An Imposter Among Us

2: The Day I Meet my Highly Qualified Crewmates

Genesis (1st-person POV)

For an organization that was so set on actually doing their job right, they only gave me a week to prepare for the trip. According to the big guys, the Polus Initiative was on a tight schedule. I didn't believe them for one second, but I decided to make it a goal to stay on their good side. Not that I had the time to mess with them, anyway; I pulled all-nighter after all-nighter trying to get supplies onto the delivery pod and draft task lists for all my crewmates.

Crewmates that weren't chosen by me, but the big guys.

They claimed in a very short memo that my nine companions had all been selected from the top divisions of the ISEC's engineers, researchers, navigators, and doctors. I would meet all of them the day we departed.

Nothing about this mission seemed normal to me. Then again, "normal" at this point was being blasted into the vast abyss of space by some Conclave satellite that was somehow invisible to ISEC's radars not a week into our journey. (Attempt thirteen.) But there was something especially off about this trip, and I'm about half-sure that this uneasy sensation I was having was not due to me being sleep-deprived. I just couldn't put my finger on it.

Even if I was sure there was something I should be seriously worried about, it wasn't like I had the time to look any further into it. Every second was spent preparing my invisible crew and myself for launch.

The day before launch, it was all hands on deck for the Polus Initiative. The office was deserted—probably except for Loco, Miss Uda, and her extensive taxidermy collection—with everyone pitching in to make sure the latest launch pod got off the ground, preferably without any kind of unprecedented, televised explosion. The big guys were nowhere to be seen on the launchpad, though. In fact, I never once saw their faces once I started preparations. Weird.

Anyway, by the time launch day came around, my muscles were beyond fatigued, having gotten no more than thirty minutes of rest in the past three days, but I was alert. If I were to succeed, I would have to keep my eyes peeled for Conclave interference of any kind. We would all be thinking of what would go on our gravestones otherwise.

At four in the morning, I went out alone to the launch pod, with a control panel linked to a drone on the Skeld and a checklist of fifty-four security measures and then some. After activating the screen and remotely maneuvering the little drone out of its secure storage space miles above, I searched every inch of the ship that had previously been tampered with by the enemy.

In the fuel reserve tanks, there were no leaks (fifty-one). In shields, there were no faulty circuits (twenty-one). In the exhaust framework, there were no month-old peanut butter sandwiches shoved in the pipes (two).

Our water was clean, free of nuclear waste (seventeen). The vents hid no nests housing mutant spider-crickets. (Okay, that one I made up).

I felt good leaving with every single box checked, along with some more notes on the pristine condition of the Skeld, both inside and out. Do your worst, Conclave. Except don't because I don't want anything to go wrong.

At eight in the morning, I stood on the walkway, at the entrance of the launch pod, in my stuffy violet space suit, waiting to welcome my crew onto my ship. Lines of fine print whirled through my mind, mixing with policy numbers, memorized emergency codes, and my general anxiety about the mission. Everything had to go as planned. Nothing could fly past under my scrutiny. I had made sure I had every bit of documentation and software I needed.

Everything except for my crewmates' files. I had searched, mind you, but it was all in vain. I contacted Nareem, Human Resources, and even Loco. But it was all in vain. No one had information on the nine strangers that I would be living with miles above the Earth's surface, even though Nareem told me they were specially recommended by ISEC. No matter. In my time as a theatre minor, I learned to read body language. Whether I could do it well was another question, one that I would find the answer to once my crew finally came.