Dare Mighty Things Read online

  Heading into my next class, it was clear that the camaraderie born out of yesterday’s selection hadn’t lasted long. The rankings now clearly posted, people had remembered this was a competition. They spoke over one another, argued until Copeland actually had to tell people to get back in their seats. I participated without succumbing to the temptation of name-calling, but I was in the minority.

  By the time lunch came around again, my name had jumped three spots, and Hanna’s had jumped four. I tried not to let it bother me. It was still early, still anyone’s game.

  After lunch, I was sitting at a desk, waiting for our next class to start, trying to comprehend an unusual schematic drawn on the digital display board when Mitsuko came in, laughing with Nasrin, who today wore a gray silk hijab, and Katrina, who looked like a willowy ballerina in a black wrap-top and gauzy pink skirt. It made me consider my own outfit for the first time that day: khakis and a navy blue polo shirt—basically, my school uniform.

  It hit me with the reminder that I was the youngest person here. The kid who was still in high school. Who must look so incredibly childish compared to these sophisticated and lovely girls, who undoubtedly went to prestigious universities, maybe even lived in their own apartments, who’d already figured out who they were and were utterly confident in themselves.

  So much for “three musketeers!” I guess she’d found a group of girls who were more her style.

  But when she saw me, she split off and sat by me. She leaned in, raven hair falling over her shoulders, and I caught a whiff of her flowery perfume. “Those girls have the best gossip. Did you know there’s some kind of a foreign politico here? And he’s effing leading the board?”

  “I know,” I said. “I kind of met him a few months ago.”

  Her eyes bugged out. “You kind of met him. So he’s not a NASA plant designed to test us? Shit!” I laughed, but she continued unabated. “I knew I picked the right girl to sit by. Seriously, I’ve gone down two spots since yesterday, and has that kid’s name even moved from number one? No. How is that fair? How is that human?”

  I scanned the room to make sure Luka hadn’t arrived yet, and shrugged. “Maybe we should kill him.”

  “Now what did I tell you kids about plotting to kill the competition?” Copeland’s voice announced her presence in the doorway.

  “Not when you’re within earshot,” Mitsuko chirped without missing a beat.

  Copeland shook her head, amused. She took her place at the head of the room as the remaining candidates, including the guy we’d just been plotting to murder, filtered in. Mitsuko had to stifle her giggle behind her hand. Luka sat across from her, blissfully unaware.

  Dr. Copeland gestured to the board. “I want everyone to study this diagram, if you haven’t been already. What do you theorize this image to depict?”

  I’d seen that diagram before. Somewhere in the files on my tablet. I’d tried to memorize it with bleary eyes before bed, but I didn’t remember if there had been any explanation of its purpose.

  “Some kind of shipping container for high-tech payload?” asked Anton.

  “Energy reserves,” said another.

  “Engine coolant!”

  “A space refrigerator,” said Katrina. Her friends laughed.

  Copeland zeroed in on the girl. “What’s your name again?”

  “Katrina. Everyone calls me Trina.”

  “Trina. Okay. Explain to me what in this diagram makes you say that.”

  I expected the girl to wilt under the pressure of that terrifying stare, but her face went solidly blank and she stood up to answer. I knew that expression intimately: it was the face of a person who knew precisely what she was talking about. “Tubes one to four appear designed to input gaseous or viscous fluid. They seem highly insulated and have a diameter of at least five centimeters, so most likely the latter. The container is roughly rectangular, at least six feet long and two feet at its narrowest, with several inches’ worth of insulation. Typically that kind of insulation is designed for keeping things cool rather than keeping them hot, but you can’t tell from the schematics, so I took a leap there. Going by the rule of Occam’s razor, the simplest solution is most often correct. Thus, space refrigerator.”

  She sat down. One of the boys whistled low, impressed.

  Copeland arched an eyebrow. “Why would anyone need a refrigerator in space? Might as well take a cooler to Antarctica.”

  Trina shook her head, like that was all she had. The class waited silently for Copeland to give us the answer, but she appeared to be waiting for one of us to speak.

  “You wouldn’t,” I finally blurted out. “Astronaut food is freeze-dried and nonperishable. No need for a cooling system. Unless there is a specific type of payload this mission requires to be kept cold, I would almost say it looks like it’s meant for human use.”

  I could feel Trina glare daggers at me. But Copeland’s gaze was thoughtful, and it encouraged me. I stood up and went to the diagram. “This? On the door? It’s just a square here, but it could be a small window. Also, here. These wires loose on the inside of the container. What else would you need loose wires for inside a container? Maybe for measuring vital signs?”

  I looked up at Copeland, at a loss. “Am I even close?”

  “Sit down.”

  I retreated to my chair, heart pounding, wondering if I’d just made a fool out of myself.

  “This,” Copeland said, pointing at the compartment with her pen, “is experimental technology, and a major part of why you all are here. As Cassandra correctly theorized, it is meant for human use. On long-range interstellar missions, the amount of water, oxygen, food, and waste disposal necessary for maintaining human life is a significant weight that the rockets must propel out of Earth’s gravitational pull. It slows down travel time, which then increases the need for even more oxygen, food, and fuel. You see where I’m going with this?”

  Kendra, in her British accent, gave voice to what I was thinking but was afraid to say. “A cryogenic container.”

  Copeland nodded. “This is what has made interstellar travel more than just the gleam in a science fiction writer’s eye. This is something our scientists have worked on for years, and it’s just now within our grasp. Crewed spacecraft can travel faster and lighter and farther than ever before.”

  “Assuming it works,” Mitsuko whispered.

  We all had the same looks on our faces—like someone had sucked out our ability to have any other emotion but skepticism.

  “So . . . whoever goes on this mission will be turned into a human Popsicle,” said Mahdi.

  “The Human Hibernation Module has been judged to be safe and effective in multiple tests. You’re looking at the Lexus of space travel.”

  “So if all we have to do is sleep, why are they making us run freakin’ marathons?” asked a massively tall, muscular guy who could barely fit in his desk.

  “Because being in zero gravity isn’t exactly good for you. You’re built to live under Earth’s gravity, and things go all wonky with your wiring without it. The better shape you’re in when you leave, the better off you’ll be,” Mahdi responded.

  Copeland waved him off and went back to the digital display board. “That’s enough theoretical questions for now. Memorize how it works. Because if this malfunctions when you’re out of Earth’s atmosphere, either you or one of your crewmates will die of dehydration or choke to death on cryogel. And seeing as I will be a member of this crew, I have a vested interest in your ability to repair it. Expect no mercy on the exam.”

  “Ma’am? What about the ninety-nine percent of us who don’t make it on the crew? We’re supposed to memorize something that I assume is classified, or at least privileged technology, and then just . . . go home with this knowledge?” asked Kendra, her posh British accent making her seem at least 25 percent more intelligent than the rest of us.

  Dr. Copeland gave a rare, closed smile. “How kind of you to look out for SEE’s patents like that. But don’t worry. Th
is device has limited usage beyond the scope of this mission, and requires a key piece of technology in order to function correctly, which you will not learn anything about unless you need to know about it. Feel better?”

  As we walked out the door, Copeland kept me back briefly to say, “I told them it was useless to put a window in the hibernation unit when the person inside isn’t going to be using it, but some bioengineer thought it was important.” She smiled and nodded me off.

  In the hall, Mitsuko leaned into me and whispered, “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

  “How old are you?” I asked. “My grandma read Harry Potter.”

  “And?”

  By dinner, my name had jumped up to eleven.

  Emilio led his two remaining roommates—Anton, and a wiry kid named Hector with eyebrows like bristled test tube brushes—over to my table, and they actually congratulated me on my jump. Nearly ten spots. Emilio was now my closest competition. I didn’t understand him; how he could be so friendly and so without jealousy. Once I surpassed him in the rankings, would he turn around and murder me in my sleep? He didn’t seem the type, but I had to be wary.

  Eleven was a long way from one, and Luka was still holding strong in the top slot. His ranking hadn’t budged. I had to do better.

  Emilio’s friends were a lot like him; they smiled easily and already had a backlog of inside jokes, as if they’d been friends for years. Emilio was telling an arm-flailing story—something about his girlfriend breaking up with him before he left because “space is just too much of a long-distance relationship!”

  Hanna, the gold-medal winner in Ignoring Boys, put on a good performance, but even she succumbed to occasional laughter. Mitsuko flirted her little married heart out with Hector, who blushed all over himself.

  I didn’t take any of it seriously. I’d seen it enough in the hallways at school to know some people flirted recreationally.

  I took a page out of Hanna’s book and sat out most of the conversation. Instead, I took in the faces around the cafeteria, marking who was still here and what state they seemed to be in.

  Luka I picked out easily enough. He was sitting at a table alone, reading. One or two people tried to engage him in conversation, but he barely looked up from the pages, and they eventually gave up.

  It was then that I noticed the way the others in the room were looking back at me. Not steadily, not all at once. But there was a definite vibe in the room of being watched. And not kindly, either.

  And I realized about half the top ten list was seated around me.

  Were people actually glaring daggers at us? Were they so petty?

  Nobody else at my table seemed to notice. Even Hanna was more absorbed in studying her tablet than what was going on around us.

  Mitsuko rose out of her chair to get another plate of dessert for the table. On her way back, someone at a neighboring table—I couldn’t see exactly who—subtly, almost by accident, positioned their foot in Mitsuko’s path.

  She didn’t see it. I knew what was about to happen a millisecond before it did.

  Mitsuko fell forward, the plate hitting the linoleum with a crash that silenced the entire cafeteria. Chocolate frosting from the slices of cake she’d been carrying splattered like mud.

  Emilio was first on his feet. “Suko! You okay?”

  She was already picking herself up, grimacing and rubbing one of her wrists. “Fine.” She allowed Emilio to help her to her feet.

  There was chocolate smeared across her designer jeans. She looked down at herself and swore.

  Low snickers from the offending table marred the silence. Everyone was looking our way now.

  I felt a familiar, forgotten rage warm my chest.

  “Somebody’s feeling threatened,” Emilio said, his voice unusually serious. Then to Mitsuko, “You sure you’re okay?”

  She turned on those who were making a poor effort at masking their laughter. “You could have broken my arm!” There was fury in her voice. A break—even a bad sprain—and she’d likely be out of the competition.

  “I seem to remember any violence against other competitors being grounds for immediate expulsion,” Hanna said crisply. “So was it worth it, really? Did you get the laugh you wanted? Because you’ll likely be gone by morning.”

  Now the kids around the table put on innocent faces. “It was an accident!”

  “I’m sure,” Mitsuko spat, still rubbing at her arm, her eyes burning into each of them in turn, trying to decipher who was the responsible party.

  “Not worth it, Suko,” Anton said quietly.

  “Just let me glare at them a second.” Mitsuko sat back down and swore again, dabbing at her clothes with a wad of napkins.

  I’d frozen, my muscles locking me in my seat. I’d never known what to do when things like this had happened to me. I’d just stewed in my embarrassment and anger, the laughter at my expense feeling like a literal hot brand of humiliation. And I’d never said a word.

  But then, I’d never had backup, either.

  It had been foolish of me to think bullies couldn’t follow me here. The space program had never been immune to jerks, racists, or misogynists. Even the smartest, most talented people could still be horrible human beings.

  I struggled to keep my voice even. “It was bound to happen to somebody.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Anton said, his voice bitter. “Those kinds of people aren’t going to make it.”

  My pulse was still drumming thick in my ears. “I thought Mitsuko was about to deck that guy.”

  “I was,” Mitsuko said. “Damn it, these are my favorite jeans! If they’re mad I’m ahead of them in the rankings, that’s their problem, not mine.”

  “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like you guys want to kill me for my rank, do you?” Emilio asked, breaking the tension. “Guys?”

  Relieved, laughter bubbled out of me. I started to relax, but then I found myself locking gazes with Luka, a few tables over. I realized with a start that he’d been watching the whole time, entirely still, waiting to see what would happen. His book was closed on the table, his body still poised as though he’d been about to stand. To intervene? To get out of the way before things got ugly?

  Slowly, almost deliberately, he picked up his book. But now I doubted if he’d ever been reading it at all.

  SIX

  THE NEXT MORNING there was no breakfast in the cafeteria.

  I’d woken up before sunrise to run a few miles while it was cool and there was just enough predawn light to see. I metaphorically pounded yesterday’s stress into the dirt underneath my tennis shoes. I’d been looking for some alone time, but Luka was already there. He ignored me for the most part, and we ran on opposite ends of the track, both of us sort of agreeing not to pass the other. Just the two of us locked in our separate orbits, thoughts, and solitary tempos. It made me wonder what was going on in that silent, square head of his that required the help of a predawn jog. Maybe Wonder Boy had issues that nobody knew about.

  I came inside just as the sky was changing from navy to a dull, sleepy lavender, wiping the sweat off my face with the edge of my shirt.

  A handful of sleepy-eyed, PJ-clad candidates filtered into the cafeteria and each gazed upon the empty buffet with the kind of blank stare usually reserved for zombies.

  “Did I miss breakfast?” I whispered to Mitsuko, not wanting to disturb the unsettling fog of confusion we’d waded into.

  “No,” she said, equally dazed. “We should have two more hours before they clear out everything for lunch.”

  There was nothing. The buffet trays were closed. The coolers that usually held drinks and fruit were empty.

  I shivered as the air-conditioning hit my sweaty skin.

  “It’s starting,” Hanna said very quietly. “They’re tightening the screws. Trying to see how we’ll react.”

  “Well,” Mitsuko said, crossing her arms over her pajama shirt. “How are we going to react?”

  None of us moved. A few peopled ambled out
of the cafeteria, grumbling.

  Mitsuko stopped one person who was leaving and asked, “Where are you going?”

  “The RA office. Somebody screwed up royally.”

  Emilio sidled up to us, silent as a ninja. “Just been there,” he said. His face lacked any of its usual humor. “Door’s locked. Nobody home.”

  “Great,” Mitsuko said. “I’m starving, and they want to play games.” She gave a high, sharp whistle, and a handful of candidates turned to look at her. “Okay, people—listen up. Looks like we’re not getting breakfast today. Whichever RA is teaching the first class today will sort this out. Let’s not forget ourselves here.”

  A couple of the guys seemed unimpressed. One of them, a human tank named Cliff, rolled his eyes. “We’re not inmates. I’m hungry, and I’m going to get something to eat.” He jumped up over the buffet and into the kitchen. A few of his friends followed. They began rifling through drawers.

  “Hey!” Mitsuko shouted, taking a few steps toward the kitchen. “You want to get kicked out of the program?”

  They ignored her. The remaining candidates seemed torn between following Cliff and listening to Mitsuko. A few more kids, including Trina from my earlier class, jumped the bar and joined the kitchen pilfering.

  “This is so wrong,” I said, slinking back against the wall near the door.

  “If they want to get kicked out, fine,” Hanna said, sniffing. “More room for us.”

  “Unless that’s what NASA wants,” Emilio said darkly. “For us to take initiative and solve our own problems.”

  That made us all stare.

  “Kid has a point,” Mitsuko said, hesitant.

  “No,” Hanna said flatly. “Not like this.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think this is the kind of problem-solving they want,” I said as we all winced at the clanging of a huge metal bowl falling to the floor. Cliff’s followers were getting rowdy with frustrated hunger, apparently not finding anything edible. And now that they’d had a touch of rebellious freedom, they were running with it. “Ugh. I can’t watch this anymore.”

  “Yeah,” Hanna agreed. “Let’s get out of here before they turn on each other.”