The Final Six (The Final Six #1) - Alexandra Monir Page 0,26
to share. The walls are bare, save for a large, sleek mirror near the door. At first I’m surprised that the ISTC even bothered with such fancy mirrors in each room, until an LED screen lights up within it. A message on the screen displays our names and today’s schedule, with a clock reminding us that we have T-minus two hours until dinner.
“I would have preferred a window to that,” I tell Suki, nodding at the Mirror Screen of Stress.
“Hmm” is all she says in response, before opening her duffel bag and folding her clothes into our chest of drawers. I’m in no hurry to unpack, but Suki is making it clear that we’re not about to break the ice and bond. I might as well fix up my side of the room with some reminders of home.
I hop off the bed and grab my carry-on, unzipping the compartment that holds my photos and posters. I pull out the framed photo of me with Dr. Greta Wagner from the science fair two years ago and set it in a place of honor on my desk, then use a couple thumbtacks from the desk to pin up my favorite poster, of Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue. And then I unearth my most precious photo of all—from Persian New Year, back when I was fourteen. My father is leaping over a blazing fire per New Year tradition, a childlike grin on his face, while me, Sam, and Mom watch with our arms around each other, practically crying with laughter. It’s an image that’s always made me smile—until today.
Nothing can make this place feel like home, not when my family is a thousand miles away. And if I thought I had a solid plan up my sleeve to get back to them, Dr. Takumi’s litany of rules and restrictions is forcing me to reconsider everything.
“I—I think I’m going to take a nap,” I fib to Suki. Of course there’s no chance I’ll fall asleep, but I need an excuse to turn away from her—to hide my face and let the inevitable tears fall.
Seven
LEO
“HOW GREAT IS THIS?”
I circle the dorm room I share with Asher, surveying all the luxuries that I once took for granted. A comfortable bed, our own heating and AC unit, furniture that looks sturdy enough to withstand the storms . . . who needs anything more? But someone has gone to extra lengths to make up for my sad lack of clothes—planting T-shirts and socks, boxers and swim trunks, khakis and sweaters into the chest of drawers, all in my size.
I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be taken care of until now. The thought of no longer having to fight for every scrap of food, every piece of cloth on my back, makes me feel ten pounds lighter. I flop onto the bed, gratitude flooding through me.
“It’s pretty cool,” Asher agrees, rifling through his luggage. He starts unloading books and photos onto his desk, and I wonder if he’ll notice that I don’t have a single belonging to unpack. But if he does, he’s polite enough not to comment.
“Were you as shocked as I was to get drafted?” I ask.
Asher gives a modest shrug. “I mean, I definitely hoped to get picked, and once I became a fighter pilot in the Tzahal—that’s the Israel Defense Forces—I figured I had a shot. That was my plan even before the Europa Mission: to become an astronaut by starting out as a pilot.” His eyes cloud over. “But now that we know they’re having a robot fly this mission, I’m not so sure what I’m doing here.”
“They can’t leave it all up to an AI, though,” I point out. “What if there was a systems failure or a technical issue? I bet Dr. Takumi and the general still need at least one human onboard with piloting experience.”
Asher nods, looking slightly more hopeful. “Thanks. I just . . . I need this.” He glances down at the floor. “You know how it is—not having a home to go back to.”
“I know.” I don’t elaborate on how much I’ve lost—I’m sure my lack of belongings says it all. But I feel a pang of sympathy as I remember that the rising of the Mediterranean Sea pulled millions of homes underwater, giving Israelis no choice but to flee.
“I hope you make the Final Six,” I tell him suddenly. “I hope we both get to go.”