"There's this lady with a huge following who's been hovering around these Mars rumors again," Betty said, pacing a few steps ahead of us. Her boots echoed across the polished floor of Hangar Bay C. "Her claims are wild. Been seeing her videos for days now."
Kevin groaned, dragging his feet like a teenager grounded before launch. "I still don't get why we have to be here again. Like we're not about to board the same damn ship in a few hours."
I ignored him. "What's the woman saying?"
Betty spun around briefly, eyes lighting up like she'd been waiting for someone to ask. "Ah, so now you're listening? She's just some conspiracy theorist. Claims we're actually landing on Mars — secretly."
That made me smile.
"She's excited. And yeah, desperate for it to happen in our lifetime," Betty went on, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "She keeps listing sources I don't even have time to check. Obviously wrong."
"She's probably just reacting to the last leaked conference with Clifford," Kevin added, suddenly interested. "You know how obsessed he is with Mars. Going on about how humanity's ready, how we should stop waiting and just go."
"She's definitely clinging to that," Betty said with a sigh. "Honestly? I bet someone on the inside leaked it. Clifford couldn't shut up about his discovery — you remember the part where he said: 'If people want to go to Mars and risk it, why not let them?'"
Kevin chuckled. "Too much money and you start thinking anything's possible. Clifford's nuts. The man literally said, 'We can't develop tech for Mars unless we're actually on Mars.'"
"I loved how Director Sam shut him down," Betty said with a smirk. "She goes, 'We've achieved more with less risk, Mr. Clifford. This isn't like sending a crew to Devon Island.'" She laughed at her own imitation.
"And then Clifford still doubled down," Kevin added, now fully invested. "He's not even thrilled about the Aurora‑7 mission. I heard him say it's just another 'drone babysitting operation.'"
"I heard they had to beg him to fund it," I muttered. "Sold him the idea that this is a key step before human landings."
"He's over the whole 'long-range automated asteroid survey' crap," Betty said. "No more drone deployments, no more satellites. Man wants boots on red soil."
"Which is wild," Kevin said. "Guy's got confidence like gravity's optional."
We rounded the corner into Bay C, and I stopped.
Something was wrong.
The ship in front of us wasn't the one we were briefed about. Sleeker. Heavier. The SSV Nyx Horizon.
And there, standing by its ramp like he owned the air, was Clifford, talk about the devil, mid-laugh, shaking hands with top directors and smiling that same oily smile that had haunted headlines.
I blinked once, twice. Kevin and Betty had already moved ahead. I watched them transition smoothly from casual gossip to humble professionalism, walking up to Clifford like he was a celebrity they'd never spoken ill of. Betty even lowered her eyes a little when she shook his hand.
I finally stepped forward.
"Nice to meet you, Clifford," I said, keeping my tone neutral as I glanced at Sam — Director Sam — whose tight smile promised explanations later. She didn't speak. Didn't need to.
Someone called the room to attention. The Director of Operations, flanked by engineers, execs, and the pressurized hush, addressed us with the kind of composure that usually follows last-minute chaos. I already knew this was going to be bad.
"We'll now be deploying two additional satellites," he said. "You'll be briefed during launch prep."
Two? Hours from launch?
I felt the ripple of unease pass through the crew, saw it mirrored in Betty and Kevin's sideways glances. Even they looked rattled.
Clifford stepped forward with his billionaire charm. "Aurora‑7 will be the defining mission of our generation," he declared, arms spread wide like he was opening the gates of Olympus.
Applause broke out. I clapped too, more out of instinct than support. Everyone scattered to get back to prep, but I didn't move. Neither Betty nor Kevin.
We approached Director Sam.
"What's going on?" I asked, voice low. "Why is Nyx Horizon here? That's not the ship we trained for. plus, that is way too expensive to use now."
She exhaled sharply, the tension leaking from her jaw. "Talk to the Director of Operations. I didn't switch the plan, he did."
"You can't send us on a mission we didn't agree to," Betty shot back.
"Then take it up with him," Sam snapped. "I don't have time to babysit doubts."
"That's rude, Sam," Kevin said, half-laughing. "Why are you even here if you don't have answers?"
She waved us off like we were flies buzzing in her ear. "Go talk to the people in charge."
I frowned, studying her. This wasn't like her. And none of this felt like protocol.
Fine.
We approached the Director of Operations, and before I even opened my mouth, he spoke.
"I understand the confusion," he said calmly. Clifford stood beside him like a statue made of credit and influence. "We had to make a late-stage decision. Nyx Horizon has been fully prepped as has the original vessel, but Clifford is supporting us. And he has the right to see his investments lead this mission forward."
I didn't respond. I just stared at Clifford, and he stared back. His smile didn't flicker. Didn't waver. And that was the problem.
Whatever he knew, he wasn't telling us.
And whatever we thought this mission was… it wasn't.
We turned to leave.
"Something's not right," I said.
Betty scoffed. "What, sucking up to Clifford? Get over it."
"No. You two-faced idiot," I muttered. "Something deeper. My gut says we're not being told the full story."
Kevin raised a brow. "Like what? They're gonna send us to Mars now, like that conspiracy lady said?"
"Like we are doing something personal for Clifford."
"Get over it, he is richer than you, the world knows he can do whatever he wants."
I eyed him like I'd never seen anyone unstable. I thought he just agreed that Clifford shouldn't be given orders here
I didn't answer. I was already walking away.
"I'm going to gear up," I said. "And maybe double-check my will."
"Maybe you'll need it," Betty's mocking voice trailed off.