The Galahad Legacy

by Dom Testa

  “Oh, wow,” she heard Hannah say, wonder dripping from her voice. The pod had made visual contact with the rip in space. “This is … spectacular.”

  “Manu, how are you doing?” Triana said with a smile. Hannah would be chomping at the bit to dive through the Channel, but for Manu it was likely the most terrifying experience of his life.

  “I’m great,” Manu said. “Hannah’s sold me on how much fun it’s going to be. It is going to be fun, right?”

  “Like an amusement park ride, Manu. The shortest ride of your life.”

  Gap broke in from the Spider bay. “Twenty seconds. Good luck, Hannah, good luck, Manu.”

  “Thanks,” they replied in unison.

  “Thank you both again for volunteering to go,” Triana said. “We’ll be out of touch for awhile, so take care, and we’ll catch up again soon, okay?”

  “Sounds good,” Hannah said.

  “Ten seconds,” Gap said.

  Triana watched the giant vidscreen in the Control Room, although the Channel opening was too small, and too far away, to be visible.

  “Uh…” Hannah said. “That’s odd—”

  Then there was silence.

  22

  Have you ever tried talking your friends into doing something that you thought was the greatest thing in the world, and you could tell from their reaction that they were only going along with it because (a) you were their friend, (b) they really were curious about it, (c) they were too tired to argue, or (d) there was free food involved?

  Now think about the situation on Galahad. You have a couple hundred teenagers who have been cooped up for a year and are now facing some weighty decisions. If one person pitches what they claim is a brilliant idea, some people are gonna be curious and some are gonna be too worn-out to disagree.

  Especially when Merit is the guy doing the pitching. We know it’s not the food; there’s plenty of that up in the Dining Hall.

  * * *

  The personal quarters on Galahad were not designed to hold many people. Each room, other than Triana’s, was set up to house two crew members, with space for washing, as well as clothes storage, drawers for personal items, and a shared desk. At the moment there were twelve people crammed into Merit’s room. He sat on the edge of his bed, while the others sat on the floor.

  “How many will it take?” asked Liam Wright.

  “That’s hard to answer,” Merit said, adjusting his expression to appear thoughtful. “At the very least, I’d say fifteen to twenty. Hopefully we’ll have more than that.”

  Liam looked around the room. “You don’t even have that many here.”

  “But when the time comes, others will be here. Believe me.”

  “Why?” asked Balin Robinson.

  Merit turned his palms up. “Because no matter what’s happened, there are people aboard this ship who don’t believe in the way the Council runs things. There are people who would like a fresh start without Triana and her pals running everything.” He smiled at Balin. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  Balin shrugged, but didn’t answer.

  “How will you decide which planet?” asked Liam.

  “That’s easy,” Merit said without hesitation. “Just show me which planet Triana and Gap and the rest are choosing, and we’ll take the other one. If they want Eos Four, we’ll be happy with Eos Three. And if they want number three, we’ll make do on number four.” He smirked. “I hope it’s four. I love the water.”

  He looked around at the group gathered near his feet, waiting for follow-up questions, but for now they were willing to simply listen. He liked it that way; too many questions meant they were thinking too much for themselves. That was the last thing he wanted. And if they trusted him enough to come to the meeting, it meant they had their own misgivings about the Council’s leadership. It was time to close the deal.

  “We’d be okay slaving away under the Council’s rule, you know? We could do it if we needed to. We’ve already done it for a few years, haven’t we? But just imagine if we were given a blank slate. Imagine if we had a world of our own. Imagine if we could build it from scratch, where everyone had an equal say in things. Where everyone’s opinions counted. Where everyone worked just as hard as the other person, and shared in the same rewards. It won’t be that way on Triana’s world, I can guarantee you that.

  “But give us the chance to do it our way, and imagine the result in a few years. Think of what we could build. And it doesn’t even matter what planet we’re given; we can build something spectacular regardless of where we begin.” He paused and gave them an encouraging smile. “Go and think about it and, if you’d like, talk with your closest friends. I don’t know about you, but I’m excited thinking about what we could accomplish together.”

  There were a few nods, and a few smiles returned. The group stood, stretched their legs, and said their farewells. Lockdown had been ordered for the jump, with all crew members expected in their rooms. Merit walked them to the door, said his good-byes, and then chuckled to himself.

  The spoken word was a powerful tool. It was the strongest weapon in his arsenal, and he knew exactly how to wield it. And the best part of all, of course, was the way that it could mold a mind that was unsure. Throw out a few comments about equal say and equal reward, and it was irresistible to some. Include a few well-timed smiles along with the words, and it became even more believable.

  Merit had the beginnings of his new pack, many of whom had followed him the last time he’d spoken up. And while they basked in the idea of equal say, he knew that, when the time came, they wouldn’t want equal say. They’d want a leader. They’d want someone to do the dirty work for them.

  Like they always did.

  * * *

  It was spooky. The ship appeared deserted, the corridors empty, the usual gathering spots—the gym, the Dining Hall, the Rec Room—vacant. Lita and Bon walked the upper levels, making a last-minute check to confirm that all crew members were safely tucked into their rooms. The plunge through the Channel wasn’t violent, but it would likely render each person unconscious. Channy was making a similar check on the lower levels, along with her roommate, Kylie. Gap would stay on duty in the Engineering section, and would strap himself in when the time came. Triana was stationed in the ship’s Control Room.

  “I didn’t see you at the Spider bay earlier,” Lita said. “Didn’t you want to say good-bye to Hannah and Manu?”

  “They’ll be back,” Bon said, poking his head into the Rec Room. “Besides, there was work to do.”

  Lita gave a solemn nod. “Right. Gotta make sure the apple crates are locked down, and all that. Right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Plus, you’re probably not very good at good-bye,” Lita said. “All that icky emotion. Yuck.” She paused, scanning the hallway ahead of them. “But you’d come and say good-bye to me, right?”

  She couldn’t see Bon’s face, but from his voice she could tell he wore a half-smile. “Probably not. If you left there’d be a long line of sobbing friends. I don’t like lines.”

  “You’re such a creep,” Lita said with an exaggerated pout. “But you’d miss me, of course.”

  They’d reached the Dining Hall. A quick glance showed it was dark and empty.

  “Sure, I’d miss you,” Bon said. “With Manu gone, who’d be there to nag at me if I ended up in the hospital again?”

  They walked in silence for another minute, taking the lift down one level and beginning the process again. It was merely a precaution; Galahad’s crew had followed their instructions.

  Lita resisted the urge to engage Bon in more lighthearted banter. She’d gotten just about all that could be expected from him in one session. But there was a subtle change in Bon that she liked. He was still blunt, of course, but he didn’t seem … angry. That was it: he wasn’t seething inside, no longer struggling against the malicious intent of the big, bad universe. It made him approachable.

  She wondered if it was a mistake to g
et used to that. The raging side of the Swede might return at any moment.

  Or would he? Lita had watched Bon progress through the classic stages of grief—or most of them, anyway. Perhaps his last connection with the Cassini brought him to a place of peace. Maybe he no longer railed at the universe because he’d discovered that there was so much more to it than he’d ever expected.

  On the other hand, Lita thought with a smile, maybe he was just in a better mood because he practically had the ship to himself. That was just as likely. But, if it was true that a kinder, gentler Bon was breaking through to the surface, it made him more attractive than ever.

  The thought of him in those terms had never occurred to her before. Between the stormy relationship she’d noticed between Bon and Triana, and the confusing, abrupt relationship he’d shared with Alexa, Lita had never allowed herself to look at him that way. He’d been off limits.

  But now …

  * * *

  It figures, Gap thought. All of the turbulence that the ship had weathered, all of the near-catastrophes that they’d skirted, all of the systems failures that they’d endured, and now, as they approached the most frightening part of their journey, Galahad was purring. The ship barely held together during the roughest stretches, and now decided to relax and coast to its rendezvous with the star portal.

  He strolled between rooms in Engineering, making minor adjustments, and drifted through the memories: standing before a panel while puzzling through the mystery of the heating dilemma on level six; huddled with Triana and his Engineering assistants, sweating over a power surge that took them to the brink of a deadly explosion near Saturn; and the frustrating collapse of the ship’s radiation shield which threatened a slow, agonizing death.

  Jumping hurdle after hurdle, stumbling along a course that seemed so easy when they were studying under the nurturing blue sky of Mother Earth, when the launch and the mission seemed so far away, so unreal. We’ve earned our wings, Gap thought; we’ve proved ourselves.

  And, he decided, he’d proven himself worthy, too. He thought of the bleakest moments of this odyssey, when he’d withdrawn from the Council, from the crew, and retreated into a darkness that he’d never imagined. He’d questioned his abilities, and he’d questioned his worthiness of even being selected for the mission.

  But his rise from the darkness had been as swift as the descent. He recovered his confidence, and rediscovered the spirit that his mother had always lauded as the spark that made him different. Made him special.

  The regret he carried from that experience was the damage he’d inflicted upon Hannah. And now, finding himself alone, he wondered if it had been worth it. He’d learned so much about himself, and had grown in ways that only came from enduring personal defeat. But it cost him a part of himself, too; a part that he now mourned.

  Balancing the books, he realized. Payment for acquiring experience. Nothing easy, nothing free.

  Slowly the painful thought that he’d kept at bay forced its way back into his head: Hannah was gone, and he might never see her again.

  Alone, and on the fringe of a completely new beginning, he leaned against the metal panel, put his head in his hands, and softly wept.

  23

  That’s odd.

  What would cause Hannah to say that? What did she see when the Channel opened up before her? Or was there something wrong with the pod, something that seemed out of place?

  The questions rolled through Triana’s mind as she monitored Galahad’s progress from the ship’s deserted command post. Torrec had arranged coordinates with Roc, piloting them toward the second wormhole that lay waiting for them, the rip in space that would deliver them to Eos.

  If Torrec could be trusted. Hannah’s puzzled exclamation didn’t necessarily mean that something was wrong, but it contributed to Triana’s growing unease. It was one more reminder that all of the control lay with Torrec.

  And that was a miserable feeling.

  The Council Leader sat up straight and registered the data spilling onto the vidscreen. Gap assured her that they’d make it to their destination before the shield sputtered and shut down. Barely. Once through to the other side, the bruised effect on space would be absorbed by the ring of debris circling the yellow star. And, with guidance help supplied by the Cassini, they’d navigate safely into the comfortable lagoon within the Eos system.

  Over the next several minutes, Triana heard from Channy and Kylie, then Lita and Bon. All decks were clear, and they were back in their respective rooms. Gap gave a final thumbs-up from Engineering. All that was left was the leap of faith.

  “Roc,” she said, “I show our ETA for the Channel to be eight minutes. Any status changes?”

  “No, we’re right on track,” Roc said. “At this time I’d like for you to make sure your seat back is in its upright and locked position, and that your tray table is stored. Thank you for flying Trans Debris.”

  She laughed despite the latest round of butterflies. This would be her third venture through a wormhole, but this time with more on the line than just her own neck.

  Seconds ticked by. With just over six minutes remaining she powered down non-essential components in the Control Room, not for any particular reason; it simply seemed the prudent thing to do. The majority of the workstations were shut down. The lights dimmed to the ship’s late-evening mode, and the room slipped into a shadowy twilight.

  A random thought crossed her mind. “Roc,” she said, “are you nervous? I mean, are you capable of that … feeling?”

  “How sweet of you to ask,” the computer said. “I wouldn’t say nervous. But I do have a measure of curiosity about the process. You’re a veteran of this operation by now. Are you worried about it?”

  Triana glanced at the tiny monitor as it ticked off the remaining time. Five-thirty-seven, five-thirty-six, five-thirty-five. Was she worried?

  “I’m…” She paused. Five-twenty-nine, five-twenty-eight, five-twenty-seven. And then, without warning, a sensation sped through her, and she swallowed hard. She wasn’t worried, no. She was …

  “I’m angry,” she said.

  “Oh,” Roc said. “You could have given me ten guesses and I wouldn’t have chosen that particular emotion. Care to elaborate?”

  “I’m tired of worrying and wondering. I’m frustrated that we’re constantly at the mercy of others, merely because we’re the new species on the block, and we can only hope that they’re benevolent. I’m bothered that Dr. Zimmer didn’t tell us about the additional crew members we’ve been toting around. When you roll all of that together, it makes me angry.”

  She watched the seconds tick by. Five minutes.

  “I suddenly don’t trust anything anymore. I don’t trust that Hannah and Manu were taken to the Dollovit star system, I don’t trust the motives of your good friend Torrec, and I don’t trust that Eos is waiting on the other side of this Channel, like some promised land.”

  She sat back and added: “What happens if we abort the Channel maneuver?” she said.

  “Chalk up another surprising quip from the Colorado girl,” Roc said. “Abort the maneuver?”

  “Yeah,” Triana said. Four-forty-one, four-forty, four-thirty-nine. “What happens?”

  “You know what happens. Slow subatomic dismemberment, where your atoms fling their various parts around like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum at day care. You won’t die so much as cease to exist, leaving a microscopic pile of quarks and an empty pair of shoes.”

  Triana bit her lip. Four-thirty, four-twenty-nine.

  “Plot a new course to steer us away from the Channel,” she said. “We’re not going.”

  “Oh, Tree,” the computer said. “You have about four minutes left before you seriously regret that decision. There are no do-overs in this game.”

  “Plot it.”

  “Ignore that order, Roc,” said a thick voice behind her. She turned to see Bon standing just outside the door to the lift.

  His eyes were glowing. Dull orange.r />
  Triana stood up. Bon was clearly under the influence of the Cassini, but walking and talking. With no translator.

  “Bon—” she began.

  “Ignore the order, Roc,” Bon said again. “We’re going through.”

  “Listen to me,” Triana said. “Something’s not—”

  “No, you have four minutes to listen to me,” Bon said. He stumbled toward her, looking stiff, unsure. But determined.

  “Your distrust of the Dollovit is understandable,” he said. “But you’re wrong. They’re peaceful.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “The Cassini know it. And the jellyfish wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t true.”

  Triana sat down, throwing a quick glance at the timer. Three-forty-one. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  Bon staggered next to her and pulled a chair under him. Once seated, he seemed slightly more at ease. His eyes, however, stared at a point over Triana’s head.

  “The Cassini came here when our universe was created, from outside.”

  “What does that mean? Outside?”

  “It means that they rode the wave which created our universe.” He sighed, apparently flustered at having to condense such a deep subject into a thumbnail sketch. “Imagine a vast number of universes, each an independent collection of matter and energy, but in separate dimensions. Now imagine if two of them somehow collided. The result would be an explosion too powerful to comprehend. A big bang, if you will. Matter and energy would pour into this new universe. The Cassini rode that wave, and have expanded as the universe has expanded. As if they’re perched on the skin of a balloon as it’s blown up; it expands, and they ride along with it. Space really has no meaning to them, nor does time.

  “And, as we guessed, they can assist civilizations at times, or they can destroy. But their primary role is universal policemen. They watch over each and every intelligent species that crawls up from the slime, noting their progress, watching their baby steps turn into giant leaps toward space. And they guard.”