“Weird,” I mutter, showing Jacqui my phone. “GPS is down.”

She shrugs, leaning her head against my shoulder, clearly fighting sleep. “Probably just no coverage out here.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The bus makes a sudden turn off the main highway onto what looks like a maintenance road—barely more than a dirt path with tire tracks. The ride gets bumpier, jostling some of the dozing women awake.

“ATTENTION PARTICIPANTS,” the automated voice returns, startling several of us. “PREPARING FOR TRANSIT PROTOCOL ADJUSTMENT. PLEASE REMAIN SEATED.”

Jacqui sits up straighter, suddenly alert. “Transit protocol what now?”

The driver speaks for the first time, his voice melodic and strangely accent-free. “Earthlings. Due to unforeseen circumstances, we are implementing contingency route alpha. Please remain calm.”

“Contingency route?” a woman a few rows back calls out. “What does that mean?”

No answer comes. The bus continues down the increasingly rough path, the windows reflecting the last rays of sunlight in a way that makes it hard to see outside clearly.

“Initiate secure transit mode,” the driver says, seemingly to no one.

The windows suddenly darken, becoming completely opaque. Several women cry out in alarm.

“What the hell?” I stand up halfway, instinctively reaching for Jacqui’s hand.

“PLEASE REMAIN SEATED,” the automated voice insists, louder this time. “SECURITY PROTOCOLS ACTIVE.”

The driver turns his head slightly, just enough that I can see his profile. Something about the way he moves is too smooth. That uncanny feeling I had earlier returns tenfold. I try to push it back.

This is the Xyma. We can trust them. Earth trusts them. Humans trust them. We can trust them.

“Emergency pressurization required,” he announces. “Implementing atmospheric stabilization.”

Atmospheric stabilization? Awesome. Love that for us. I’ll just stabilize my own atmosphere while we’re at it because panic is definitely setting in.

Before anyone can react, the air vents above us hiss open, and a fine mist begins filling the cabin. It has a faint greenish tint and smells vaguely metallic.

“Cover your mouth!” I hiss to Jacqui, pulling the collar of my blouse up over my nose. All around us, women are doing the same, some crying out in alarm.

“The atmospheric adjustment is for your safety,” the driver says calmly. “Resistance will increase discomfort.”

I glare at his disgustingly attractive face. “What do you mean atmospheric adjust⁠—”

The bus lurches sideways, then seems to drop several feet all at once, like we’ve driven off a ledge. Women scream. Automatic restraints deploy from our seats, pulling me back down and strapping us in place.

Fear spikes. I try to free myself but I’m suddenly lightheaded, my limbs growing heavy despite my efforts to hold my breath. Jacqui slumps against me, her eyes wide but unfocused.

“Jus,” she slurs, “something’s wrong.”

The bus shudders violently. Through the fog filling my brain, I hear mechanical sounds—clicks and whirs and the hiss of what sounds like hydraulics.

“Transit anomaly detected,” a new voice announces over the speakers. “Initiating emergency protocols.”

The driver stands up—which shouldn’t be possible with the bus still moving—and turns to face us. In the greenish mist, his eyes seem to glow with an inner light.

“Prepare for emergency suspension,” he says, his voice resonating strangely through my earbud, which means he’s probably not speaking fucking English anymore.

“What’s…happening?” I manage to ask, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth.

“Sleep,” he replies simply. “For your protection.”

The mist grows thicker. My eyelids grow heavier. Jacqui’s head falls onto my shoulder, her breathing slowing.

The last thing I hear before consciousness slips away is the driver’s voice, oddly gentle.

“The journey will be longer than anticipated. But you will survive.”

“Transit to orbital station commencing,” says another voice over the speakers. “Estimated arrival: ten Earth hours.”

Orbital what now?

Oh shit.

We should have read the fine print more carefully.

We’re not going to a facility in Arizona.

We’re leaving Earth.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 2

OceanofPDF.com

THIS WAS NOT IN THE JOB DESCRIPTION

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JUSTINE

It’s cold. That’s the first thing I notice as soon as I come to. That means I’m not in my apartment and certainly nowhere in the city.

“What…” I groan as I lift my head, still a bit groggy. “What happened?”

Still on the bus, I’m slumped forward in my seat. Maybe it’s what wakes me up. Pushes me to sit up too quickly. My head pounds and I sway, my shoulder hitting the side of the bus that’s now so cold it feels like ice. “Jacqui?”

I turn to see my sister still in her seat beside me, her head thrown back against the headrest and her mouth open.

Panic surges in my veins as I reach for her. “Jacqui?! Jacqui, wake up! Jaqs?!” I touch her face and she winces slightly. But the relief I feel that she’s still alive is quickly overpowered by rising fear.

There is groaning as more of the people regain consciousness and as my vision clears some more, I notice that so is the air, like a thick fog is lifting from around us.

The bus driver. The gas. My gaze shoots to where he’s supposed to be, only to find the driver’s seat empty.

“EMERGENCY PROTOCOL ENGAGED. WAKING ALL SUBJECTS FROM CRYOSLEEP.”

Emergency protocol? Cryosleep? What? Jacqui groans again and my head pounds as I try to look around. Am I dreaming? The bus windows are all blocked out with gray metal. I can’t see outside, not even through the windscreen, and the bus driver, whatever he is, is gone.

“PAYLOAD COMPROMISED.”

Payload? What payload? My mind races as I try to piece everything together. It suddenly feels like nothing’s making sense. I swallow hard, saliva soothing a very dry throat.

“What…what happened?” Jacqui groans, her brows furrowing as she presses her hands to her temples. “Where are we?”

More of the other women are waking up and asking the same questions. Some stumble from their seats. One woman, who is obviously more awake than everyone else, begins screaming. Her piercing cry seems to bounce off the metal walls around us.

“ENGINE FAILING. RELEASING CARGO TO REDUCE LOAD.”

That…doesn’t make sense. The Xyma bot isn’t making sense.

It’s all the thought I get to have before the whole bus jerks. Our limp bodies jostle in our seats before the movement suddenly stops. At first, it’s not immediately obvious. Not until I see Jacqui’s body rising right in front of me, held back only by the seatbelts still around her torso. It’s only then that I realize I’m floating too, lifting off the seat without effort on my part.

Someone screams. “Ayy, dios mio!” Someone else is calling for help. I turn my head to see a few women who’d no doubt released their seatbelts floating up to the bus roof, their arms and legs flailing even though it’s obvious they’re still disoriented. They hit the metal top of the bus, wincing from the cold and the impact. But I’m starting to think this isn’t a bus anymore, is it.

Gripping Jacqui’s hand, I swallow hard. It’s like moving saliva over cracked earth. My mouth feels slack and dry, like I haven’t used it in a long, long time. “Don’t unstrap yourself.”

She’s more awake now and her wide eyes find mine. “Jus, what the hell’s happening?”

I wish I could answer. I don’t like not having an answer.

“Gravity,” the woman behind us suddenly says. Her head sways as we lock gazes. “This is zero gravity.”