by Trudi Trueit
Cruz let out a long, tired breath. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his friend, but with Nebula closing in, he couldn’t take any chances—not with the cipher and certainly not with those he cared about. Anyone who knew where the stones were was at risk. That’s why Cruz could not tell Emmett his secret: He had entrusted the cipher to the only soul on board Orion who wouldn’t—or, more accurately, couldn’t—tell anybody that he had it.
3, 1 24, 8 14, 10 22, 2
“HUBBARD!” Emmett knelt in the passage to greet the little dog in a yellow life jacket. The Westie was carrying his green rubber ball in his mouth. Cruz and Emmett often stopped on their way to breakfast to play a few rounds of fetch with Hubbard. The dog lowered his head to get pets from Emmett, then trotted over to Cruz and dropped the toy.
Cruz knelt, one hand reaching for the ball coated with drool, while the other found the little zippered pocket on the side of the dog’s life vest. He unzipped the pocket and slipped his fingers inside. He didn’t exhale until he felt the cool touch of marble. Cruz hesitated. Nebula, he knew, could be around the next corner. They would always have him in their sights. But Hubbard? Maybe it was best to leave the cipher right where it was. For now. Cruz slid the zipper closed. Scratching the Westie’s favorite spot behind his ear, Cruz leaned in to whisper, “Keep it safe, huh?” Cruz tossed the ball down the corridor, and Hubbard took off after it. The boys threw the ball a few more times before heading off to eat. The pair waved to Taryn, who was in her doorway, keeping an eye on Hubbard as she dried her hair with a palm-size solar dryer. She smiled and nodded as they passed.
On their way up the grand staircase in the atrium, Cruz checked his tablet. The mail icon was solid. Why hadn’t Nebula gotten in touch with him? This was agony. “I don’t get it,” he moaned. “What are they waiting for?”
“They’re icing you on purpose,” said his roommate. “They want you on edge. It gives them the advantage. Don’t give them that kind of power.”
Sometimes Emmett sounded more like a spy than an explorer.
Nodding, Cruz tucked the tablet under his arm and vowed not to check his mail for 10 whole minutes. He wished it were Monday, though. At least then he’d have classes to keep him occupied.
“I’ll get to work on the journal right after breakfast,” said Emmett. His glasses were black trapezoids, meaning he was feeling the pressure. “It could be something simple, such as a glitch in the biometric activator, or it could be more complicated, like the metastasis regulator. If that’s out of alignment, I’m not sure I can repair it. That technology is pretty advanced—”
“It couldn’t be that advanced,” cut in Cruz. “Mom created it at least seven years ago.”
“Let’s just say your mom was ahead of her time. Speaking of time, how much do Lani and I have?”
Yesterday, Cruz had checked the navigational charts, so he knew Orion was currently in the North Atlantic, off the southwestern coast of Ireland. He had hoped to have the next clue figured out by the time the ship went through the Strait of Gibraltar in about three days. But now that the journal was out of commission, that was on hold. Cruz knew Emmett was under enough stress as it was. “As much as you need,” he answered smoothly.
“So none, then?”
Cruz couldn’t help laughing. Emmett was getting to know him too well.
In the dining room, they were met by Chef Kristos. The wiry cook was wearing his usual crisp white double-breasted chef’s coat. It never seemed to have a single stain on it. This was truly amazing considering Chef Kristos was always in motion—whisking, chopping, blending, frosting—often, all at the same time! Today, he was behind the buffet server, next to a hot plate, with about a dozen bowls lined up in front of him.
Chef was cracking eggs into a steel bowl with one hand and slowly shuffling a pan over the burner with the other.
“Sweet as!” cried Emmett. “It’s omelet day.”
Chef Kristos lifted an egg. “What would you like in your omelet, Emmett?”
Emmett surveyed the row of bowls. “Let’s see…can I have cheddar cheese, tomatoes, bacon, sausage, olives, onions, and pineapple? Oh, and ham?”
“I do have to leave room in the omelet for the eggs, you know,” said Chef Kristos, laughing. “And you, Cruz?”
“Nothing for me, thanks.” Cruz’s stomach felt like one of Taryn’s balls of yarn after Hubbard had gotten ahold of it.
They watched Chef whip up Emmett’s omelet, cook it, then slide the fluffy yellow semicircle onto a white plate.
“Thanks, Chef,” said Emmett, taking the plate and putting it on the blue tray that Cruz held out.
As they continued down the buffet line, Emmett plucked a container of raspberry yogurt and some sliced cantaloupe from the ice-filled servers and added them to the tray. At the beverage bar, Emmett put a glass of orange juice on the tray. Cruz was about to turn away, when Emmett placed another full glass beside the first. “You should at least have some juice,” he said. Cruz didn’t argue.
It wasn’t yet eight o’clock, so Cruz wasn’t surprised to see the dining room nearly empty. Most of the explorers took the opportunity to sleep in on Sundays. Cruz saw Dugan with Ali, Tao, Yulia, Ekaterina, and Matteo seated at a corner table. Zane was the only member of Team Magellan missing. The group was intently listening to Dugan, though Cruz couldn’t hear what he was saying. As Cruz and Emmett approached, they all started to get up.
“Morning,” said Cruz.
“Morning,” answered Team Magellan.
“Hey,” said Dugan quietly, though he didn’t look at them.
Cruz set their tray down at a clean table. Slipping his tablet out from under his elbow, he laid it down on the table face up and took a seat. Emmett was still standing, still watching the other explorers leave. Cruz didn’t have to check Emmett’s emoto-glasses to know something was bothering his friend.
“For being a Cousteau, Dugan’s spending an awful lot of time with the Magellans,” said Emmett, finally pulling out a chair.
“Well, he is Ali’s roommate.”
“What if he’s telling them secrets about our team?”
Smirking, Cruz took a sip of his orange juice. “Like how you always lose your socks in the laundry or that Sailor’s favorite ice cream is something called hokeypokey? Oh, I know—Bryndis and I talk about farting fish when we’re diving!” Cruz laughed, but Emmett didn’t.
“I don’t like it, that’s all,” said Emmett, stabbing at a chunk of cantaloupe.
“You know Dugan,” sighed Cruz. “He’s just…”
They looked at each other. “Different!” they said in unison, nodding and grinning.
Dugan was Dugan, and there was no telling what he would say or do next.
While Emmett ate, Cruz checked his email again. Still no new messa— Wait! The mail icon was blinking. Holding his breath, Cruz tapped it.
Hi Cruz,
Spending the night in LA, then on to Kauai tomorrow. No news about your dad yet, but I have been talking with Hanalei police and am hopeful. They are pursuing a few leads. How are you? How did the first class with Dr. Luben go? Hugs for you and pets for Hubbard.
Love,
Aunt Marisol
“My aunt says they have a few clues about where my dad is,” said Cruz.
Emmett glanced up. “What kind of clues?”
“She doesn’t say.”
“You’re not going to tell her about Nebula—”
“No, but I hate keeping things from her. We promised there would be no secrets. If there was any other way…”
Emmett gave him a solemn nod.
Cruz emailed his aunt back that he was fine and class went well, for the most part. He told her about Dugan’s mistake with the upgraded PANDA unit but that Fanchon and Dr. Luben had handled everything smoothly. He said nothing about the broken journal or kidnapping. He had, after all, only promised to be honest about anthropology class, so, technically, he wasn’t breaking his vow. Then why did it feel like he was?
“Mōrena.” Sailor plunked her tray down next to Cruz. She had an omelet, cereal, milk, toast, and apple juice.
“Mōrena.” Cruz returned the good-morning greeting in Sailor’s native Maori. His mouth full, Emmett raised his fork.
Sailor put the plate of toast in front of Cruz.
“What’s this?” Cruz looked down at the two slices of golden toast, cut on the diagonal. The four triangles were neatly placed on each side of a small, square crystal bowl filled with strawberry jam. “I didn’t order it.”
“You didn’t?” Sailor took a seat. “That’s weird. One of the waiters asked me to bring it over to you.”
“Chef Kristos probably told him to.” Emmett was working to get a piece of sausage, a sliver of ham, and a couple of olives onto his fork. “You know how he always says we shouldn’t skip breakfast.”
Now that Cruz thought about it, he was a little hungry. He dipped the small knife into the shallow bowl and spread jam over one of the toast points. Cruz took a bite. The sweetness of warm strawberries mingling with the crunchy wheat bread was delicious.
Sailor poured milk over her cereal. “I’ve been thinking a lot about your problem, and I think I’ve got a solution.”
Emmett’s head went up. “You mean, about fixing the journal?”
“No.” She leaned in to quietly add, “About the cipher.”
“I’m giving them the stones.” Cruz took another bite of toast.
“Sure, but”—she gave him a sideways grin—“what if you didn’t have to?”
Cruz stopped chewing. “What do you mean?”
“Here’s what I’m thinking.” Sailor moved in even closer. “Thanks to your surveillance cameras, Nebula probably knows what the cipher looks like, right? So what if we made duplicate pieces that looked exactly like the real ones? Well, not exactly. We could change some of the formula but everything else would be like the real thing—same color, shape, size, weight, everything. Then we’d give the fake pieces to Nebula to get your dad back.”
Cruz stared at her. “A decoy cipher?”
Sailor’s eyes widened. “Why not?”
“But how—”
“We’d give Fanchon one of your stones to analyze, then locate a black marble stone or create one in the lab that’s similar. Fanchon could laser-engrave some symbols onto the stones, slice ’em up, and there you go.” She flung herself backward in her chair. “You get your dad back and you get to keep the cipher and Nebula has a completely useless cipher. Problem solved.”
“I…I don’t know.” Cruz nibbled on the crust of his toast. “If Nebula suspected for even a second that the cipher was fake—”
“We could do it,” broke in Emmett. “It’s a brilliant idea.”
Sailor grinned. “It is? You never think I have good ideas.”
“I never said that.”
“You never didn’t say it.”
“Huh?”
While his friends bickered, Cruz finished his first diagonal of toast and spread strawberry jam on the second. It was an interesting plan, except for one thing…
“Fanchon!” burst Cruz.
Emmett and Sailor stopped squabbling.
“We can’t trust her,” he continued. “Not after what happened with Mr. Rook and Tripp Scarlatos.” Both the Academy’s librarian and Orion’s submersible pilot had turned out to be working for Nebula. Both had betrayed Cruz.
“You’re right.” Sighing, Sailor reached for her apple juice. “Guess it wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all.”
“No, it was—is,” said Cruz. “What I meant was, if we’re going to do it, we’ll have to do it ourselves. And I think we can.” He plunged the knife into the jam, scooped out a hunk of strawberry, and slapped it onto the bread. “We’ll use a PANDA unit to analyze the stone, then create one using our 3D printer.”
Sailor beamed. “Sweet as!”
They slapped palms.
Cruz swung to his roommate. “Emmett, what do you think?”
“I think…” His voice trailing off, Emmett pointed in front of Cruz. Through the haze of strawberry jam, Cruz realized there was a handwritten note sitting under the square bottom of the crystal bowl. The print was small. Neat. Delicate. With his knife, Cruz pushed the rest of the red jam aside.
PROFESSOR LUBEN had a mischievous glint in his eye.
It was Monday morning, and Cruz and Emmett had arrived for anthropology only to find their instructor standing outside of the classroom with the door closed. His hands clasped behind his back, Dr. Luben was bouncing on his toes like a little kid eager to open his birthday presents. A couple of the ship’s security officers were hovering nearby, too. That was odd. The security guards on this deck usually stayed at their post in the lounge.
“Something’s up,” Cruz said to Emmett.
“Mmm-hmm,” said Emmett, his mind clearly somewhere else. Cruz noticed his roommate’s glasses seemed to be stuck on the same color: brown. Cruz knew what was behind the glum attitude. Emmett and Lani were struggling to fix the journal. They had been at it for two straight days (and most of those nights) without success. If the journal couldn’t be repaired, everything Cruz’s mother had worked for, and had given her life for, would be gone. It was a loss too great for Cruz to consider. Not that he was ready to. Not yet.
Bryndis and Sailor strolled up. “Are we locked out?” asked Bryndis.
“Nope,” said Professor Luben, the corners of his mouth turning up.
One by one, the explorers joined the crowd outside Manatee classroom. Dugan was whispering to the explorers he was standing with: Matteo, Zane, and Yulia—again, all members of Team Magellan. While they waited for the rest of the class to arrive, Cruz checked his tablet for a message from his aunt. She had called him early yesterday to let him know she’d arrived safely in Kauai and promised to update him after she talked with investigators. There was nothing in his inbox this morning from Aunt Marisol, but there was something from Lani:
I have to talk to you. It’s urgent. WHEN??!!
Good question. It wasn’t easy syncing schedules with your best friend when you were always in motion. Cruz pulled up the world time zones chart on his tablet so he could calculate the time difference between Kauai and Orion’s current location. The ship was somewhere off the coast of Portugal. The zone on the map showed he was 10 hours ahead. It was 11 p.m. in Kauai right now. If they spoke at 7 a.m. Hawaii-Aleutian standard time, he could catch Lani before she went to school. It would be 5 p.m. his time. Perfect. Cruz typed the message and sent it.
Seeing Felipe jog down the passage toward them, Professor Luben put a hand on the doorknob. “Ah, the last explorer to reach the summit!”
Felipe’s face turned red. “Sorry. Am…am I late?”
“Right on time,” answered Dr. Luben, holding up a hand to quiet them down. “Explorers, please enter in single file. Instead of taking your seats, I’d like for you to form a circle around the display at the front of the room, but touch nothing.” He opened the door and motioned for them to go in ahead of him. “Move quickly and quietly, please.”
Cruz was behind Bryndis, who was behind Sailor. In the doorway, Bryndis turned and gave him a grin as if to say, Here we go! Emmett was behind Cruz.
The place was nearly dark. In the front of the room, three ceiling bulbs bathed a long, rectangular wooden box in a warm glow. The painted box had been placed on a glass stand about four feet tall. Security Officer Dover stood behind it near the wall, a contented grin on her face. Approaching, Cruz stumbled over his own feet when he realized what it was: an ancient coffin!
The lid was carved and painted to resemble a beautiful Egyptian woman—most certainly the mummy inside. Aunt Marisol had sent Cruz enough postcards from Africa for him to recognize the signs of early Egyptian art: the eyes and eyebrows done in thick black lines, the large headdress with its bold black and gold stripes, and the draped rows of elegant necklaces decorating the chest. It seemed almost every inch of the box was covered in artwork. Squares of intricate
black-and-red hieroglyphs covered the midriff, legs, and feet. Even the spaces had stripes, dots, or a repeating pattern of some kind. As his eyes traveled down the length of the coffin, Cruz’s heart dropped. Oh no! It was cracked! The break ran across the middle of the lid clear through to the box below. The fracture had been repaired, but a scar remained.
Bryndis let out a tiny gasp. She had seen it, too.
“It must have happened when the archaeologists were excavating the tomb,” Cruz whispered to her.
“Too bad,” she said.
Once everyone had gathered around the coffin, Professor Luben stepped into their circle. “You are looking at one of three sarcophagi of an Egyptian woman who lived more than two thousand six hundred years ago. It’s here because the experts working on its restoration needed some assistance from a couple of Academy scientists. I’ll explain more about that in a moment. For now, step up and have a look.”
They hesitated.
“Go on,” prodded Professor Luben. “You’re not likely to get a chance like this again.” As the explorers inched inward, their professor held out his hand toward a series of black symbols painted on the coffin, among them a rectangle, a vase, a bird, and a pair of reeds. Cruz knew the reeds represented the letter y, but the rest he wasn’t so sure about.
“This writing tells us the name of the deceased,” said their professor. “Her name was Shesepamuntayesher.” He said her name again, slowly, breaking up the syllables so they could learn the pronunciation: “Shez-ep-AH-mun-TIE-ess-HAIR. She had three burial boxes that sat one inside the other, like Russian nesting dolls—this is the innermost coffin, the one that held the body. I can tell by your faces you are longing for a peek inside. I’m sorry to disappoint you—there’s no mummy. Still, there is plenty to see. You haven’t done your Egyptian unit yet, so I’ll give you a few highlights. Here, the coffin tells us she is nebet per, or the lady of the house. This was the most common title for women in ancient Egypt. There’s the falcon-headed god, Thoth, and over here, Hathor, the goddess of motherhood, joy, and love.”
