"But if we do that, we won't be able to complete the attachment," Ramirez said.

"Do what I say," Lillian said firmly. "Something inside the corridor has been compromised and we don't know whether the attachment clasps are in functioning order. We can't risk losing the pod completely. Now move!"

Since becoming team leader, this was the first time Lillian had to raise her voice, yet her teammates responded with incredible quickness and efficiency. The next twenty minutes were hectic. Even though the thought of her team's failure was gnawing at the back of Lillian's mind, she focused on the task at hand and gave precise directions to her team. Using the limited amount of tools at their disposal, Lillian's team secured the pod to the corridor, even though it would be impossible to finish their task.

"Everyone fall back in order," Lillian said, giving her last command of the mission. The team maneuvered into standard position, the SPACE line of every member of the team perfectly in place. Everyone was accounted for and the pod was secure but Lillian could see the look of disappointment on the face of every team member.

"I don't know what happened but I just want to say how proud I am of each of you for the job we did," Lillian said. A few tears escaped her eyes and the eyes of her crew.

She was so focused on her team that she did not notice the people outside the huge tank climbing the stairs.

"We did not complete our task but we overcame adversity and that's a quality every good team must possess. We'll learn from our mistake for the next time. There's nothing else we can do now. Let's head back to the airlock. Parker, you take the lead."

Lillian was not used to failure. She kept her emotions together while talking to her team but as she watched each crewmember swimming toward the airlock, the consequences of her failure hit her hard. Not only had she let herself and her team down, she let down every teacher and trainer who ever gave her guidance during the training program. She also blew her chance to go to space. Worst of all, she'd done so in front of James Armour, the country's greatest space hero.

But the person Lillian felt she let down most was Slava Kovalchuk. Lillian proved herself to Slava and he rewarded her with the one thing she really hoped to gain from this program: respect. She only hoped she could one day prove to Slava and the rest of the teachers that she belonged here, that she deserved the opportunity to remain in the program.

When every member of her team reached the airlock, Lillian made the swim to the chamber. Once she joined her crew and they unhooked their SPACE lines, Lillian pushed the button to engage the airlock. As the water in the small chamber drained away, they saw a crowd gathered on the platform above the tank. When half of the chamber was empty and they had a clear view through the glass window of the airlock door, Lillian's crew saw exactly who waited for them.

James Armour stood in front, with Slava Kovalchuk standing next to him. Behind those two were the rest of their teachers and trainers.

"Looks like they need a whole convoy to escort us off the premises," Parker joked, though nobody was in the mood to laugh. "I wonder where the security guards are hiding."

"Don't worry. As team leader, I'll take full responsibility for what happened down there," Lillian said. "They can't punish us all for something like this. If anyone goes down, it will be me."

"And let you have all the fun getting out of here? No way, Lillian. If they kick you out, I'm going with you," Parker said.

"Me, too," another teammate agreed.

"You can count me out, too," another said.

The team went right down the line, every person agreeing that they could not kick one person out of the program without kicking them all out. Lillian was so touched that she felt a loss for words. Thankfully, Parker broke the silence.

"Besides, maybe there's still time before Cousin Wally marries my girl," he said.

This time, every crewmember laughed. But their laughter quickly faded once the water was gone from the airlock chamber. With the chamber properly pressurized, Lillian and her team removed their helmets as the second airlock door opened.

As surprising as the explosion had been to Lillian, the reaction from everyone waiting outside the airlock was even more so. Not a single teacher or trainer looked angry or upset, least of all James Armour, who wore a satisfied grin. Lillian was not sure how to react to such a strange response.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Armour," she said. "We don't know what happened down there. Can you tell us what we did to cause such damage inside the corridor?"

"No, but I can tell you this," Armour began. "You performed above the expectations that any of us had for your team. Slava here was the only one who had faith in your abilities."

Lillian turned to Slava, who also appeared far from upset.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kovalchuk, I don't know what's going on," Lillian said, speaking on behalf of her crew. "We obviously messed up big time but none of you seem to care."

"You did not mess up at all, Miss Edwards," Slava said. "We caused explosion, not your team."

Lillian felt like somebody had played a dirty trick on her. Had Slava or the other trainers wanted them to fail?

"But why, sir? We were moments from completing the task," she said.

"I expect some teams to perform this test better than others. I was confident every one of teams could attach the pod properly," Slava explained. "This is a task your teachers, trainers and I pounded into your minds for months. But when Mr. Armour told us he wanted final test to be something outside area of study, teachers and I knew our students' ability to work under pressure needed to be tested."

"The unexpected can happen in space at any moment," James Armour said. "Random accidents occur and there's no kind of by-the-book training that can be taught to prepare you for it. Therefore, we needed to surprise every team with a catastrophe and see how you reacted. This was the only way we could gauge who was ready for work in space and who was not."

Lillian at least felt relieved that nothing she ordered or nothing her team did caused the accident. But now she was upset she hadn't figured out a way to properly attach the pod after the trainers triggered the explosion. If we could've still attached the pod, we would have written our own ticket to space, she thought.

"I'm still sorry we let you down, Mr. Kovalchuk. I should've kept my head and figured out a way to get the job done, regardless of the circumstances," Lillian said.

"Miss Edwards, under circumstances you work with, even I could not attach pod with tools your team used," Kovalchuk said.

"The point of the test was not to succeed but to keep your cool and not risk the lives of your team," Armour said. "You passed with flying colors."

"So how will you award the points and decide who gets to go to space?" Lillian asked. "If every team completed this task according to how you wanted, does that mean my team will stay in second place?"

"Every team did not succeed how your team did, Miss Edwards," Slava said.

"Of the fifteen teams, Miss Edwards, only one other team secured the pod to the corridor," Armour reported, looking down at his notes.

"The one team above us in the standings?" Lillian asked, predicting the worst possible outcome for her squad.

"That's correct," Armour said. "But the SPACE lines of three members of that team would have been severed in a real space environment. That does not represent success to me. Every other team would have lost the pod in space, as well as numerous lives in the process. Three teams even quit the test moments after we triggered the explosion. Therefore, since your team secured the pod and did not lose lives in the process, any point deficit your team faced in the standings has been erased."

Lillian heard the excited whispers of her teammates who figured out what Armour was trying to say. But the team leader refused to celebrate until she heard the actual words.

"So that means...?"

"Congratulations, Miss Edwards," Slava said. "Your team will be first from training program to work in space."

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE.

AUGUST 27, 2016.

Exactly as he did every Saturday evening, Marc Hudson pulled his car into the lot of a local truck stop, only a few miles from the Canadian border. It was a rough crowd that ate here, but Marc was used to being around large groups of tough guys. Sure, the tough guys he'd been around at work were forced to treat him with respect. But the assistant to the owner of Ainsworth Industries felt like he learned how to deal with these people so he had no trouble coming here. Besides, this was the only place for miles around that made a good cheeseburger, though it was probably more grease than meat.

Small crowd tonight, Marc thought as he walked through the door and saw only a few other people. He noticed a new crack in the glass of the door, no doubt caused by some sort of fight. A few of those happened in Marc's presence during the years he came here; thankfully, he always avoided the trouble.

Marc took his normal spot at the counter and his favorite waitress, the only waitress he'd ever seen working there, came over to him.

"How ya doing, sweetheart?" asked Larleen, the dentally-challenged older woman. "Ya want your usual?"

"Of course, Larleen. Thanks," Marc said.

"No problem, darlin'," the waitress said, flashing Marc her best smile. After dealing with truckers and troublemakers all the time, Larleen loved dealing with Marc. He soon heard the hissing sound of burger meat cooking on the grill in the kitchen.

Although he didn't have the courage to order anything else, Marc perused the menu in front of him, if only to avoid eye contact with other customers. Marc learned long ago that to avoid confrontation with a beast, avoid making eye contact. He did not notice when someone sat down next to him at the counter.

"Any suggestions?"

Surprised to hear another voice so close, Marc hoped the person next to him did not notice him flinch. Another lesson he learned was never to show fear. But when Marc lowered his menu and looked at the man on the next stool, he knew this was not a local or a truck driver. This stranger did not seem big enough, nor did he have enough facial hair to fit the bill of either type of patron for this fine establishment.

Still, there was something about the stranger that made Marc feel more nervous than if he was a truck driver. The man was normal height and build, his hair slicked back. There was an air of distrust about him and Marc was reminded of a used car salesman. Still, it was nice to see someone who looked more like him than a lumberjack and the man seemed friendly enough.

"I always go cheeseburger. Best burger in the state," Marc said.

"Sounds good," the man said, motioning for Larleen. "Hey darling, I'll take the same thing as my friend here."

"You got it," Larleen said, quickly scribbling down the order. It was not lost on Marc that Larleen did not seem to like this man. And if there was one thing Marc knew about Larleen, it was how she flirted with any man who walked through the entrance. She did not even give the man next to Marc a second glance.

Marc continued to glance through the menu. He knew there would be nothing new listed since his last visit-the menus looked like they'd been used since the last century-but Marc wanted to avoid everyone else. The man sitting next to him felt differently.

"So, you from around here?" the man asked.

"Not originally," Marc answered tersely.

"Me neither," the man said. "I'm just out here for awhile on a job. I have to admit: this isn't my favorite part of the country, that's for sure. I don't fit in too well with the folks from these parts."

Marc finally placed his menu down on the counter. Even though he had a bad feeling about this stranger, at least they had something in common.

"I know what you mean," Marc agreed. "I feel like I need to chop down a few trees before I'd fit in around here."

The stranger laughed a little too loudly as far as Marc was concerned. The man extended his hand.

"The name's Joe Ziechowski," he said. "But you can call me Z. Everyone does."

Z's hand was sweaty, which seemed to fit perfectly with his appearance.

"Marc Hudson. It's nice to meet you, Z."

"So, Marc, what kind of business are you in?" he asked.

"Construction," Marc answered. "I oversee a lot of big projects, make sure the workers stay happy and keep their schedules on track."

"You're used to dealing with these kinds of folks then," Z said. "What kind of construction does your company do?"

Marc was usually hesitant when people asked about his job. That was why he tended to shy away from people in general. But it felt good to finally talk to someone he would never see again.

"Underwater vehicles," Marc said. Before Z had the chance to continue his line of questioning, Marc asked his own question. "What about you, Z?"

"I find out things that people need to know. I guess you could say I'm like a researcher," the man answered vaguely.

"What kind of research?" Marc asked. For some reason, Marc did not want to hear the answer to his question. As quickly as his negative feelings faded about the stranger called Z, the same feelings reappeared.

"Whatever the person who pays me needs to know."

"What do you need to research in such a desolate area here?" Marc asked.

"It's not what I need to find out," Z answered, his eyes burning a hole right through Marc's eyes. "It's who I need to find out about."

"So who is that?" Marc asked nervously.

"A man who works for your company, as a matter of fact," Z said.

"But I didn't tell you what company I work for."

"Your full name is Marc Sampson Hudson and you work for Ainsworth Industries. You've worked for the company for more than ten years and rose up the corporate ladder after the death of Tyler Ainsworth, Sr. Now, you work directly under his son, the Junior, as special assistant to the owner of the company. You stay on the construction facility at all times, except for Saturday nights when you come to this diner and order a cheeseburger."

Marc stood from his stool but Z grabbed the smaller man's arm and held on tightly. Although Z did not look very big, his grip was like a vice.

"Please sit down, Marc."

Suddenly afraid, Marc did exactly what he was told.

"Are you some kind of policeman or federal agent?" Marc asked.

"No, I'm exactly who I said I am," Z said. "A researcher. Or private investigator if that makes it easier for you to understand."

"Then why me? Who wants to find out about me?" Marc asked.

"Not you," Z said. "I chose you because I know you're one of only a few people with intimate knowledge of the man I need to know about."

"And what makes you think I would tell you about Tyler Ainsworth?" Marc asked.

"Not Ainsworth," Z said. "Huffington. I need you to tell me everything about Nigel Huffington. Who is he? Where does he come from? Why is he living aboard the seacraft and why is he so important to your boss?"

Z placed a photo on the counter and pushed it toward Marc. It showed a picture of Nigel taken from afar, likely from somewhere beyond the construction facility.

"I don't know any more about Nigel than you do," Marc said.

"I don't believe you," Z said. "You and Huffington have worked together and lived in close proximity for months now, maybe even years. You think I'm dumb enough to believe you don't know about him?"

"I don't," Marc pleaded. "Honestly. He's very important to Mr. Ainsworth but I don't know why. The two are very secretive and don't tell me anything more than what I need to know."

Z sighed, clearly not believing Marc though the assistant told the truth. Z retrieved the picture and put it into the inside pocket of his jacket, where he took out something else. He slid an envelope over to Marc.

"I don't believe you," Z said. "But I understand why you're hesitant to tell me what you know. The money in this envelope is yours to keep, no matter what you decide. But I will be back here in two weeks, waiting with another envelope with ten times that amount. If you get the information I need, the rest of the cash is yours."

Z threw a fifty-dollar bill on the counter just as Larleen placed the greasy burger in front of Marc. The mysterious stranger promptly left the diner without turning around. Once the waitress walked away, Marc opened the envelope and counted out ten thousand dollars. He suddenly lost his appetite.