

  “Cool. Me too.”

  The door in the far back corner of the room opened and a few more boring-looking kids filed in. Skinny white kid with tattoos on his arms, Asian girl with a pixie cut, tall black guy wearing glasses that displayed a flickering cell phone interface. A couple more brown-skinned girls filtered in. One of them smiled at me; I only nodded back.

  I quickly counted them up. Sixty-two, counting the last girl taking a seat to my right. A sideways glance told me she was tall and muscular, with long black hair and an intimidating beauty. Possibly Japanese.

  Sixty-two people I had to beat.

  And then the door opened one last time. Tall guy. Dark-blond hair. Dressed like he was going to church, in khaki pants and a crisp button-down shirt with a tie. An actual tie.

  A spark of recognition—I knew that guy. Luka something. The Georgian ambassador’s son, who’d visited Marshall that one day. I hadn’t paid much attention to him at the time, but now he was right there.

  Then it hit me. What had the ambassador said? How his son would help America return to the stars. This must’ve been why they were visiting my center at Marshall.

  Oh, all the gods in heaven. I was going to have to compete against the son of a UN ambassador.

  Luka took a seat in the far left corner. Onstage, the woman cleared her throat. She didn’t need a microphone; the room was full of rapt silence. Her bracelets and earrings shimmered as she spoke. “Looks like we’re all here, so I’ll go ahead and introduce myself. I’m Madelyn Krieger, the representative for the Society of Extrasolar Exploration, NASA’s partner for this project. You may recognize Colonel Pierce to my left, who was the first and so far only man to touch foot on Martian soil and return safely to Earth. We are very honored to have him head up our selection committee. You’ll be seeing both of us from time to time, and I for one am looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you special people.”

  I’d sat through some cheesy school presentations in my time, but this was almost embarrassing. She smiled wide, her teeth as white and shiny as Miss America’s. “You all know, to an extent, why you’re here. You should have some understanding of the dangers you’ll face should you be chosen. But I hope that you are here because you all share the belief that we at SEE and NASA both hold deeply: that exploration beyond our home planet is vital and necessary to the continuing achievements of mankind.”

  She paused, looking into each of our faces. Were her eyes really misting, or was that a trick of the light? “You are also here because we believe there is something special about you. Some potential that we are eager to tap. When the spac
e program was in its infancy, our very first astronauts were selected from a narrow pool of test pilots who were chosen mainly for their ability to operate under incredible stress and for their willingness to risk blowing themselves up.”

  That brought a few chuckles, but not from me. People had died to advance human space travel. I didn’t think that was funny.

  Neither, apparently, did Colonel Pierce. His gaze was steely.

  But Ms. Krieger smiled, indulging the laughter. “But this new team will require a different set of skills. NASA hasn’t opened the doors to new astronauts since the first Mars landing in 2033. But with our partnership, new doors have been opened. This is an unprecedented opportunity, and I surely hope you understand the dedication it will require.”

  I found myself nodding and leaning forward, getting a little caught up in Ms. Krieger’s emotions. The colonel, on the other hand, hadn’t moved a muscle.

  “You may be wondering why you’re here—” she began.

  “Not really,” muttered Emilio beside me.

  “—or why the average age of the contestants in this room is a mere twenty-one. I assume I don’t have to tell all of you that you’re the best and brightest of your generation. Or that space is very large, and modern space travel takes a very long time. With what we hope to do, we will have need of your youth, your physical fitness, your determination. NASA and its international partners have recruited you from all over the world: JAXA in Japan, ISRO of India, ISA of Israel, CSA of Canada, and ESA, encompassing twenty-two European countries—just to name a few! We have representatives from over fifteen countries, including such faraway locales as Mongolia and Qatar. I feel safe to say that I am looking at the best that Earth has to offer. I’m proud to be able to call you astronaut candidates.

  “Technically, it takes two years to earn the title of astronaut. But these are special circumstances. I think a little leeway is allowed.” That earned a flick of an eyebrow from Colonel Pierce, but Ms. Krieger continued unabated. “You may have noticed there are more than sixty candidates in this room. At the end of the selection, only the top two ranking candidates will go on to train with the rest of the crew. One crew member, and one alternate. The selection process will be short and intense, and unfortunately many of you may be flying home before the end of the week. There will be two phases to your training. At the end of Phase Two, we will take the top two candidates on to Phase Three, where they will train with the rest of the crew in preparation for the mission. Colonel Pierce?”

  Pierce took a step forward, thick arms locked behind his back. “If you make it past the first phase, you’ll be dealing directly with me. I expect you to call me Colonel to my face and Jackass behind my back. Don’t let me catch you getting those two confused.” There were a few laughs. I didn’t dare join them.

  Colonel Pierce glared and the laughter choked off. “I’m your reward for getting through the next few weeks, so if you don’t think you want that, save yourself the trouble and go on home now. You may have noticed the doors you entered on your way here were painted red. If you choose to drop out at any point, it’s as easy as walking out the big red door. I wouldn’t blame you. Hell, the fact that most of you are sitting here now and not a one of you is older than twenty-five is already a miracle. You’re the strongest, smartest young people NASA could find this side of the sun, but don’t let that go to your heads. You’ll have to get a hell of a lot stronger and braver to be the kind of person we need. Got it?”

  There were murmurs of “Yes, sir.” Emilio shouted it so loud my right ear rang.

  The colonel amped up his glare. “Let me just tell you now. Everything you see, hear, and do from this point forward is confidential. The only people who know more than you hold top-secret security clearance. No one outside these walls should hear anything about this competition beyond what you had for breakfast, and I’d be vague on the details of the syrup selection if I were you. If you can handle that, you can hand over your electronic gadgets on the way to your rooms. Absolutely nothing with recording capability will be allowed.

  “You have four instructors who will also serve as your resident advisers: Dominic Bolshakov, Michele Jeong, Logan Shaw, and Dr. Harper Copeland. They’ll brief you on the rules, so make sure you stick to them. Testing begins tomorrow bright and early, outside on the track.”

  I was surprised to recognize the names. They were all astronauts. A few years past their prime, maybe, but experienced astronauts.

  I nodded, heart thumping, fingernails digging into the scratchy fabric of my seat. I can do this.

  His voice changed tone subtly. He spoke slower. “This isn’t a game, kids. We’re going to push some of you to the breaking point. But it’s not for shits and grins. Everything we do here has a purpose, and our end game is of monumental importance. Just remember that.”

  Next to me, Emilio’s hand shot up, uninvited.

  “Yes?” Colonel Pierce said in an arch tone that made it clear he hadn’t asked for questions.

  Emilio stood up, back straight, suddenly composed. “Just so I’m clear—what’s the purpose of this mission?”

  I instinctively leaned away from him. Didn’t want my face to be associated with the first kid they kicked out.

  “I mean, maybe I’m the only one who doesn’t know, but I think it’s only fair. Are we going back to Mars?”

  Hadn’t anyone told this kid what “top secret” meant? Did he think all that paperwork he filled out was for fun?

  Colonel Pierce’s mouth became a tight, bloodless crease, but Emilio continued. “Or farther, beyond the solar system? Is that why you need someone young?”

  “You’ll be informed of the details of the mission before launch,” Ms. Krieger said, forcing an award-winning smile. “If you get that far, of course. Anyone else have questions?”

  Thankfully, no one else raised a hand.

  Colonel Pierce looked at Emilio like he knew what the future held for him. “Good. Then I suggest you get to your rooms and settle in. Some of you may not have much time to enjoy them.”

  I hung back as the sixty-three (including the Georgian ambassador’s son) other kids rushed toward the room assignment list posted on the doors. None of us knew anyone else here—who cared what room you were in? Like Ms. Krieger said, I wasn’t worried about having to deal with roommates for long.

  When I was able to get close enough to the form to read without being jabbed by elbows, I found my name under Room 4, along with:

  Hanna Schulz

  Mitsuko Pinuelas

  Giselle Ojeda

  I followed the crowd down the hall to the dorm wing. Room 4 was marked with a black plastic sign and already had one occupant: the blonde in all white, who was already in the middle of unpacking her suitcase of folded clothes onto her bed. We both did a polite nod.

  As soon as I put my bag down on the bed farthest from the blonde, the door opened again. It was the tall Japanese girl who’d sat beside me in the auditorium, smiling breezily in a sleeveless black tank and shorts, her legs tan and long.

  I could hear some laughter and shouting from the hall before the door closed. They were acting like this was spring break. I was one of the youngest candidates, but definitely one of the more mature ones.

  The new girl raised her eyebrows. She must have been a few years older than either of us, maybe even too old to be geneered, and had way better makeup-applying skills than I’d ever hope to acquire. “What’s with the faces? Aren’t you psyched to be here? Look around! We’re at JSC! We’re going to space!”

  “One of us is going to space,” the blond girl corrected. There was a lilt to her voice, some kind of accent so subtle it could’ve been Canadian or someplace far north. “One. I’m not about to celebrate before there’s anything worth celebrating.”

  That didn’t deter the other girl. She rolled her eyes like she thought she was dealing with children and smiled. “I’m Mitsuko. Or are we not introducing ourselves in this room?”

  “My name is H
anna,” the blonde said. “I’m from Potsdam. I took a year off from my studies at Uni Heidelberg to be in this program.” German—that was the source of her accent.

  And she’d taken off a whole year? Well, that was mighty presumptuous of her.

  They turned to me.

  “Cassie,” I said.

  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Mitsuko said. “So now we’re just missing Giselle.”

  “Mitsuko Pinuelas?” Hanna asked.

  “That’s right.” A lock of shiny black hair fell across Mitsuko’s face. She reached up to tuck it behind her ear, and I noticed a telltale ring on her left hand.

  Hanna didn’t miss it, either. “Really? You’re married?” Hanna asked, her nose wrinkling a little.

  “Hence the last name.” She laughed but was clearly getting annoyed.

  “How old are you?”

  Mitsuko gave her a long look before answering, eyebrows raised. “Twenty-three. You got a problem with that?”

  Hanna shrugged, but her point was clear even to me.

  Mitsuko shot her a patronizing glance. “Honey. I’m far from the oldest person here. And I’m multilingual, I have a pilot’s license, and I’m scuba certified. So I’ve had a bit more time to polish my skills.”

  I flinched inwardly and kept my hands busy with unpacking, far slower than necessary. I didn’t want to get in the middle of this. Five seconds into the first day and already egos were clashing.

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m sure most of us are in Mensa,” Hanna shot back, the German accent coming on a little strong. “But most of us don’t have a husband at home. You did leave him at home?”

  “Back in San Antonio,” Mitsuko quipped, setting her stuff down on the bed beside Hanna. “Why, does it surprise you that I’m allowed to be here all by myself?”

  “Well, you’re older than us. You have a family. I’m willing to bet that neither of those things are going to work in your favor.”