by Kayla Olson
“Sorry, but can we do it at noon?” she asks. “It’s not looking good, food-wise, and I’m worried—”
“If it’s so bad it can’t wait until three, we should have had that meeting yesterday.”
Ask for cooperation, I’m learning, and forgiveness. Not permission.
Haven and Natalin share a look. They whisper sometimes—about everyone, not just me. I do my best to let it roll off my skin. It’s not always easy.
“What do you want me to tell everyone?” Haven asks. While I’m our designated leader, and the face of our assemblies, Haven is a natural at station-board communications. She makes twice-daily announcements, at nine-morning and early evening, that echo through every inch of our station’s twelve sprawling decks.
“About the food?”
“About Mila,” she says. “About the mutation.”
I hesitate. My opinion isn’t going to be a popular one—not with Haven or Natalin, anyway. “Don’t tell them anything yet.”
Natalin’s perfectly arched eyebrows go through the roof. “It’s their right—”
“Before you rail me,” I say, “I said not yet. I didn’t say not ever. What good is it to tell them now? We don’t have answers, and you know they’ll have questions. We may not be able to stop this thing, but we need to at least look like we’re trying. Telling them immediately isn’t going to do anything but make people panic.”
“You don’t know that.” Natalin won’t meet my eyes.
“I really, really do.”
We all do. Paranoia and panic, that’s what happened the first time around. I hid out in Medical with Dr. Safran, preoccupied myself with fixing our situation instead of agonizing over it, but still, I heard all the stories. Some people wouldn’t touch the food. Some wouldn’t leave their cabins. Some hoarded supplies, soap and antibac and breathing masks.
None of this mattered, in the end.
“What happens when they ask about Mila?” Haven asks. “Why they haven’t seen her around?”
I’m not a fan of slippery lies. It’s too hard to keep your footing with one, and lies tend to multiply. “She’s helping out in the lab,” I say. “That’s the official word.”
5
FIRE AND THE SEA
WHEN WE BREAK, Leo walks me to the lab. I hear the gurney wheels long after Heath and Zesi roll Mila out of sight. Zesi is intimately familiar with the layout of the entire station, thanks to his time at systems. He’ll know how to get to the base deck, where the crematory is, without drawing attention. No one’s finding out about this tonight—if anyone knows how to keep a secret here, it’s him.
“You should sleep, Linds.”
The other girls went back to bed. Their work centers mostly around a daytime schedule, when everyone else is awake. Mine doesn’t.
“It’s important to check this out,” I say.
“It’s important to check it out when your mind is fresh.” He mimics my tone. It sounds too haughty.
“Listen, don’t start with me tonight, okay?” He’s almost never wrong, and he knows it, and he knows I know it—but his exceptional clarity can be really inconvenient.
I reach for the lab door; he catches my hand, turns me around to face him. His eyes are wide, deep brown with flecks of gold. If his are fire, mine are the sea. “When is the last time you slept? No, don’t look away, I’m serious.”
“What do you mean by ‘slept,’ exactly? An hour here, an hour there? All night? Every night? Or—”
“Lindley.”
It isn’t a matter of wanting to sleep. No more sleep, no more dreams—not for me, at least. Now my nights are full of what if, what next, what now?
We’ve lost so much more than just our parents.
His hand is soft in mine, but I pull away. If I’m going to give him something real, I’m taking something back in return. “I don’t know how anyone sleeps anymore.”
He doesn’t press me after that.
The lab is just as I left it last night, steady and bright and predictable and certain, crisp and clean, my own personal oasis. Unlike Medical, the lab spans an entire wing: station after station of equipment, ready and waiting to unlock the entire universe.
Except all our experts are dead.
Dr. Safran was an expert in everything. Most of the one hundred were experts in two or three fields—only the best of the best made it onto the station, this beacon of hope for humanity, as it was deemed nearly two decades ago at its christening. A few limited themselves to a single area of concentration, but that was rare. Our station is the main hub in our fleet’s trio, home-base support for the two teams stationed much farther out in the galaxy. Each and every member—on our station and both of the others—was recruited for a lifetime of service from an extraordinarily capable pool of candidates.
Let’s hope we who are left inherited enough of their intellect and instinct to keep ourselves alive.
I settle onto the tall stool near the nanoscope. It’s more comfortable than my own bed lately.
“Can I help with anything?” Leo asks, taking the stool across from me, on the other side of the station. For all his you know I’m right superiority, he’s really good about not pushing back when I’ve drawn my lines.
But this—stopping, sitting—changes everything. I’m tired, more so than I care to admit. I squeeze my eyes shut. Open them. Still exhausted.
“I . . . should go to bed.” I slide a sample I drew from Mila’s blood, just after we found her, across the table. “File this for me, please?”
He gives me a sleepy smile and doesn’t dare say I told you so.
6
ETERNAL LIGHT, ETERNAL NIGHT
IF ANYONE IS to blame for all that has happened, it’s the moon.
Those who found the loophole in the international lunar treaty, anyway, those who staked their claim without ever actually owning anything: I blame them for this present misery.
If they hadn’t found the loophole,
if they hadn’t discovered a way to channel endless, renewable solar power from the moon’s pale face—a sea of panels bathed in eternal sunlight—
if they had worked together,
if they hadn’t raced to be first,
if they hadn’t spurned those who came next,
if they hadn’t threatened nuclear measures to control what was never truly theirs to begin with . . .
We would not be in danger of suffering the consequences.
We would not be in danger of an obliterated moon, of Earth quite literally spinning out of control, of instability and chaos and seasonal extremes, of hailstorms with a side of asteroid showers. We would never have begun the search for an off-planet home, just in case. No one has blown the moon to pieces yet, to be clear, likely because the solar power payoff continues to be worth the escalating territorial tension.
But things can only be stretched so thin before they snap.
So they made their long-game contingency plan. If not for all of this, the Lusca would never have been created, and my mother would never have been its commander. They would never have filled our station with experts who could support the terraforming efforts on Planet RDX-4, more commonly known simply as Radix—and would never have had such a strong reason to begin terraforming efforts at all. They would never have planted the Nautilus at the edge of everything, a station one-tenth the size of ours, home to a smaller team of specialists who explore the far-off places we don’t even know we don’t know about. Lusca’s experts would not have been sent here to support that team, either.
And if the Lusca were never created, and my mother never its commander, and if I’d been born on Earth like every other generation that came before me, I would not be here.
I would not be grieving the effects of this particular virus, in this particular place.
I would not be stranded in eternal night, fumbling my way through darkness, wishing for starlight or fireflies or the dimmest rays of hope.
When I step back to think about it, how my life is
what it is because of a string of choices made by people on Earth I’ve never met, it makes me feel terrifyingly small.
How can I get things back under control if control was never truly mine to begin with?
7
TOMORROW AND TOMORROW AND TOMORROW
THREE TONES RING over my cabin speakers. It’s a new day, Haven’s chipper voice announces. Time to embrace it! This is her stage voice—we all have one. Hers is more exaggerated than mine, though. More exaggerated than everyone’s.
People complain, say she isn’t being sensitive enough. I even agree, some days, but I think Haven’s mostly in the right. We have to give the station what they need, not necessarily what they want. We can’t give them what they want. We can’t give back their yesterdays, can’t take away their fear or their regret. We want those things, too, as much as anybody.
If only.
So Haven puts a smile in her voice. If they don’t want it today, she likes to say, maybe they’ll take it tomorrow. We’ll see.
I slept, not well, for almost four hours. That’s a record this week. I have a feeling I’ll crash soon, and crash hard, but there’s no time for that now. Now is for the lab. Now is for finishing what I couldn’t even start last night.
I pin my hair into a low bun, throw my cleanest cardigan on over last night’s clothes. This is as good as it gets today. Haven will have a fit when she sees me. When it comes to securing people’s trust, she says, presentation is half the battle. I never argue, and I don’t disagree—I simply prefer to focus on the other half of that battle, the part that could actually keep us alive.
It takes ten minutes to get to the lab from my cabin. That’s on a good day, when it’s seven-morning and the station is still and quiet. Today is not a good day. Despite the pleasant-but-focused face I put on, despite keeping my eyes fixed at a neutral point ahead of me, I barely make it out of my own residential wing before someone stops me. Siena Lawson, this time.
“Hi, um . . . Commander?” She’s fourteen, a rule-follower to a fault, and I’ve told her three times to call me Lindley. Haven referred to me as Commander Hamilton one time in an announcement, and it was the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever experienced. The gift keeps on giving.
“Commander was my mother. You know you don’t have to call me that, right?” I loved my mother. I don’t love talking about her. “Need something?”
Siena shrinks back, just a little. She won’t meet my eyes. “Sorry, Com—Lindley. I’m sorry.”
“What’s going on?” I attempt to soften my tone so I’m not so intimidating, try to pretend my mind isn’t running full speed toward the lab. I’m not very good at pretending.
“It’s Yuki and Grace,” she says. “I . . . can’t find them.” The three of them are inseparable. I’ve learned more about station life these past few weeks than I ever cared to know. This recent shift—paying close attention like I never have before, learning everything I can about everyone—all of it makes me feel a bit like someone looking in. Like I’m not quite one of them anymore, now that I’ve stepped into the role of commander.
“You’ve checked their cabins?” I ask. “You’re sure they aren’t sleeping?” I take a deep breath to quell my simmering annoyance.
Her cheeks flame. “We were all together last night,” she says. “At Mikko’s.”
Siena Lawson is not a stupid girl. “Walk with me,” I say. This could take all morning—I don’t have all morning. I put a call through to Heath. He picks up immediately, like always, unfailingly reliable.
“Meet me in the lab,” I tell him. “I’ve got a project for you.”
Heath agrees, even offers to bring me some tea. I need it.
“We weren’t doing anything, I swear,” Siena says when I’m off the call. “Just a few drinks, and then we passed out.”
“Just a few drinks,” I repeat. A few drinks isn’t like her. One drink isn’t like her.
“I swear.”
She shouldn’t be drinking at all, but I don’t say that. I’m not her mother—she doesn’t have one anymore, none of them do. That’s the problem. “You need to be careful with Mikko, Siena. Turn here,” I say. “He’s not himself these days. He didn’t try to take advantage, did he?”
She’s quiet, too quiet. “He didn’t have to,” she finally says. “Grace started it.”
Right. Excellent. “And now you can’t find her? Was anyone else there?”
“Just a couple of other guys, with Yuki and me,” she says. “Dash and Reed.”
Dash and Reed are good guys. Mikko’s always been a quality kid, too, but he’s made some terrible decisions lately.
All of us grieve a little differently, I guess.
Heath meets us at the lab, as promised. He smells fresh, just-out-of-the-shower fresh, and his not-quite-dry hair looks darker than its usual sandy blond. Did he cut his shower short just to answer my call?
“Wait here,” I tell Siena. “He’ll be right back for you, okay?” The old rules restricted under-eighteens from entering the lab without adult supervision, but I make the rules now. And right now, I want two minutes alone with Heath.
I enter the code, and the door slides open. Heath and I slip inside quickly, before it closes. Dr. Safran helped me memorize every code he had access to in the days before he passed. It’s good he did—only a couple of others thought to share their intel, to Zesi and Natalin. Their knowledge keeps us alive.
“Thanks for this,” I say, taking the tea. It’s too hot to drink, so I set it on the first island I see.
When I turn around, Heath is right there. His eyes—his lips—soft on mine—
I push him off. “Heath—what?!” I brush the kiss away with the back of my hand, catch my breath. “What was that?”
We haven’t, we’ve never . . . this is not what I meant by two minutes alone with Heath.
A curse falls out of him. “I’m sorry, Lindley, I thought—”
He’s breathing hard. So am I. I pulled back before, but not far. Only a couple of inches separate me from a face I’ve known forever. We’ve always been close—friend close, like I am with Leo or Haven. We’ve never been close like this.
“I didn’t think,” he says, catching his breath. “I’m so sorry, Lindley.” He rubs his hands over his face, kneads his temples. “With Mila—and the mutation—I was up all night thinking I might never, um. Never get the chance.”
I bury my face in my teacup. Burn my lips on purpose.
“I won’t do it again, I promise.” He stays where he is, lets me have my space.
I’ve never thought of Heath like this before—I don’t know what I want, but it’s too soon to say I want him to promise that.
“Listen,” I say. “It’s fine, we’re good. I’m just . . . not in that headspace right now. So much going on, you know?”
“Sure. Yeah.” Even the smallest grin gives him dimples on both sides. “I know what you mean.” Heath’s every bit as busy as I am. He’s taken up a swing role amid our six—peacemaker, peacekeeper, the one who deals with social issues as they come up all over the station. And, oh, have they come up. “So, you’ve got a project for me?”
His subject change is a little too abrupt, a little too sunny. I know him well enough to see past his dimples.
“Right, yes.” I avert my eyes, look anywhere but at his lips. “Siena Lawson can’t find her friends.” I fill him in on Yuki and Grace, and the Mikko situation as I see it. “Talk to those guys, check their cabins. See if Siena did anything to make the girls want to keep her out of the loop.”
I hate drama. It’s so unnecessary, such a black hole.
“Got it,” Heath says. “What if”—he glances behind him, at the door—lowers his voice—“what if I find them, and they’re like Mila? What if Siena sees?”
“Make sure she doesn’t,” I say. “You’re good at this. It’ll be fine.”
His eyes are so deep I could drown. I blink, look away. Focus.
“I really am sorry, Lindley.”
> I take another sip of tea. Carefully, this time. “If you say that one more time, I’m never speaking to you again.” He smiles, and so do I.
“Don’t work too hard,” he says.
And then he’s out.
8
AGAIN WITH THE LOSING
MILA’S BLOOD SAMPLE isn’t in the file.
“Leo,” I say as soon as he picks up my call, “what did you do with the blood?”
“I filed it, like you asked,” he says. “Why, did I do it wrong?” His words have jagged edges: it’s rare that Leo makes a mistake, rarer still for him to admit it.
I rummage around in the refrigerator, dig in places that aren’t so obvious. “Looks like you didn’t do it at all.” Not in the drawer, not in the door. “You put it in the fridge?”
He’s silent on the other end. “I mean . . . I know I did. You’re positive it isn’t there? On the first shelf, right in front?”
“Definitely not.” The first shelf, right in front, is jammed full of weeks-old cultures I should’ve discarded by now.
Leo exhales loudly. “I’m sorry, Linds. I don’t know what to tell you.”
I clench my teeth, count to five. I know he’s only frustrated with himself, not with me, but still. This is what I get for going to bed last night. I knew I should’ve looked over her sample. This is why I do things myself, why I’ve done them myself since the day I started studying under Dr. Safran. I don’t make these sorts of mistakes—I can’t afford to, not if I want to lead as well as my mother did. Details matter, not just to me but to the entire space program.
Think, think. How do I get more blood from a body burned to ashes?
“I’ll head over right now,” he says. “Maybe I screwed up. Zesi, you good on your own?” There’s a pause. “He’s good. I’ll be right there.”
