She peers at the list of unexecuted commands, though I don’t think she understands them. ‘I mean … that’s good, right? Does that mean the station’s not about to vent all our breathable air?’
‘Doesn’t seem so.’
‘What about the toxin that caused this? Where’s that? Are we in danger from it?’
‘I can’t see any evidence it even exists.’
‘Huh.’ She’s frowning at the screen too now. ‘Also good, I guess?’
‘I mean, better than the alternative, that’s for sure. But mostly what it is, is really,reallyweird.’
6.
CLEO
7 HOURS, 21 MINUTES REMAINING
IFI’M BEING PERFECTLYhonest, Hunter Graves is mighty fine. I did not expect this to be the case.
I’ve never laid eyes on him before – they make sure of that – but I’ve thought about him plenty of times.
I thought he’d be some kind of inbred aristocrat with a weak chin. Instead, he’s standing beside me, bare-chested, and my oh my, someone has been doing his exercises on the trip.
I’ve always enjoyed imagining him in a sweeping black cloak, all the better to be evil in, but right now he looks like an action figure whose shirt fell off. I’ve got used to lean Martian bodies in the three months I’ve been here, but Hunter is clearly planning on making the return journey to Earth – he’s been keeping his strength up, in readiness for the higher gravity back home.
He’s got olive-brown skin, tousled dark brown hair, full lips, and the kind of bearing and posture that screams money. He’s also got – I may have mentioned this already – no shirt on. There are entirely too many abs on display. Yum.
It’s a pity he’s a filthy rich capitalist whose family exploits the poor every morning before breakfast. Ask me how I know. Or don’t. We don’t have time for a story that long.
For now, though I’d like to kick him in the tender parts just for possessing Graves DNA, I keep it nice. Because if he owes me one – for saving his life, for instance – I’ll be able to write my own ticket to anywhere on Mars. His family has that kind of pull. And I’m going to need that ticket when the base crew returns and starts asking who I am.
Back on Earth, the Graves family have their claws in almost every part of life in one way or another. Their logo is on the food I eat. Both my local malls are GravesUP branded. They run the media, have major stakes in health care; they probably made my underwear. It’s bad enough that you can’t turn around without seeing something they control. For me, that greed took a personal toll.
Pretending I’m happy to breathe the same air as one of them is unpleasant, but I can do it if it’ll get me where I need to go. Which is anywhere but here.
‘All right,’ I try, dragging my mind back to the problem of my immediate survival. ‘What do you think they’re seeing up on Orbital? Will they know when the station doesn’t vent?’
‘Great question.’ He gets a line between his eyebrows when he concentrates. ‘I don’t know why it’s doing this, soI’m not sure what it’s going to broadcast to them. They won’t get a visual, because the dust storm’s completely surrounded us by now. And there’s no way to know if they’re receiving any status updates, given I couldn’t even ping them with the mayday.’
‘So if they think we’re dead, we could be here awhile,’ I conclude. ‘Hey, technically the base is abandoned now, right? That means we could claim the territory, doesn’t it?’
He huffs a soft laugh. ‘Almost. You’re on staff here, though. So actually, you’re all that’s standing between the great United Nations and the rest of Mars. Whatever they’re paying you, you should ask for a raise.’
Whoops. Yes, right, on staff here at Pax. That’s definitely me. Engineering student, that’s what I said. Shut up, Cleo.
‘I want to see if I can get a signal out. I can try—’ He pauses as his attention is dragged back to the data stream in front of him, and the silence draws out. I don’t know what he’s doing to that system, but he’s romancing it hard – I guess having a way with technology is in his blood.
It’s nearly a minute later – I spend the time contemplating his profile, which is irritatingly flawless – when his shoulders drop and he lets out a slow breath of pure relief, tipping his head back to gaze up at the ceiling.
‘Are we smiling now?’ I prompt him, though I don’t smack him in the arm again, because that was a lot of skin last time, and my gloves are still off.
‘Cleo, I think our luck just turned around.’ He points to a tiny schematic in the corner of one of his screens, enlarging itwith a quick gesture. ‘Airlock sixteen just opened. I think the base crew’s coming back.’
He looks across at me with a grin that’s blindingly charming, but somewhere in the back of my mind, something’s shifting uneasily. As he studies my face, his smile slowly starts to die away.
‘Why that airlock?’ I say softly, in answer to the question in his green eyes. ‘All the ground evac vehicles took off to the west. Sixteen is on theeastside. Why would someone circle all the way around to the other side to let themself back in? It’s not even a major entry point.’
Before he can reply, a voice rings out in the distance. It’s a man’s, rough and too loud. ‘Honey, I’m home!’
