The Black Girl Survives in This One: "Welcome Back to the Cosmos" by Kortney Nash

My locs hover around my face like Medusa’s snakes, looping through a wayward string of pearls among the rest of the knickknacks lingering in the air.

Our space suits are a garish lime green with several thick reflective strips circling the arms, legs, and torso.

From the outside, our helmets are an opaque black, paired with our identical horrifically bright suits.

Moe’s voice, laden with static, travels to the speaker of my helmet via Bluetooth.

They’re the only one on our team who doesn’t see our job as a quick gig so much as the beginning of a long career that culminates in titles like lieutenant or commander.

“Something about the machinery killing too many of the assembly-line workers, right? Or is this the one where there was some type of nuclear meltdown and all the employees disappeared?” Paloma asks, completely ensconced in darkness for a moment before I turn my flashlight on, illuminating the entire room in stark clarity.

Before I can take a step farther, I feel that telltale nagging deep in my hindbrain that says I’m being watched.

Both of my teammates being as annoying as ever helps to calm my fraying nerves enough for me to stick my arms out in front of me and begin groping my way through the room.

The labored sound of my breathing bounces around in my helmet and gives me a headache.

I try to distract myself by imagining the factory in its prime—people filling every cubicle, the decadent chandelier in the lobby greeting them each morning, going through their lockers after work, and chatting with the receptionists up front.

I can’t help the ragged cry that escapes me, but I roll onto my back more deftly than I thought possible, blocking their next attempt at gripping my helmet.

I’m aiming it at their stomach with a guttural scream before I even have time to think about it.

Finally, Paloma speaks up, a note of concern leaking into her typical irreverent tone.

Even if they do steal faces, do they steal mannerisms, personalities, memories, and inside jokes?

I give a stilted nod and hold up the mission patch, ready to ask my million-dollar question when Moe interrupts me.