Chapter Nine
I scan the common area as Angie, Simone, and I walk in. It’s four spaces—the kitchen, living room, communication station, and lab station—efficiently made compact and squished into one large room, and will be where we’ll spend the majority of our days.
Jordan is at the comms station, which has at least a dozen screens, analyzing each switch. I easily spot Roman reading a pamphlet on one of the couches. I let my eyes linger on him a little to make sure he’s not making any moves to try to sabotage us already.
A jarring ping interrupts the quiet, sounding from the speakers and echoing throughout the room. We all look at Jordan, the only person actually messing with stuff, while he holds both hands up.
“I swear I didn’t mess up anything,” he says. “I only touched one button.”
We can’t have things breaking when we just got here. I take a step to see what is going on, but Roman puts his pamphlet down and beats me to the comms station.
“They’re messages from Mission Control,” Roman says after a moment.
“Thank God.” Jordan wipes his forehead then sits up straight. “I mean, see? I told y’all I didn’t mess up anything.” He uses a touch pad to navigate around the screen. “It looks like there are separate messages addressed to each one of us. They must have been transmitted on our way here.”
Jordan eagerly selects his message first. It’s a video from his mom and dad. They congratulate him on making it this far and sign off with a “ We know you’ll make us proud! ”
“Oh, me next!” Simone volunteers. She gets closer to the monitors, and Roman moves off to the side to give her room.
Simone’s video comes from her kids. They’re spitting images of her, with the same curly hair and light brown complexions. They hold signs that read “I love you, Mom” and “Go, Mom!” Simone swallows thickly and looks like she’s on the verge of tears when her video ends.
“Angie’s is next,” Jordan says.
Angie leans forward, but once the video starts playing, her face falls. Her message is from someone I assume to be her sister, though it looks like she may have been counting on someone else. Her sister encourages her to kick ass and bring home the bacon.
With everyone else receiving messages with two or three family members on video, I’m a little bashful when Jordan clicks on mine and my whole family pops into frame. Mom, Dad, Camille holding Zara, Lance, Vincent, and Vincent’s fiancée, Amerie.
“ We’ll be watching you! ” Camille says before they sign off, like I need the reminder.
I have to admit, being in this new setting with this group of people I hardly know is weird. Seeing my family’s faces is a familiarity I’m grateful for.
“Hmm.” Jordan moves around on the screen then looks back at us. “That’s all the videos we have,” he says apologetically.
An awkward stretch of silence falls over us like a blanket. Roman didn’t get a message from his family. Nothing from Principal Major or his mom. Nothing from his siblings, if he has any.
For a second I consider his insistence that he’s not as close to his dad as everyone assumes. Did they get into some kind of fight before Roman came, and now Principal Major isn’t showing his support? But if that’s the case, why is he here?
When I look at Roman, he appears almost unbothered that he’s the only one who didn’t have a message. I say almost because he doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes and his jaw is clenched, telling me he’s at least feeling some type of way. He’s got to be, right? Unless this is a play at garnering sympathy from us so we’ll let our guard down.
I turn from him, my conscience and sympathy at war with what my brain says is part of his long game.
“It’s messed up your family didn’t send you anything,” Angie says.
Why she says it, I don’t know. It’s one thing for all of us to silently feel bad for Roman or, in my case, be conflicted about feeling bad, but it’s another thing to actually make a comment.
Simone, Jordan, and I must all be of the same mind, as we look at her in disbelief. Angie’s eyes swing between us, and she shifts her head back. “What?”
I sigh and shake my head.
Another ping comes through the speakers.
“Oh, maybe that’s your message,” Jordan says to Roman. He takes a moment to read the screen and grimaces. “Never mind. We got another message from Mission Control. It’s a list of the daily tasks and experiments we need to perform. It reiterates what we went over in training.”
Simone leans forward to read over Jordan’s shoulder. “?‘We believe you’ll help foster a way for future humankind to survive on the Martian surface and handle everything thrown your way with grace, integrity, and ingenuity.’?”
Thrown your way . I know we’ll face a few challenges, but that sounds especially ominous.
And that’s when we hear it. A loud bang, what sounds like a mini explosion followed by the unmistakable sound of bending metal, and finally a loud thud I feel from the ground all the way up my legs.
“What was that?” I ask, and my voice comes out shaky with nerves.
We all stare at one another with wide eyes, but no one has any answers.
“Cameras,” Roman says. “We need to turn the cameras on.”
Jordan fumbles with some of the switches, eventually finding the correct one for the cameras. A few seconds later, four screens show us a feed of the outside. Dust is still settling, but it’s glaringly obvious what the whole commotion was. Something struck and knocked down the antenna.
“That can’t be good, right?” Simone asks, surveying the screen.
Part of the antenna is bent in half, with scattered pieces of metal and snapped cables lying on the ground.
“I’m certain it’s not good,” I say.
“It looks like we just lost our way to communicate,” Roman says, and my heart sinks.
“All right, who’s hungry?” Jordan asks. Like an integral part of our mission didn’t just fall apart.
“Are you serious?” I ask him. “We need to do something about the antenna.”
“I agree with Brianna,” Roman says, which is a new tune. He never agreed with me on anything in front of his dad. Instantly suspicious, I turn to glare at him while Roman frowns, confused. During our little exchange, Jordan walks to the kitchen and begins rummaging through the cabinets. He sets to work on a stove that’s little more than the width of his body, while Angie and Simone go to the living room to see what movies and shows we’ll be able to watch. I stand in the middle of the common area, watching them. It’s like no one is taking this simulation seriously. Food? Movies? We need to be worried about what just happened outside. If the antenna is down, what’s to come next?
From the corner of my eye, I see Roman moving around at the comms station. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I’m going to make sure he doesn’t add on to our trouble.
There are two laminated papers posted on the wall near the comms. I walk up and act like I’m studying them, turning my body so Roman is easily in my field of vision.
He clicks around on the monitors for a while, then opens a drawer I didn’t see there beforehand. He pulls out a pamphlet similar to the one he had earlier and begins leafing through it. He’s so focused on the words in front of him, he doesn’t even notice me staring.
After a while it’s obvious that all he’s doing is reading and I’m probably safe to go find something else to do, but I can’t look away from his strong profile. As much as I want to turn off my attraction to him, I’m mesmerized the same way I always am when evaluating his class at school.
Without warning, Roman turns in my direction. I jerk my head back to the papers and try to appear like I was looking there the whole time. It’s an emergency evacuation plan, which, actually, is something I need to become familiar with.
I can see Roman looking at me from the corner of my eye. He watches me like I did him, like he’s daring me to look back. I don’t give him what he wants and eventually he gives up and calls me. “Brianna.”
I try to act unaffected by the way he says my name as I turn to him and raise my eyebrows.
He waves the paper he’s holding. “Got some good news.”
I may melt at the smile he sends my way, but I don’t dare trust it. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“There’s a satellite that orbits our site about every two hours. I ran some tests on the antenna, and it looks like it can still pick up data whenever the satellite is overhead. It will take hours to receive a full message, but it’s something.”
My muscles loosen a fraction. I’m glad to hear we’re not starting this whole thing completely without contact. I could kiss Roman for the relief he’s brought me. Which would be a horrible, horrible idea. I settle for a tentative smile. “That’s great to hear.”
“What’s going on?” Angie asks.
“Rom—Mr. Major found out we can still get messages from Mission Control, but they’ll come through slowly,” I say.
“Well, something is better than nothing,” Angie says. “Nice going, Roman.”
Roman nods in acknowledgment but doesn’t smile at Angie like he did at me, which I find interesting. Evidently Angie doesn’t. She narrows her eyes at Roman and walks to where Jordan is still cooking.
“Are you done yet?” Angie asks him.
“I’m getting the plates ready right now,” he says. “I hope y’all are hungry, because dinner is served.”
We all gather around the high table with backless stools.
“Bam!” Jordan says each time he sets a plate in front of us. “Enjoy your early Thanksgiving meal.”
I study the food piled on my metal plate. The turkey slices are a little suspect. The color is slightly off, and there is no seasoning, but the veggies and mashed potatoes look like any other meal. And while I wouldn’t exactly call it a Thanksgiving meal since it’s missing the sweet potatoes, macaroni, and cranberry sauce, it looks filling enough. At least it’s not baby food.
“Wait!” Jordan says before anyone can take a bite. “We need to commemorate this occasion with a toast or blessing or something.” He looks around at all of us with so much joy, I feel like I might burst. Jordan is living his dream out here. “I’m really glad to be with you all. Um. Enjoy this food for the nourishment of our bodies. May it keep us going and going.” He finishes with a forkful of mashed potatoes.
“Nope,” Angie says after taking one bite of the meat. She pushes her plate away, slides off her stool, and goes back to our room.
I pick up the meat and take a tentative bite. The taste isn’t bad. The texture is off though. Like, way off. Chewy, but tough against my teeth and hard to get down. It probably has more to do with Jordan’s cooking method than the actual food itself. A little less time in the pan and it should be closer to what fresh meat would taste like.
“Our first meal on Mars,” Jordan says, simply awed by everything as he chomps on a large piece of meat.
Simone is eating the vegetables and seems satisfied. Roman’s expression is blank, so I can’t tell if he hates the food or if this is his idea of five-star dining.
It occurs to me that I don’t know what kind of food he likes to eat. He doesn’t get hyped about enchilada day like everyone else. He never takes his lunch in the teachers’ lounge, preferring instead to stay in his classroom during his lunch hour. Is he a steak guy or all about burgers? He’s clearly not a vegetarian since his turkey is halfway gone, and he hasn’t touched the veggies yet.
Roman digs his fork into the mashed potatoes. Before taking a bite, he glances up at me, and this time I don’t look away. I can tell myself I’m curious as to what he thinks of the food, but as he swallows without so much as a grimace, I know the real reason. I like looking at him. I like how there’s chatter about horrible techniques that lead to overcooked but under-seasoned meat, but neither of us engage. But I don’t like this feeling of guilt spreading in my chest that tells me as much as it feels like I’m glowing under his attention, I can’t trust him. So when Roman raises his eyebrows as if to say, “ Mars, huh? ” instead of answering, it kills me a little to drop my gaze back to my plate and ignore him.
Angie walks back in with one of her protein bars right in time for us to discuss our game plan.
Jordan wipes his mouth and clears his throat. “As you all know, we have daily and weekly duties.” Those duties are simple enough. Exercise daily, keep our habitat clear of dust, and keep the solar panels clean. “If we do those and last the full six weeks, we get—”
“Twenty thousand dollars!” Angie shouts like she’s about to compete on the Fast Money round of Family Feud .
Simone claps, and even Roman’s face lights up.
“Yes, twenty thousand dollars,” Jordan says. “And if we complete the four main objectives, we get the money for the school.”
“Whoo, let’s go!” I say, pumping a fist in the air. Everyone stares at me blankly, as if I’m the weird one and Angie didn’t just have a similar outburst. Roman lets out a small huff, but I don’t trust it. He’s probably trying to get me to let my guard down again. I put my arm down and slump in my chair.
“Continuing on,” Jordan says. “To win the money for the school, we’ll have to find the rover that got lost in a previous sandstorm, gather samples at a predetermined site for our experiments, grow dandelions in the greenhouse, and fix the antenna.”
We begin discussing which of the big objectives to tackle first. I think it should be the antenna so our communications with Mission Control come through as quickly as possible and say so. Jordan really wants to find the missing rover, however, and since he’s our mission commander and I don’t want to start our mission off with an argument, I bite my tongue and agree to follow his orders.
Jordan rubs his hands together like a fly about to grub down on some food. “Great. I’m glad we have that settled. Everything seems straightforward, but we need to be prepared for anything to go wrong at any time. These simulations are as much about how people respond to emergencies as they are about completing the objectives. Remember, we’re all a team, and everyone’s role is important.”
“What is everyone’s role?” Simone asks.
Jordan blinks like he hasn’t considered the question. I know he had certain positions in mind when he recruited (begged) us to join. Simone is our medic, I’m supposed to help keep morale high, Angie is our techie, and Jordan, our mission commander, is supposed to be an all-around specialist and decision-maker. Roman? I guess he’s simply here to look pretty, which again makes me positive he’s here to do Principal Major’s dirty work.
“We’ll all work together when it comes to keeping the Hab clean, finding the rover, and fixing the antenna,” Jordan says after a while. “Most of these can be done in shifts, like taking care of the greenhouse. We will need a team of two to gather the rocks. If I remember the map correctly, the site is over a few hills. Just going off sheer physical capabilities, and no shade to anyone here”—Jordan directs to me and the other ladies—“Roman, I think you’re best to head up that task.”
Roman nods once in agreement, and I impulsively shout, “I’ll be his wingman!” before Jordan can volunteer himself. “I mean, wingwoman. I grew up hiking all the time, so the physicality is no big deal.” And this way, I can make sure Roman doesn’t mess up collecting the samples on purpose. Jordan seems way too happy to be here, so I’m not sure if he’d keep an eye on Roman or get distracted by the fascinating hills or tracks in the sand. Jordan may be the commander, but I’m going to have to be insistent on this point.
“Are you sure, Brianna?” Jordan asks, and I nod. “Well, okay then.”
I sit back in my seat, satisfied, as they move on to discuss cleaning shifts. When I look over at Roman, wondering if it’s begun clicking that I’m onto him and not willing to sit aside while he ruins the simulation, I come up short. Roman doesn’t seem nervous. He’s not sweating bullets or so much as grinding his jaw. He’s sitting there with that same half grin he wore when he invited me out to Big Lou’s. Like it did then, it sets my pulse soaring and my cheeks flushing.
For some inexplicable, possibly demented reason, he looks satisfied.