Chapter Seventeen
“Aliens! Oh lawd, we’re being attacked by aliens!”
It’s a cacophony of alarms blaring, robotic warnings of imminent doom (or at least that’s what I think; who can tell with all the other chaos?), what sounds like hail raining down, and over it all, Angie’s voice reigns supreme with her shouts of aliens.
I stop in the middle of the Hab, looking around wildly as I stand in the doorway of the gym, from Angie to the comms and cameras that are showing nothing but dust and finally to Roman, who’s wincing while shielding his eyes. All this noise can’t be good for his headache.
Jordan comes barreling from his and Roman’s bedroom. “Meteor shower!” he exclaims, almost out of breath. “There’s a meteor shower, and the meteors are coming through the ceiling.”
Angie stops yelling about aliens, and we all run to the bedroom. Sure enough, the ceiling now sports dozens of little holes where the artificial sunlight breaks through. I stand back, not wanting to get pelted by anything. “Jordan, what do we do?” I shout, loud enough to be heard over the warning system.
But Jordan doesn’t say anything. He stands in the middle of the room, frozen as he takes in the destruction. I try to think of the different emergency scenarios and procedures we went over in training, but I can’t think through all the noise. It’s too much. There’s something about all the noise and the assault on my senses that makes my mind equally as jumbled and ready for flight, even though I know this is not real. It’s just a test. I’ve always been good at tests, but this is something else. This is hard and cold failure. As we all stand around, not knowing what to do, I see that everything we’ve been working toward so hard is about to end. I’ll have to go home and actually think about what I want to do as far as my career goes. Either that or face Principal Major and his smug face and the kids who won’t get their library. I want to cover my ears and run away.
“Listen up, everyone,” Roman shouts. “We need to cover the holes. Angie, Brianna, find as much duct tape as you can. Jordan, we’ll get the ladders.”
Normally, direct orders make me bristle, but something about the no-nonsense, authoritative command in Roman’s voice does the exact opposite. It makes everything in me stand at attention. It sends chills down my spine and makes my heart race. This better not awaken anything in me .
“Let’s move, people!” he insists. Given purpose, we scramble to work on our tasks, and I place a hand on my stomach. It’s like all the dandelion seeds I blew earlier found their way right to my stomach and are floating around.
How much duct tape can a Hab store? As it turns out, a lot. There’s certainly enough to stock a small grocery store. I can’t imagine it will take more than a few rolls to patch the holes, so Angie and I each grab two, which will allow everyone to have one.
When we get back to their room, Roman and Jordan are coming in with arms full of ladders and step stools. The alarms are still blaring, but now it doesn’t seem so jarring, like the end of the world is looming. We set to work, standing on ladders to reach the ceiling. Using teeth and fingers to rip pieces of the duct tape off, I work on the sides, leaving the highest parts of the ceiling for Roman and Jordan. Still, by the time we’re done, my arms ache from reaching up for so long.
“We did it,” Jordan says after a thorough glance around confirms all the holes have been sealed.
I smile. I want to clap and cheer, let everyone know how great of a job we did, but I don’t want to jinx anything. We can celebrate after we’ve all caught our breath.
As we’re folding up the ladders and preparing to put up the tape, the alarms finally stop. At that, I let out a deep sigh. “I think this calls for a celebration,” I say to Roman, smiling. “Pizza?”
Roman looks down at me. He looks tired, worn down by the past half hour’s chaos, but he manages his signature half smile. “You read my mind.”
“You guys can get started on the pizzas,” Jordan says. “I need to clean up the meteors. I’ll save some to study too. Who knows, they might have put some interesting materials in them.”
On the heels of Jordan’s words, a large crash rocks the Hab, shaking it from floor to ceiling. More alarms blaring, more computerized voices shouting at us about a loss of oxygen.
We look through the guys’ bedroom door and find a gaping hole in the previously repaired ceiling. In the middle of the floor, a burning rock the size of a chair is impacted into the ground.
“You’re going to need a bigger broom!” Angie shouts.
We all know there’s no repairing this one. I slide the duct tape rolls off my arms and start passing them out again. “Looks like we’ll have to seal the room off.”
The guys run inside to get their bags and whatever else they can grab from their beds in thirty seconds, then we work to seal the top, bottom, and sides of the door. Once complete, Jordan moves to the comms system and is somehow able to shut off oxygen and power to that particular room. Finally, the blaring stops.
I take a deep breath before speaking, but Angie beats me to it. “ Do not even say good job. For all we know, a meteorite will come through our bedroom next, and we’ll be left to sleep out here on the couches.”
Fair enough.
I shrug sheepishly. I’m definitely not jinxing it this time.
Roman lets out a pained grunt, and I turn to see him grimacing and holding his head.
“I think you need to lie down,” I say, moving to his side. “Can I take your bag?”
He shakes his head, and I fight not to bare my teeth. Stupid men and their inability to look weak even for a second. “Come on.”
I lead him to my and Angie’s room, which is now everybody’s room.
“You can use the empty bed over there.” I point straight ahead, but when I look behind me, Roman is gone, having already climbed into the first bed he could find. Mine.
What’s most important is for him to get rest now. I’ll have him move later.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask in a low tone once he’s under the covers. “Water? More medicine?”
He speaks into the pillow, and it sounds like he wants me to stay with him. My heart lurches and I imagine climbing into bed, massaging his temples and neck.
Before I can do anything foolish, I lean closer. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
This time his answer in the negative is easier to make out.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll close the pod and turn off the lights. I’ll be back to check on you later.”
I begin to reach for his back, but think better of it and stop. I’m already imagining doing dirty things to him while he’s under the weather. Now is the time to keep my hands to myself.
I close the screen on his pod, and though my mind fights each step I take, I close the door and leave him alone in the room.
“How’s your man doing?” Angie asks as I walk out of the room.
“Angie, he’s not my man. We’re just colleagues.”
“I didn’t say your man. I said our man.”
“Oh.” My guilty overactive imagination had me hearing things that weren’t even said. Again. My imagination is doing too much when it comes to Roman. “He’s okay. He just needs quiet and rest.”
And I need to get my heart and libido under control.
There really aren’t enough things to do here to keep us occupied. I can only vacuum so much, read so many manuals, and give the plants so much water before my mind reverts back to Roman. The man, no, menace, won’t leave my mind. Why did he have to be so sexy when he took charge during the meteor shower? Maybe that migraine of his was a blessing in disguise, because Lord knows what I would have done if he’d used that same tone when he said he wanted to kiss me.
Thinking of his migraine, I look toward the bedroom door and wonder if I should check on him again. Angie is sitting next to me at the table. She’s finally given up her imaginary phone and is playing on one of the tablets. Since she seems engrossed enough, I begin sliding off my stool. Her spidey senses pick up and she turns to me. “Where are you going?”
Now that she’s decided she’s all in on this simulation, suddenly my every move is under her scrutiny. Though the scrutiny may also stem from the fact that I’ve checked on Roman four times already.
“I’m just getting a tablet,” I say, playing it off. “I want to see if any messages are coming through yet.”
She watches me as I grab a tablet then continue past the bedroom door. I continue on into the greenhouse so I can be alone.
I power on my tablet and check whether there are any messages from my family. The power is back up, but nothing has come in. I wonder if it’s because of the antenna.
I consider drafting individual messages to everyone that will send when the reception is fully up and running, but my thoughts are as blank as the email draft I pull up. What should I say? My parents’ and Vincent’s messages would be easy updates. But I feel like I should say more to Camille. If she’s been keeping track of what’s going on, she must have picked up that something is going on between Roman and me by now. Her reply would say I’m causing more trouble and confusion for myself, knowing that any relationship between us is doomed. But after realizing Roman isn’t a villain out to steal my job like I thought he was, I don’t want to hear any words of caution Camille has on the matter. Does it make me delulu? Maybe. But I’m delulu and happy.
In the end, I send a message addressed to everyone saying that I miss them and to give Zara and Sheba kisses for me. They’ll get it at some point.
Jordan is frowning at one of the screens at the comms station when I go to return the tablet.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“This right here.” He points to a screen with a black background and green letters. “It monitors how we’re doing on the tasks. Timelines and such. We’ve been doing good with the physical exercises and maintaining the Hab and have completed two of the major tasks. It all looks good, except for this metric.” He points to the one dark orange row. “We were supposed to have the antenna up by now. We’re still receiving communications from Mission Control, but it’s been delaying by hours.” He grabs a fistful of locs then drags a hand over his face. “If we had fixed it first thing, you and Roman wouldn’t have almost gotten caught out there, and we would have known about the meteor shower.”
If only someone had mentioned fixing the antenna first. That’s right, I did, and Jordan wanted to play around with other things.
I don’t vocalize my thoughts. It’s enough to know that I’m right. But seeing Jordan overwhelmed, I do go into fix-it mode. “This is a concern, but it’s not unfixable. As soon as this dust storm is over, we’ll get out there and repair the damage.”
Jordan has a faraway look in his eyes, and I know his mind must be whirring with different possibilities. “No, we can’t wait that long. The storm is forecasted to last another thirty-six hours. If we wait for it to end, we might miss even more critical information, or the thing will break completely, and we’ll be out of luck.”
“Or likely both,” I say. Given how it’s been one catastrophe after another, I wouldn’t put it past the organizers to cause tragedy to strike twice in the same day. When did I become this jaded creature? “So what are you proposing we do?”
“We need to fix the antenna as soon as possible. Today if we can. I’ve been watching the camera feeds, and the dust isn’t always pouring down like this. There are stretches of time when it’s more like a passing mist. That’s when we go.”
Jordan is right. There are moments when the dust lets up. If we want the simulation to succeed, that will be the best time to go.
“Okay,” I agree. “We continue to monitor, then go when visibility is best. What will we be doing out there? How do we fix it? I want to be prepared.”
Before, Jordan had Angie and Simone to help him. With Simone gone, I assume I’ll be taking her place.
“About that,” Jordan begins. “The last part of fixing the antenna involves replacing some hardware. It’s kind of high up there. We’d probably need someone with some good arm reach. You know, someone with a long torso. We’ll need someone with long legs, too.”
“I get it,” I cut in. “I’m too short. Guess I’ll be inside during the mission.”
“Hey, don’t look so glum. Every member of this team is valuable. You’ll provide much-needed support over comms.”
I nod, knowing Jordan is right. Each part we play serves a critical role. Just like at school. “You’re right. I’ll be glad to cheer y’all on and provide support from in here.” At least I won’t have to worry about going out in the dust.
“That’s the spirit. I just hope Roman will feel better by the time the dust slows down.”
I hear an old record scratch in my mind and frown. “Roman won’t be in any condition to go out there.” Jordan’s eyes widen and he leans away from me looking a little scared. I attempt to dial down the overprotectiveness so I don’t scare him—like the dog from his childhood—and clear my throat, saying in a softer tone, “What I mean is, Roman was in pretty bad shape when he went down. I think he’ll need at least a couple of days to recover. Maybe we shouldn’t count on him to be able to help out there?” I say the last bit as a question, but it is most undeniably a command. Roman needs someone to look out for his well-being, and apparently it’s going to be me.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. He did look worse for wear.” Jordan sighs. “I guess all we can do now is wait out the storm and move quickly if we get the chance.” He stands up. “I need to debrief Angie so she’ll be ready to move when it’s time.”