Mary Jane looked at herself in the mirror. The purple under her eyes was growing. She had 30 minutes left in the Hygiene Hub. Today was hair day. She hated washing her hair. But she'd do it. Maybe Edward noticed when her hair was clean. Edward, noticing her, was the focus of most of her thoughts.

  She reached for a pouch of water stuck to the wall. They put magnets on everything, which made it easier to navigate in microgravity. Someone had already opened this water pouch, as evidenced by the droplets that shot out when she removed it from the wall. Mary Jane quickly opened her mouth to consume them. The water in the pouches tasted saltier than the water back home.

  Mary Jane brought the nozzle of the pouch close to her scalp and pushed again, expecting water to escape this time. She soaked it up with a towel full of no-rinse shampoo and then began to massage soap and water through her hair. The door to the Hygiene Hub swung open.

  "Damn, I thought you'd be naked," said Sloan, followed by Mia and Presley.

  Mary Jane glanced up from her chore, her eyebrows creased together.

  "I mean, come right in, girls. It's not like I have 24 more minutes before it's one of your turns."

  "We can leave," Mia said.

  "Stay. What does it matter? There's no privacy anywhere."

  Mia watched Mary Jane run a comb through her hair. There really wasn't any privacy here. Their small rooms were the extent of any solitary space. She usually locked the door to the Hygiene Hub even though she never got fully naked. They had the same water pouches, soap, and towels in their room. The only good thing about the Double H, as it was sometimes called, was the abundance of mirrors and stacks of clean towels. To use it, you had to make a reservation and be out in less than 30 minutes. Mia had already used her reservation today. She'd overheard an interesting conversation while brushing her teeth.

  She'd left the doors to the Double H open, and outside stood two female astronauts, clearly just finished with their daily gym minutes. Mia had registered their sweat-soaked t-shirts. Maybe they hadn't noticed her. The things they were sharing felt confidential. Mia had swallowed her toothpaste to keep them from realizing she was listening.

  "The one kid just quit. Can you believe that?"

  "Lucky kid," the brunette replied.

  "Yes, on some level, but she walked away from a gold mine. They're going to have to keep paying us more and more to keep our mouths closed."

  "We signed contracts saying we'd keep our mouths closed."

  "I know, but do you know how much money that kid, Rebecca Timberland, is getting?"

  "No. Do you?"

  "Let's just say Commander Mitchell can't hold her liquor."

  "Really," said the other astronaut, an Asian woman with dark, shiny hair.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "But Mitchell is in remission. You know she gets paid more than we do. Why would she bring attention to disparities between astronauts' paychecks?"

  "She didn't. At least not knowingly. Like I said, she was drunk off her ass the night before quarantine, and I asked her about Rebecca."

  "What did she say?"

  "She said whatever you think I make, triple it, and that's how much Rebecca Timberland gets. That Timberland has Red Rock by the balls financially, and that she couldn't imagine being that little girl's parents."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I don't know. But why are they bringing more kids up? Feels like the last one is costing them dearly."

  "Who knows. It's all just a check the box to me. I've never seen this much money before. Put me in, coach. Remission doesn't scare me."

  Mary Jane, through washing her hair, stood before them, her dark strands standing on end. Presley laughed and threw a towel through the tower of wet hair.

  "Four more days, ya'll. Can you believe it?"

  Sloan held up four fingers silently. Mia paused to consider whether she should share the things she'd heard earlier about Rebecca Timberland.

  "Do you think Red Rock sent us to Mars for the right reasons?"

  "What do you mean?" Presley asked, bending over to pick up the towel.

  "I mean, why do they really need younger people to go? We can't help because they barely trained us. They've already proven it's safe for us to live there because they sent a girl our age during mission four."

  "They did?" Sloan asked, surprised.

  "Yeah, she spoke at our space camp graduation."

  "So the whole thing is a publicity stunt to get people to buy into colonizing Mars?" Mary Jane asked.

  "I guess," Mia said, fighting the urge to share more.

  "I don't know what this is for Red Rock, but for me, it's a lottery ticket. And as soon as I'm home, I'm cashing in, and Mars can go fuck itself."

  "Sloan, what have I told you about using that word?" Peyton said, suddenly standing in the doorway of the Double H.

  "Jesus, can we get a break from you being in our business 24/7?"

  "Well, don't leave doors open if you don't want me to know what you are doing and saying. I can't just walk by and ignore your poor choice of words."

  But before Sloan could reply, Peyton fixated on her reflection in one of the mirrors. She stepped into the Hygiene Hub, crossing the room to get a closer look. It appeared something was sliding down her neck. She dabbed at it and then seemed to think it was also on her fingers. Her hands began to shake. The girls watched, confused. She reached for a towel.

  Peyton pressed the towel against the corner of each eye—a small whimper rising in the back of her throat. And then she began to claw at her face, streaks of fresh blood dotting the towel.

  "Ms. Lawrence," Presley screamed. "Stop, you're hurting yourself."

  But Peyton didn't stop. If anything, she became more hysterical and physical.

  "Is she having a seizure?" Mary Jane asked, reaching for Peyton's hands.

  "Don't touch her," Sloan said. "Michael has epilepsy. Just block the door so she can't leave."

  Mia ran to the door, opening her stance and widening her arm span. It reminded her of the day Andrea told her about Brian breaking up with Chloe. But that life was gone. They were in space, and their teacher, their leader, was losing it. Mia's heart beat so hard she could barely breathe. Presley began to cry. But Sloan just stood there, motionless, as Ms. Lawrence struggled.

  "It wants us," Peyton wailed. Her fingers, now wrapped inside her hair.

  "Who?" Sloan said calmly.

  "Go back or die!"

  "No one is dying, Peyton. You're ok," Sloan replied. "Do you know my name?"

  "So much blood," Peyton whispered, holding up her towel.

  "What blood?" Presley cried out, stepping towards Ms. Lawrence, who swooned as though she might faint.

  "Lower her down," Sloan said calmly. "That's right. Roll her on her side."

  "Should I get help?" Mia asked.

  "Yes, it's 12:27. Go tell them Peyton is unconscious. They'll know what to do. Don't worry."

  Sloan lowered herself to the floor beside Peyton and spoke softly, telling her everything would be fine and that help was on the way. Minutes before Mia reappeared with Commander Mitchell, Peyton opened her eyes to see Sloan watching her, smiling.

  "You had a seizure," Sloan said, to which Peyton agreed, nodding her head sleepily. But Peyton was lying to herself. This wasn't a seizure. It was a warning. Everyone was going to die, and it would be a ghastly death, one in which blood oozed from every orifice. It had happened before. Peyton Lawrence was just the messenger.