It’s two and a half days after the EMP attack—I think—and death is a certainty. A couple hours ago, the only symptoms of hypoxemia, low blood oxygen, were a massive headache, coughing, and an increased heart rate. Now I perch by the rear window with my right elbow hooked through a handhold, alternating between staring at Mars—at least, what I believe to be Mars. We’re too far away to tell now. Actually, that’s probably the Sun—and watching as my hands slowly turn blue.
I don’t feel scared. In fact, I don’t feel much of anything. Sure, my sweat isn’t evaporating nor dripping onto the floor. A film of dampness covers my body. It should be uncomfortable, yet… I don’t really care. Wait, why am I here again? I look to the side where wires are poking out of the water reclamation system. Oh, yeah, I’ve been fruitlessly trying to fix it up for the past day. I’d like to see Timour try to power that monster of a machine without a large source of energy.
My eyelids droop. Gosh, I’m so tired. I haven’t slept for days, and there’s no way I can concentrate through my disorientation. I could ask Timour how the RTG is coming along, but I know that if he hasn’t said anything so far, then it’s likely he hasn’t succeeded in getting the generator to work. I should ask him anyway. See whether or not he’s still conscious.
I’ll just rest for a bit first. Then I’ll go check on him.
I close my eyes.
* * *
Something pulls on my arm, moving me away from the wall. I tilt my head up, looking through hooded eyes at a stern man. Orange and blue lights cast shadows across his face, electrifying his irises. When did he change our glowsticks? Did I not notice the previous lights dim? At least he had the decency to give me the blue one.
Dark circles plague under his eyes, and I blink in shock as he tries to… put me into his spacesuit?
“What are you doing?” my voice trembles. I attempt to pull away, but his grip is like a vise.
“If you think I’m just going to sit here and watch you die, then you’re out of your mind,” Timour responds, bending down to wrap his fingers around my left ankle and lead it to one of his spaceboot’s inner lining.
I am out of my mind, but so is he. Anoxia is a real bummer. “I’m not following. Your suit doesn’t have any oxygen left.”
“I never said that. You came to that conclusion yourself after I took the suit off. Adding to the list of Liansan government secrets, our life support systems are designed to only give their occupants the bare minimum of what they need. It’s technically illegal, but it keeps you alive in case of emergencies. The gauge says there’s forty-two hours of oxygen left.” He successfully maneuvers my foot into the boot. When he lets go of my left ankle to take hold of my right, I grab his shoulders and try to shake him. He barely shifts.
“Wha—then—” I reach down to touch his cheek, forcing him to look at me. “Put it on yourself.”
He stills, his eyes determined. “No. Our crew knew where we were headed before comms went out. They’ll find you. They just need more time. This isn’t a negotiation; your lips are blue.” Instinctively, I lift one hand to my lips, but there’s no sensation of skin touching skin. Everything’s numb. Timour’s eyes narrow. “Your fingers too.”
He relentlessly shoves my right foot into the other boot. My head spins and I lose my balance, causing me to clutch him tighter. I struggle for a second before demanding, “Let me go right now, Commander Orlov! I’m not putting it on.”
His jaw ticks. With my arms around his neck and his hands gripping the back of my knees, I grow self-conscious and uneasy with the situation. We enter a silent glaring contest. He finally speaks, “Then I’m not either. What happened to never giving up?”
I ask a question of my own, “RTG?”
He sighs and briefly closes his eyes. His grip loosens, so I wriggle away to the nearest handhold. As I carefully untangle my legs from the spacesuit, he opens his eyes to scrutinize my every move. I hold the suit out to him, but he doesn’t even glance at it. I pull my arms back and awkwardly hug the life support to my ribcage. “The thermocouples and wires were replaceable, but the structure of the thermoelectric modules melded together,” he reveals. “That’s not something we can fix.” Thermoelectric modules generate electricity by creating a temperature differential. Their parts are way too small to even attempt to repair.
His gaze drops to the ground in shame. He’s operating under the same conditions as me—zero sleep and oxygen deprivation. If what he said about our crew knowing where to find us is at all probable, then I want him to wear the suit. He’s stronger and will last longer than me anyway. However, our crew can only find us if they are still functional. It’s only been a couple days. They could still be fighting off the Martians.
Or they could be dead.
I extend a hand toward Timour, letting out a resigned breath. “Come and sit with me. Tell me about your family.”
He clenches his jaw as though he’s about to argue, but his shoulders slump, the truth weighing them down despite the microgravity. He pushes off the floor of the dropship and takes my hand, his other grabbing a handhold by my head. We gently pull ourselves against the wall and onto the floor. Without artificial gravity, there is no sense of up or down, but at least this position gives us the optical illusion of sitting.
Who am I kidding? My vision destabilized hours ago. Awareness of my surroundings continues to diminish, so when Timour puts his right arm around my waist to pull me against him, I don’t complain. We “sit” side-by-side, barely feeling the metal touching us. He takes the suit from my arm and lets it float in the air. Some strands of my hair escaped my elastic band earlier, and they now slither around my head. I reach with both hands to hold Timour’s left hand, and I play with his pinky like an infant.
I’m busy staring at our entwined hands when he obliges my request, “Growing up, I had a sister, five years older than me. She was very kind, compassionate, lively, and selfless. But she could also be reckless, stubborn, an open book—which in my country, gets you killed.” His voice breaks, and he clears his throat. “The Liansan government calls them ‘Shaomens.’ If you practice a minority religion, don’t ‘contribute’ enough to society, are deemed unintelligent, oppose the President, stand out in any way—they send you to a ‘reeducation program,’ which is really just a euphemism for ‘concentration camp.’ There, they break you. Men are slaves forced to produce cotton goods for export. Women are sterilized and repeatedly subjected to physical abuse. Raped. Their goal isn’t to instruct Shaomens on ‘the Liansan way of life.’ It’s to humiliate, then exterminate.
“I was lucky enough to be born into a Christian family full of doctors. We score well on exams. We don’t speak out against the party. We are acceptable in Liansan society. My parents raised my sister and I to be obedient to—and respectful of—authorities. If we had any thoughts of our own, we were to never reveal them. But my sister didn’t wish to keep her viewpoints hidden. She was an outspoken individual. When she turned seventeen, she gathered the courage to protest in front of Bai Dome along with a few of her classmates.”
My eyes widen. Bai Dome is the President of Liansa’s home.
Eyes glazed over, Timour continues, “They were angry about the concentration camps, the secret sterilizations, the sexual assault cases that would disappear into thin air. They demanded the Liansan government free the Shaomens. In response, the government sent armed soldiers and hovercrafts. Some of them got caught on sight. My sister made it home okay, but that evening, soldiers and government officials with machine guns arrived at our doorstep. They took—they took her. I never saw her again.
“We received a letter in the mail a week later—we weren’t allowed on our computers or portals at the time—stating she died of natural causes. It was complete crap. I knew they killed her.” His mouth twists bitterly. “The grievances didn’t end there; they punished my parents. Our home was taken away from us, and we were forced to move to a shack outside the city. They stripped my parents of their medical licenses—decades of building a life for themselves, down the drain.”
“That’s why your parents are no longer doctors.”
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“Yes. They’re tailors now, putting their surgical skills to good use, I suppose. But it’s not the same. They were ostracized by colleagues and relatives. I joined the Liansan Air Force when I was seventeen, then the IF when I was twenty, in hopes of restoring some of my family’s honor and wealth. I succeeded somewhat—we could afford to fix up the house. We’re now allowed to travel into cities and take out loans from the bank. Our tax rates are lower. But…”
He’s on the verge of tears. I squeeze his hand reassuringly. I don’t want to pressure him to continue, yet I’m already so invested in this tragedy that I need to hear what he’s so scared to say.
“It’s my fault,” he whispers. “I could’ve done something—anything to stop the soldiers from taking my sister while she screamed and cried. But I was afraid. Afraid for my parents… afraid for myself. And no matter how much I’ve tried to make up for my cowardice, it’s never going to change the fact that she’s dead.”
“Don’t you dare say that. It’s not your fault,” I tell him sharply. He presses his lips into a hard line, unconvinced. “They would’ve killed you, and you were too young.” My anger threatens to boil over. “None of you should go through this.” His sister shouldn’t have died for speaking her mind. His parents shouldn’t have lost their daughter and their livelihood. Timour shouldn’t feel guilt. Sorrow for the loss of a loved one, yes. But never guilt. He couldn’t have done anything against the corrupt government. In fact, I’m surprised he’s willing to speak about his country in this way. Although… we are going to die before he faces any possible repercussions. In a softer tone, I ask, “What’s her name?”
“Emine.”
“It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.”
He nods and expresses, “I can’t stand the thought of loving someone and having them ripped away from me.” He won’t have to agonize for much longer. We lock eyes briefly before he stares at our hands once again. I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder. “Your turn. Tell me about your family.”
“I don’t think I can top that story.”
He releases a bleak laugh. “I didn’t know this was a competition.”
“My past isn’t that interesting.”
“Try me.”
Digging up memories from my dilapidated brain is the last thing I desire to do right now. I’d rather listen to Timour until I pass out. But he shared his personal history with me, so it’s only fair I return the favor. “I never knew my mother. She was originally from Liansa, but something made her escape to the United Empires. There, she met my father, and they got married at a private club. Naturally, the Liansan government tracked her down—or maybe someone ratted her out—and they came for her. My father wasn’t home at the time, but he knew something was wrong since the door had been tampered with and every room ransacked. She never came back. Later that day, my father received a temporary message stating she was found guilty for defection and executed by lethal injection. I was only a few months old, so I don’t remember any of it.” I’m glad I don’t.
“What was her name?” Timour asks, tracing circles with his thumb on the back of my hand.
“Meilien.”
“Do you have any other relatives?”
“Distant. And only on my father’s side.”
“What’s the Admiral like?”
I pause. “Not much different than what everyone else sees. He’s Empirical through and through. He’s cold and doesn’t like to show emotions, either because he’s a robot or he thinks it’s a weakness.” Whether it has anything to do with my mother remains a mystery. Whenever I try to broach the subject, he shuts me down. “I’m an investment, and his love is very conditional—his affection is earned, and even then, he’ll rarely give it… He once told me that ‘everything everyone ever does is for status.’”
Timour’s head jerks back. “That’s… kind of messed up.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it is.” He stops talking. Perhaps he’s trying to think up a counterexample.
I don’t argue. My entire life thus far has felt as though I’m putting on a show, and I’d like to believe what my father says is not true. I turn my head to look up at Timour. “You’re Christian… do you believe in Heaven?”
“Yes,” he answers, grateful for the topic change.
“Hell?”
He nods, his eyes dimmer.
“Am I going to Hell?”
He’s perplexed. “Why would you ask that?”
I stare at our hands once more. Mine are still. He fiddles with my ring finger. “I’m not sure if I believe in the existence of a higher power,” I admit. “I think that something must have created the universe, but I don’t know what or who. There’s no evidence.”
He ponders, then asks carefully, “Do you believe that life is meaningful?”
“That’s a difficult question. I have no idea.”
He smiles. “I’ll try again. Do you believe that murder is wrong?”
That’s easy. “Of course.”
“And if I asked you to provide scientific evidence for why ‘murder is wrong,’ would you be able to?”
He has me stumped. “I guess it wouldn’t really be a scientific argument at that point, but philosophical. I’d probably make a utilitarian argument that killing people doesn’t benefit anyone and could cause emotional distress. Therefore, it’s morally impermissible.”
“And is that why you refrain from murder?” he questions as lights dance in his eyes. “Because it’ll cause distress?”
“No,” I respond. Now that I think about it, maybe killing off the human race is for the better. It would leave more land on Earth for wildlife and nature to flourish. Who determines whether or not humans have the right to control the entire Solar System? In addition, believing in utilitarianism is equivalent to believing in a certain code of ethics—not scientific theories at all.
I don’t currently have the brain power to fuel this train of thought. I wonder if my brain cells have died from the declining oxygen levels.
Timour taps my cheek lightly to get my attention. “In answer to your original question, I don’t know where you or I will go after death. But I do know that if He sees you the way I do, there’s no doubt you’ll enter Heaven.”
The bold statement physically affects me, and my eyes snap up to meet his. I expected more condemning of nonbelievers to eternal Hellfire, but I’m not complaining. He stares at me, his face glistening from sweat, his blue eyes soft yet piercing. His disheveled blonde hair is dark at the roots, the platinum ends curling around his ears. His slightly feminine features are balanced out by his strong jawline, and…
A realization barrels into me like an automobile.
He’s gorgeous.
If the increase of my already elevated heart rate is any indication, I find him attractive. I didn’t notice it before, because one, my job requires me to shut out any distractions in order to focus, and two, Keepers who work together are prohibited from having a relationship, so there isn’t any reason to be checking out fellow comrades.
But there aren’t any distractions now, and unavoidable suffocation kind of overshadows my fear of breaking the rules. Just a bit.
He realizes his hand is still on my cheek, and when he starts to lower it, I grab his wrist to stop its movement. His thumb brushes my jawline, and his other fingers caress the back of my neck. A shiver runs down my spine, and the memory of him touching my skin earlier monopolizes my thoughts. I involuntarily move forward, needing to close the gap between us.
His eyes widen, and he unwraps his other arm from my waist to rest his palm on my shoulder. “What are you doing?” he whispers, but he doesn’t push me away.
I tilt my head and question softly, “What does it look like?”
“I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind,” he says warily. I lean closer but stop an inch away at the look of panic on his face, and my last two brain cells connect the dots.
I’m such an idiot. I’ve become used to guys wanting more than I’m willing to give, and I’m disgusted at myself for presuming that Timour would just accept me. Did I misread our encounter earlier? Perhaps he was simply trying to get a closer look at the Eye. I thought he liked me that way… especially considering that even amidst all this confusion, his eyes keep glancing at my lips.
“I—I’m so sorry. I must’ve misunderstood.” At least my current poor blood circulation ensures I don’t have to worry about my cheeks turning red. What is wrong with me? I think I’ll just go crawl into an empty compartment to die.
I look down and start to move away, but his hand on my shoulder only tightens, halting my motion. The fingers on my jaw lifts my chin, forcing me to look back into his electric eyes. “Are you sure?” His gaze scours my face, eyes way more alert than mine.
I nod, and he kisses me. It’s a gentle kiss. One filled with comfort as opposed to passion. His lips are warm, and I want to cry in dismay, because I can barely feel them on my rapidly numbing lips. Timour withdraws slightly only to brush hair back from my face and press his lips once more to mine, this time with hunger and urgency. I coax his mouth open, and he draws in a surprised breath. I wish now more than ever for air.
Suddenly, my heart flutters, and a sharp pain tears through my chest. I gasp and pull away from Timour. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, brushing my lips softly against his skin. I’m not a medical professional, but I know this is a severe form of cardiac arrhythmia, and what follows is cardiac arrest—loss of heart function.
Although, based on the rapid exhaustion settling into my bones and the nausea causing black spots to cloud my vision, I surmise I’m much more likely to lose consciousness first.
I’m almost glad for it, because I would selfishly rather Timour watch me die than the other way around.
He groans, “I wish we had more time.” He hasn’t realized yet that I’ve stopped responding. “Before it’s… late, I want… tell you… I…”
I don’t make out his words as my thoughts drift into several separate directions. Unable to focus, I no longer see nor hear anything. I’m floating through space, watching in wonder as galaxies and dust clouds shaped like animals pass by me. An ominous, glowing yellow sphere is up ahead, surrounded by a ring of empty space, which is in turn surrounded by a ring of blue dust and red dots. I travel faster than light toward one of the red dots, and it becomes clear that He does not see me the way Timour does.
Because I’m in Hell.