Water drips from a swelling, yellow stain in the corner of the ceiling. The sound echoes off the walls like a heart still beating beneath the floorboards in an old story.

They've tried to make this room look clean and sharp with the chrome furniture and white paint, but it doesn't even pass for clinical. The leaks in the ceiling and black mold crawling up from the floor give away the disrepair of this tomb of a prison.

We are fifty feet below the surface, and I haven't seen the sun in months.

The man sitting across from me drums his fingers on the cold, metal table. I twist my hands around in my cuffs.

"Do you know why you are here, Miss Heart?" He doesn't make eye contact as he picks up his tablet, tapping the glass screen with the stylus. It must feel like a foreign object to him. The technology is beyond dated, but his temple implant is all but useless down here where there is no service. Unless he wants to use an actual pen and paper, technology from last century is his only option.

"Because I embezzled one and a half billion dollars from a health insurance company that refuses to pay out when their clients need lifesaving treatments?" I finally answer his question.

The man's lips turn up into a slight smirk, but his dark brown eyes stay fixed on his screen. "Yes, Robin Hood, we both know that. But we both also know you are smart enough to understand my question wasn't referring to why you are in this prison."

I roll my eyes. The cloying scent of his cologne fills the room like a noxious gas. Around his neck, his tie pulls the purple collar of his shirt so tight, I don't know how he can even breathe.

Beyond the door to this windowless cell, footsteps clack down the hall. In the distance, I hear screaming. I pinch my eyes shut, pretending I'm on the surface. Pretending I'm somewhere else—anywhere else—but here.

But is the surface really any better? A small voice in the back of my head asks.

I swallow a lump in my throat. "Fine, no," I respond. "I don't know why you've brought me to this room. I'm a genius, not a mind reader. Why don't you tell me, oh wise one?" Dumbass.

Dumbass finally puts down his ancient tablet and meets my gaze, studying me. I do the same with him. He appears to be in his mid- to late-thirties. His dark hair is coiffed and greased back—not a strand out of place. The collar of his shirt is starched to the point that it looks uncomfortable, and his jacket is a designer brand, probably costing more than most people make in a month.

I'm glad I dressed in my best for the occasion, too. I'm sure I look just as put together in my orange jumpsuit and matching headband.

"Miss Heart—"

"Shawn, please," I interrupt him.

"Shawn," he continues, "my name is Duke Green." He holds out his hand to me as if to shake.

I glare at him over my glasses and raise my hands above the table, emphasizing the cuffs clamped around my wrists.

After a second's pause, he lowers his hand, impressively revealing no indication of embarrassment. "Shawn Heart," he begins again, flashing me a smile I assume he thinks is charming, "the reason you are here today is because you fall into a very narrow band of convicts."

"And what band would that be, Duke? I don't play any instruments."

My joke falls flat. I don't think Duke Dumbass Green would recognize humor if it sat on him. Or maybe it's my sense of humor that's broken. Six months underground in a dungeon can do that to a girl.

"There are very few people like you in this world, Shawn. You have an exceptionally high IQ, you exhibit no signs of violent tendencies, and you have also been sentenced to life in prison."

"Fifty years," I correct him, adding a wink because I'm feeling flirty.

"Right. Essentially life."

"Come on, man." I let out a forced laugh. "How old do I look to you? I'm only twenty-four."

He ignores my humorous remark again and continues. "What I'm offering you is something you probably haven't had in a long time. It's a choice."

He examines me, as if waiting to get some sort of response, but I don't give away any hints about what I'm thinking. I keep my expression neutral, biting on the insides of my cheeks to hide my curiosity.

"I work for the Interstellar Colonization Corporation," he explains. "We are currently planning our first manned mission to Alpha Centauri Ace, a planet located in the habitable zone of the Alpha Centauri star system."

I stare at him blank-faced as I wait for him to continue. My index and middle finger involuntarily tap the side of my right temple. The implant I've had behind my right eye since I was born was disabled the day I was imprisoned, but I still can't break the habit of reaching to it when I need to think.

It allows the mind direct access to the Internet through satellite signals, but even if they hadn't disabled it, in a high security prison like this, I'd get no service anyway. They worry high-risk criminals will find a way to reenable the device, so for redundancy, we are kept down under where the sun don't shine and the satellites can't ping. Even if I could hack in and reenable the implant, about all I'd be able to do is mind-play the same fifty sudoku games and crossword puzzles I have saved to my system until the cows come home or I die, whichever comes first.

Another drip of water from above startled me from my thoughts. I turn my focus back to Duke.

"Ace Centauri has liquid surface water and may even host microbial life," he continues. "We also believe its atmosphere and gravity match that of Earth closely enough to make it an excellent candidate for colonization."

I know about the star system. I'm also aware of Ace Centauri, the planet discovered back in 2102, the same year I was born, but I keep my fly trap shut.

"The star system is only four and a half light years away," Duke says as he scribbles something into his tablet, "but even with the most cutting-edge technology, the journey will still take thirty-two years to complete. Although we can use icing chambers to induce a state of cryogenic stasis that will suspend the aging process for the duration of the journey, there are still certain . . . roadblocks . . . preventing the approval of the mission."

I blink three times. "So, you want to send people to start setting up a colony on Ace Centauri, but the government won't approve it without extensive testing because it's too dangerous. Is that what we are getting at?"

"Right." He nods. "That's where you come in. As a Class A prisoner, the same regulatory requirements don't apply to you."

"Since I'm already spending life in prison, my safety doesn't matter?"

"This is a choice, not a mandate, Shawn. You don't have to do anything. You can stay on Earth and serve out your sentence in this prison until the ripe old age of seventy-four if you so desire."

He pauses. The water dripping from the leak in the ceiling pounds in time with my pulse. A flare of a headache shoots up from the base of my skull.

"Or, you can take this offer." Duke smiles, flashing a set of perfectly white teeth. Small wrinkles crinkle at the corners of his eyes, giving away the age he tries to hide with his youthful expressions. "Travel to Alpha Centauri Ace as a part of the first mission of colonists. If the journey is successful and the ship lands safely, your crimes will be pardoned, and you will have the opportunity to start a new life for yourself there as you build a new world."

I pick at my fingernails, twisting my hands around in the binds. The cold metal burns as it rubs against my wrists.

Earth is dying—I know that. We've all known that for decades. The smog that emerged after the Third World War only accelerated the progression of the death of our planet—stifling more and more plant life every year. We've made small changes to slow the progression, but if we don't make drastic changes soon, Earth as we know it will cease to exist.

It may be another few decades or another few centuries, but eventually the seas will rise to the point that they consume our coastal cities completely. Plant life will roast under the increasing heat. Despite all the technology we've developed, we will be unable to sustain ourselves.

Anarchist groups have already begun to erupt as the governments struggle with control amid the decreasing food supply and destruction from the growing number of tropical storms as the temperatures of our oceans rise.

Maybe, it would be easier to start fresh on a new planet—one that hasn't been infected by hundreds of years of humans learning how to progress without destroying what they've been given in the process.

"You say the journey takes thirty years?" I finally ask.

"Thirty-two."

"So, if I go on this mission, by the time I arrive, essentially everyone I've ever known will either be dead or ancient. I'll never see my friends or family again."

He nods. "You'll never return to Earth again."

Sweat drips from my hairline, despite the fact that they only heat this underground dungeon to a balmy sixty-two degrees Fahrenheit. A bead of sweat runs down my temple and around my cheekbone like a tear.

"Will that be a problem?" Duke asks.

I lick the back of my teeth. I don't really have any friends. Or, at least not any that would jump through the hoops to visit me in a high security prison like this. Not that I would want any of them to visit me here either, for that matter. Being a prisoner is demeaning.

As far as family goes, I've been alone for a while now. My dad died three years ago. A drunk driver hit him on his way home from a late night at work. It broke the last bits of my heart, but if there is any silver lining to it, at least his death was quick. Sudden. He never had to contemplate the idea of his own death. It happened before I was convicted, too. He didn't have to live see his daughter go to prison.

The woman who was my mother died the same day my older sister Lucy did, leaving behind the ghost of the woman who raised us.

Lucy died when I was twelve. She didn't have the same luxury as my dad. Her death was not quick, and she knew it was coming for months. We all did.

The cancer she had could have been treated.

"No, that won't be a problem," I respond to Duke's question, blinking tears from my eyes. "I don't have anyone left here I'm going to miss."

Now, he's the one waiting for me to continue.

"So, let me get this straight," I finally begin again, "you're entrusting a bunch of highly intelligent convicts with a multi-billion-dollar asset and sending them on a thirty-two year journey through space to a planet where it will take four and a half years just to bounce a communication message back, and this doesn't seem like a dumb idea to you?"

"I'm going to be upfront with you, Shawn. This is a government funded initiative, so money isn't what we are lacking. What we need is approval, and the quickest way to get that is a test run."

"And prisoners are expendable?" I ask. "We're test subjects?"

"I assure you, your best interests are our best interests. Think about it logically. If this mission is a success, we benefit greatly. We get the approval we need to further the initiative and send more missions to Alpha Centauri Ace. If the mission fails, we gain nothing."

"So, convicts to colonists?"

"Ever heard of Australia?" He flashes me another grin, and I feel my own face returning the gesture without input from my brain.

He picks up his tablet, spinning the stylus between his fingers. "Should I put your name down, then?"

"Fine," I say. "I'm in. When do we leave?"