“Final check. You good in there, Juno?”

Lou’s voice is upbeat. Reassuring. I’m glad it’s him monitoring my level four Vantablack tank. Team members take turns running the tank, adding to the level of uncertainty. VT4 is the final test.

The deepest caves on Mars will have no light. If we can’t stay calm and find our way out of an unlit cave, we’ll be useless on the aquifer exploration crew. Pass this level and I ship out with my team — fail and I stay on Earth with Mars Command.

 

So far, five members have advanced and five have failed. Lou secured his spot last week. He met me outside the tank this morning.

“You’d better clear VT4. You’re the only one of us who can cook worth a damn.”

We laughed like it was any other day. But when he put his hand on my shoulder, I felt what he couldn’t say.

 

Mission Control knows that bonded pairs form more cohesive units. Most people avoid entanglement until the final rosters post, but as the mission therapist said, “When attraction becomes distraction, it’s best to just give in.” As the relationship deepened, so did our reliance on each other. Each of us filled in the gaps in the other — his engineering and creative thinking balancing my analytical, scientific mind. Over the past two years, it seemed there was no challenge we couldn’t navigate together.

 

But the Vantablack tank isn’t like anything I’ve ever encountered. During VT1, when all I had to do was sit in the blacker-than-black tank for 10 minutes, the lack of sensory input caused a lightness in my head that made me wonder if they’d increased the oxygen flow.

 

Morgan ran the VT that day, monitoring my vitals. “Don’t worry, everybody freaks the first time.”

I’d usually answer her cheery side-coaching with a sarcastic barb, but her optimistic banter broke my anxiety aura. I pressed my hands into the floor and tapped the dive helmet to ground myself, the way they taught us in training. The lightheadedness faded a little, but not completely.

Morgan read my elevated stats at the end of the test. “Good adjustment, Juno. It just takes practice.”

 

Nick ran my VT2. His light Russian accent always reminded me of Chekov on Star Trek. “This time you get to move. It vill help. You just need to find the hatch.”

 

I’d entered the tank in the light, had estimated its dimensions and located the door-hatch, but when it came time to walk in the Vantablack, I couldn’t find my body in space. The lightness in my head exploded into vertigo. I lowered myself to the floor, willing myself to push past the fear paralysis until I reached the portal.

 

“Time?”

 

“Seventeen minutes. Don’t vorry. Is long, but you finish.”

 

Babs ran my VT3. By now she knew. We all knew. Everyone who had experienced my symptoms had washed out. Her voice in my helmet was kind, gentle. “Use your mental mapping. You’ve got this.”

 

“Okay, Mom.” Even though Babs was the same age as the rest of us, her nurturing presence had earned her the nickname.

I visually mapped the newly added stalactites and stalagmites in the light. In Vantablack, I followed the picture in my mind, alternately reaching out with my hands and feet. Left hand stalactite, right foot stalagmite. Right hand tite, left foot mite. But instead of kicking the last stalagmite, my foot swung clear and I teetered backward, losing both my orientation and my mental map.

Back on my knees, I pawed my way aimlessly through the stalagmites until I found the wall and felt my way to the port. Babs wrapped me in a comforting hug after I popped the hatch. I’d made it out, but just barely.

 

If I don’t pass VT4, I’ll have to grab my kit and move upstairs to mission control this afternoon. I’ll watch the launch and monitor my team’s progress from Earth. I don’t know if I could handle watching them — watching Lou — build a new life without me. When I saw that he had drawn tank duty today, I felt a flutter of hope that we could at least say goodbye.

 

I’m stalling. Time to start. Avoidance just feeds the anxiety loop. “I’m good. Cue the Vantablack.”

 

I sit for a moment to let my brain process the fact that my open, should-be-seeing eyes are not sending any information. I box breathe through the initial panic into self-talk. My helmet is sealed. Oxygen will last up to a week. I got into this cave and I can find my way back out.

 

Lou floods the tank. I press onto my hands and knees and feel the water swirl around my wrists and shins. My mind rebels. Water and darkness equals drowning. The water passes my hips and I crawl forward, reaching for anything to help orient myself. The water surrounds me, lifting me to the roof of the tank and into the stalactites. The material of my suit is impenetrable. I can breathe underwater. Panic rises with the water. I cannot make myself believe I will not die.

 

I hear Lou’s voice, quietly in my headset. “Forward and left.” The move dislodges me from the stalactite. “Keep left two feet, then right and down.”

 

“You can’t do this. You’re cleared.”

 

Lou ignores me and continues his quiet directions. “Up and right. You’re almost there.”

 

“What if the others find out?”

 

“This was a group decision. Keep right, then swim down.”

 

“The others voted for this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

My hand touches the hatch and the tank drains. A bright disc appears in the Vantablack. Lou helps me through the portal and I pop my helmet. My eyes adjust to the light and I see the rest of the crew has joined him.

 

“But why?”

 

“Turns out we all work better with you around. That, and you’re the only one who can cook worth a damn.”