The Cassini Code

by Dom Testa

  “Within the first four months after the launch,” Merit said, “we had not one, but two separate incidents which almost destroyed us. Two.”

  Lita leaned forward. “I don’t think I quite understand what you’re hinting at. You’re suggesting…what?”

  He straightened up. “It’s time for us to turn around and head home.”

  “What?” Channy blurted out. “Are you crazy? We can’t go back to Earth. Bhaktul’s Disease—”

  Gap chuckled. “The best medical minds have worked on Bhaktul for years, and they have nothing to show for it.”

  “You’re forgetting one very important factor,” Merit said. “The Cassini.”

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  To my sister, Donna

  Sock fights, back-seat vacations, midnight movies with chips and dip…

  Thank you for the lifelong adventure.

  Acknowledgments

  There is no anxiety that compares to the worry of trying to remember everyone who has pitched in, helped out, and generally been there. Every author understands…Thanks to Dorsey Moore, whose editing eye has made me better in so many ways, and to Judy Bulow, a friend, a believer, and champion, not just in the literary world…but in life.

  To all of the teachers, librarians, and other educators who have used the Galahad series as a learning tool. That is the greatest compliment I could ever receive. Love and thanks, as always, to Jen Byrne for leading the charge.

  I’m grateful to work with Jacques de Spoelberch and Judith Briles and thankful for the support and inspiration of Debra Gano and Heartlight Girls. To the amazing people at Tor, including Kathleen Doherty, Susan Chang, Tom Doherty, Dot Lin, and a host of others: thank you!

  To the best writer in the family: my son, Dominic.

  And a very fond tip of the cap to each and every member of Club Galahad. No author has a better cheering section, and I never, ever forget how lucky I am.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

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  Tor Teen Reader’s Guide

  Recorded human history stretches back more than five thousand years, and there has been complete and total peace for less than five hundred of those years. Humans are a notoriously disgruntled bunch. Even the best of friends who are convinced they could never disagree or fight over anything usually discover something that drives a wedge between them, and before you know it there’s drama. Add a third person to the mix, and you mathematically increase the chances of conflict.

  Add another 248 and our shipload of explorers on Galahad are asking for trouble.

  Despite their best intentions, humans squabble. They can’t help it. They’re aggressive creatures by nature, and no amount of evolving and learning seems to be able to curb that. It’s especially difficult on Galahad, because it launched from Earth seven months ago with 251 high-achievers. Extremely intelligent high-achievers, to be sure, and good kids, no question about that. But for all of their cultural differences, they’re still the same breed, and eventually tempers will flare.

  Oh, and let’s not forget that they’re confined to a spaceship that will be their home for another four-and-a-half years. True, it’s a very large ship, but restricted nonetheless. Old-timers on Earth would have called it cabin fever, and our happy campers can’t exactly step outside to get some fresh air.

  Galahad is actually on a rescue mission. The object of that mission is essentially to save the human race from extinction, thanks to a rogue comet that deposited a nasty substance into the Earth’s atmosphere. Within months the entire adult population began to fall deathly ill with Bhaktul’s Disease, named for the killer comet. Kids under the age of eighteen were immune, for reasons unknown, and it seemed the only chance humankind had left was to pack up as many kids as possible and get them away from the contamination before they turned eighteen.

  Dr. Wallace Zimmer dreamed up the idea of a lifeboat to the stars, and rounded up 251 of the planet’s brightest young people. Two years of training could not prepare them for everything, but it was all the time they had.

  Within days of the launch they faced almost certain death at the hands of a madman who had stowed away in the ship’s mysterious Storage Sections. Four months after that encounter Galahad barely escaped catastrophe again, this time thanks to an alien force near the ringed planet of Saturn. Both times the crew, led by Triana Martell, the ship’s Council Leader, found a way to slip out of danger and press on toward their final destination, the planetary system circling the star called Eos.

  Let’s face it, they’ve had to pull together. Humans, for all of their disagreements, basically understand that they need each other to survive. It gets a little tough sometimes—and often they want to throttle each other—but sticking together is what has pulled them through.

  How do I know so much? I’m only the most incredible computer ever designed, that’s how. Even though my primary responsibility is running the ship, I can’t help but get dragged into the daily lives of these crazy kids. And although it’s sometimes a struggle to understand their irrational behavior, I still like them. Too much, I think.

  My name is Roc, and my first responsibility is to encourage you to read the first two tales, conveniently labeled The Comet’s Curse and The Web of Titan. If you’re stubborn, and insist on wading into the midst of things here, okay. I’ve done my best to fill you in, and you’ll probably do just fine. But you’ll be missing out on some hair-raising adventures. Go on. Read them. I’ll wait for you to catch up.

  At any rate, we’re now seven months out from Earth, three months past the near-catastrophe around Saturn, and wouldn’t you know it’s just about time for trouble to pop up again? Remember our little talk about humans and conflict?

  Why can’t we all just get along?

  1

  The warning siren blared through the halls, running through its customary sequence of three shorts bursts, a five-second delay, then one longer burst, followed by ten heavenly seconds of silence before starting all over again. There could be no doubt that each crew member aboard Galahad was aware—painfully aware—that there was a problem.

  Gap Lee found it annoying.

  He stood, hands on hips and a scowl etched across his face, staring at the digital readout before him. One of his assistants, Ramasha, waited at his side, glancing back and forth between the control panel and Gap.
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  “Please shut that alarm off again, will you?” he said to her. “Thanks.”

  Moments later a soft tone sounded from the intercom on the panel, followed by the voice of Lita Marques, calling from Galahad’s clinic.

  “Oh, Gap darling.” He sensed the laughter bubbling behind her words, and chose to ignore her for as long as possible.

  “Gap dear,” she said. “We’ve looked everywhere for gloves and parkas, but just can’t seem to turn any up. Know where we could find some?” This time he distinctly heard the pitter of laughter in the background.

  “Are you ignoring me, Gap?” Lita said through the intercom. “Listen, it’s about sixty-two degrees here in Sick House. If you’re trying to give me the cold shoulder, it’s too late.” There was no hiding the laughs after this, and Gap was sure that it was Lita’s assistant, Alexa, carrying most of the load.

  “Yes, you’re very funny,” Gap said, nodding his head. “Listen, if you’re finished with the jokes for now, I’ll get back to work.”

  This time it was definitely Alexa who called out from the background. “Okay. If it gets any colder we’ll just open a window.” Lita snickered across the speaker before Alexa continued. “Outside it’s only a couple hundred degrees below zero. That might feel pretty good after this.”

  Gap could tell that the girls weren’t finished with their teasing, so he reached over and clicked off the intercom. Then, turning to Ramasha, he found her suppressing her own laughter, the corners of her mouth twitching with the effort. Finally, she spread her hands and said, “Well, you have to admit, it is a little funny.”

  He ignored this and looked back at the control panel. What was wrong with this thing? Even though his better judgment warned him not to, he decided to bring the ship’s computer into the discussion.

  “Roc, what if we changed out the Balsom clips for the whole level? I know they show on the monitors as undamaged, but what have we got to lose?”

  The very human-like voice replied, “Time, for one thing. Besides, wouldn’t you know it, the warranty on Balsom clips expires after only thirty days. Sorry, Gap, but I think you’re grasping now. My recommendation stands; shut down the system for the entire level and let it reset.”

  Gap closed his eyes and sighed. Some days it just didn’t pay to be the Head of Engineering on history’s most incredible spacecraft. He opened his eyes again when he felt the presence of someone else standing beside him.

  It was Triana Martell. At least Galahad’s Council Leader seemed relatively serious about the problem. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you,” she said calmly, “that it’s getting a little frosty on Level Six.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Gap said. “About a hundred times today, at least.” He turned back to the panel. “Contrary to what some of your Council members think, I am working on it. Trying to, anyway.”

  Triana smiled. “My Council members? I’m just the Council Leader, Gap, not Queen. Besides, you’re on the team, too, remember?”

  Gap muttered something under his breath, which caused Triana’s smile to widen. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. Has Roc been any help?”

  Her subtle touch was enough to jar him from his bleak mood. He felt the ghost of his old emotions flicker briefly, especially when their gazes met, his dark eyes connecting with her dazzling green. A year’s worth of emotional turbulence replayed in his mind, from his early infatuation with Triana, to the heartache of discovering she had feelings for someone else, to his unexpected relationship with Hannah Ross.

  Even now, months later, he had to admit that contact with Triana still caused old feelings to stir, feelings that seemed reluctant to disappear completely. Maybe they never would.

  “Well?” Triana said. He realized that he had responded to her question with a blank stare.

  “Oh. Uh, no. Well, yes and no.”

  Triana removed her hand from his shoulder and crossed her arms, a look Gap recognized as “please explain.” He internally shook off the cobwebs and turned back to the panel.

  “I’m thinking it might be the Balsom clips for Level Six. That would explain the on-again, off-again heating problems.”

  “But?”

  “But Roc disagrees. He says he has run tests on every clip on Level Six, and they check out fine. He wants to shut down the system and restart.”

  Triana looked at the panel, then back to Gap. “And you don’t want to try that?”

  Gap shrugged. “I’m just a little nervous about shutting down the heating system for the whole ship when a section has been giving us problems. What happens if the malfunction spreads to the entire system?”

  “Well, we would freeze to death, for one thing,” Triana said.

  “Yeah. So, maybe I’m being a little overly cautious, but I’d like to try everything else before we resort to that.”

  The intercom tone sounded softly, and then the unmistakable voice of Channy Oakland, another Galahad Council member, broke through the speaker. “Hey, Gap, did you know it’s snowing up here on Level Six?”

  Triana barely suppressed a laugh while Gap snapped off the intercom.

  “I’ll quit bothering you,” she said, turning to leave. Over her shoulder she called out, “Check back in with me in about an hour. I’ll be ice skating in the Conference Room.”

  “Very funny,” Gap said as she walked out the door. He looked over at Ramasha, who had remained silently standing a few feet away. A cautious grin was stitched across her face. “What are you laughing at?” he said with a scowl.

  They were only chunks of ice and rock. But there were trillions of them, and they tumbled blindly through the outermost regions of the solar system, circling a sun that appeared only as one of the brighter stars, lost amongst the dazzling backdrop of the Milky Way. Named after the astronomer who had first predicted its existence, the Kuiper Belt was a virtual ring of debris, a minefield of rubble ranging from the size of sand grains up to moon-sized behemoths, orbiting at a mind-numbing distance beyond even the gas giants of Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune.

  Arguments had raged for decades over whether lonely Pluto should be considered a planet or a hefty member of the Kuiper Belt. And, once larger Kuiper objects were detected and catalogued, similar debates began all over again. One thing, however, remained certain.

  The Kuiper Belt posed a challenge for the ship called Galahad. Maneuvering through a region barely understood and woefully mapped, the shopping mall-sized spacecraft would be playing a game of dodge ball in the stream of galactic junk. Mission organizers could only manage a guess at how long it would take for the ship to scamper through the maze. Taking into account the blazing speed that Galahad now possessed—including a slight nudge from an unexpected encounter around Saturn—Roc told Triana to be on high alert for about sixty days.

  Now, as they rocketed toward the initial fragments of the Kuiper Belt, both Roc and the ship’s Council were consumed with solving the heating malfunction aboard the ship, unaware of the dark, mountainous boulders that were camouflaged against the jet black background of space.

  Boulders that were on a collision course with Galahad.

  2

  Triana sat in the back of the Dining Hall, in her customary seat facing the door. Her tray held the remnants of a scant breakfast that had begun as an energy block and two small pieces of fruit, and now that tray was pushed aside. She fixed her gaze on the table’s vidscreen, scanning the list of emails that had drifted in over the past seven hours. Mostly routine reports from the various departments on the ship, it appeared, with an extra entry from Channy. Curious, Triana opened the file.

  Galahad’s Activities/Nutrition Director, Channy was unquestionably the crew’s spirit leader, too. Always upbeat—and visible from miles away in the vividly-colored t-shirts and shorts that contrasted with her chocolate-toned skin, and had become her trademark—she was one of the most popular crew members on board. Even after drilling her shipmates to near exhaustion in notorious workout
s, the girl from England always found a way to bring out a sweaty smile.

  She managed to do the same thing with her emails. This one she had addressed to each of the Council members.

  The time has come for another celebrated Galahad gathering, my friends. As you know, my ability to coordinate successful functions is almost spooky, a talent that many strive for, but few achieve. Reference the two smash-hit soccer tournaments so far, and the amazing concert that brought a standing ovation for our beautiful and talented doc, Lita. What’s next, you ask? Well, given my uncanny skills in uncovering smoldering romance, it’s only natural: a dating game.

  Triana couldn’t help but smile. There was no doubt that Channy had earned her reputation as a first-rate Cupid, along with a side reputation for gossip. A dating game was so Channy that Triana was surprised the Brit hadn’t dreamed it up before. She quickly finished reading through the email.

  I propose that at the next Council meeting we discuss a good time to host this much-needed event. Work is work, and play is play, and both are important. But so is social time. Like the song says, love is all around. It just needs a little kick in the pants every now and then.

  See you in the gym. Especially if you want to participate in my little show.

  C

  With a laugh, Triana saved the note and went on to the next one, a standard progress report from Bon Hartsfield, the head of Galahad’s Agricultural Department. His work in the farms was impressive, a product of his strict upbringing on his father’s farm in Sweden. His rough childhood was manifested in a sour, gruff exterior that intimidated many people on the ship, and kept him isolated socially. On a couple of occasions, however, his tough outer shell had been pierced in front of Triana, revealing a gentler side that he seemed embarrassed to admit existed.