The Double Helix (Book 3)

by Trudi Trueit

  “Or on purpose,” said Emmett.

  Cruz’s pulse quickened. Was it possible? Had his dad left another clue?

  “Why would anyone dump sugar all over—” Lani let out a gasp. “Oh my gosh! Of course: Koloa! It has to be Koloa.” The view from the camera looked like an earthquake had hit, as she rushed into the hallway. “I’m on it, Cruz! Don’t worry. I’ll find him.”

  “No!” he yelled. “It’s too risky.”

  “I’ll call you when I can get there,” she huffed. “It’ll take me a few days to work it out, though. Aloha.”

  “Lani, don’t do it!” shouted Cruz. “Don’t go. Do. Not. Go. Did you hear me? Lani? Lani?”

  The screen was black. Cruz slapped the bed.

  “Where’s she going?” asked Emmett.

  “To an abandoned sugar mill. Koloa is on the south end of the island. I don’t like this. The last thing we need is for Nebula to discover she’s following them.”

  “I’m sure Lani wouldn’t do anything crazy.”

  “Really? ’Cause I’m not.” Cruz grabbed his phone off the nightstand and began texting her as fast as his fingers could fly. “You don’t know her like I do. Once she’s committed to something, she can get a little carried away. Who am I kidding? She can get a lot carried away. Lani Kealoha is the most stubborn, hardheaded, unreasonable girl I’ve ever met in my life…” Pausing, Cruz glanced up. “And if anything ever happened to her…”

  “It won’t. She’ll be all right. You’ll see.” Emmett’s words would have been a lot more convincing if his glasses weren’t gray crescent moons of fear.

  * * *

  “WHAT ABOUT THAT SPOT in the southwest corner?” Sailor pointed diagonally across the screen beneath her hand.

  It was late afternoon, and Team Cousteau was huddled around one of the computerized map tables in the library. They were working on Professor Luben’s looting assignment. As instructed, they were reviewing satellite tiles from Turkey and flagging those that appeared to have looting pits.

  “I don’t think it’s a pit,” said Emmett. “There’s only one hole. Remember, Dr. Luben said looters rarely stop with one hole.”

  Sailor nodded. “Cruz, what do you think?”

  “Huh?” Cruz was going between the screens on his tablet and phone. He had been calling and texting Lani all day. She wasn’t responding.

  “The tile?” Sailor sounded annoyed. “Is the spot in the corner a pit or not?”

  Cruz stretched toward her.

  “Try looking in the right place, Coronado.” Dugan, who was to the left of Cruz, tapped the screen between them.

  “Sorry.” Cruz shifted his gaze.

  After a few seconds, Dugan nudged Bryndis, who was at the controls. “Let’s go on to the next one.”

  “Not yet,” she answered calmly.

  “Why not? Three out of the five of us don’t see anything.”

  “We agreed that we all have to agree on each tile,” said Bryndis.

  “I didn’t agree to Coronado going slower than a sloth,” said Dugan.

  “If we go too fast, we could miss something,” said Emmett.

  Dugan grunted. “Yeah, like dinner.”

  “No one is missing dinner,” Bryndis said evenly. “We’re almost done with this one.”

  “I’m done.” Cruz lifted his head.

  Bryndis giggled. “See?”

  Dugan rolled his eyes, but he grinned, too.

  Cruz admired the way Bryndis handled Dugan during their team projects. She was cool but firm. She also didn’t seem to let Dugan’s doom-and-gloom attitude affect her. Dugan’s bleak outlook had a way of sticking to you without you realizing it, kind of like syrup when you’re eating pancakes.

  “I would say no pit,” said Cruz. “Emmett’s right. Plus, remember the tutorial said that in order to gauge the size of the hole we should compare it to landmarks on the tile, like cars or houses. It’s twice the size of that building near Dugan’s elbow. It’s too big to be a pit.”

  “Good,” said Sailor. “That’s five no votes for Tile Twenty-Two.”

  Bryndis entered it into the computer. “How about if we do one more? That leaves seven tiles, and we can finish them tomorrow.”

  Everyone nodded.

  Tile 23 came up. Cruz bent to scan his side of the satellite image. He was improving as they went along. Cruz was getting better at telling the difference between trees and bushes, hills and divots, even farms and random bulldozer tracks. The image had mostly flat brown plains with a few wrinkled hills broken up by rocky outcrops. To his right, in the southeast corner, Cruz could make out dozens of dark circles in a grid pattern. Looting pits. But there was something else, too—something he had not seen before. Beneath the dirt, he could see the faint outline of three large rings, one inside the other. It was like looking at a lopsided wedding cake from above. In the center ring were two small squares sitting corner to corner. If this was a historic site preserved by archaeologists, it should have been labeled on the tile. Maybe it was an archaeological feature, a site that looters had partially uncovered but that had not been properly unearthed by scientists.

  “Dugan,” Cruz said to the bent head next to his. “What do you think this is?”

  His teammate slid over. Lines wriggled across his forehead as he inspected the landscape. “I don’t know. Probably an archaeological feature.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, but what is it?”

  “No clue. Like it matters. We’re supposed to be looking for pits.”

  “Yeah, I know, but aren’t you curious?”

  “About what?” asked Sailor.

  Cruz motioned to the rest of the team. Everyone scooted around to Dugan and Cruz’s side of the square table.

  “Whatever it is, those circles have to be human-made,” said Bryndis.

  “It could be a temple,” said Sailor.

  “Or a tomb,” suggested Emmett.

  They studied the image for several more minutes, but none of them knew what to make of the faint outlines.

  “I’ll make a note for Professor Luben,” said Bryndis, moving to the touch-screen keyboard. “I bet he’ll know what it is. Does anyone have any looting pits to report?”

  Cruz lifted his hand. “I do.”

  Dugan and Emmett chimed in that they did, too. Once every member of Team Cousteau had studied every other member’s sections and they’d all agreed, Bryndis added those sites to her notes as well. “I’m scheduling us for map time tomorrow at three p.m., right after class lets out,” she said. “Let’s go eat. It’s build-your-own-mini-pizza night.”

  “I’m so hungry I could eat three,” said Dugan.

  “Same here.” Emmett shot Cruz a grin. “Pepperoni and sausage with extra cheese?”

  “Actually, I thought I’d stick around here for a little longer,” said Cruz. “I…uh…I need to study for Modi’s geography test.”

  “Hardly.” Sailor smirked. “I graded your practice quiz. You didn’t miss a single question, not even that one about how far Russia is from America.”

  Bryndis groaned. “I can’t believe I missed that.”

  “I got it right,” said Dugan.

  Everyone began chattering about how Professor Modi had thrown a trick question at them: In the Bering Strait, the island of Big Diomede belonged to Russia, and nearby Little Diomede was part of Alaska, meaning the countries were just a little over two miles apart! While his teammates were busy talking, Cruz took the opportunity to grab his tablet and slip into the stacks. He headed to the aft section of the library, trotting up the spiral staircase to the second floor.

  Cruz had work to do. He had decided to try to fix the holo-journal himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Emmett or Lani when they’d said they had tried everything, but they’d also been wary about breaking his mom’s journal. Maybe they had been too careful, had given up too soon.

  Cruz pulled up the library’s database on his tablet and did a search for books on computational origami, mater
ials architecture, and holo-technology. On-screen, the opposite corner of the second-floor library diagram lit up. It activated the GPS pin on Cruz’s collar, projecting a line of opaque blue dots in front of him. They would take him to the section where the books were shelved. He began following the polka dots. Through rails of the balcony, Cruz saw Team Magellan below him. Ali, Matteo, Yulia, Kat, Tao, and Zane were just entering the library. It was a few minutes after six.

  They’d probably already eaten and were now coming at their scheduled time to do their tiles for anthropology class. Cruz noticed that while Sailor, Bryndis, and Emmett headed past the other explorers and out the door, Dugan hung back. He said something to Matteo, throwing out an arm in the direction of the map tables. Matteo laughed. Instead of following the rest of his team out of the library, Dugan leaned backward, as if checking to be certain his teammates had left, then followed Team Magellan to a map table. So much for being hungry enough to eat a few mini pizzas. Could Emmett be right about their teammate?

  “Just what are you up to, Dugan Marsh?” muttered Cruz.

  When Dugan disappeared, Cruz continued on his way, following the line of hovering blue dots to the section on holo-technology. Settling into one of the closed-off study nooks, Cruz spent the next two hours going through a short stack of thick books. He studied the principles of computational origami, how paper and other materials are folded via computer program. He learned about the science behind materials architecture, the ways in which different materials change in response to stimuli and their environment. Cruz had seen self-assembling furniture and self-driving cars, but now he was beginning to understand how these things worked. It was exciting stuff. This must have been how Emmett had felt when he was researching how to create his mind-control fabric, Lumagine.

  In his reading, Cruz also stumbled upon why his mother had used tungsten trioxide to make her journal. The compound’s ability to regulate heat and light made it fire retardant and resistant to sun damage. Still, there was a great deal of information that was beyond him. Most of the books dealt with current hardware. Something seven years old was considered ancient. Plus, the math was too advanced.

  His neck cramping and his stomach rumbling, Cruz slammed shut the cover of the last book in his pile. He did understand more about the technology but, sadly, not enough to fix the journal.

  Cruz slid open the door to the nook and stuck out his head. The aisle was empty. Scooping up his books, Cruz scurried out to reshelve them before he was spotted. His heart pounded as he shoved each title into place. Pushing in the last spine, Cruz spun on his heel and walked straight into Sidril Vanderwick. He heard her toes crunch beneath his.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Vanderwick,” said Cruz. “Are you okay?”

  The science tech lab assistant hopped on one foot. “Uh-huh. What are pinkie toes really good for anyway?” The corners of her mouth turned up.

  Cruz couldn’t recall ever seeing Dr. Vanderwick smile. Not that he ever saw much of Fanchon’s second-in-command. Whenever he went to the lab, Dr. Vanderwick was usually busy in one of the cubicles working on an experiment or in one of the back labs. She was quite different from Fanchon. Where the tech lab chief was a churning tornado of colorful clothes and wild hair and mind-blowing ideas coming at you at 100 miles an hour, Dr. Vanderwick was more like a soft breeze. She wore a white lab coat over a dark turtleneck and a skirt or pants. Her honey blond hair was usually pulled away from her face into a tight bun or ponytail. He knew she was extremely bright, too. More than once Cruz had heard the lab chief say she would be lost without her assistant.

  Moving past him, Dr. Vanderwick reached for one of the books Cruz had put back on the shelf a half minute earlier. He tried not to look guilty. He didn’t need to worry. The scientist was busy looking up something in the index. She flipped back through several chapters, found the page she needed, and read a few paragraphs. “Ah, of course!”

  “You’ve studied holography?” Cruz gulped.

  “A little.” Shutting the book, she turned it around so Cruz could see the cover.

  It had her name on it. It was his turn to gasp. “You wrote this?”

  Another grin.

  Cruz couldn’t believe it. Maybe Emmett was right. If they ever hoped to get the journal working again, Cruz would have to trust someone with expertise in the technology. And here she was, standing right in front of him. It was a…a…

  Miracle.

  Sort of. Fanchon was likely an expert, too, but Dr. V hadn’t designed a helmet that had nearly killed him.

  No one else was around. If Cruz was going to ask for her help, it was the perfect time.

  “Dr. Vanderwick?” Taking a deep breath, Cruz reached inside the lower outside pocket of his uniform. His fingers slid over his mom’s journal. “I was wondering…I thought maybe…you could help me with something.”

  “Sure. If I can.”

  “I’ve got this—”

  Laughter interrupted him. “…and then I got so freaked out at seeing a snake, I jumped up and took off running as fast as I could,” crowed a deep voice from below, “and fell right into the latrine hole.”

  More laughter.

  Cruz didn’t need to go to the rail to find out who it was, but he did anyway. He couldn’t resist. Professor Luben was standing at one of the map tables. Team Magellan was clustered around him, hanging on his every word. “And that deadly horned viper?” boomed their instructor. “It turned out to be a piece of rubber from an old tire.”

  The explorers howled.

  Snickering, Cruz turned back to Dr. Vanderwick. “It’s only Professor Lu—”

  But she was gone. Guess Dr. Vanderwick was in a hurry to return to the lab. Cruz wondered, should he follow her and try again to ask if she would help repair the journal? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. In order to fix the digital book, she’d need to keep it for a while, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to part with it for any length of time. Plus, she might tell others she had it, including Fanchon.

  Cruz put a hand through his hair, pulling it up by the roots until he tipped his own head back. He was looking at the beautiful stained-glass map of the world on the ceiling. In the dimming light of evening, he could not make out the tiny Hawaiian Islands in the vast, swirling blue of the Pacific Ocean. He felt restless.

  What should he do?

  Cruz’s tablet was chiming. It had to be Lani. It was about time, too. He’d sent at least a dozen texts. Lowering his head, he tapped the icon, but the message wasn’t from Lani. It was from Mell. She had recorded someone near the secret door!

  Cruz hit the “play” arrow, his pulse quickening. The video began with Mell zooming in on the approaching figure. However, the drone was compensating for the dim light in the passage by widening her aperture, even as she tried to focus in on a moving target. The poor light and jerky movement made it impossible to tell who was coming down the corridor. Just when Mell managed to bump up the light level and bring things into focus, the person leaned into the security camera for identification, and Cruz was stuck looking at the top of a head. Hearing the door unlock, Cruz let out a moan. Great. He wasn’t going to be able to ID the mystery guest.

  The figure took a step back. Cruz held his breath. As the blue door opened, a cone of light appeared from the secret room. It illuminated a face that Cruz had never in a million years expected to see!

  “JERICHO MILES?” Emmett froze in the doorway of the bathroom, toothpaste foaming from his mouth. “On this ship? You saw Jericho Miles on board Orion?”

  “I didn’t, but Mell did.” Cruz held up his tablet. “I’ve got the video to prove it.”

  “One sec.” Emmett ran to spit out his toothpaste. He was back in a flash.

  Cruz played the drone footage for his roommate. The gaunt face, the long blond ponytail, the lean runner’s body—there could be no doubt this was the scientist who had saved Cruz, Emmett, and Sailor back at the Academy from Nebula’s gas attack. After rescuing them, Jericho had brought the trio in
side the top secret lab. He wouldn’t admit that’s where they were, but Emmett had figured it out, based on the security features and a few other clues. Later, Jericho had shown up again, this time at the Society’s museum, to save Cruz from one of Nebula’s hit men. Even so, Jericho had been on a mission, too. The Synthesis had sent him to the museum to get a blood sample from Cruz. Jericho wouldn’t say why and, in fact, claimed not to know, but Cruz wasn’t so sure about that. In the end, Jericho had let Cruz off the hook. He had released him without ever getting the sample. Even so, when it came to Jericho Miles, Cruz had far more questions than answers.

  The pair watched the Synthesis scientist pass through the blue door. When Mell’s video went to black, Emmett turned to Cruz. “What’s he doing here?”

  Cruz shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

  In her journal, Cruz’s mother had warned him about the Synthesis. She’d said she could no longer be certain that the very organization that she had helped originate was on her side. With no one left to trust, she had created and hidden the cipher with her formula for Cruz—and only Cruz—to find. At first, Cruz had found it hard to believe that the Synthesis might turn on his mom, but now he was beginning to understand her misgivings. Since his arrival at the Academy, Cruz had not come any closer to learning whether the Synthesis was an ally or an enemy. And as long as it remained a mystery, he had to be careful.

  “It’s possible Jericho might not even be here for you,” said Emmett. “In fact, now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense he’d be hiding in the belly of the ship.”

  Cruz’s eyes widened. “It does?”

  “Can you think of a better way for a top secret branch of the Society dedicated to studying the potential of humankind to investigate new discoveries made around the world?”

  Cruz saw his point. Traveling with a ship full of explorers would be good cover. Maybe Jericho’s presence here had absolutely nothing to do with him.

  “Still…” Emmett frowned. “Maybe you ought to steer clear of B deck and let Mell keep an eye on things there for a while. Just to be safe.”