Father and I peer at the Sun through gilded visors. He points to the small black spot beginning its transit. “There’s Phobos. Right on time.”

My heart begins to race. “Will it block the Sun?”

“No, it’s too small to fully eclipse.”

I hold his gloved hand in mine so tightly that the air circulation is cut off. “But, daddy, it’s going to.”

“It won’t, honey. It’s not big enough. It won’t be like night.”

Strange sounds travel through my suit as sweaty fingers squeak on the silicone loosely fit around them.

“There is nothing to be afraid of. It won’t get dark enough to be a problem.”

Phobos meanders its way across the Sun. Center stage. All the world its audience. All 74 of us.

Father’s hand loosens. Phobos hangs and grows in place like a dilating pupil overtaking an iris.

“Run!” someone exclaims on the radio. “Airlocks!”

Father pulls me by my hand. My Feet lift from the red soil to flail behind me. We glide, hanging above the ground, ready for his feet to touch.

“Daddy!” I scream into the receiver.

A dark shape blurs into existence above his helmet and talons tear into his suit.

Fog hisses against the ravenous phantom.

Father’s feet lift higher and my feet dangle below. His grip tightens on my hand.

I’ll go with him. I won’t leave him.

He swings me into a wide arch, my whole body flailing, and I soar through the thin atmosphere.

“Daddy!”

I strike the dusty ground and bounce.

“Daddy!”

Gloves grab mine and drag me into the airlock. The hatch seals behind.

“I love you,” he says.

Static hisses against the silence.