The Double Helix (Book 3)

by Trudi Trueit

  Aunt Marisol was glancing down, her face hidden by a curtain of hair. “Cruz, we said no secrets, right?”

  The acid rose in his chest. He gulped it back down. “Right.”

  “I didn’t want to say anything before I had all the facts, and I may be off base here, but”—she looked up—“I think Nebula may be behind this.”

  His throat burned. “N-Nebula?”

  She bent toward him. “You must have wondered about it, too. I mean, they’ve been after you since before you entered the Academy. Didn’t it ever cross your mind that they might try to use one of us to get to you and the cipher?”

  “Well…y-yeah,” he stuttered, his heart racing. “Sure, I…I…I wondered.”

  Smooth, Cruz. He had to get a grip or he’d blow the whole thing.

  “I mean, vanishing without a trace?” Her dark eyes narrowed. “It’s all too neat. This has Nebula written all over it, don’t you think?”

  A wave of panic rolled through him. Cruz didn’t know what to say. If he said yes, he would be disobeying Nebula’s orders, putting his father’s life in danger. If he said no, he would be lying again and, worse, discouraging his aunt from pursuing what he knew to be true. His stomach was a burning knot. Grabbing his right elbow with his left hand and his left elbow with his right hand, Cruz pulled his forearms into his aching belly. “Uh…I don’t know, Aunt Marisol.”

  “I’m sorry. I can see I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s all right. I’m fine, really.” The last thing Cruz wanted to do was make her question telling him how she really felt. “I’m glad you said it, Aunt Marisol. Nebula is capable of anything and everything.” Finally! A true statement. His stomach seemed to approve of his honesty. The pain began to ease, allowing Cruz to slightly release his hold.

  “On the other hand, if it is Nebula, they should have contacted us by now with their demands, so maybe I’m on the wrong track.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know.”

  Cruz longed to shout, No! You’re on the right track! Keep going! Instead, he spoke the only truth he could. “You look like you haven’t slept in a while.”

  “I haven’t, but I will. Later. I thought I’d get an early start today so I can touch base with some of your dad’s business contacts. I don’t think his disappearance is work related, but it might give us a lead or two. Someone might know something or have seen something. How about you? How is anthro class going?”

  “Great. We got to see a real sarcophagus and the ancient Egyptian woman who was buried in it, thanks to Fanchon’s upgraded PANDA units. Now we’re working on an assignment to find looting sites using satellite imagery.”

  “Space archaeology! Wonderful. How about Dr. Luben?”

  “Everybody likes him. He’s doing a good job—not as good as you, but close.”

  “And the journal? Have you figured out the third clue…?”

  Bang! The cabin door smacked the back wall.

  Cruz jumped. So did Aunt Marisol 7,000 miles away!

  “That’s it!” Emmett slammed the door as it bounced back to him. “I can’t do it!” Tossing his tablet on his desk, he fell backward onto his bed. His glasses were dirt brown trapezoids. “I’m telling you, Cruz: I cannot. Do. It.”

  “Emmett?” Aunt Marisol was squinting. “What’s wrong?”

  Bolting up, Emmett spotted Aunt Marisol on Cruz’s screen. “Uh…uh…uh…”

  “It’s one of Monsieur Legrand’s survival training programs.” Cruz rescued his sputtering roommate. “We’re supposed to spend a couple of nights in the wilderness—well, the wilderness of the CAVE, anyway—and forage for food. Emmett’s not a fan of bugs and worms.”

  “Right…that’s it. Bugs. Ick.” Emmett chewed on his lower lip. “No way, no how, am I eating those things.”

  Cruz rolled his eyes at his friend to say, Don’t overdo it.

  “I don’t blame you,” said Aunt Marisol. “Same here. Well, I’d better let you go. I’ve got work to do and it must be almost dinnertime there, huh? Talk soon.” She kissed her fingertips, then put them close to the screen. “Love you, Cruz.”

  “Love you, too, Tía.” Saying “auntie” in Spanish earned him a wide smile, which is why he said it.

  “Sorry, sorry,” burst Emmett the second Cruz ended the call. “I didn’t realize you were talking to Dr. C or I would have—”

  “Your timing was perfect. She was starting to ask about the next clue. If you hadn’t barged in, I don’t know what I would have said—definitely not the truth. So what’s going on?”

  “Your mom’s journal.” Emmett shook his head.

  Cruz scooted across his bed to sit on the edge facing his friend. “That bad, huh?”

  “Lani and I have done everything we can think to do. We analyzed the paper, hoping that might give us a clue, and it did help. We know it’s a flexible material made of carbon polymer, tungsten trioxide, bamboo, and sunflowers. I tried exposing it to different things, being as safe as I could, hoping to trigger activation or some kind of reaction: hot and cold temps, water and air, sound and radio waves, and as many gases as possible without damaging the journal or blowing up the ship.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. It responded to nothing.”

  Cruz waited for Emmett to go on, but his roommate remained silent.

  “So that’s it?” squeaked Cruz. “You’re giving up? I’ve never seen you give up on anything.”

  “And if this were one of my inventions I wouldn’t,” shot Emmett. “But this is your mom’s journal. I don’t want to destroy it.”

  “It’s already broken. How much more could you do to it?”

  “Plenty. As it is, someone who knows the technology might be able to fix it. But if I keep messing with it, I could expose it to the wrong thing and boom—there goes any chance you have of getting it to work again. Ever.”

  Emmett was right. A broken journal was better than no journal at all. Wasn’t it?

  “Sorry, Cruz…really sorry…”

  Cruz could see the stress on his friend’s face. “I’m the one that should be saying I’m sorry, Emmett. It’s not your fault. Lani and you did your best. Thanks for trying.”

  Emmett’s pinched face relaxed a little, his glasses lightening to a honey brown. He opened his jacket pocket, took out the flat, digital journal, and handed it to Cruz.

  Cruz ran his thumb along the outer edge of Lani’s protective sleeve, then gently eased the white square paper from its gray case. Placing it on his left palm, he nudged it with his right index finger the way you do when you’re a kid and have captured a grasshopper and want to feel it jump in your hand. Unlike an insect, the journal didn’t move. No unfolding flaps. No multi-pointed sphere. No orange light. What had he expected, a miracle?

  “There is someone,” said Emmett. “She might—might—be able to fix it.”

  He meant Fanchon.

  Cruz sighed. “I know you’re right, but after what happened with Mr. Rook and Tripp…”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” Emmett scooted to the edge of the bed, planted both feet on the floor, and looked Cruz directly in the eye. “You wouldn’t have to tell her the whole story. You could say it’s something your mom left for you—you know, like your holo-video at the beach. Fanchon would respect that. I know she would. We’ll tell her we opened it once. That way we can explain how the activation sequence works, you know, how it goes from unfolding to transforming into the pointed sphere and then scans for identification. We’ll say it got stuck when you tried to open it again. That should help her pinpoint the trouble. Plus, remember, the journal’s content will only open for you, so even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to access any of the digital files.”

  “I don’t know, Emmett.” Cruz put a hand to his collar near his GPS Earth pin that would, with the tap of a finger, project an opaque holographic street map of any city in the world. Fanchon had designed everything the explorers wore, from their OS bands to their language
translators. She’d invented Cruz’s octopod and turned Emmett’s Lumagine into their shadow badges, allowing them to transform the fabric of their uniforms using only the power of thought. She had even developed a helmet that could talk to whales! And that’s exactly what scared him. Cruz glanced at the double-helix birthmark on his wrist. “If she knows how the technology operates, then wouldn’t she know how to access the data, too? She might even be able to download it, and that would be a disaster. I really like Fanchon, and she is the smartest person I’ve ever known, but…”

  “Okay, okay, fine,” snapped Emmett. “I get it. She’s nice. She’s smart. She could help you. But you won’t trust her.”

  “I can’t. Don’t you see, Emmett? I can’t trust anyone. Not even kind, brilliant, helpful scientists.”

  “All right, if that’s how you feel.” He took off his glasses and set them on his nightstand. He headed for the bathroom. “I’ll go wash up and we can go eat.”

  Cruz watched Emmett’s frames slowly morph back to lime green ovals. He stared at the journal, still in his hand.

  Cruz didn’t know what to do. A few hours ago, Captain Iskandar had summoned Cruz to the bridge to find out if he had solved the next clue. They were sailing first to Spain, then to the mystery location somewhere in the Mediterranean that Aunt Marisol had told him about. Cruz had told the captain he needed to be in Istanbul, Turkey, by the morning of the 14th of November. However, he had neglected to mention why. Tomorrow they would be traveling through the Strait of Gibraltar, and two days after that the ship would dock at Barcelona. What if the next wedge of cipher was hidden there? Cruz would have no idea how to find it. More likely, it was hidden somewhere that they had passed already, like Norway, Scotland, or Ireland. For all Cruz knew, every nautical mile they traveled was taking him farther and farther away from the third piece of his mom’s formula.

  In her first journal entry, his mother had instructed him to let her recorded image know if he ever got stuck. Well, he was sure stuck now but had no way to reach her. He wished he could tell his aunt the truth. Or talk to his dad. One of them would know what to do. One of them would have the answers he did not. He felt so lost. So alone.

  Cruz stared at the motionless page in his hand. That’s what he needed, all right.

  A miracle.

  AFTER DINNER, Cruz went topside to the domed observatory at the stern of Orion’s bridge deck. It was one of his favorite places to go on the ship when he needed to do some serious thinking.

  Stepping into the observatory was like stepping back in time. Old navigational charts covered most of the polished cherrywood-paneled walls. Between the maps, brass ship lanterns with red or green bulbs behind foggy ribbed glass swayed with the rhythm of the ship. Scattered about the room were all kinds of navigational instruments. You could peer through one of several telescopes or try your hand at using an antique sextant or astrolabe to calculate Orion’s position. The back corner had been converted into a greenhouse. Within the clear glass walls, solar-powered laser lights illuminated Chef Kristos’s hydroponic garden of tomatoes, strawberries, lettuce, peppers, and other edibles. Potato and bean vines curled above the sprouting jungle, reaching for the warm, nurturing lights of the bubbled glass ceiling. The heavy scents of lavender, lemongrass, sage, dill, and rosemary filled the air.

  No one was in the observatory when Cruz arrived. He supposed he should have been frightened that Nebula might corner him here, but he wasn’t. He wouldn’t let himself be. Orion was his ship, and Cruz refused to hide out in his cabin or give up his favorite thinking spot because of them. Emmett was right. Cruz could not give Nebula that kind of power over him. Still, his palms were slightly damp…

  Settling into a soft maple-syrup-brown leather chair, Cruz looked to the east. In the distance, he could see the lights of the Portuguese coast. Cruz turned his gaze west, to watch the sun sink into the gray line of the ocean. Finally, he leaned his head back to stare up. Streamers of high, thin clouds dashed any hope of seeing the moon and stars.

  Should he follow Emmett’s advice? Should he let Fanchon Quills try to repair the journal? On their last explorer mission, someone had tampered with the Universal Cetacean Communicator rebreathing helmet Fanchon had designed, and Cruz had nearly drowned. After the incident, the horrified tech lab chief had insisted she would uncover the culprit. But she never had. On the other hand, Fanchon had devised the octopod for Cruz based on his mother’s research. It seems unlikely she would have given him something to protect himself if she was working for Nebula. So the big question: Could he trust her?

  His head still tilted up, Cruz saw a tiny glimmer of light. A single star. Then another and another, as the clouds above the ship began to evaporate. The Leonids would be starting in a few days. Cruz always looked forward to the annual meteor showers that began in early November and lasted through his birthday. Their geography and astronomy professor, Dr. Modi, was arranging things so the explorers could come up to the observatory after curfew and watch the meteor showers during their peak in the middle of the month. Cruz couldn’t wait! The Leonids were pretty amazing to watch from land. Cruz had a feeling the fireballs would be even more spectacular to view from a ship.

  Suddenly, Cruz felt something clamp on to his right elbow. Nebula! Snapping his head forward, he jerked away. He was about to throw a blind punch with his left hand, when a face popped around the side of the chair.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Sailor!” Cruz put a hand to his thumping heart.

  Her ponytail swinging, she laughed. “Did I scare you?”

  “Nah, I’m—”

  “How about me?” Emmett sprung up from the left side of the chair.

  Cruz jumped again. “Geez, you guys!”

  “Sorry,” chuckled Emmett.

  Sailor glanced around. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I don’t know…hanging out.”

  “Got any plans for tonight?”

  “Just homework.”

  “Ehhhhh!” She made a buzzer sound. “Wrong answer.”

  “You’re coming with us.” Emmett grabbed Cruz’s left hand, while Sailor took his right. They pulled him out of his chair.

  Cruz let out a laugh. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really,” said Sailor.

  The pair led him out of the observatory.

  “Can I at least know where we’re going?” asked Cruz.

  “Nope,” answered Emmett. “You’ll find out in a minute anyway.” They walked him past the library, down the steps to the fourth deck, then one more flight to the third deck. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Cruz saw that the lounge was filled with explorers. The chairs were lined up in rows and facing the big screen. Of course—movie night. He had forgotten.

  “We thought it would help take your mind off things,” whispered Sailor. “You need a break.” At dinner, Emmett and Cruz had brought her up to speed on their progress, or lack of, concerning the journal.

  Cruz wasn’t exactly in the mood for a movie, but he supposed now that he was here, it would be rude to leave. Besides, the warm scent of fresh popcorn was hard to resist. Chef Kristos and Taryn were at a table near the entrance, handing out small bowls of flavored popcorn. Along with the usual butter flavor, there was mac and cheese, eggs and bacon, and sugar cookie!

  Taryn put a bowl into Cruz’s hands. “You have to try the sugar cookie.”

  Cruz scooped up a few kernels coated in white chocolate and blue cupcake sprinkles. He popped them in his mouth. “Wow! It really does taste like cookies.”

  She grinned. “Secret family recipe.”

  “Chef Kristos let you in his galley?”

  Taryn crossed her eyes. “Briefly.”

  Emmett had snagged three seats in the second-to-last row and was waving them over. Sailor scooted in to sit beside him, and Cruz took the seat at the end of the row. As the lights went down, Cruz checked around. “Isn’t Bryndis coming?” he asked Sailor.

  “She wanted to finis
h the looting tutorial. She was almost done when I left, so I think she might come up.”

  Cruz had completed their online tutorial that afternoon. In the training video, Professor Luben had explained that the satellite images they would be studying were taken nearly 400 miles above Earth. Each image was called a tile. He told them to look for circles or squares with rounded edges in the landscape because perfect circles or linear shapes, like squares or triangles, don’t occur in nature. “Search for rectangles, too,” he advised. “These are the places where looters may have encountered a feature, such as a wall or structure, and are moving along it. Also, looters don’t just stop at one hole. They’ll dig many. You’re going to want to be on the lookout for groups of pits. The typical size of a pit is about five to sixteen feet across.” Their instructor had told them to search for contrast within the surrounding landscape, and had said that sometimes, when the sun was at the right angle, the looting pits would cast shadows.

  “One other thing,” Dr. Luben had said. “In class, remember how we discussed that looters will sometimes use heavy machinery to dig pits? Keep your eyes open for any large disturbances in the landscape, like the parallel tracks from a bulldozer. A database of tiles from your assigned countries will be waiting for you in the library at your scheduled time. Please review the images and flag those that appear to have pits. Take your time. There’s no rush. Don’t get discouraged if it takes you a while to tell the difference between a bush and a pit. This type of work takes practice, which is why as soon as I get done jabbering you’ll get to do a practice round of tiles. This is not a test. False positives are going to happen, and it’s better to flag a tile if you aren’t sure than to let it go. The experts can take a look and make the final call.” He’d leaned in. “By the way, a bush is fuzzier, less defined, and usually a different color than a pit. Good luck, explorers!”

  Cruz had done well on his practice round. He’d gotten 18 of the 20 tiles correct. Team Cousteau was scheduled to do the real thing in the library tomorrow at 5 p.m. Even though Professor Luben had insisted it wasn’t a test, it was. It might not be graded, but the explorers knew what was at stake. If there was looting going on, it was their job to find it.