Simulation

The following story is inspired by real experiments conducted by NASA.

“It has been one year since Christiane Heinicke has had an egg. Or been in a car. Or gone outside without a spacesuit.

Since last August, the German physicist has been living with five other people in a 1,200-square-foot, solar-powered dome on the side of a Hawaiian volcano in an experiment in Mars-like living …”

~ “Mars Mission’ Crew Emerges from Yearlong Simulation in Hawaii”
NPR, Aug. 29, 2016

“Experimenters wanted to learn whether crew members … could live in harmony with strangers in a confined space. Whether they would preserve a cohesive professional environment when they are out of contact with Earth for as long as three weeks at a time.

Such questions are of paramount importance, because no mission to Mars can succeed if its inhabitants cannot maintain their health, their happiness, and most critical of all, their sanity.”

~ “Can Humans Endure the Psychological Torment of Mars?”
The New York Times Magazine, Feb. 25, 2024

DAY 365

In Sunday school they told us the story of Jonah and the whale. I had nightmares about it every night for a month. Being swallowed up, in that dark cavern of a body, the putrid smell of half-digested sea creatures sloshing around me.

It’s been over thirty years since I had those nightmares, but sometimes in the dome, I’ve felt like I was back there, listening to the whale sucking in a deep breath, readying myself for the explosion through the blowhole. I’ve never told the others about that. It’s my job to remain calm. The de facto mother of the group.

I wait breathlessly to see if the solid metal door to the dome will open … if it really is the door. I can’t be in here a second longer. I’m just hoping this time we all make it out alive. It’s time to escape the belly of the beast.

DAY 1

Maya was upset when I first told her. I can’t blame her. It’s a lot to take in for anyone, but especially for her. In her eyes, a year is so long. After all, she’s only lived 18 of them.

To her, it seemed crazy. Honestly, most people think it sounds crazy. Voluntarily signing up to be locked in a 1,200-square-foot dome with seven strangers for one year.

Our simulation isn’t the only one. There have been many. The one I first remember hearing about was in 2015. Funded by NASA, the mission known as Hawaii Space Exploration Analog and Simulation, or HI-SEAS, had six crew members living in a dome simulating the environment on Mars.

Ours will largely be similar. A test to see how we will handle the effects of isolation. To determine whether we can work together. To decide if it will ever be possible to set up a new civilization on the Red Planet.

The details surrounding the results of the simulations have been difficult to track down. In science, we are typically forthright with our findings. But most of the writings have been vague notes about the simulations proving that humans don’t handle isolation well. Beyond that, there’s not much information.

One of the few things I’ve been able to find is a blog by the mission doctor from HI-SEAS, Sheyna Gifford. There was one post that stuck with me. She wrote, “For a few months after the mission first began, I would have sort of waking dreams—bright moments where, for an instant, I would be standing somewhere on Earth. New Orleans. Boston Harbor. A street corner in New York City where I used to buy falafel and watch people walk their dogs … Then, I would blink, and it would be gone.”

Perhaps for other people that would be scary. But when I read that, I knew I had to submit an application to be in the simulation. Her writing piqued my curiosity. And I have always followed my curiosity. It’s what led me to become a scientist.

Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to ask questions. I was told that God knew everything and thus, by association, Pa did as well. Pa was the pastor at our town’s church. Had been for my entire life. The congregation loved him. I did not.

At the pulpit, he was smiling, gregarious, commanding in a way that drew people in, rather than pushed them away. At home, he was brutal. If any of us made the mistake of threatening his authority, we felt it. A swift blow to our backs, a bruise strategically positioned to be hidden under our frilly church dresses and child-sized suits.

So, I stopped asking questions. Well, at least out loud. Pa required each of us to kneel by our beds praying for one hour before we went to sleep. Our room was crowded and the floor was hard. My knees would go from feeling light pressure to bone grinding on bone to numbness. It was during the blessed numbness that I would finally let myself silently ask the questions. Father God, if Pa knows everything, does he know that I have a crush on the boy who delivers our newspaper? Father God, if Ma never wants to spend any time with the five of us, why does she insist that someday we must have children of our own? Father God, how do I know you really exist?

As I sat in the pews, listening to Pa pretend to be a man I knew he wasn’t, I would let myself daydream. Not for too long. I still had to pay attention. Pa would quiz us on the sermon every Sunday night. But just for a few delicious moments I would let my mind wander as I pictured getting out of our house. Out of Louisiana. Out of this world.

It was the third Sunday in July when I first decided I wanted to become an astronaut. I wanted to find the secrets about our universe that my parents desperately kept hidden from me. To understand where we came from and where we could still go.

But I couldn’t explain all of that to Maya. I’d done my best to keep her away from my parents. And it wasn’t too hard, because they had basically written me off once I applied to college.

When Maya was born, I vowed to never be like Ma and Pa. But the thing about family is even when you remove yourself from them, they still live inside of you. I worked overtime to love her, with all of my heart, but every once in a while, they would be there, pouring out of me before I had the chance to silence them. Her tears when I snapped would haunt me, and I would wish for Pa to materialize and land a smack to my back. I deserved it.

I couldn’t tell her that’s the other reason I applied to the mission. Not just because I was curious. Not just because it would be my second chance. But because, deep down, I knew she would be better off without me.

Maya is fast asleep, twisted up in her purple comforter, which I fear means she had another rough night. I remember when she used to sleep like a rock. She would fall asleep in front of the TV as we watched Toy Story for the thousandth time and then I would scoop her up and carry her to bed. I would brush her curly hair away from her forehead and pull the covers up to her chin.

Those days feel so long ago. Now, she seems perpetually angry with me. The eye rolls and annoyed grunts have notched up over the years. Sometimes I get so frustrated with her, but I still love her. Of course I still love her.

The sun bounces off the Windsors’ greenhouse and streams through her window. I will the light to wake her up, but she doesn’t stir.

As I wait, I think about the others who will be in the dome with me. Forward has largely kept us apart. I assume it’s in keeping with their goal to be different than NASA. They’ve touted that because they are a private company, they can run the experiment more efficiently. Honestly, I think it’s kind of bullshit. But of course, I haven’t said that publicly. And I haven’t even said anything about it in the privacy of our home because Maya’s dad works for Forward. After our divorce, I got really good at biting my tongue.

The only contact I’ve had with the others was a barbecue that Forward threw for us and our families last weekend. Maya refused to go. There were only so many battles I could fight, so I dropped her at the mall and went to the event on my own.

It was a bit strange, making small talk with strangers knowing that in just one week, we’d be spending the next year together in a space smaller than my first apartment out of college. I tried to suss out what the common thread is between us. What made Forward decide that we are the perfect crew. What convinced them that we’ll be able to work together smoothly. Or perhaps that’s part of the test—perhaps they purposely chose a crew that would have friction so they could see how we overcome it.

All of that was swirling through my mind as I sipped my Modelo and tried hard to concentrate on the words coming out of their mouths.

There was Charlie, a math teacher who seemed to sense that he was perhaps the least impressive person selected for the crew and thus awkwardly dropped into conversation that he has a PhD.

Flora, an Army vet who wore a wedding ring, but when I asked if her family was joining, she mumbled something about how her wife couldn’t make it, but the sorrow in her eyes told me her wife may no longer be in this world.

Sean, a pilot with a picture-perfect wife and twin sons. When the boys raced away and knocked over the tray of coleslaw, he sent his wife off to deal with them, telling her to fetch another beer for him while turning his attention back to me and my chest.

Katelyn, a computer programmer who was whip-smart and sweet with an unplaceable foreign accent she was clearly embarrassed about, which made me sad.

Lidia, a nurse who pushed her husband in his wheelchair across the lawn, but when he reached for her hand at one point, I am almost certain I saw her flinch at his touch. The same way I would flinch when Pa laid his hand on me.

And Khalil, a psychologist who has researched the effects of extreme isolation in prisoners of war, kidnapping victims, and inmates subjected to solitary confinement. It is quite apparent why Forward wanted him to be part of this. But it was the moment that the brisket ran out that made me grateful he’s joining us. He noticed my empty plate and offered me his food, his kind eyes creasing with a smile.

I think all of us assumed that we were it. The seven of us. The chosen crew. Which is why we were all so shocked when he announced he would be joining us. The man who is paying for this barbecue, the man paying for all of this. We all knew his story: growing up poor and creating a tech company right out of college. The first of many. The companies that have made him the richest man in the world. That have led him to become Jeff Cone, CEO of Forward, Inc. He will be crew member #8.

As the sunlight grows brighter, I know that I can’t wait any longer. The driver will be here soon to pick me up. So, I gently shake Maya awake. She groans, still fighting joining the waking world.

“Baby, it’s time for me to go,” I whisper, easing her into this dimension.

Her eyes fly open, filled with fear. It pierces through my heart. But in the next instant, her face settles into its nearly constant scowl. It almost makes me question if I imagined her being afraid. Maybe I was just projecting my own fears of leaving her. Even though I know it’s for the best.

“I still don’t understand why you have to do this,” she grumbles.

“You’ll be so busy with college, you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Yeah, maybe this year, but what happens when you go to Mars? What if you never come back?”

“Maya, we’ve talked about all of this,” I say with a bit too much force. She rolls away, facing the wall, and I immediately regret it. This isn’t how I wanted to leave things.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t go.” Her voice is small. Timid. Like the little girl she once was, not the surly teen she’s become.

“Oh honey.” I lay my hand on her back, rubbing it in a circle, soothing her like when she was little. She lets me. “I’m doing this because I love you. You’re my whole universe.”

My phone lights up with a text. The driver has arrived. “When I get out of the dome, let’s go to Paris. It’s still your dream destination, right?” She doesn’t respond. Leaning over, I kiss Maya’s cheek. It’s wet and salty. For a moment, I consider telling the driver that I’m not coming. That I’m not doing the mission. That I’m never leaving my daughter’s side again. We’ll leave right now, together, and stroll the banks of the Seine, eating flaky croissants.

But I know I’m doing the right thing. So, I squeeze her shoulder and then stand and cross the room. When I reach the doorway, I turn back. She’s still curled up, and it strikes me that it’s the same position she used to sleep in as a baby. “I love you, Maya.”

She doesn’t respond, but I can feel it. I don’t have faith in much of anything anymore, but I know that she loves me. Even if she can never comprehend how much I love her.

The camera flashes are blinding. We all smile and wave, giving them the photo op of us in front of the dome that will be our home for the next year. I wonder if anyone else feels strange about suddenly being in the public eye.

Of course, Jeff Cone schmoozes with the reporters like he could do this in his sleep. Would any of them be here if he wasn’t here? People don’t really care about science anymore these days. Only billionaires seeking immortality and fifth graders trying to win a blue ribbon at their science fair.

Some of the crew members’ families are there to see them off. Maya and I had already decided weeks ago that we would say our goodbye at home. It would be easier that way. But I still find my eyes scanning the crowd, hoping to spot the little curl of hair that’s always in her eyes.

The staff member from Forward tells us it’s time to go in. What was his name? Greg? Craig? We start filing into the dome, and I force the question out of my brain. I don’t want it to be the last thing I’m thinking about.

We travel through the tunnel of the vestibule and when we step inside the dome, my breath catches as I realize just how small the space is. Cramped desks with computers. Bunk beds. A medical station. A crop garden. One bathroom. I’ve never been claustrophobic but suddenly with seven other warm bodies clustered next to me, it feels suffocating.

Greg or Craig makes sure we’re all clear of the door and then he swings it shut, locking us in from the outside.

All that remains is silence.

Suddenly, all the panels on the walls of the dome light up. As my eyes adjust, I discover what the disturbingly life-like images reflect. The Red Planet, just outside the “windows” of the “base.” I know that it’s fake, but it’s strange how my gut immediately reacts to it, how it truly feels like if I step through that front door, my boots will land on iron dust and basalt rock.

A countdown clock appears on the door. Red blinking numbers. 365.

DAY 2

Eve’s voice comes over the intercom instructing us to gather around. Though it’s weird to call it a “voice” since she is a computer, programmed by the engineers at Forward. But she’s our only connection to the outside world. I like to pretend she’s human so that it feels as if someone is out there, our lifeline to the lives we’ve left behind. Though sometimes I wonder if my ex-husband has any role in deciding what Eve will tell us.

“Today’s assignment is to select a mission commander,” Eve informs us. “This crew member will be the commander both for the simulation as well as the final mission. If he or she performs favorably.”

“It should be me,” Jeff predictably says the moment Eve stops talking. “I’m funding this after all.”

My eyes meet Khalil’s, and I can tell we’re sharing the same thought: this asshole.

“What if we each get five minutes to pitch ourselves for the role and then cast anonymous ballots?” Khalil suggests.

We all reach a quick consensus that this makes the most sense. Even Jeff begrudgingly agrees. As Pilot Sean begins his speech with some bullshit about how flying planes makes him the most steady-handed person here, my mind wanders back in time.

My stomach felt like it was doing a gravity test. I stared at the back of the head of the guy sitting in front of me. Tiny hairs poking up from his crew cut, shining in the fluorescent lights of the Johnson Space Center’s main auditorium. The lead instructor’s voice boomed through the mic at the podium as he declared, “I’d like to introduce the astronaut class of 2007.”

Somehow my legs stood and carried me to the front of the room to live my dream. To be announced as not only an astronaut-in-training, but the youngest astronaut candidate ever selected. I met Oliver’s eyes in the audience, so full of love, as he cheered me on.

I could have never foreseen what would happen.

“Naomi? It’s your turn,” Khalil says.

Slowly, I rise from my seat and move to the front of the group. I make them a promise that I feel with every fiber of my being. “I will ensure we complete the mission. No matter what it takes.”

DAY 28

I’m working on logs of plant growth when I hear it. The blaring horn of the emergency alarm. Khalil is the first to reach it. “Asteroid incoming!” he reports then turns to me. “What should we do, commander?”

“I need all hands on deck!” As I start ordering them how to track the trajectory and prepare our defense system, I notice that Pilot Sean seems to be moving in slow motion. I suspect I know why. The third day we were here I stumbled upon him taking a mini bottle of vodka out of his toiletry kit. When he saw me, he promised he would throw it away. I don’t have time to deal with him now.

“Commander, Mr. CEO is refusing to get out of the shower,” Nurse Lidia shouts to me as she races to her station.

Crossing the dome in seven quick steps, I reach the bathroom, throw open the shower curtain, and shut off the water.

“What the fuck?” Jeff yells, covering himself.

“When I say all hands on deck, I mean all hands on deck.”

“It’s just a drill.”

Suddenly, all the power shuts off. In the darkness, the programmer, Katelyn, yells out, “We’ve lost all comms!” As I try to figure out what the hell to do—

I’m back in the training module. A system failure alarm sounded. And another. And another. When I saw the panic on my colleague’s face, I knew that I would be handling it alone. “One engine down! Abort to orbit!” Immediately, I began the sequences to adjust our acceleration and place us into temporary orbit. “Mission control, we are safe at 190 kilometers in a controlled orbit with single engine failure.”

It was my first big win. As I listen to the shower drip, drip, drip I know I’m about to have another. All thanks to Maya’s Girl Scout camping trip years ago. I pull the flashlight out of my tool belt and point it at the crop garden. Sure enough, as I remembered, there’s a large clear jug for irrigation.

Quickly, I disconnect it, go to the sink, fill it with water and place it in the middle of the space. “Charlie, come point this flashlight into the water.”

He does so and just like the camping trip, it fills the space with light as the water reflects the beam of the flashlight. Now that we have ample light, we can get to work.

“Everyone else, I’m going to guide you through the sequences to get the comms up and running again,” I tell them.

“Well done, Commander Williams,” Eve says. Khalil gives me a thumbs up. And just like that, I’m 23 and full of hope again.

DAY 143

When I come around the corner, I see Lidia resting her head on Charlie’s shoulder as they sit on his bottom bunk. The moment they see me, they quickly move apart. But it’s impossible to keep secrets in here. I’m sure Lidia is concerned one of us might tell her husband, but I’ve come to think of the dome as Vegas. What happens in the dome stays in the dome. Though I can’t promise that Forward will feel the same. I’m not sure how many cameras they have in here. How much they see.

Honestly, I feel a little jealous of Lidia. I thought with being divorced that I’d gotten used to not having someone, but it’s different in here. To not have any touch. Maybe that’s why I’ve started having them: the waking dreams that I had read about.

In my dreams, I am in various parts of the world, but one thing is constant. Maya is with me. Whether we’re at a sidewalk café in Paris or sitting on the Spanish Steps in Rome or simply at the grocery store down the street from our house, she’s there, telling me all about her freshman year. The classes she loves, the parties she’s gone to, the boys she kissed. Each time, I get to wrap her in a hug.

And then I’m back here. Just like that. Sitting at my desk. Alone.

Suddenly, I hear a strange sound. Lidia and Charlie react at the same time as I do. It’s coming from Khalil’s bunk. A sort of whining mixed in with Arabic.

When I reach him, he’s staring straight ahead, but his eyes are unfocused. Though I don’t understand Arabic, I can tell he’s repeating the same words over and over again.

Lidia is at my side. “He’s disassociating. Maybe imagining someone who isn’t there. The brain can react in strange ways to isolation.”

Perhaps he’s having a waking dream, too, but the intensity, the rage that seems to be bubbling up within him concerns me. It’s completely at odds with his usual calm and cheerful demeanor. His chanting grows louder. And louder. “We have to find a way to stop him. Right now,” I whisper to Lidia. “If Forward finds out one of us is having serious mental problems, they might call off the whole mission.” As I watch Khalil swaying back and forth, repeating the words over and over again—

I’m at my final medical exam. The last hurdle before my six months on the ISS. I was trying to be professional, but I was so giddy that I could hardly contain my smiles even when the doctor was conducting his exam.

When he came back into the room, his face was stony. Unreadable.

“We found something,” he said. My heart leapt into my throat. “Naomi, you’re pregnant.” The air in the room thinned. “I can’t clear you to go on the mission.”

I noticed he didn’t say, “I’m sorry.” My vision grew blurry. My whole life … This was the moment I’d been working up to my whole life. The dream that got me through my years with Pa, that gave me the strength to get out of that house.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the doctor moving towards the door. “Wait!” I called out before I could think it through. He stopped. My heart was racing, but I had to ask. “What if I were … no longer pregnant?”

He was careful to keep his face neutral, but I still saw a flicker of it in his eyes. The judgment. “Well, otherwise you have a clean bill of health. But you only have one week to take care of it in order to heal fully before launch.” His eyes traveled down to my wedding ring. I reflexively moved my hand under my leg. “Just let me know what you decide.”

I gently lay my hand on Khalil’s shoulder. Lidia stands in front of him, quietly coaching him to breathe. “In, one, two, three, out, one, two, three.” He doesn’t respond, but she keeps trying and trying. Until finally, his eyes lock on her.

His hands fly to his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

We graciously nod at him. What else can we do? But I worry about if it happens again. Or if it might be lightning on the horizon, warning of a coming storm.

DAY 278

There are moments of friction, how could there not be, but right in this moment, it’s calm. Even peaceful. Everyone is working diligently on their assignments from Eve while Khalil takes his turn in the shower. Even Jeff dutifully files mission logs.

It makes me wonder who Jeff would have been if he never created his first company or any company. I wonder who we all would be if we had taken different paths. There’s a lot of time in here for contemplation.

Often, I think about the itinerary for the Paris trip with Maya. The awe in her eyes when she sees all the little shops in Saint-Germain. What it will feel like to be able to reach out and tousle her curls once again.

“I have to get out!”

I hear the yelling before I can process where it’s coming from. But when I see a figure race through the main room, a blurry streak interrupting the tranquility, my adrenaline kicks in.

“No! You can’t go outside!” I yell at Khalil who is having a full-on panic attack. Sweaty. Hyperventilating. Eyes wild. “They’ll pull you from the mission for any infraction!”

But it’s like he doesn’t hear me as he turns the wheel on the airlock with lightning-fast speed and pushes open the door that hasn’t been touched in 278 days.

The others are frozen in place, even Army vet Flora, but with shaking hands, I quickly throw on my spacesuit and helmet, both required for an emergency evacuation, and follow him out, closing the heavy door behind me. But when I pass through the protective vestibule and out into the open air, my breath catches in my throat.

Is it somehow an image programmed to play through my space helmet? I know that this was the lawn that the photographers and journalists gathered on to see us off, but all that I see before me is red dirt. The surface of Mars.

Oliver was over the moon when I told him about the pregnancy. I’m sure it’s how the doctor wished I had reacted. All I could feel was doom. But based on Oliver’s reaction, I knew I couldn’t reveal how deeply I didn’t want this. As I moved our dinner plates to the sink, I carefully said, “Going to space is all I’ve ever wanted.”

The flicker of hurt that passed over his face immediately signaled that I’d said the wrong thing. “You also told me that you wanted a family. With me.”

“Yes, of course I do. I didn’t mean—I want that. I really do. But not like this. I was supposed to have my chance. This is my moment.”

“What if it’s our only chance to have a kid?”

“Oliver—”

“There aren’t any guarantees. Are you really choosing a mission over our family? There will be more career opportunities, I’m sure of it, but this kid, that kid inside you right now, they only get one chance to live.”

His words felt like a slap across my face. I knew, in that moment, that he would never understand me. But I didn’t want to admit it. He was the first person I truly let in. He knew that going to space wasn’t an adventure, it was survival. It was for the little girl inside of me who desperately needed something to believe in, something to keep her going through the years of hell. In one fell swoop, he made me feel as wicked as Pa always told me that I was.

I know that we’re not actually on Mars because of how heavy he is in my arms. It’s not real, whatever this landscape is. Which is the only thing giving me hope that this isn’t real either. Khalil’s limp body in my arms. His eyes frozen open. The absence of any breath coming from his lungs. This has to be a simulation. It has to be. If I can just get him back to the dome, surely he’ll spring back to life.

Straining to support his weight, I start the journey back towards the dome which seems so far away. Did I really chase him that far out here? It’s impossible to tell because all I see around us are rocky formations, a reddish-brown craggy desert stretching out for seemingly miles.

As I trudge towards the dome, I hear Hebrews 11:1 in my mind. As much as I’ve tried to forget all the verses Pa forced us to memorize, his palm open, ready to strike if we got the words wrong, they still come to me sometimes. Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

I know that we’re on Earth, I believe it in my bones. But as I peer out of my helmet, taking in the expanse before me, for the first time since the simulation began, I feel my faith beginning to slip, my grip on reality washing away alongside it.

Since I was 10 years old, I dreamt every day of being in space. But wherever we are now, whatever this is, it’s a nightmare.

“I'm withdrawing from the mission.” My mission commander stared at me with not only shock, but disappointment, which made me want to scream, “This is not who I am!” But instead, I said, “I’m pregnant.”

He quickly readjusted his face, forcing a kind smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I replied, because that’s what you’re supposed to reply.

“I probably shouldn’t say this, but you are a one-of-a-kind talent. I saw you having a long career at NASA.” He caught himself. “Which I’m sure you’ll do once you’re ready to get back to it.”

We both knew I would never have another opportunity to go to space. When I reached the parking lot and climbed into my Camry, which would soon have a car seat in the back, I locked the doors. And screamed until my throat was raw.

Katelyn’s scream pierces the stagnant air in the dome. All of their eyes are locked on Khalil’s body, still in my arms. Seeing their faces removes another piece of hope. On the long walk, I had convinced myself that maybe I was seeing things. Or this was a simulation just for me, the ultimate test of the mission commander. But now, in the stark lighting surrounded by their rapidly beating hearts, I know they can all see him. Which means this is real.

“What the hell happened?” Sean yells as Flora moves to me and takes Khalil from my arms, gently lowering him to the floor with the ease of someone who must have had to do the same with her fallen comrades.

“I don’t know,” I tell them, the only thing I can say with complete certainty. “It was like there wasn’t any oxygen.”

They continue staring as if I’ll provide an explanation, but there’s no explanation to give. I’ve spent every moment since I saw Khalil frantically gulping for air trying to figure out how that could be possible. “He collapsed. I couldn’t revive him.” I notice Lidia kneeling to check his pulse. The sad shake of her head makes my heart sink.

“I don’t understand,” Charlie says. “What do you mean there wasn’t oxygen?”

“It doesn’t make sense to me either, but it seemed like we weren’t in our atmosphere. Everything out there looks like Mars.” They exchange looks of concern. “I know it isn’t. Of course it’s not, but they must have built some larger dome around ours or something. I couldn’t take off my helmet to test it because—” I nod towards Khalil.

“Or did she kill him?” Sean sneers. “She said she would complete the mission at any cost. Khalil was a liability.” My jaw drops, not believing that those words just came out of his mouth. How could he possibly think I would be capable of that? But I notice Charlie seemingly considering Sean’s accusation.

That’s when I realize that one person is not participating. I spin to face Jeff who is in the corner, arms crossed, silently gawking at Khalil’s corpse.

“What the hell is this, Jeff?”

“I don’t know,” he says quietly without making eye contact.

Of course he’s lying. You don’t become the world’s richest man without being a master of deception. “This is your company. Your mission. I know you know what’s going on.”

“I promise you, I don’t.” He raises his head and looks directly at me. That’s when I see something I’ve never seen in his eyes. Fear. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“We have to go out there,” Flora demands, taking charge. “We have to see what’s really happening.”

“You will not exit the dome,” Eve’s voice booms from the speakers all around us.

“What is going on?” I yell, bile rising in my throat.

“You will not exit the dome,” she repeats.

“Oliver! Let me speak to Oliver!” I plead.

“You must follow the rules of the simulation,” Eve says. “It’s for your own safety.”

As I look at the wall panels around us, projecting what I thought were simply images of the Red Planet, I feel my mind going fuzzy. Are they really there? Is any of this here? As I feel my knees give way, one thought reverberates in my brain as I plummet towards the floor. Will I ever see Maya again? And then everything goes dark.

DAY 365

The door is open. But none of us cross the threshold. I can hear the photographers clicking their cameras from somewhere beyond the vestibule. I’m the leader. I must exit first.

I’m wearing the same outfit I arrived in one year ago. But I am not the same person.

Carefully, I take the first step. Then the second. Nearing the end of the vestibule. I haven’t set foot outside of it since the day Khalil died. None of us have.

When I reach the end, I can see sunlight coming from a crack under the door. There was no sunlight that day.

I think of Maya. I think of Paris. I push open the last barrier between our world and whatever lays ahead. The light is blinding. But as my eyes readjust, it’s almost like they never left. The journalist, the photographers, the bystanders. Are they in the same positions as when we went in, or am I just imagining that? There are no family members. Eve told us we would have our reunifications at home. To process any challenging emotions away from the news crews. It felt oddly human of Forward.

Suddenly, I see him in the crowd. I stop in my tracks. He’s peeking over the shoulder of one the photographers.

Khalil. Alive and well.

Reflexively, I turn back to the dome. Jeff is supposed to emerge next, but he hasn’t stepped into the vestibule yet.

I spin back to the crowd.

He’s gone.

Did he just duck behind the photographer?

Without thinking, I barrel towards the news crews with their cameras recording my every move and shove a few of them out of my way. I hear Greg or Craig calling my name, but I can’t stop.

I have to find him.

Suddenly, a hand clamps down on my arm. I scream. A security guard I hadn’t noticed before tells me I need to get into an awaiting black Suburban.

Realizing I must have imagined the whole thing, my mind simulating a reality I hoped existed, I climb into the car, my heart pounding. As it speeds away, I see Jeff emerge from the vestibule, his eyes closely following my departure.

The ride home is short but interminably long. All I want is Maya. To touch her curls and know that she is alright. That I’m alright. That we’ll both be alright. If that’s even possible after what I’ve gone through. But I know that when I hold her in my arms, I’ll be one step closer.

We pull up in front of the house, and I don’t wait for the driver to open the door for me. I throw it open and sprint across the yard, my legs wobbly from living in a confined space for the past year. I trip over a sprinkler head, but immediately, I pick myself back up and keep going.

I would crawl across this whole yard if it was the only way to get to Maya. I know that she’ll have so many questions, and I don’t know how to answer, but there’s one thing I can promise her that I couldn’t before. I’m done. With all of it. I’ll never leave her again.

I reach the front door and twist the handle, but it’s locked. Of course it is. I ring the doorbell, but I can’t wait. I need to see her. I pound on the door. “I’m home! Sweetheart, I’m home!”

Footsteps hurry towards the door. My heart beats faster, crying out to be with her. To throw my arms around her and feel her own heart beating alongside mine. I’ll never let go. Mon bébé.

But when the door opens, it’s not her.

My mind tries to make sense of who is standing before me. Especially since I haven’t seen that look in his eyes for years. Pure, unrestrained love.

“Oliver?” I ask. “What are you doing here? Where’s Maya?”

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity.

“Who’s Maya?”

THE END

*Feature image by Julia (Adobe)