The Final Six (The Final Six #1) - Alexandra Monir Page 0,82
while he is relegated to the three-meter. As I step up to the ledge, I glance down at the prick mark on my arm from last night’s RRB shot, wondering if Naomi was right about it. Will I feel . . . different in the pool again?
I have my answer as soon as I hit the water. My skin is vibrating, my insides pulsing with the sensation of something coming to life within me—something faster than human. And as I fly through the pool, I think of the word Naomi used. Amphibious. The way I move underwater without needing a breath . . . there does seem to be something almost amphibious about me now.
I touch the wall, ready to lean back and wait for Beckett to catch up. But then I see . . . he’s only a few strokes behind me. How is that possible?
“Well done, both of you!” Lieutenant Barnes calls out, not looking nearly as stunned as he should be, considering we both just swam faster than Olympians. What is going on here?
“Lieutenant Barnes!” Beckett calls out from his lane opposite mine. “I’ve been working on that breath-holding technique we talked about and I’ve gotten pretty good. Let me show you?”
“Sure.” Lieutenant Barnes nods, and Beckett hoists himself out of the pool and approaches my diving board—the ten-meter. A chill runs through my veins as Beckett executes a near-perfect backflip and stays underwater, the lieutenant gleefully calling out each minute he stays under. He makes it a full seven minutes—not as long as my fifteen-plus, but an unprecedented improvement over his last two-minute hold. And as I watch Beckett break through the surface and speed to the end of the lane, it’s obvious that I’m not the only one benefiting from the strange side effects of the RRB.
Naomi was right. There is far more to the RRB than we’ve been told. Once again, I remember Elena’s warning words. But now I’m beginning to have an idea of what the ISTC had in mind . . . the kind of weapons we are intended to be.
Twenty
NAOMI
THE TWELVE OF US ARRIVE IN THE ALTITUDE CHAMBER TO FIND General Sokolov waiting for us at the center of the ice, standing beside a man we haven’t seen before. A heap of aluminum and canvas lies at their feet, folded up like a parachute, and I wonder if we’re in for another extreme activity. Is parachuting over Houston next on the agenda? But then the general introduces her guest as Mr. Anthony Nolan from Bigelow Aerospace, and I feel a flicker of excitement. I’ve been following Bigelow’s science ever since I was a kid.
“Now that we’re getting so close to departure, today is about learning how to live day-to-day in deep space,” General Sokolov begins. “Bigelow Aerospace has done a remarkable job of building an expandable habitat for the Final Six on Europa.” She gestures to the folded materials on the ice. “It doesn’t look like much now, but once inflated, it just might rival some of your own homes on Earth.”
“The habitat is built to withstand all the elements, provide radiation and ballistic protection, and remain in mint condition for twenty years,” Mr. Nolan adds. “And today, you’re going to learn how to assemble it once you land on Europa.”
Leo gives me a gentle nudge, and a grin that makes my heart constrict. I know what he’s saying with his smile. This could be ours. But I can’t let my mind go there yet; I can’t let myself contemplate a world without my family—just as I can’t imagine living a world away from Leo now that I’ve found him. There’s only one way this can end in my favor . . . and it’s all out of my hands.
“So that stuff would make up our entire home for the next twenty years?” Beckett asks, eyeing the yards of aluminum and canvas. Clearly, it’s no White House.
“Due to space restrictions here in the Altitude Chamber, we are only inflating one room of your habitat today—the crew community room, otherwise known as a den,” Mr. Nolan answers. “However, the tools and science are the same for one room and module as they are for the entire eighteen-hundred-square-foot Europa habitat. You’ll just need to be prepared for a long day of working the pressure equalization valve.” He points to a steel spigot that runs the length of the ice floor, nearly blending in with it. “Who wants to give me a hand?”