by Trudi Trueit
“Careful! Dugan just left.”
“Hold on.” Tapping the honeycomb pin on his lapel, Cruz said, “Mell, on.” He opened the lower-right pocket of his uniform to see the drone’s golden eyes blinking at him. “Mell, security mode. Remain near the ceiling in this outer passage and record all activity, then alert me if anyone stops near this door.” The MAV flew out of his pocket and zipped up to the top of the jamb. She helicoptered there for a moment before landing on the thin horizontal wood frame. He shut the door. “All secure.”
His aunt nodded her approval. “So, Norway, huh?”
“It’s the land of skrei and heather, Odin and Thor.” He grinned.
“So it is.” She tapped a glittery white nail against her chin. “So it is.” He could tell she was thinking of how to incorporate this new destination into their curriculum. “And just where in Norway are we headed?”
“Uh…that’s the part we haven’t figured out yet. We still don’t know what the artifact is or where it came from.” Feeling the slight vibration of the engine under him, Cruz blew out a big breath of air. “I know, I know, we have to hurry so we can tell Captain Iskandar.”
She tipped her head toward the porthole. “That’s the Jersey coast off the port bow. You have time.”
Maybe, but the sooner he figured out their destination, the better. Cruz felt restless, and not in a good way—not like when you can’t sit still because you’re waiting for something exciting to happen. He couldn’t shake the feeling that instead of a new beginning, something was ending. Not that he had any idea what it was. The whole thing was unsettling. Someone breaking into your room will do that to you, he supposed. That, and not enough sleep. He had tossed and turned through his first two nights on Orion.
Aunt Marisol was studying him. “Something else on your mind?”
There was, but…
She crossed the cramped office in two steps. Taking him by the shoulders, she turned him toward the only place to sit in the small office besides her desk chair: a bright red love seat. She plunked him down against a white pillow with a cross-stitched gold crown, then took the place beside him. “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours. Your curiosity is one of the things I love about you—probably because it reminds me so much of your mom—but you have to listen to me.” She waited until he’d lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I can’t give you any more information about the department that I never mentioned and you never heard me mention. I wish I could, but I can’t. Not yet.”
“I know.” Cruz could accept that she couldn’t tell him more about the Archive for the time being. Besides, that wasn’t what he’d been planning to talk to her about anyway. Cruz had something else on his mind. “I was wondering…are you…allowed to…I mean, can you tell me about the Synthesis?”
“The Synthesis?” she asked. “I can tell you what I know, which is basically what you know, since your mom was one of its founders. The Synthesis is a top secret scientific branch of the Society. It’s focused on researching the potential of the human mind and body. I’m not in the inner circle, but I know they’ve made progress in the areas of artificial intelligence and human strength and endurance—”
“What would they want with me?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You?”
Cruz let out a cleansing sigh. It felt good to say it to someone. Finally.
She tipped her head. “Cruz, has something happened? Has someone from the Synthesis contacted you?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should tell you—”
“You weren’t sure if you should tell me?” Her lips became a thin, red line. “We can’t have secrets between us, Cruz. If you’re going to be anything less than candid with me, then this…this finding the cipher to your mother’s formula isn’t going to work.”
He wrung his hands. “I should have said something before now. It’s just that with being expelled and getting attacked by Mr. Rook and coming on board the ship—”
“All right.” Her expression softened. “I didn’t mean to jump on you. Go on. Tell me how the Synthesis got in touch with you.”
“It happened after I was expelled…on the day I went to the museum to hang out and wait while you were investigating the CAVE hacking. I was in the museum, when the guy from Nebula, the one in the cowboy boots, grabbed me.”
“You told me you got away from him.”
“I did, but I didn’t stomp on his foot and run, like I told you. The truth is, I had…well, I had some help. See, the guy had me cornered in the basement and I thought I was a goner. Out of the blue, Jericho showed up and whacked him on the head with a dinosaur bone.” Cruz snickered. “It knocked him out cold. You should have seen it, Aunt Marisol. Jericho got there in the nick of time—”
“Jericho?”
“Jericho Miles. He’s a tech with the Synthesis. At least, I think he is. He’s pretty secretive about what he does. Emmett, Sailor, and I met him when we stumbled into the Synthesis lab…That’s why we were late for our first CAVE mission.” Her forehead was starting to get pruny, so he figured he’d keep talking. “Anyway, the reason Jericho was in the right place at the right time was because he was looking for me, too—not to kill me but to get a sample of my blood.”
“What?”
“Jericho said his boss had sent him, but he didn’t know why. I think he was telling the truth, because he…he changed his mind. About getting my blood, I mean. He let me go without getting the sample. Jericho took it from his own arm instead and told me to get out of there, which I did. Still, ever since it happened I’ve been wondering—”
“What does the Synthesis want with your blood?” Aunt Marisol was tapping her chin again. “I’ve never heard of this Jericho Miles, but I’ll certainly look into it…”
Cruz was suddenly flooded with fear. What had he been thinking? He’d made a mistake—a huge mistake—telling her. Hadn’t his mother said in her journal she didn’t know if the Society was friend or foe? Maybe someone in the Synthesis was working for Nebula, maybe even the entire lab! Now Aunt Marisol was going to start asking questions—questions Cruz was pretty certain nobody there wanted to answer.
“…one way or another,” she was saying, “we’ll get to the bottom of this—”
“No!” he cried. “Don’t, Aunt Marisol. Don’t ask anybody about anything.”
“But I thought you wanted to know why—”
“No, I…” His voice broke, tears springing to his eyes. A lump rose in his throat. His heart yelled out what he could not: I don’t want to lose you. I couldn’t handle that. Not after Mom. Not both of you.
Her arm went around him. “It’s all right, Cruz. Nothing will happen to you.”
“It’s not me…I’m worried about. Promise me you won’t do it, you won’t look into it.” He fought back tears. “You have to promise.”
He saw the terror on his face reflected in her eyes. “Okay,” she soothed. “We’ll leave it be for now. I’m glad you told me what happened.”
He laid his head against her shoulder. They stayed that way for a while, listening to the sounds of the ship—the steady hum of the engine, the clatter of dishes from the galley next door. Orion gently rocked the little red sofa and its two occupants, adding to the marine lullaby. Up and down. Up and down. Cruz never planned on falling asleep on his aunt’s shoulder.
But he did.
* * *
IT WAS SUNDAY MORNING and Cruz was lying on his side on top of his comforter, his elbow forming a triangle between the mattress and his head. He was reading an article Dr. Ishikawa had assigned in biology class about nucleic acids, the building blocks of all living organisms. The article explained how deoxyribonucleic acid holds the genetic code for every single cell in the body, carrying that information from one generation to the next. Cruz ran his finger over the illustration of a DNA molecule. He sat up and turned his arm over, his g
aze slowly moving from the rosy, twisted-ladder birthmark on the inside of his wrist to the spiraling rungs of DNA in the drawing.
Cruz had known for some time that his strange birthmark resembled a strand of DNA. It was his dad who’d first made the comparison when Cruz was much younger. “It means you’re unique,” explained his father, except Cruz didn’t feel unique. All he felt was weird. At school, kids teased him about the strange reddish pink blemish, so Cruz had become an expert at hiding it. He’d stuff his hands in his pockets or cover it with long sleeves, bracelets, watches—even duct tape. Since Cruz had come to the Academy more than a month ago, not a single person had mentioned it, except Taryn when she’d fitted him for his Open Sesame band. Instead of kidding him about it, she’d said it was cool. The band only hid a little bit of his birthmark. Cruz wondered, had he become so good at hiding it that no one else at the Academy had noticed? Possibly. Emmett, being his roommate, must have seen it. If so, he hadn’t said a peep.
Said roommate was now crouched next to Cruz’s dresser. His neck bent, Emmett had one eye closed as he lined up one white cube with an identical one he’d placed on Cruz’s nightstand. Squinting, Emmett slid the giant white ice-cube-size sensor an inch to the right.
“How’s the security system coming along?” asked Cruz.
“Almost done with the infrared beams.” Emmett tapped the cube a hair more to the right. “Let’s fire it up. Go outside. I’ll give you the signal to come in.”
Cruz obeyed. Once in the passage, he waited for Emmett to shout “Okay!” then opened the door. Nothing happened. “Uh-oh. Is it broken?”
Emmett squished up his lips. “You have to cross one of the beams.”
“Oops.” Cruz took a step in.
Wee-ooo-wee-ooo-wee-ooo!
Slapping his hands to his ears, Cruz felt a twitch at his hip. Suddenly, Mell flew out of his pocket. Hovering at eye level, she flashed her golden eyes at him: three short bursts, three longer ones, then three short ones again. She circled him, then repeated the pattern.
“Morse code,” yelled Emmett, shutting off the siren. “Mell is blinking the international distress signal to let you know we’ve had a security breach.”
“How in the world did you—”
“I also rigged it so when a sensor is tripped it sends out a high-frequency sound wave. It’s pitched at eighty kilohertz, so pretty much only bats and Mell can hear it.”
Did he say bats? Cruz’s ears were still ringing.
Emmett’s glasses had turned to round orbs of sunshine. “We’ve got eight sensors and four beams. One inside the door, another one a few feet beyond that in case our intruder gets past the first one, one from your dresser to your nightstand, and one to cover the veranda door to keep anyone from slipping in from the balcony.”
“Brilliant,” said Cruz, his hearing almost back to normal.
“I’m not done. That’s Phase One. We can only use them at night, when we’re the only ones here. See? That’s why I left us a clear path to the bathroom. Phase Two is cameras. Fanchon loaned me some that she designed herself. Check these out.” Emmett took a small rectangular box from his pocket, lifted the lid, and held it out to Cruz.
He peered in. “These are cameras? They look like seashells.”
“Wicked, huh?” Emmett gave him a proud grin as he reached in for what appeared to be a polished white conch shell. “And we can rig them up to our communicators so when anyone enters, we’ll get a voice alert; then we can switch over to our tablets to see who it is in real time. As soon as I place these, I’m going up to the tech lab so Fanchon can help me connect everything. Want to come?”
“I’ll leave it to you. You’re the experts. Besides, I want to go see the submarine.” Cruz left Emmett to place the camera shells and headed down two decks to B deck. He went past the cargo hold and through a door marked AQUATICS. Cruz followed the arrow below the words SUB DOCK and took a sharp left, then a right. A few steps inside a large room, Cruz stopped short. His eyes slowly traveled up what looked like a giant olive green egg. Ridley!
Cruz rested a hand on the metal exterior of the submarine. He’d read everything about it he could possibly get his hands on. Named after one of the most endangered turtles on Earth, the Kemp’s ridley, the Neptune II–class deep submergence vehicle, or DSV, was 15.8 feet high and 40.2 feet long. Ridley had a reinforced hull that was almost impenetrable, four robotic arms, and six high-definition cameras. Inside, there was room for a pilot, copilot, and about eight passengers. The vehicle could travel up to 25 miles at eight knots and dive to the seafloor at the deepest part of the ocean—almost seven miles down!
The top hatch was opening. Embarrassed, Cruz jumped back.
Tripp Scarlatos’s ruffled head appeared. “She’s a beaut, ain’t she?”
“She sure is! Am I bothering you? You said I could come by—”
“No worries, mate. Just running diagnostics. Come on down and have a look around.”
Cruz pointed to his chest. “You mean…me…in there?”
Tripp’s head slipped below. Only his hand remained, motioning for Cruz to follow. Cruz climbed the ladder on the side of the sub and carefully lowered himself into the pod. It was tight inside but not claustrophobic. The curved walls were covered in panels all filled with levers, switches, buttons, and dials.
“Give her a try.” Tripp gestured for Cruz to sit in the pilot’s seat.
Cruz eased himself into the leather chair behind the U-shaped steering column.
“There’s your forward thruster and reverse.” Tripp tapped a lever to Cruz’s right. “On your right is your main control panel—forward, reverse, dive. To the left are your robotics. You can also wall off the back section to create an airtight seal so you can send out your dive team.”
“What’s this little yellow button for?” Cruz reached out.
“Don’t touch that!”
Cruz quickly drew back. “Sorry.”
“Just kiddin’, mate.” Tripp pressed his thumb into the yellow button, and the wall in front of them glowed. “Headlights.”
Cruz laughed. “How many dives have you done in Ridley?”
“Gosh, I dunno, hundreds. It’s been a few years since I’ve had my lemonade bath.”
“Your what?”
“New pilots always get doused with a bucket of lemonade after their first dive. Rite of passage. Rather a sticky rite, if you ask me.”
“It’d be worth it to be able to drive Ridley. I’d give anything to learn.”
Tripp spun his chameleon ring around his finger. “I could teach you. If you wanted.”
If he wanted? To drive Ridley? Was Tripp kidding? Of course he wanted!
“That would be gramazing.” Cruz let out a snort. “Gramazing! I couldn’t make up my mind whether to say ‘great’ or ‘amazing,’ so I said both!”
“Crackin’ term. Say, I’ve got a bit of time now. Want your first lesson in DSV operation?”
Cruz did not need to be asked twice. Lani was never going to believe this. He could hardly believe it himself!
Tripp slid into the copilot’s seat. “Let’s start with propulsion basics…”
“SERIOUSLY?” Lani slapped a hand to her cheek. “You got to drive the sub?”
“Not yet, but Tripp says after a few lessons I’ll be ready to be his copilot on a real dive.”
“Ah, maaaan!” Emmett’s glasses were a carousel of oranges, yellows, and greens. “I should have gone with you.”
“I have another lesson next Sunday!” exclaimed Cruz. “I’ll ask if you can come along.”
Lani sighed. “I wish I could come, too.”
She looked so disappointed; Cruz felt terrible. He didn’t know what to say. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her every incredible thing that happened to him. It would only make them both feel bad—Lani because she wasn’t here and Cruz because he was. But L
ani was his closest friend in the world. How do you keep the best stuff from your best friend?
“Taryn to explorers!” Cruz was startled by the voice coming through the EA pin on his lapel. He was still getting used to the thing. “All explorers, please report to the third-deck conference room in ten minutes. Repeat. Third-deck conference room in ten minutes.”
“I thought Sundays were our free day,” groaned Emmett.
Cruz shrugged. He’d thought so, too.
“You’d better go.” Lani’s voice dripped with longing.
“Bye, Lani. I’ll call you later.” Cruz waved to her, before tucking his tablet under his arm.
In the passageway, Cruz and Emmett joined the explorers streaming toward the atrium. Cruz caught up to Zane, who was at the front of the group. “Do you know what’s going on?”
“Not a clue.”
“Maybe it’s a muster drill,” said Ali. “You know, so we can practice going to our lifeboat stations and evacuating the ship.”
“We’d have heard an alarm for that,” interjected Emmett.
When they filed into the conference room, Taryn was already there. She stood at the head of the table. Instead of her usual warm greeting, she said, rather crisply, “Please divide into your teams and have a seat. Team Magellan, take the back right; Team Cousteau to the back left; Team Earhart, sit to my right; and, Team Galileo, you will be here on my left.”
Cruz took a seat between Emmett and Bryndis. Dugan sat next to Bryndis, and Sailor slipped into the chair beside him. All the teams but theirs were comprised of six explorers. Renshaw McKittrick had been their sixth member, until he’d been expelled. Cruz wondered how things would work now that Team Cousteau was down a member.
“It’s been brought to my attention that we have a serious problem on board Orion.” Taryn placed both hands on the table. “It must be dealt with as soon as possible.”
Cruz shifted. What could they have done? Taryn rarely got this stern with them. Bryndis’s face, already naturally pale, had gone chalk white. Emmett’s emoto-glasses were turning a filmy gray. He was scared.
