Normally, Carriles loved it up here.
The view from the Mosaic’s observation deck was breathtaking. A widescreen look at endless space, in the highest definition possible. Carriles hated the outdated term, but if there was ever such a thing, this was his happy place.
Quiet. Peaceful. Sprawling.
The observation deck was the opposite of every other part of the ship, which often felt like a rickety tin can being tossed across a field—loaded with people experiencing every shade of every emotion at the exact same time. No privacy. No room to breathe. Just endless noise and tension.
Sometimes Carriles thought this was why he wanted to be a pilot. He wanted to see this endless space—wanted to experience it firsthand. He’d always been this way. He wasn’t a book guy. As technical as piloting was, he wasn’t a numbers or equipment guy, either. Lucky for him, that stuff came naturally to him. All he knew was he wanted a ship. He wanted to fly. So he did.
But this felt bittersweet. Because Carriles was doing all the things he loved, except the most important one: flying the ship.
He scanned the control panel in front of him, watched the tiny red blinking dot move slowly toward Esparar’s inner orbit. In less than an hour, the Mosaic crew—from the US and China—would be landing on the planet. Exploring. And it wouldn’t be Carriles who would get them there.
What’s a ship’s pilot if he doesn’t . . . pilot the ship?
“What’s the saying?” a voice asked him from behind. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Carriles turned around to find Chief Medical Officer Liu standing behind him, a slight smile on her face. Carriles didn’t know Liu well, but what he did know he liked. Though she was probably a few years younger than Carriles, the medic commanded respect—every word she spoke seemingly thought-out and careful. Her track record, too, was impeccable. Even just a few years into active service, Liu had done her time and earned her stripes. She’d been on the front lines during the brief Martian civil wars right out of the academy and had earned every kind of commendation. What she lacked in experience she more than earned in bravery.
“Sorry, Doc, you snuck up on me,” Carriles said.
“That implies intent, Lieutenant,” Liu said, still smiling. She stepped up to the edge of the deck and looked out onto the wide view of space and Esparar. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Carriles said, struggling for words to reflect what he thought—and settling for something akin to a caveman’s grunt. “It’s . . . it’s why I’m here, I think.”
Carriles turned to Liu and saw her nod.
“It’s amazing to think just a few decades ago we were hell-bent on destroying ourselves—leaving Earth as a giant piece of smoldering rubble. Now we’re about to reach a planet outside our system,” Liu said, her voice reverent. “It’s a testament to human determination.”
Carriles smiled. It was a nice sentiment. But Carriles couldn’t bask in it. Something was wrong on the Mosaic. Something he couldn’t yet figure out. Whatever it was didn’t want them on the surface of Esparar. He looked at Liu and wondered just how much the ship’s chief medical officer knew. And how she’d react if Carriles told her his side.
“Lieutenant, what’s on your mind?” the doctor asked.
Carriles clicked his tongue—a delay tactic.
“I don’t know how much I should say,” he said, turning to face her, the huge sprawl of space behind them like a massive cloak. “But there’s something weird going on.”
Liu stared at him for what felt like a very long time. Carriles cleared his throat, wondering if he should break the silence. “Why are you digging into this?” she finally asked.
“I told you. Something isn’t sitting right.”
“No,” she said. “Why are you digging into this?”
A little flash of anger flared through him. “What, the privileged goof-off son of a Martian senator? Look, no disrespect, but I’m getting a little tired of people reminding me what my place is in the world.”
Liu looked down at the ground. She considered her words for a moment before nodding. “I don’t mean this to be condescending. But you could just do your job and go home. No worse for wear. Why not just . . . allow that to be? Because the harder you push”—she nodded to the dropships—“the harder they’re going to push back.”
The memory came on him like a jolt. His senses flooded by the experience. It’d been a little over two years ago that he’d buried his mom.
It had happened so fast. She’d been such a workaholic, and ignored the belly pain and weight loss until it was too late. It wasn’t until she collapsed in the Statehouse that Carriles finally convinced her to see someone.
The news hit like a sledgehammer to his face. The doctors discovered an inoperable case of pancreatic cancer. There was nothing that could be done. They gave his mom a few months to live, if things went well.
Carriles felt his chest tighten at the memory. His mother had always been his rock. Reliable. Strong. Driven. Prone to bouts of anger and emotion, sure, but even those were always based in love. But after that day, she began to fade away. Carriles saw it each time he came to visit her in the hospital: Each time, a little piece of his mother seemed to be gone. Less hair. Lighter. Darkness under her eyes. A scratch in her throat. His mother was becoming a pile of dust eroded by the wind. He’d visit her daily. Sometimes for hours, other times he’d spend the night. Each time, though, it felt like he was seeing less of her. Little things were changing, disappearing. Her eyes were dimming. Her skin was blotched and dry. Her voice hoarse and alien-sounding. She was leaving this plane, and his heart broke each time he recognized it.
She died on a beautiful day. The kind of manufactured weather that almost felt real. But she’d never see it. Never feel the sun on her face or hear the sounds of the city again. She died quietly, whatever that was worth. A long, quiet death. A series of painful losses. A final stretch that someone of his mami’s stature did not deserve. Carriles’s hand had been woven through hers at the moment she took her last breath, a skeletal shell of the strong powerful woman she’d always been.
He wasn’t sure how he had survived. If it hadn’t been for Timony—
She’d been there for him from the minute he’d told her about the diagnosis. After his mother passed, Timony had immediately jumped into action to help ease the transition, and rode alongside him every step of the way. Through the arrangements, and then the funeral one sunny October day, and finally closing down Alamo later that night. As they sat at the bar, still decked in black, Timony ordered their final round at last call and said, “Your mom told me something once, and it really stuck with me.”
Carriles had been in a haze and mumbled, “What?” through his sixth—maybe seventh?—vodka soda.
“Your mom was a tough lady,” Timony said. “She took a lot of shit, but that’s because she was one of the good ones. She was respected and admired by everyone. She was in it for the rights reasons. She reached out to me when I was struggling in the academy. I’d asked her how she handled it. She did that thing where she took my hand, and . . .” Timony choked up a little. “. . . and she said, You can choose to do nothing or you can choose to do something, and it’s always better to do something. You’ll sleep better at night.” Timony sat back and smiled. “I loved your mom, Jose. She was like the mom I never had. And what she said that night has been my North Star since. Do something. Don’t know if I ever told you that.”
“No,” Carriles said. “You hadn’t.”
He’d been thankful to hear it. One more thing to know about his mom. But also, the way it differed just slightly from what she would say to him. She would softly stroke his face and say, You can choose to do nothing, mijo, or you can choose to do something. You are my son, and I believe in you.
For the last few years, the confidence he felt remembering those words was often blunted and offset by another memory. A vision of the day he was busted for selling Boost—an easy way to earn a little extra money, he’d thought at the time. He’d considered it harmless, but it had turned out to be toxic. It ruined so much, and had shaken him to his core. As much as he’d missed his mother after she passed, he had been glad she didn’t live to see that.
Would she have still believed in him, after that?
Would she have forgiven him for not protecting Timony, who she’d also loved?
Carriles snapped back to the present, standing on the observation deck with Liu looking at him expectantly. He realized he’d been thinking so much about what was going on—the failed engines, the tampered wire, Delmar’s half-truths, the mysterious weapons—that he hadn’t stopped to think about why he couldn’t let it go. Curiosity, sure, but Liu was right. It would be so much easier to just let things play out.
But the answer was simple. Do something.
It’s what his mom would have done.
And it’s what Timony would do.
They’d both do something. But how could he explain that?
“Because . . .” Carriles started to say, just as the hiss of the deck doors interrupted him. He and Liu pivoted to see Lieutenant Commander Vicks enter the observation deck, her footfalls heavy. Her eyes were on Carriles.
“Good evening,” Vicks said, her tone efficient and empty. “Dr. Liu, I’m happy to see you here. I’ve been looking for you.”
She didn’t seem happy, he thought.
“That’s odd,” Liu said, tilting her head slightly while stepping toward Vicks. “I didn’t get a ping on my comms or at my terminal. I—”
“Please accompany me,” Vicks said, moving toward the door. “Captain Delmar’s orders.”
Carriles watched Liu. Her shoulders were bunched, eyes wide. Something was off here, and she could tell, too.
“That’s fine,” Liu said. “I’ll be there shortly. I was just talking to Lieutenant Carriles here, and—”
“No, the captain has asked me to find you immediately,” Vicks said, folding her arms behind her back. “There is no time for delay.”
What would Timony do?
Carriles stepped forward before he could stop himself.
“Delmar’s on the transport ships,” he said. “What’s so urgent it can’t wait until they’re back? What’s with all the cloak-and-dagger?”
Vicks looked at Carriles, and the beginning of a sneer formed on her angular, pale face.
“Please stand down, Lieutenant,” she said, emphasizing Carriles’s rank, which was a few rungs below hers. “This does not concern you.”
He could feel the anger rising inside his chest. Before he knew what he was doing, the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “It sure as hell does, Vicks,” Carriles said, stepping between Vicks and a surprised Liu. “There’s something strange going on aboard this ship, and—”
But before Carriles could continue, his vision went black.