The Galahad Legacy Read online

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  Acknowledgments

  The Galahad series has been a huge part of my life for ten years, and there are literally dozens of people who have played a large role in making it happen. As we enter the homestretch, I want to thank the visionary educators around the world who have created such remarkable learning opportunities around the Galahad books. You amaze me with your creative and enthusiastic programs.

  Thanks to the good people at Tor, who work every day to put fun, fascinating books into the hands of people (young and not-so-young) everywhere.

  Special thanks to Donna for her love and support, and to Dominic III for his brilliant observations and ideas.

  And to Monica, for making me laugh every day. If you don’t have someone like that in your life, get out there and find them right now.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  A Note from the Author

  Tor Teen Reader’s Guide

  About the Author

  Tor Teen Books by Dom Testa

  Copyright

  If you want to pump up the drama in any situation, it’s always a sure bet to add the phrase “a matter of life and death.” For one thing, people don’t know if you’re serious or just hooked on theatrics. Me, I use it all the time, even to cut in line in the cafeteria.

  But sometimes it’s not a cheap trick to get attention. Sometimes it literally comes down to a decision here or a mistake there. And before you know it, everyone’s screaming.

  Case in point: the teenage explorers aboard the greatest sailing ship ever built. This particular ship is not at sea, but rather in a sea of stars. It’s called Galahad, and it carries not only the hopes and dreams and dirty laundry of the human race, but 250 of Earth’s best and brightest young people, on a mission to colonize a new world.

  Their story began about a year ago with The Comet’s Curse, and has seen its share of life and death. Literally. For one thing, there used to be 251 teenagers aboard the ship. See what I mean?

  What kind of narrator would I be if I didn’t strongly urge you to find that first volume and begin at the beginning? You’ll find an interesting band of intrepid star travelers, led by crafty Triana Martell and the ship’s Council. They counted on a long, difficult voyage. What they didn’t count on was a saboteur, deadly space debris, a bizarre alien intelligence over a billion years old, and creepy space vultures—all on the outside—with a few salty troublemakers lurking on the inside.

  When we left you hanging last time, Triana had piloted a pod—a small emergency vehicle—through a nasty rip in space that likely was a wormhole. Her disappearance led to an impromptu movement to fill the role of Council Leader, which led to bad boy Merit Simms returning to the scene, which led to Gap Lee and Hannah Ross opposing each other and opening old love wounds, which led …

  Ugh, how do you humans make it through a day without imploding?

  Anyway, Triana has suddenly popped back onto the scene, and she’s not alone. She brought something with her, and it’s not a fruit basket. Judging from the way some of the crew members reacted when they saw it, I’d say it probably falls somewhere between amazing and downright freaky.

  Plus, we have the little problem of the various wormholes creating a bruise in space which now threatens to atomically dismantle the ship and turn the happy space campers into gobs of jumbled particles. Yeah, that’s a problem.

  And then there’s Bon Hartsfield trying to reach into the afterlife to soothe his guilty conscience, and Lita Marques, the ship’s young doctor, struggling with the concept of faith in its many forms. Poor Channy Oakland just wants everyone to get their butts in the gym and sweat it out.

  Bon has always used a strange device called the translator to achieve his alien hookup, but something tells me that’s about to change. And those space vultures I mentioned? I get the feeling they’re not going away without a curtain call.

  What have I left out? Lots. I suggest you grab all five preceding volumes and tear through them like crazy to get caught up. In each one you’ll find that the glue that holds this tale together is the world’s most lovable computer. That would be me. My name is Roc, and my actual job is to run the ship’s engines and climate. But c’mon, it’s no fun to just sit around and watch these guys fall in and out of trouble. Could you?

  I’ll stick my nose—or at least my chips—into the story from time to time, but only because sometimes it cries out for analysis. And believe me, after a year in space with these crazy kids, no one is better qualified than I.

  1

  Her eyes fluttered open for a brief second, but the light seemed harsh, making her reluctant to open them again. The last thing she remembered was sitting in the cockpit of the pod, her heart racing as she again spiraled down into the wormhole. Her first experience doing that had taught her that it would not be pleasant.

  But now she was lying on a bed, a sheet up to her neck, while muffled voices floated in from nearby. Her curiosity finally won out and she chanced another glimpse, cracking her eyes, allowing them to acclimate as she determined her surroundings. Of course it had to be Galahad, her mind told her, but her experiences in the past week—Was it a week? Was it a year?—kept her from accepting anything until she could see it with her own eyes.

  Although, she had to admit, what she’d recently seen with those eyes was mind-shattering.

  She pried her lids open a bit wider. When the room gradually swam into focus, she positively identified it as the hospital ward on the ship. She let out a contented sigh.

  The sound must have alerted the people in the room, because moments later a shape loomed over her. Pulling her gaze upward, she felt a wave of comfort when the face of Lita Marques beamed at her.

  “Welcome home, Tree,” Lita said. “Why don’t you stick around for awhile?”

  Triana Martell found the strength to smile, and mumbled a thick “hi.”

  “I’m sure you have questions galore,” Lita said. “Let me answer a few before you ask. Yes, you’re back safely; at least my preliminary scan doesn’t show any physical problems, unless you have any aches you want to share with me.” When Triana shook her head once, Lita continued: “Everyone here is fine, not counting the usual drama and a few bumps and bruises. The ship itself has a few problems, but Gap can
get you caught up with that. And, let’s see…” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Lots of people have come by to welcome you back, but I’ve shooed them away for now. Oh, and the friend you brought with you is doing okay. Well, at least as far as I can tell.”

  Triana stared up at Lita, then cleared her throat and croaked: “Where?”

  Lita nodded toward the door. “Down the hall. Same place we had the vulture. Only this time we’re keeping people out. Remember, it was a zoo when we brought in the vulture. I get the feeling that this is much different, so we’re keeping a lid on things for now.” She paused and studied Triana’s face. “It’s actually quite different, isn’t it?”

  Raising up on her elbows, Triana looked at the table beside her. “Is that water?”

  Lita helped her take a few sips. “No comment about … it?”

  Triana licked her lips, then rubbed her eyes. “I’ll have plenty of comments for all of you.” She swallowed more water and felt her strength returning. “You’re not gonna keep me in bed just because I passed out, are you?”

  “Like I said, you seem fine,” Lita said, standing up. “You know me, I’ll always caution against doing too much after a traumatic experience, or a shock to the system. I’m guessing you’ve had both. But I know these are special circumstances, too. Let’s get some food and water in you, we’ll watch you for an hour or so, and then you can walk out of here. Deal?”

  Triana lay back and smiled at her friend. “I won’t fight you on that. I’m starving.”

  Lita patted her on the leg. “Good to hear. We’ll get you something right away. Time to feed all of my patients anyway.”

  “All?” Triana said.

  “Uh-huh. That wormhole you rode in on has banged up a few people. In fact…” Lita lowered her voice. “Your good friend Merit Simms is just three beds down. Sleeping, thanks to pain medication. You’ll probably be gone before he wakes up.”

  She walked toward the door. “Don’t wander off, or we’ll bring you back and put you in the bed next to him.”

  * * *

  Gap Lee trudged along Galahad’s curved hallway toward his room. It was well after midnight, and the halls were deserted. Exhausted, he wondered when he’d be able to crash for a good ten or twelve hours. With Triana’s return, and the surprise which accompanied her, it might not be anytime soon.

  He tried to wrap his brain around that surprise. Tucked into the back of the pod which had delivered Triana into—and back out of—the wormhole, it floated inside what appeared to be an old-fashioned aquarium. Gap’s mother had kept exotic tropical fish in a similar container, and likely would have identified the contents as Gap had. But it was impossible … wasn’t it?

  Secured aboard a wheeled cart and covered with a sheet, it was moved to an isolated area in Sick House. Curious crew members along the way had stopped and followed the procession with their eyes, but nobody asked questions. Gap knew that it would dominate the conversation that evening in the Dining Hall and throughout the ship.

  The next few hours had been spent alternating between Engineering—where the radiation shield was holding up, thanks to the energy siphon from the main engines—and the Spider bay. A thorough examination of the pod revealed no particular damage, other than an odd assortment of shorted-out electrical components. Other than the aquarium, there were no additional surprises.

  Now the door to his room slid open and he stepped inside, mindful to be quiet. Daniil was sound asleep. Gap rarely had contact with his roommate these days; just another sign, he noted, that time off was overdue. His social life had withered away.

  And, he realized, it was more insight into the life of Triana, or anyone with heavy responsibilities. It was the side of leaders rarely seen or understood.

  Although his bed called out, he kicked off his shoes and checked his mail again. There was a single new entry, a note from Triana. Clicking on the file opened a group message to the Council, with a personal attachment for him. The main message called for the Council to assemble at seven in the morning—his shoulders sagged as he calculated the amount of sleep he would not be getting again this night—and thanked everyone for their great work during her absence. The note was short and to the point, in pure Triana style.

  Standing behind his chair and leaning on the desk, he clicked open the attachment.

  Gap, I’ll certainly thank you in person, but didn’t want to wait to let you know how grateful I am that you took charge of the ship while I was away. We haven’t had a chance to talk yet, but I’m pretty sure you weren’t happy about my decision to go. I know I put you in an awkward and difficult position, but I hope you understand that I had to do it.

  We have a lot to cover, and some very important decisions to make. I’m glad to be back, and glad that you’re on the team. And I’m glad you’re such a good friend.

  See you in the morning.

  He couldn’t think about any of that at the moment. If he didn’t get some sleep he’d be worthless to Triana and the Council. Snapping off the vidscreen, he passed on his usual bedtime routine and simply fell onto his bed, covering his face with one arm, willing himself to clear his mind and find the shortest path to sleep.

  It wasn’t easy.

  * * *

  As always, Bon Hartsfield found escape in his work. Overseeing the Agricultural Department on the ship meant long hours anyway, but his office—tucked within one of the two massive domes atop Galahad—provided an insulated nest, especially this late at night.

  The ship was programmed to simulate the natural day/night rhythms of Earth, which meant that the lights in many of the common areas slowly dimmed in the evening and then gradually grew brighter beginning around six in the morning. Now, while the majority of the Farms were lit only by the brilliant splash of stars through the clear domes, Bon’s office was awash in light.

  He stood behind his desk, inputting data from the latest harvest report. It was easily a task that could be entrusted to one of the workers under his supervision, but Bon preferred to remain busy. To sit idly—or worse, lie awake in bed—only invited the troubling thoughts to return. And there were far too many of those lately.

  Topping them all was the startling return of Triana. Fight as he might to keep his mind elsewhere, the image of her slumped in the cockpit of the pod muscled its way back to the fore. Where had she been? What had happened to her on the other side of the wormhole? What was that … thing that she’d brought back?

  Or had it brought her back?

  And, most importantly, had his connection with the alien beings known as the Cassini created what Lita described as a “beacon” to guide Triana back to Galahad? How should he feel about that, when it was never his original intent?

  The thoughts were overwhelming. He tossed his workpad stylus onto the desk and dropped into his chair. His blond hair, already long and unkempt, had grown shaggy from weeks of neglect, and now fell across his face. At some point he’d need to either visit Jenner for a quick cut, or chop it off himself.

  It wasn’t near the top of his priorities.

  Triana’s return, and his confused feelings regarding Galahad’s Council Leader; a raft of guilt over the death of Alexa, or, rather, guilt over his inability to return her feelings; the news from Lita that his Cassini link had begun a physical transformation of his brain …

  All of that in addition to a full workload in the Farms, and his stubborn reluctance to delegate as much as he should. Plus his Council duties.

  A low guttural laugh escaped him. Council duties. He’d been almost invisible in Council meetings, speaking up only when irritation got the better of him, or when challenged by Gap. Those two events often went hand in hand. Yet he knew that his position as the head of the Agricultural Department came with leadership responsibilities, and he would never consider turning the Farms over to someone else. The soil, the crops—the very atmosphere of the domes—combined to create his personal haven aboard the ship.

  The looming Council meeting would be exceptionally di
fficult. In a few hours Triana would begin the debriefing, and Bon dreaded the expected eye contact. He would, of course, sit sullenly and listen, but now—hours ahead of the meeting—he could already feel the burn of Triana’s stare and the probing looks from Lita.

  His head throbbed, a dull ache that was exacerbated, no doubt, by the seemingly nonstop activity of the past week combined with a lack of sleep. He had never requested a sleep-aid of any sort, but now he wondered who might be manning Sick House at this late hour. Would they be required to report to Lita on every pill dispensed, or merely log the random request?

  It wasn’t worth the chance. Perhaps he could shut down his brain through meditation. Just a few hours of sleep might cure the headache and give him the strength he needed to power through the morning meeting.

  He killed the lights to his office, grabbed the blanket he kept stashed for nights like this, and stretched out on the floor.

  2

  Triana arrived early, striding into the Conference Room with her workpad in one hand and two energy bars in the other. She’d avoided the Dining Hall, afraid that her presence might create a stir, even at this early hour. Until she could address the entire crew, she reasoned, it was best to remain behind the scenes.

  “Roc,” she said, grabbing her usual chair. “I’ve got some catching up to do.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t feel like chatting last night,” the computer said. “So I posted multiple reports in your folder, everything from details of our radiation shield problem, to the current status of the vultures outside the ship, to the request I’ve made for vacation time. I really need to get away for a few weeks.”

  “Denied,” Triana said with a slight smile. “No rest for you.”

  “You’re a tyrant. But welcome back anyway.”

  “Thank you, Roc. I missed you … I think.”

  The computer expelled a pouting grunt. “I’m overwhelmed by your sentimentality. Don’t think for a moment that my circuits don’t have feelings.”

  “Oh, I’d never make that mistake,” Triana said. “But this has nothing to do with you, believe me. It’s just that the week I was gone—it was a week, right?—is still somewhat jumbled. I don’t remember missing much of anything. There wasn’t time for that kind of thinking.”