The Cassini Code

by Dom Testa

  Rolling, tumbling, scraping, they pitched along in their mindless trek around the outskirts of the solar system. Galahad dared to cut across their path, not unlike a pedestrian tempting fate by running across swiftly moving lanes of traffic.

  Any collision between a Kuiper object and the spacecraft would produce an explosion with enough intensity to be visible—if only for an instant—on Earth. The impact would produce a blinding flash.

  But no sound whatsoever.

  The most sophisticated warning system ever developed kept up a continuous scan of the space ahead of the ship, probing for potential danger spots, alerting the ship’s computer to any possible hazards. A typical scan would normally be a lazy sweep back and forth, up and down, repeated at a slow and steady pace.

  The Kuiper Belt was a stickier situation than normal, however. Galahad’s warning system was tweaked to cover its optimum distance and spread pattern, and swept in all directions at a frantic pace. The cumulative amount of data processed every second during these scans equaled all of the data stored in an average library back on Earth. There was no margin for error.

  The lives of 251 teenage pilgrims relied upon a scanning unit no larger than a shoe box, bolted into an equipment rack, and tucked into an isolated corner of the ship’s Engineering section.

  18

  They waited in the Conference Room. The office of Sick House seemed too close to the reality of what was happening, the Rec Room and Dining Halls were too noisy, and their own rooms seemed stifling.

  Triana chose not to sit in her usual spot at the head of the table. Gap had the seat beside her, rolling a cup of water back and forth in his hands. Channy opted for the floor of the room, her back against the wall and her legs crossed, with Iris sprawled beside her. Katarina seemed to feel uncomfortable, almost like an outsider who had crashed a Council meeting. She sat quietly across from Triana and Gap.

  For over an hour they made small talk, trying to keep the mood as light as possible. Channy tried to sell them on her dating game, but it became quickly apparent that nobody was interested at the moment. She changed course and discussed some recent workouts, as well as the idea of another soccer tournament. This garnered a somewhat enthusiastic response, but soon that, too, faded.

  Gap asked Katarina a few questions about what was going on in the Farms, which was her current assignment on the ship. Her abbreviated answers hinted at the discomfort she obviously felt, so Gap turned his attention to the cat. He quizzed Channy about Bon’s patience with Iris in the Farms, and whether or not she was getting tired of feline babysitting duties. This conversation fizzled after about a minute.

  They knew that it was all just one big distraction from the tension that weighed heavily on the room. Now, after a block of silence that only focused each of them on the seriousness of the situation, Triana cleared her throat.

  “We’re all scared,” she said softly.

  Gap looked at her with an expression of surprise. “What?” She nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting that. We can sit here and pretend that we’re doing okay, but we’re all scared. Maybe we should talk about that instead of soccer games and Iris.”

  Channy got up from the floor and sat down at the table beside Katarina. “You know what scares me the most?” she said. “This could have happened to any of us. I mean, your appendix?”

  “Yeah,” Gap said. “The month we spent in quarantine before we left Earth might have eliminated a lot of germs or viruses from our future, but not this.”

  “And that makes me wonder about a lot of other things,” Channy said. “What about tumors, or blood clots, or stuff like that? I know we’re all young, but with this many people on the ship, things are gonna happen.”

  Triana could see the concern on Channy’s face, and it caused her to lean forward, her elbows on the table. “Can I share something with you about that?” she said. “I…I don’t talk about my dad very much, even though I’m always thinking about him. But he did teach me a few things about this.”

  The others sat quietly staring at her. She realized that this was a side of herself that they never saw, and they were not about to interrupt. She gathered her thoughts for a moment, then continued.

  “I’ve never known a happier person in my life. He loved his work, he loved me, and he loved life. Of all the lessons he tried to teach to a somewhat serious little girl, the one that stood out was to enjoy life without worrying about what might happen. It’s not like he was a crazy daredevil or anything, but he…he didn’t always play it safe, either.”

  Triana paused, her mind drifting backwards, retrieving a moment frozen in her memory.

  “When I was thirteen, I remember crying before one of my soccer tournaments. Our team had worked so hard the whole season, and we were picked to go to this big state tournament. I was scared to death that I would play horribly, or that we would embarrass ourselves against these other great teams. I even worried about getting hurt, because a few of the teams were a little older than us, and a lot bigger. I was upset about so many things.

  “The night before the first game, my dad sat on the edge of my bed and shook his head. He said, ‘Let me tell you something that you obviously have not thought about. You’re thirteen, you’re about to play in a tournament that thousands of other girls would give anything to participate in, and it could be one of the most fun experiences of your life.

  “‘But,’ he said to me, ‘you’re all balled up inside. You’re worrying about ridiculous things. Do you really want this tournament to end and have your only memories be of worrying about it?’”

  Gap, Channy, and Katarina sat still, their attention fixed on Triana. She chuckled, then continued. “He told me something that I’ve tried to remember as often as possible. He said, ‘Close your eyes, and for a few moments visualize the last minute of the last game. You’re running down the field, the sun is shining, the grass is perfect, you’re laughing, your teammates are laughing, and you have a wide open shot for the game-winner. You pull back your leg, and you fire away.’”

  Triana closed her eyes now, taking herself back to that moment, one of many precious memories of her dad. She kept the smile etched across her face. After a few moments, Channy spoke up in a quiet voice, as if not wanting to break the spell, but yet needing to know the answer.

  “Umm…what happened? What did you visualize?”

  “That’s the best part,” Triana said, opening her eyes and looking at Channy. “I have relived that moment over and over again. I’m lying in bed before the tournament begins, and I’m watching myself take that shot. And you know what? It ends differently every single time.”

  Channy looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, sometimes I visualize that shot scooting past the goalie, into the corner of the net for the winning score. Sometimes it rockets over the goalie’s head, skims off the crossbar, and drops into the net. Other times the goalie blocks the shot, but I get the rebound and fire it past her to win the game.

  “It’s always different. But I noticed something about it. Every time I see it, it’s something good. My dad had me close my eyes and visualize, right? He didn’t say to visualize a happy ending. He just put me in that place, and allowed me to sketch my own ending. And I found that my worries disappeared. It was…”

  She fell silent for a moment, searching for the words. “It was like I was given the brush and could paint any picture I wanted. And it made me realize that I wanted none of those things that had bothered me. I could be the artist of my own future.”

  Triana looked around at the faces of her friends. “Listen, I know there’s a big difference between a soccer game, and what we’re going through today. I know the stakes are a lot higher, and the results are much more important.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that we ultimately control our thoughts. They don’t control us, unless we let them. Yes, bad things might happen, and, believe me, I’ve been through my share of difficult times. But I can’t deny that the
re is still a power that we don’t understand, and it comes from right here.” She tapped her head. “We might not be able to control everything that happens, and we might be challenged by many things in our lives. But we only drain ourselves emotionally when we worry about things beyond our control.”

  Channy smiled at her. “Your dad was pretty cool, wasn’t he?” Triana leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. “He was the best. We’re all individuals, you know, and we have our own settings, I guess you could say. But I’m grateful for everything he shared with me, and everything that he taught me.”

  Gap reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. “I wish everyone on the ship could have heard what you just said.”

  Triana felt a tear trying to work its way out, so she took a deep breath and blinked a couple of times. When it seemed like an awkward silence had settled over the room, she turned to Katarina. “Are you okay?”

  Katarina nodded, her eyes wide. “I…I guess so. I just don’t like feeling like there’s nothing I can do, you know?”

  The other three considered this for a moment. Triana said, “In a way, we’re all doing something. We’re here for each other, and that’s the most important thing right now.”

  Katarina smiled at her. “You’re right. If I wasn’t here with you guys right now, I’d probably be going out of my mind.”

  “Me, too,” Channy said. “I know you all get a bit tired of my chattering all the time, but today I kinda need to. It helps.”

  “Of course it does,” Triana said. She offered her own faint smile. “You know I’m not usually much of a talker, but this is exactly what we need to be doing.”

  “Well,” Gap said, setting down his cup of water and running a hand through his hair.

  “I’m glad to hear you all saying this. If you weren’t hanging out with me right now I’d probably be forced to chat with Roc, and I’m not sure I could handle that under the circumstances.”

  “I heard that,” came the computer’s voice from the speaker.

  A stress-reducing ripple of laughter spread around the room. Triana appreciated the break from the tension, but couldn’t help but wonder if a good portion of that stress wasn’t triggered by guilt. Yes, they were afraid for Alexa, and yes, they were aware that it could just as easily have happened to them.

  But was there another factor at play here, too? Were they troubled by thoughts that they didn’t dare give voice to? Did they all wonder, secretly, how this might have played out if they had been home? Were they each considering Merit’s arguments, which, in the light of another potential crisis, suddenly seemed more attractive?

  Or was it just her?

  Triana studied the faces around the table. There was no way of knowing if their minds were wrestling with the same disturbing questions. She felt a knot in her stomach again, and wondered if her own face registered the conflict she felt. If so, nobody said anything.

  She suddenly felt a touch of shame, angry at herself for allowing her thoughts to drift this way, when she should be thinking about the life and death struggle that Alexa faced. A struggle, she realized, that should have been decided by now. Lita had said that the surgery would take less than an hour. Triana glanced at the clock on her vidscreen.

  It had been an hour and a half.

  19

  Her Zen place; that’s how Alexa had said she dealt with blood. She went into her Zen place.

  Lita had never been bothered by the sight of blood, until, she realized, it belonged to a close friend. Now she understood exactly what Alexa had meant about the need to somehow detach from the situation. Yet how to detach and still maintain control? What place was this, Zen or otherwise, that offered relief from the pain, the pressure, the weight of responsibility?

  Lita felt a catch in her throat and swallowed hard, partly to stifle the stab of grief at her friend’s condition, but also to staunch the rising alarm that she had missed something. The surgery had progressed exactly as it had been spelled out in all of the tutorials she had scanned. The programmed video guide had directed her through every step, and she had made sure to not rush anything, to follow each stage precisely as instructed. She had total confidence in her thoroughness.

  So why did she have this feeling?

  Nerves, she told herself. That’s all, just nerves.

  The monitors flashed their steady reports: pulse, blood pressure, breathing. Everything looked fine. Lita looked quickly at Alexa’s face, so calm and serene. In this unconscious state there was no pain. Would there be dreams?

  The thought made Lita pause. She had read that some people did experience dreams during anesthesia, and thankfully most were pleasant. Alexa looked content and peaceful, which made Lita feel somewhat better, but who could say what images were flashing through Alexa’s mind during this down time? The idea fascinated Lita.

  She shifted her gaze to stare down at the small incision, amazed once again at the incredible machine that was the human body. The appendix was out, the abdominal area had been inspected for bleeding and any pockets of infection, and then had been washed out with a saline solution. It was time to close up.

  Lita thought about the progress of medical science. In the old days she would have been sewing up her patient, and later might have evolved to stapling. But today she was fortunate to have a technique similar to gluing, which would leave no scar on Alexa’s abdomen. In less than two minutes she was finished.

  Lita set down the instrument she had been using and exhaled. One of her assistants looked up and made eye contact. Even through the mask, Lita could tell that her face held a big smile.

  For the next minute there was an exchange of congratulations and heavy sighs. Things were cleaned up, carts were wheeled out of the way, and Lita made one more inspection of the wound. “Okay,” she said, “let’s wake her up.”

  Another assistant, Manu, adjusted the mixture of gases into Alexa’s clear mask, checking and double-checking the figures that spilled across the vidscreen. Lita stepped back and pulled down her surgical mask. The monitors continued to relay a healthy set of vital signs. She walked across the room and stripped off her gloves. In the background she heard the assistant softly calling Alexa back to consciousness. The entire procedure, from start to finish, had taken forty-nine minutes. Next time, Lita thought with a smile, I’ll know what I’m doing, and should be able to knock it out in thirty-five.

  A few small drops of blood spotted one of her sleeves. It magnified the significance of what had just happened. Pulling off the white smock, she looked back over her shoulder at Manu as he worked beside Alexa.

  “Everything okay?” Lita asked him.

  He looked up at her. “She’s not responding.”

  Lita quickly walked back to the operating table, looked at Alexa, then up at the monitors. Everything continued to read normal.

  “She should at least be stirring a little bit by now,” Manu said. His voice carried a touch of panic.

  “Let’s stay calm,” Lita said, but inside her chest she felt the same odd sensation return. Something didn’t feel right. She immediately summoned the ship’s computer.

  “Roc, am I boosting the oxygen level here?”

  “No,” came the reply. In the next ten minutes they followed every emergency step as outlined in their medical procedures manual. Alexa remained unconscious.

  Now the sensation of panic began to overwhelm Lita. Her mind tortured her with a reminder of her mother’s experience with Carmela. In frustration she lashed out at Roc.

  “There’s something we’re missing! What are we not doing?”

  “Lita,” Roc said, “we have done everything called for. She’s not responding.”

  “She has to respond!” Lita looked at the monitor again, willing it to show her something, anything, that would explain the situation. It mocked her with normal readings. Turning to Manu she said, “Are you sure you gave her the right mixture during the procedure?”

  Roc answered for the stunned boy. “Lita, I monitored
everything that was administered during the operation. The dosage was correct, the course of action was followed perfectly. She’s not responding.”

  Lita’s chin dropped to her chest and she issued a low groan. “What have I missed? I must have missed something.”

  “You haven’t done anything wrong, Lita,” Roc said. “You did everything exactly as you should have. The surgery itself was perfect.”

  “It’s not perfect!” Lita said, raising her voice. “She’s not waking up.”

  “And there is nothing you have done to cause that,” the computer replied.

  Lita shook her head and felt a tremble work its way through her body. First her mother with Carmela, and now her own failure with Alexa. After a moment she realized that Manu and the other assistant were watching her, waiting for direction. She took a deep breath, then another.

  “Let’s get her back into the hospital ward and into her bed,” she said finally, her voice returning to normal. She laid out instructions for Alexa’s care and treatment, then watched as they wheeled her out. She was alone in the operating room.

  Leaning back against the wall, she allowed one sob to shake her. Then she tilted her head toward the ceiling and shut her eyes.

  He spent about five minutes scrubbing the combination of grease and dirt from his hands and nails before remembering that there was still a lot of work to be done before he could take a break. Now Bon dried his hands and sat down with a sigh at his desk. He and Marco had finally coaxed the tractor into starting, no thanks to Liam. A flash of anger passed through Bon as he recalled the smug look of satisfaction on Liam’s face. Between that showdown and the confrontation with Merit, Bon felt mentally fatigued. He wasn’t one for taking time off, but suddenly all he wanted was to get away and not have to think about any of it for awhile.