Thirty or so Keepers, including Timour and I, pile into Aconite. I automatically strut to my desk and holographic monitor before realizing perhaps my somewhat shy friend won’t feel comfortable this close to the front of the room. I glance at him, and he gives me a reassuring smile, so we both stop right behind my work chair without injury.

Our little moment is broken when Duarte strolls in, irritated, and makes it a point to stand at the opposite side of the room. I forgot he’s assigned to this mission.

When my father finally comes through the door, flanked by Marshal Renner and a Technical Marshal, the room salutes, and the loudspeaker silences. The trio travel to the front of the command center then turn to face us. They salute, and we drop our arms.

“I apologize for interrupting your Saturday morning,” my father begins, “but after discussing with Starship Marshal Renner and Technical Marshal Khan, we have decided that it would be wise to proceed with Mission four-oh-nine-six ASAP rather than wait until Monday.”

A couple Keepers fidget, but no one dares dissent. Well, almost no one.

“I thought we still have a couple more days until we reach Mars’ atmosphere?” Duarte bites out, clearly still upset from earlier.

“That is incorrect, Commander Renner,” Marshal Khan says, tapping her navy-blue nails against her binder. The color is a shade lighter than our uniforms. “We always intended to reach Mars’ atmosphere by this morning, but since our speed would’ve been too high, we originally planned to orbit the planet for a couple more days, in order to decelerate smoothly, and for the mission to occur at zero-six-hundred hours. In light of some new discoveries, we believe it more beneficial to begin the mission this afternoon at seventeen-hundred hours.”

Duarte narrows his eyes. “And what ‘new discoveries’ would that be?”

“Maybe if you shut up and let the Marshal talk, you’ll find out,” Marshal Renner snaps, disappointed by his son.

Duarte crosses his arms and leans against the far wall, suddenly disinterested.

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Marshal Khan continues, unfazed, “While Mars has historically celebrated its founding on June twenty-eighth, our mole informed us Leader Soner and all other Martians in Solarity will be celebrating tonight instead. Apparently, she is adamant about not wasting a work day on frivolous partying.”

Somebody in the back snorts, which is followed by a shifting of feet and a quiet “ow.”

“When our dropships move in, we’ll have to decelerate very quickly—quicker than we anticipated—but it’s a risk we’re willing to take. Don’t forget: We fly-in stealth mode. Our hackers will shut down Solarity’s satellites and ground motion detectors, we deactivate the Holding Safe, and one person enters the West Vent. You get in, you get out. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” reverberates throughout the room.

“You have three hours to get this done before the Martians return from underground. Best case scenario, we fail and limp back to base. Worst case scenario, they take us hostage, torture us for information, and declare war on Earth. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

A nervous jitter runs through me. They still haven’t told us what it is we’re retrieving. Just that it’s “small,” “the only item in the Holding Safe,” and “imperative to our survival.”

Marshal Khan inclines her head and steps back. Marshal Renner steps forward and commands, “Technicals, remain in this room for preparation. Starships, follow me.” Half the room trails the Marshal out the door.

Timour dips his head at me and smiles briefly. “We’re counting on you to bring us back alive.”

I catch his arm as he turns to leave and ask, “Are you going down there today?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m there for backup if they need an extra pilot to bring more Keepers to the surface. If they don’t, I’ll just be an observer for this round.”

I nod and release my hold, unsure of why I’m so relieved. My immediate intuition is to beg my father to call off this mission, but I know I won’t. Not without solid evidence and a thorough report filled with A/B tests.

Timour blushes slightly and walks toward the entrance. He looks back at me one more time before turning the corner. When my eyes shift to the center of the room, I realize Duarte is still here. He’s watching me with a mixture of hatred and sadness, his black hair shiny in the harsh lighting.

Unwilling to deal with his drama, I sit at my desk and put on my sleek headphones, letting the holographic monitor use facial recognition to log me in. Despite my attempt at apathy, I’m highly aware when Duarte passes by me and slows down before striding out the command center, because I suddenly grasp two certainties.

Duarte is the one retrieving the mysterious item.

And someone isn’t going to make it back to the ship.