Nigel sat at his desk, swirling a gin and tonic, watching the liquid rise and fall around ice cubes. Stone's email was a problem. Apparently, Trevor was developing telekinesis. It sounded bizarre, the words like a prank email someone might send out on April Fool's Day. But the news was devastating. The entire premise of the M6 mission rested on the theory that age was the protective bubble humans needed to survive. Why had Rebecca responded so differently?

  Yes, colonizing Mars required those involved now to put their bodies in danger, but once the planet was terraformed, anyone could live there safely. Superpowers were a short-lived phenomenon. Their existence was unremarkable in the broader context of the accomplishments being made. Each astronaut was being paid generously to keep their mouths closed about all of it once back on Earth, and so far, not only had they taken the payout, but many had asked to be sent again. Laura, his late wife, would have gone again. She'd understood the enormity of what they were doing. Her death wouldn't go unanswered. Colonizing Mars was all he had left.

  Peyton showing signs of telepathy hadn't surprised him, although her transformation was happening quickly. She was likely too old to fight the impact of massive radiation. What was unusual was how far the spaceship still needed to travel. Was it possible that the levels of radiation were increasing over time? That would explain the faster-than-normal progression of supernatural abilities. But Trevor was a red flag. His developing powers negated the current theory. Was protection gender related instead of age-related?

  Nigel considered the idea of female-only missions for the first time. Every problem was solvable. He needed to know the timeline of every astronaut on every mission reporting otherworldly symptoms. He'd tasked Catherine, his number one, to gather that intel earlier. But now, it was past midnight, and the world expected a 6th Mars landing in less than eight hours. Stone suggested calling the mission off, uncertain the kids would be able to maintain a safe level of compliance under stress and restraint in sharing information once they were allowed to communicate with their families again. Rocky proposed landing, getting some action shots, refueling, and heading back to Earth. The absurdity of canceling the mission drove Nigel to the first drink, and now, he'd lost count, his eyes straining to focus. What was taking Catherine so long?

  Everything had been straightforward when they'd first begun. The money poured in from countless investors eager to have their names associated with a second thriving planet. They'd been a power couple, he and Laura. She, with her advanced degrees in aeronautical engineering, alongside Nigel's business prowess. He recalled his fingers on the small of her back, moving easily among wealthy entrepreneurs and scientists who gawked at his research. Nigel could still hear forks clanking against the pricey goblets and women's gowns swishing toward their seats at tables brimming with lamb and roast carrots. If he'd have known how it all turned out, Nigel would've grabbed Laura and whispered they should leave, escaping the fate of being separated forever.

  But he hadn't known he'd lose her and wake up to nothing more than the promise of that shared dream each morning. Red Rock provided a singular focus, one that kept him eating and showering each day. Without it, Nigel couldn't go on. He thought about this often. His feverish obsession was the only thing keeping him from ending his life. If the fantasy of creating a new world collapsed, his desire to be gone from this one would consume him. The truth of it was terrifying. He was nothing without Mars.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The ping of an incoming email reverberated so loudly that Nigel lost his grip on the highball, spilling ice all over the keyboard. He squinted his eyes to see what was now a swimming, pixilated screen. The subject line read Missions 1-5: Confidential. Catherine had done it.

  Nigel opened the email. His comprehension of the information was slow. The names of many people, some of whom he knew well, were scattered throughout the document. Every astronaut before mission four had been diagnosed with cancer—sixty-three people, including Laura. He hadn't expected that number to be so high. Most of them were in remission. All of them alive. From what he could see, nothing unusual had happened to their bodies any earlier than 45 days after landing, and he'd checked three times. After twenty minutes of reading and re-reading, Nigel stood and walked to his bedroom. He sat down on a bed that was too big for one person and took off his shoes, letting them drop to the floor one at a time.

  Maybe it had something to do with the damn movie. He didn't let himself think about the movie very often. One, because it was impossible to explain, and two, because he didn't believe there was one. If someone were to plant a recording of some type on the surface of Mars to scare Americans in hopes that their country would claim the first Martian settlement, it would have been something high-tech and believable.

  What the astronauts from mission three described sounded ridiculous. A movie about bird people being attacked by something no one could see, their bodies bleeding out into the sand. If radiation produced temporary superpowers, it sure as hell might cause hallucinations. There was absolutely no way giant orbs of fire appeared out of nowhere, playing a stupid bird movie. Laura would die if she weren't already dead.

  However, this was a real component of colonization—the very human, yet necessary, need to be heard. He'd learned to be patient and understanding, no matter how outlandish their claims were. A few trusted employees who'd elected to stay between missions three and four had detonated several small explosives in the area known for orb sightings. No piece of technology had survived that. Sayonara, bird movie.

  Nigel circled back to the problem. No one had developed cancer prior to six months after returning to Earth. Superpowers were reported between 45 and 120 days after landing and spontaneously disappeared 45 to 90 days later. Based on Rebecca never developing superpowers or cancer, his assumption had been correct. Younger people did respond differently to the planet's radiation.

  Unfortunately, unless they were Becca, they developed the precursor superpowers faster. The question was, would the powers morph into cancer? If the answer was no, the mission might still be fruitful. He would give the directive to land, allowing himself the ability to look in the mirror the next day—everything for the greater good.

  Nigel placed his hands in his lap, confident in the decision. The mission would be worth it if even one other teenager responded like Rebecca. More than one would be like hitting the jackpot. Even if it wasn't age, something about her body seemed to offer protection. It certainly wasn't blood type. Laura had been O-positive, too. In his lonely bedroom, Nigel proposed out loud that the answer was out there and that he had hope in the M6 mission. He lay back against the comforter, not having the energy to pull his legs up, bent at the waist, and dreamed of the bloody bird people.