After putting on our navy spacesuits and helmets, Timour and I climb into a dropship connected to Plato. The inside isn’t as big as it looks on the outside. Touchscreens, electric gadgets, and compartments dispensing food and water line the metal walls. I search for a coffee maker and am disappointed when none is found. Varicolored lights come from all directions, some a faint shade, others piercing as they blink. We walk to the front of the ship and strap ourselves into the twin seats. In front of us is an array of touchscreens for life support, piloting controls, and navigation, among other ship functions.

“Want to take it for a spin?” Timour asks, gesturing to the pilot control screen.

“If you enjoy crashing,” I reply.

A grin spreads across his face. “I would’ve thought our friendly neighborhood techie would be into this kind of stuff.”

I laugh, “The last time I modified any type of user interface was over a year ago. Besides, I mainly work on Plato, which is why it has cool holographic screens instead of touchscreens.”

“So basically you’re saying that this tech is too old?” he questions in disbelief, continuing to fiddle with the screens.

“It’s ancient, but that isn’t the point. I never needed to know how to use one of these, and I don’t practice on these dropships daily like you and the other Starships do.”

Just because I know how to hack into portals and train machines to be more persuasive than one’s choice of panderer doesn’t exonerate me from ignorance.

I implored my father to teach me how to fly several years ago, and I became pretty adept with our hovercrafts and automobiles back on Earth. However, everyone in the IF wants to be a pilot, and someone around here needs to make sure our software is top notch. I fill in that role, which means I don’t have a lot of time to fool around with the dropships.

“Maybe Admiral Chambers should assign you to these ships,” Timour suggests. “Make it ‘high tech.’”

“Maybe,” I pretend to agree, even though I know why my father doesn’t for two reasons. One, the dropships’ current design is closer to that of the hovercrafts’ back on Earth, which makes it easier for new Starship recruits to learn how to operate. Two, I specialize in machine learning and artificial intelligence—much more important concentrations, in my biased opinion, to focus my time on than user interface. After all, would you rather your ship learn how to best dodge missiles or have slightly more aesthetically pleasing text bubbles?

“Honestly, it’s not that hard to use,” Timour states. “Kind of like playing a video game. When we get back,”—If we get back—“I can teach you.”

I’m down. “Then we better make it out alive.”

“We will.” He sets up the autopilot and navigation, then states, “Once we detach from Plato, we’ll be decelerating at 2 G and quickly ramping up to 4 G.”

I nod and hastily tie my waist-length hair up into a high ponytail. The hair, increased g-force, and lack of caffeine are definitely going to give me a headache. This’ll be fun.

“This is Starship Commander Orlov,” Timour says, low and steady into the speaker allowing us to communicate with the command center. “Technical Sergeant Chambers and I are strapped in and ready to go. Permission to undock?”

A couple seconds later, my father answers, “Permission granted.”

* * *

Under an hour later, we land on the surface of Mars next to our three other dropships. I’m still put out that we went around Solarity instead of over it, even though the rational part of my brain says it’s for the better.

I stumble as I rise from my seat, and Timour catches me. With one arm pressing me against him, he uses the other to tap the speaker controls, changing the setting so that only he and I can hear each other. I look up at him questionably.

“Did you really not have breakfast?” he inquires, concerned.

“You were there,” I state simply.

“What about lunch?” he tries again.

Inconsequential. “Didn’t have time.”

“Nothing?”

“Nada.”

“Well, you should’ve eaten something today.”

“Not if you expect me to fit through that crack.”

He examines me up and down. “Your stomach’s not the part I’m worried about getting stuck.”

“No, I guess not.” I give him a smirk. “It’s my hips, isn’t it?”

“What hips?” His eyes do that same up and down motion again. “If anything, I think your head’s a bit big.”

I can’t help but smile. “Shut up.”

“Sergeant Chambers, Commander Orlov, do you copy?” my father’s voice vibrates within my helmet. “We’re on a tight schedule, and your cameras are off.”

Timour unmutes our speakers. “Don’t worry, Admiral Chambers,” he says, “we’re right next to the Vent.” He moves away from me and taps the camera controls to set the ones on our helmets “ON.”

“The celebration ends in fifty-six minutes,” my father continues, “which means you need to be out of the Vent in forty-one. It takes approximately seven minutes to—”

“Six,” I interrupt. “I can run the distance in six.” I’m horrid at lifting weights, but long distance running is something I’m good at. Rock climbing too, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

I shudder. Imagine being buried alive.

“That’s my girl,” my father says, something akin to pride in his tone. “That leaves less than half an hour to retrieve the item.”

“What am I looking for?”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

He hesitates then gives me an indirect answer, “A flat, round, metallic object.”

I guess that’s all I’m gonna get.

Timour and I exit the dropship, and I scrutinize the planet. Brown rocks and a faded orange sky. I expect to see some essence of Solarity in the distance, but since we are situated on a plateau, the city’s invisible to us on lower ground. Most of it is underground anyway, while some glass domes, docking stations, satellite dishes, and a horde of solar panels are above ground. At least, that’s the case based on pictures I’ve seen.

I skip toward the other Starships who are guarding the area with their coilguns out, enjoying the diminished gravity. I jump three times higher than usual. Timour chuckles at my antics, and I smile a bit before I get close enough to see a Starship seated on the ground, next to the nearest dropship.

Duarte sits on Mars’ dusty surface with one leg bent, knee off the ground. His hands are chained to the bottom of the dropship’s handlebars. “I wasn’t going to do anything,” he grumbles as I approach. “They didn’t have to handcuff me.”

While I feel sympathy for his situation, I’m relieved I don’t have to deal with him. “Is that so?” I lift an eyebrow.

He pouts and looks away, glaring at a random rock nearby. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I guess the handcuffs are necessary after all.”

“Sergeant Chambers—just be careful, okay?” he insists, his gaze meeting mine.

I’m about to give him some kind of sarcastic comment such as “I’ll only break a couple limbs and maybe rupture a lung,” but I bite my tongue due to his earnest demeanor. Instead, I tell him truthfully, “I always am.”

If he’s unsatisfied with my reply, he doesn’t show it.

“Sergeant Chambers, I’ll let you know whether or not to abort the mission,” my father says in a way that makes it clear he’d rather sever his own foot first.

I can’t fail. He’s counting on me. The entire crew is. I wouldn’t be able to swallow even an ounce of disappointment if I returned empty-handed.

* * *

A little under six minutes later, I slow down to a jog and eventually stop, breathing evenly in and out my nose. Having adjusted to the dim lights, I see a metal wall at the end of the tunnel. Continuing to walk cautiously toward it, I spot a slit in the side of the left wall. Oh man, the width of the hole is tiny! What if I don’t fit?

The rectangular hole is less of a doorway and more like a window with its glass popped out. Its vertical length starts at about sixty centimeters and ends two meters above ground.

“There it is, Sergeant Chambers,” my father’s voice comes through the helmet’s speakers. “Do you think you can fit?”

“Not with my helmet on, sir,” I say. “I have to take it off.”

“Don’t you dare!” Duarte shouts. “Admiral, we don’t know if the air in there is safe.”

“Sergeant Chambers went through the airlock,” my father replies. “The reading said the Vent is pressurized sufficiently with twenty-one percent oxygen and seventy-eight percent nitrogen. The temperature is currently two degrees celsius, so it’ll be chilly, but she shouldn’t be in there long enough to feel the side effects.”

Great. I hate the cold.

“In addition,” my father continues, “our mole confirmed the Holding Safe and its Vents are designed to allow humans to enter and leave securely without spacesuits.”

“A mole who hasn’t even shown up!” Duarte retaliates. “For all we know, this is a trap.”

I’m starting to get really irritated. Pressure builds behind my eyes due to caffeine withdrawal and the deceleration burn’s after effects. I’ve made it this far, and I’m not going back without gaining something following all this trouble.

“Commander Renner, shut up!” I snap. “I can’t think with you yelling in my ear. You want me to get out alive? Then stop distracting me.”

He finally stays quiet.

I reach up to clutch my helmet. Well, I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to asphyxiate.

“I’m taking off my helmet,” I announce. There’s a bit of tension as the helmet resists my pull, but eventually it disconnects from the rest of my spacesuit in a muted pop. I gasp as cold air meets my cheeks.

“Sergeant Chambers?” multiple voices wonder.

“I’m fine,” I say instinctively. What a weird, acrid scent? It doesn’t exactly smell pleasant, but it’s bearable. “I think the air’s fine. It’s hella cold.”

I hear a couple of amused yet relieved sounds.

I pluck one wireless earbud from a pocket lining the helmet’s interior and put it in my left ear. “Earbuds are in,” I say. “I don’t have a separate camera, so there isn’t going to be a visual for you all beyond this Vent.”

“Understood, Sergeant,” my father acknowledges.

I peer through the uncanny hole at what looks to be another dead end, but there’s a white light emanating from the right side, far down the hallway, which makes me think it’s coming from another room. However, my spacesuit isn’t going to fit through the ominous window. “I’m leaving my suit and taking the elec,” I state, already shrugging out of my life support.

Standing in only my black thermals, the cold air invades my warmth and carries it away from me. Picking up my weapon, I move right next to the hole and lift up my left leg. I turn to my side and step up into the thick wall as my right leg swings behind me. I shimmy to my left, squeezing between the two slabs of metal. My hip bones and right temple press into the inner wall my chest is facing, and I suddenly feel claustrophobic.

Breathe. In and out. In and out.

What feels like minutes later, my left hand touches the edge of a wall, indicating I’ve reached the other side. Relief swamps me, and I bend my right leg in a half-plié, setting my left foot onto the hallway floor.

“I’m through,” I say.

“Good work, Sergeant,” my father clips. Good work? I haven’t accomplished anything other than being born a small person. “If our information is still reliable, the West Vent should be the only Vent without an inner lock.” The deactivated force field and airlock I went through are the only barriers. “Tell us what you see.”

“There’s a bright light coming from down the hall,” I explain, jogging toward said light. The hallway becomes noticeably better maintained the farther I travel. “I’m rounding the corner…” Once I arrive at the deadend, I turn right and stop. “I think this is the Holding Safe.”

A metal cavern with a circular floor plan, cone-shaped roof, and three fire doors—North, East, and South—greets me. A scintillating chandelier hangs from the ceiling, strangely out of place amongst the unfurnished interior.

I immediately spot something… round, metallic, and gold. Bingo. While the item is tiny, I can’t miss it because it’s the only object in the Holding Safe, and it’s located right in the center. Quite a large holding cell for something so minute.

I inch forward, scanning the room for any abnormalities or Martian security guards, but the only thing out of place are tiny black dots in the top edges of the rounded ceiling. They’re probably cameras, and my only hope is that the backup generators don’t power them. Clutching the elec tighter with my dominant hand, I use the other to pick up the enigmatic item. The object’s freezing cold, just like this stupid Safe.

This is what we came for? A bland coin. Not an alloy my ass—

Wait. The side I’m peering at is completely flat with symmetric indents along the edge, but the other side has a pattern. A small circle at the center is slightly raised. Eight half-ovals—petals—constitute the first layer surrounding the center circle. The second layer has sixteen petals, and the third and final layer has thirty-two.

Why is this… gold flower so special?

Whatever. Don’t care. I need to get out of here.

“I found it,” I declare.

“Good,” my father says. “Get out, now.”

No need to tell me twice. My thermals don’t have pockets, so I lift the gold flower to the hollow of my neck, intending to drop it into my bra. But when the metal touches my skin, something cold wraps tightly around my neck, and I choke from the force.

“What the—!” I exclaim, reaching up to pry whatever it is off of me. I feel a metal chain—like a collar around my neck. The golden flower dangles from the front, resting above my sternum. “Uh oh.”

“Sergeant Chambers?” a myriad of concerned voices query.

“I’m fine,” I reply in a too-high pitch. Screw it, I’ll pry it off later. “Leaving the Holding Safe.”

I swivel to go.

And the East Vent screeches open.