General Stone sat in a chair adjacent to Camden's IV pole. It was a popular spot today. Peyton had used it earlier, observing Camden, his face bathed in blue light from the cardiac monitor.

  His vitals were stable, the steady blip, blip blip of his sinus rhythm populating a tiny pixilated screen. Commander Mitchell was confident he'd pull through, but Rocky couldn't quite get there. When he spent time with Camden, ghosts of his past drifted up, unwelcome. Camden's feet, unmoving in the hospital bed, reminded him of Johanna's feet, hidden away under mounds of thick blankets.

  It had been fourteen days since they landed. This would be Rocky's last mission. He'd known it from the moment he witnessed Edward slam Camden's body into the hard-packed dirt of Mars. This was never going to work. What did it matter if a child's body was better suited for colonization? Their minds weren't ready. Regardless of whether Camden recovered or not, Rocky planned to sever any attachment to this endeavor. It was wrong. Camden fighting for his life was wrong. Peyton, in all her youth and naivety, had also come to the same conclusion. What had taken him so long?

  Peyton was highly skeptical of the idea that radiation could induce supernatural abilities. Probably because it contradicted everything he'd told her before landing and sounded like a B-list movie plot. Perhaps it was also true that it scared the shit out of her. He hadn't used the word telepathy to explain what was happening to her, but she had.

  "So, whose voice am I hearing?" she'd asked, bewildered.

  "I can't say for sure. It could be anyone on the ship."

  "But you said the voice was stress. You told me stress makes people imagine all sorts of things."

  Rocky remembered his face flushing at that point. She was right. He was a liar.

  "Ms. Lawrence. I know this must come as a great surprise. We've been transparent with the other missions about what to expect upon arrival, but there was no way we could secure that information, given the age of the M6 crew."

  "You think they won't tell their parents about this?" Peyton asked.

  "We have ways of filtering what is communicated," Rocky said.

  Peyton began to hate him in that moment. He'd read her mind.

  "So I'm telepathic and not losing my shit," Peyton said.

  "The short answer is yes. But any amount of time spent with teenagers can invoke losing one's shit," he replied.

  Peyton ignored the light-hearted sentiment, a scowl on her face.

  "But these thoughts are continuous. I can't imagine someone obsessing over the same things all day, every day, without showing physical symptoms. And it's only one voice. If I had telepathy, wouldn't I be able to read everyone's mind?" Peyton asked.

  Rocky threw up a wall around his mind, causing him to pause as his processing slowed involuntarily.

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  "I wish I had all the answers. From what I know, telepathy progresses slowly. Everyone's experience is a little different. By the time you fully acquire the skill, it will either be time to leave Mars or the ability will spontaneously disappear."

  "I can't believe it," Peyton said. "Why would you bring them here? They're just kids. They lack the insight to handle something like this. Camden is in a coma because Edward lost control of his body. Do you know he won't discuss what happened with anyone? He thinks he's all but killed someone. He's too young to deal with these emotions. I'm not sure I'm seasoned enough to handle this.

  Rocky agreed that the whole thing was a disaster. Camden might die. Two kids had already developed superpowers, which meant neither of them was responding like Rebecca. But what came out of his mouth sounded nothing like agreement. He was in charge of the mission. His boss wanted him there, along with the kids, so they could decide if younger bodies would outsmart Mars. The experiment had just begun.

  "I understand the frustration, Peyton. Your feelings are valid, but I need to remind you that you're here contractually. You've pledged to put yourself in harm's way for the good of humanity. If I recall, Red Rock offers free legal services to review all paperwork before signing."

  "You think their omission of the truth won't negate every single one of those forms?" asked Peyton, angrily.

  "I know it won't. Those forms were tailored to this situation. Red Rock is crafting the future of humanity. It's their job to manage every detail."

  And that had been the end of his most recent conversation with Peyton. She'd get there. They all did. It wasn't as if the astronauts from prior missions had immediately embraced their superpowers. Knowing about it ahead of time made it tougher in some ways. Many times, the superpower in no way matched the recipient's personality. Flight was highly problematic, resulting in numerous injuries. Still, none of the former astronauts had pummeled each other into the ground.

  This is all new, he reminded himself. Just do the next right thing. Follow protocol.

  Camden's foot jerked reflexively, and Rocky jumped, startled. The human body was a remarkable machine. It continued to respond to stimuli even in the absence of any directives from the brain.

  "Camden, can you hear me?" Rocky asked.

  No response. Nothing but the beep, beep, beep of machinery filling the room.

  "I pray for you. Maybe you know that. Maybe you can read my mind," Rocky said.

  And then he began to laugh, softly at first, but it grew and morphed into a full-on belly laugh, accompanied by noise and tears, as he tried to catch his breath.

  "Good evening, General Stone," Commander Mitchel said, entering Camden's room. "Have I missed something?" she asked.

  "What if Camden knows what's going on because he can read our minds? It's possible, right?"

  Commander Mitchell stared at Rocky and then pulled a chair close to Camden.

  "A medically induced coma, by definition, provides a temporary state of unconsciousness. I don't believe Camden is registering any stimuli right now."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. But what if he can? What if he knows everything? What if his flavor of telepathy is more advanced than yours or mine?

  "Rocky, get some sleep. None of this is helpful. Our job is to wean Camden off these meds and ultimately bring him home alive. I think you've lost sight of that tonight."

  "Bring him home to what? Nigel? A world that cheers us on, unaware of what they're cheering for?"

  "Yes, Rocky. This is colonization. It's about the long game, remember. How many times have you told me this? The years are long. The days are short. This one is almost over. Go rest. It's late."

  "I think they went too far. The kids can't do this."

  Commander Mitchell pulled back the weight of the blankets covering Camden's legs. She placed a chux pad underneath his feet before applying lotion to her hands.

  "They have to. They have no choice," she said, massaging Camden's feet and ankles. "We help them as best we can and we pray."

  "Why waste your time doing that? You just said he's not aware of anything going on around him."

  "Because it makes me feel better. It's an entirely selfish act that I choose each day to absolve myself from this thing that we've agreed to."

  "I can take them home early," Rocky said. "I'm never coming back here anyway."

  "That makes two of us, " Commander Mitchell said, "Maybe three if we lose Camden."