The Cassini Code

by Dom Testa

  This particular note showed no signs of softness. Just the usual report on crop harvests, a report on which foods would be rotated in and out, and crew personnel files. No personal notation, no quick “Hi, how’s it going?” Just typical Bon.

  Triana shuffled through several more items in the inbox, but stopped on one that seemed out of the ordinary. Written by a sixteen-year-old boy from California, it struck Triana as bizarre.

  I speak for a group of Galahad crew members who are concerned about certain issues aboard the ship. I’d like to request the opportunity to speak with either you, or the full Council, at the earliest convenience.

  Merit Simms

  She bit her lip and read it a second time. “Concerned about certain issues.” What did that mean? Triana knew Merit, but not well. The few times she had encountered him since the launch he had been surrounded by a group of friends who seemed to hang on his every word, almost a leader of his own personal Council.

  She had never heard a cross word from him, nor a complaint. Yet there was no denying that this particular note suggested a complaint was forthcoming.

  “Okay,” she thought, and stored the email in her saved file. Could be nothing, she decided. Several crew members had voiced minor issues that required Council intervention, but never anything critical. Mostly they concerned disputes with roommates, or problems with conflicting work schedules. “We’ve been lucky,” Triana thought, especially given the cramped quarters they had all shared during the past seven months, and the ever-present stress of the mission in general. There was no reason to think Merit’s note signaled anything more involved; perhaps he simply had a flair for the dramatic.

  “Good morning, Tree.”

  Triana looked up to see Lita holding her own breakfast tray. Lita’s dark complexion, signs of her upbringing in Veracruz, Mexico, radiated a naturally friendly glow. Her smile was infectious, and, as usual, a bright red ribbon held back her long dark hair. She indicated the seat next to Triana.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “No, please,” Triana said, picking up her tray and moving it to an empty table beside them. “I’m just checking mail from last night and this morning.”

  “Anything good?” Lita asked, placing a napkin on her lap and taking a brief swig from her glass of artificial juice.

  Triana shared Channy’s idea of the dating game, causing Lita to snort laughter just as she was taking a bite of fruit.

  “Boy, doesn’t that fit perfectly?” the ship’s Health Director said. “Wonder what took her so long?”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Triana said. “But, you know, given her history—and her charm, of course—I’m sure it will be a big hit.”

  Lita chewed on an energy bar thoughtfully, then fixed her friend with a stare. “Just be ready to have Channy nominate you for the game.”

  Triana froze. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Lita shrugged. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I wouldn’t be surprised if Channy didn’t dream up this whole idea just to fix you up with someone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s worried about you, that’s why. She sometimes thinks of you as the ‘Ice Queen.’ You know, all work and no play.”

  A look of disbelief fell over Triana’s face. “Oh, please. Listen, you tell little Miss Matchmaker that I’m just fine. And I will not be a contestant on her game show, or whatever it is.”

  “Well, if she really brings it up in the next Council meeting, you can let her down easy,” Lita said, finishing off a chunk of apple. “Just leave me out of it.”

  They sat in silence for a minute, with Lita picking at her breakfast, while Triana let her mind drift into an area she usually didn’t like it to visit. Regardless of what some crew members might imagine, she knew in her heart that she was no Ice Queen. It would be so much easier, she realized, if she were. That would mean no emotional roller coaster over what to do about Bon.

  And just what was she going to do about him? First she was warm to the idea of a relationship, and he was distant. Then Bon warmed up and she couldn’t decide if she still wanted the same thing. Which left them exactly where they were at this point: in limbo, neither making any move right now. Was it always going to be this difficult?

  Her internal debate was interrupted by the sound of a minor commotion. A group of boys had entered the Dining Hall, laughing loudly, and exchanging greetings with several crew members near the door. At the center of the cluster, an air of aloofness surrounding him, stood a boy of average height with a mane of long, jet-black hair. While his companions struck up conversations with those gathered near them, the boy’s dark eyes scanned the room, taking in the occupants. After a moment his gaze settled upon Triana. She returned his steady look until he nodded slightly.

  Lita looked over her shoulder at the boisterous group, then back to Triana. “Isn’t that Merit Simms?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Lita took one more quick glance toward the door. “I’ve heard some stuff about him lately.”

  Triana raised her eyebrows. “Really? What have you heard?”

  “Oh, that he’s been pretty vocal about some things. Thinks we need to make some changes, stuff like that.”

  Triana sized him up as he casually made his way to pick up a tray. His slight build was not imposing, but something about the way he carried himself gave off an almost regal manner. The moment he started toward the food line, Triana noticed that the other boys who had entered with him immediately ended their conversations and fell into step behind him. It had all the indications of an entourage.

  And for reasons she couldn’t quite figure out, it made her uneasy.

  Lita looked thoughtfully at her friend. “Something wrong?”

  “No,” Triana said. “It’s just ironic that Merit happened to walk in right now. I haven’t run into him in several weeks, but he sent me an email last night.” She spent a minute telling Lita about the cryptic note.

  Lita tossed her napkin onto the tray. “He’s a little full of himself. And his fan club probably cheers him on whenever he starts to make a speech about anything. I wouldn’t worry about it.” She stood and picked up both her tray and Triana’s. “People like that are usually just a bag of hot air.” She gave a finger wave goodbye and left Triana sitting alone again.

  Galahad’s Council Leader glanced back across the room to the knot of boys who had followed Merit to a far table. “I hope you’re right, Lita,” she said under her breath. “But somehow I don’t think you are.”

  3

  It smelled like the aftermath of a rain shower. A subtle scent of pine drifted beneath the foul mixture of mud and fertilizer, yet the fresh aroma of rain mist overpowered it all. A faint whisper of a breeze cooled the air, and caused many of the leafy plants to gently sway. Tiny pools formed in the soil as the leaves shed the final water droplets from the morning’s sprinkler bath. The hard glow of artificial sunlight pressed down from the scaffolding that supported the dome above, creating a pleasant warmth. The only sounds came from the dripping water or an occasional bee that zipped by, out on its daily mission of pollination.

  Bon Hartsfield was on one knee, inspecting the leaves on a patch of green pepper plants. His eyes were laser-focused on the work, ignoring a bee that hovered briefly above his forearm. He unconsciously reached up with one hand to brush his long, blond hair out of his face, before moving on to the next plant and a new inspection.

  As the Director of Agriculture on Galahad, Bon oversaw all of the food production in the two giant domes that sat atop the spacecraft. Each was climate controlled to insure a bountiful harvest of crops for the hungry passengers, but the work was painstaking and never-ending. At any given time several dozen crew members were assigned to Bon’s department, and although they each worked hard, he found himself constantly drawn away from the drudgery of desk work and back to the fields.

  It was where he felt the most comfortable.

  Raised in Sweden on a family far
m, he had known no other existence for the first eleven years of his life. His father, a hard man with an extreme work ethic, had been cold and distant to his only son, unable—or unwilling—to show love. In the end, Bon had been sent to America to live with extended family members in Wisconsin, a chance for him to explore his interest in science and mathematics in a less stifling atmosphere.

  But distance could never weaken the influence of his father, whether it was the thousands of miles between Wisconsin and Skane, Sweden, or the billions of miles that now separated Galahad from Earth. Quiet, sullen, and often described as angry, Bon kept mostly to himself, buried in his work, as well as his duties as a Council member.

  He twisted one of the leaves in his fingers, checking for damage spots, then became aware of the sound of footfalls on the path. He looked up to see Channy making her way toward him, clutching something in the crook of her arm. It took a moment before he realized that she was carrying Iris, the latest crew member to join Galahad. The orange and black cat looked very content, its head resting on Channy’s arm.

  During Galahad’s pass around Saturn three months earlier, a small escape pod had been snagged after its launch from a research station orbiting the orange moon, Titan. The pod had been empty, except for Iris, tucked away in a suspended animation tube. The eight-pound feline was the sole survivor of the research facility, and now reigned as the unofficial mascot of the ship.

  Channy gave a wave with her free hand, and Bon responded with a curt nod before turning his attention back to his work. A few moments later he heard the plop of Iris jumping to the ground, then felt the cat rubbing against his leg.

  “Well, there goes that theory,” Channy said.

  “And what theory is that?” Bon said without looking up.

  “That animals are good judges of character.”

  Bon didn’t have to lift his gaze in order to tell that Channy was flashing her usual grin. Despite his best effort to hide it, he couldn’t help but smile himself.

  “She knows that if she wants to keep using the Farms as her own personal litter box,” he said, “she’d better make nice with the farmer.”

  “Riiigggghhhtttt,” Channy said. She stretched, lifting her nose up into the air.

  “Mmmm, I love that smell. Reminds me of home in England.”

  Bon snuck a quick sideways glance at her. “Which smell is that? The rain or the manure?”

  “Oh, very funny. I’m pretty sure you’ve tracked more of that on your shoes than I ever did, farm boy.” She looked around at the rows of plants. “What’s new up here anyway? Anything new to expect on our dinner plates?”

  “As a matter of fact, in about a week you’ll be seeing radishes.”

  “Ugh,” Channy said, wrinkling her nose. “No thanks. That’s not exactly what I was hoping for.”

  Bon shrugged. “Suit yourself. Some people like them.”

  “Too bitter. Don’t you have anything sweet, like me?” Another faint smile creased Bon’s face and he shot her another look. “You really like to talk, don’t you?”

  “Just making conversation. Not your strong suit, I know. But it doesn’t really hurt too bad, now does it?” When he didn’t respond, she added, “If you practice it long enough you might actually become almost interesting.”

  Bon shook his head. “Becoming interesting is of no interest to me.”

  Channy raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess that depends on whose interest you’re trying to capture.” She leaned down so that her mouth was next to his ear, then whispered, “I’ll bet you wish a certain person on this ship found you more interesting.”

  He let out a deep breath, but never stopped working with his hands on the plants. Channy quickly straightened up.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” she said, moving over to be in his field of vision, then sitting cross-legged in the dirt. They were now at eye level.

  “You may ask anything you’d like,” he said, his tone decidedly more frosty. “I may choose not to answer.”

  “Okay, that’s fair.” She absent-mindedly pulled a small leaf from one of the plants and began to twirl it in her fingers until she noticed the look of disbelief on Bon’s face. “Oh, sorry,” she said, and placed the torn leaf on top of the plant.

  “Uh, anyway, I just wanted to ask you something about…” She hesitated, and Bon wiped the dirt from his hands and simply stared at her. She squirmed, started to reach out for the mangled leaf, then stopped herself. “I wanted to ask you about the Cassini.”

  At the mention of the name, Bon stiffened. It had been more than three months since the encounter, and almost as long since anyone had dared to utter the name in his presence. Now his mind drifted back to the most frightening event of his life.

  As soon as they had rocketed into the space around Saturn and its syndicate of moons, several of Galahad’s crew members had found themselves bedridden in Sick House. Their intense, pounding headaches had stymied Lita and Alexa, forcing the two medical workers to admit they had no clue as to what might be inflicting so much pain. The only course of action was to fill the patients with enough painkilling medication to knock them out; it was the only way to stem the suffering.

  Bon had been one of those patients. He could still recall the agony, the searing pain that had crumpled him to his knees, and confined him to Sick House for days.

  What nobody could have guessed was that the pain was an indicator that Bon was being used as a link between the teenage explorers aboard Galahad, and a mysterious life form on Saturn’s largest moon, Titan. Dubbed “the Cassini” by members of a research station orbiting the orange moon, the web-like life form communicated to the crew of Galahad through a connection with Bon’s brain. He had essentially been used as a mouthpiece by the Cassini as they gradually adjusted the ion drive engines of the ship.

  But the association with this intelligent force had altered Bon, too. While within their reach, his intellectual and physical abilities went into overdrive, allowing him to perform mental functions at an accelerated pace, and turning him into a physical superhuman. The benefits had disappeared after the connection with the Cassini had been broken. But maybe not all of the benefits…

  “What exactly do you want to know?” Bon finally said to Channy.

  “Well…Gap says that the ship definitely kept about a one percent increase in power as a leftover gift from the Cassini. I think we’ve all wondered…” She trailed off for a moment, as if waiting for Bon to bail her out and keep her from asking the question. But he remained mute, staring.

  “Well, at least I’ve wondered…did they leave something extra inside you?”

  Bon leaned back into a sitting position in the dirt. His initial reaction was to lash out at Channy, to charge her with a lack of sensitivity to what must have been a traumatic moment for him. A scowl began to form on his face.

  But he stopped himself. Of course Channy would want to know about that; it was likely that every single member of the crew wondered the same thing. Channy was simply the boldest.

  In a matter of seconds his expression mellowed, and he found himself saying aloud what had plagued his thoughts for three months.

  “I don’t know. But…” He paused. “But I feel…different.”

  “Different how?”

  He shrugged. Did he really want to have this conversation with Channy, the biggest gossip on the ship? Of course, telling her would be the quickest way to get the word out, and at the very least that might end the odd looks he received in the corridors and Dining Hall.

  “It’s hard to explain, really.” With his hand Bon unconsciously groomed the dirt that ran between a couple of the plants, thinking of the words that could best describe what had been going on in his head since the rendezvous with Titan.

  “You’ve had that feeling of déjà vu, right? Like you’ve seen or heard something before?”

  Channy nodded. “Sure.”

  “Well, I have that feeling constantly. All the time. Or, I go to add up some
figures in our crop accounting, and just…see the number before I get to the end. And it’s always right.”

  Channy remained quiet, staring into his face, waiting for more. But the impulsive desire to share the information suddenly drained from him. He quickly rolled back onto one knee and began to search for more damaged leaves.

  “That’s about it,” he mumbled. “Nothing major.”

  Iris, who had darted away into the fields, sauntered back into view, lying down just out of the reach of either Council member, and acting as if she didn’t see them. For Bon it was a welcome diversion.

  Channy spent another moment in silence, digesting the news and watching Bon’s face, apparently grateful for any crumb from the usually reserved Swede. Then she sprang to her feet and stretched.

  “Well, thanks for sharing. If you ever want to, you know…talk or anything…” Her voice trailed off. When Bon didn’t respond, she walked over to pick up the cat.

  “One other thing,” she added, cradling Iris back into the crook of her arm. “I’m going to be hosting a kind of dating game pretty soon. Any interest?”

  Bon snorted, an answer that said everything without the need for words.

  “Yeah, well, I thought you might think that,” Channy said. “But there will be a lot of very cute girls participating, so just think about it.” She turned as if to leave, before calling back over her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure Triana will be part of it.”

  She stepped lightly down the path, leaving Bon alone in the middle of the crop. His eyes darted back and forth between the plants, yet suddenly his attention had wandered away. He took one glance backwards at the spot Channy had vacated, and this time allowed the scowl to remain in place.