From the moment I first left my home in Stony Brook, I’d been jumping from one disaster to the next. It seemed like I was always scared, or confused, or scared and confused. There were a few times when things didn’t totally suck, but for the most part I was getting slammed every time I turned around.
But after spending some time on Cloral, I am very happy to write that the next few weeks were actually pretty great, for a change. From the second we stepped onto the habitat of Grallion, I felt safe. But it was more than that. As I learned about Grallion and how the floating habitats worked on Cloral, I felt as if I had found a place that had gotten it right. The Clorans had a society and a way of life that was like a perfect machine, where every piece and every person played an important part. Everyone relied on everyone else, and they respected each other for the roles they played.
That’s not to say there weren’t problems. The Clorans weren’t mindless Disney animatrons who lived only to serve or anything like that. Far from it. They had their own opinions, and they didn’t always agree with one another. It was the big picture that they kept in perspective. There were no wars and no tension between people of different races. There didn’t seem to be any class distinction either. Meaning, though some people had more responsibility than others and got paid more salary, no one treated anyone like a second-class citizen. It was amazing.
I tried to figure out how such an ideal society could exist, when supposedly evolved societies like ours on Second Earth always seemed to be at one another’s throats. The best theory I could come up with is that it was because each and every person on Cloral faced the same big challenge—they had to deal with living on the water. Yes, they had created these amazing boat cities that made you feel as if you were on dry land, but you weren’t. You were floating. That meant anything could happen. A rogue storm could wipe out an entire city. Growing enough food to feed the entire world was an ever present worry. A simple virus could endanger an entire habitat. This was not an easy life. These people were united by a common cause—survival. Any other disputes were trivial compared to the larger challenges facing them every day.
But I’m getting way ahead of myself. Let me tell you what happened right after Uncle Press and I arrived on Grallion.
Since Uncle Press had been there before, he gave me a tour. As we climbed up from the depths of the docks, I noticed two things. One was that the inside of this barge was a labyrinth of machinery, pipes, engines, and pumps. I looked down long catwalks where workers busied themselves keeping the giant floating habitat running.
The second thing I noticed was that nothing seemed to be made out of metal. I’m not sure what the material was, I guess you would call it plastic or fiberglass or something. But all the walkways, pipes, supports, girders, and even the machines looked to be made out of the same kind of lightweight material. When we walked on the stairs, rather than the sharp clanging sound of metal, our footfalls were almost silent, as if we were walking on carpet. I guess it made sense. You have to use lightweight stuff when everything has to float. And here’s a weird thing: Even though the underbelly of Grallion looked like a vast factory, it wasn’t all that loud. You could tell the place was alive, but it wasn’t much noisier than Stony Brook Library on a busy Saturday. Pretty cool.
“What do they do here?” I asked Uncle Press as we climbed the stairs. “Do they just float around fishing and racing skimmers?”
“Every habitat has a specific purpose,” was his answer. “Some manufacture materials, others process food, some are financial centers, others mine raw materials.”
“And what about Grallion?” I asked.
“See for yourself.”
We had reached the top of the stairs, where a door opened onto the main surface. We quickly stepped out into the sun and I got my first look at Grallion. Mark, Courtney, I’m not sure I can find the right words to describe it, that’s how awesome a sight it was.
First, did I say Grallion was big? Well, big doesn’t cover it. It was enormous. I felt as if I had reached dry land. But after having been below, I knew this wasn’t dry land at all. This was a vehicle, but unlike any vehicle I had ever seen. Now, are you ready for this? Stretching out in front of me for as far as I could see . . . was farmland. I swear. I saw acre upon acre of flowering plants, fruit trees, and vines heavy with colorful vegetables.
Yes, Grallion was a giant, floating farm!
“This way,” said Uncle Press, and walked off.
I didn’t move at first. I couldn’t. I wanted to get my mind around what I was seeing.
“You’ll get a better view over here,” called Uncle Press, laughing.
He knew I was blown away and he was enjoying it. I ran after him. I wanted to see more. He led me up the stairs of a tower, and from this higher vantage point I got a great view of the farms of Grallion. I saw that there were very distinct sections, broken up by walkways where farm workers could travel. There were even small electric vehicles that moved quickly and silently along roads that criss-crossed each other. To our far left I saw row after row of fruit trees. Many of them bore fruit that looked like apples and oranges, but there were trees with clusters of unfamiliar fruit as well. Some were bright green tubes that looked like balloons hanging from the branches. Other trees had great purple orbs the size of grapefruits. Others were covered with pure white fat berries. They all looked ripe and ready for picking.
Directly in front of us were rows of thousands of individual plants that grew out of the dirt. Yes, dirt. At least I think it was dirt. It was brown and looked soft, so if it wasn’t dirt, it was a good imitation. Some plants bore small fruits and vegetables, others looked as if the whole thing would be picked like lettuce, or pulled out of the ground like a carrot or a potato.
To our right were aisles of fences where viney plants grew. This section held the same dark green, pickle-looking fruit that we had found in the cavern underwater. Another area of vines was covered with fruit that looked like round white disks. This odd fruit looked fragile and fluttered when the wind blew.
There was another whole section that grew beneath the shade of a gauzy tarp. These must have been plants that do better with indirect light. I’m guessing that the covered area took up a square mile. Another whole area looked to be planted with some kind of wheat. Unbelievable.
I watched as workers went busily about their jobs, tending to the crops. Some were pickers, others took water and soil samples. Still others did pruning.
The best word I can use to describe this vast farm full of lush fruits and vegetables is . . . perfect.
“This habitat feeds around thirty thousand people, give or take,” Uncle Press explained. “The crating is done below and it’s all transported forward. There’s another dock near the bow where boats from other habitats arrive to transport the produce back to their homes. It’s all very efficient.”
“How many people work here?” I asked.
“I think about two hundred,” he answered. “Only about fifty live here full-time: the habitat pilot and crew, some support people, the farm supervisors, and the agronomers.”
“Agronomers?”
“Scientists. The guys who figure out what gets planted where. They’re always experimenting with fertilizers and crop rotation and whatnot.”
“Then there are about sixty aquaneers like Spader who keep the habitat running smoothly and coordinate the comings and goings of all the small boats. They live here in short shifts—maybe three months at a time. The rest of the people are like migrant farm workers. They come and go depending on the needs of the crops. That’s where all the short-timers live.”
He pointed far off to the left, where I saw a row of low houses running along the length of one side of the habitat. The houses looked like small, two-level homes.
“The homes on the other side are for the long-timers—the pilot and agronomers and whatnot.”
I looked far to my right and saw another row of houses along the opposite side that seemed to be a bit larger than the others. And why not? If these people were here permanently, they should have bigger homes.
“We’re at the stern,” he pointed out. “This is where most of the farm equipment is kept and where the agronomers work. In the bow there’s a big wheelhouse where the habitat is controlled, but there are smaller control sheds on each side.”
“This is a weird thing to say about a farm but, it’s beautiful,” I said.
“It’s not weird at all. It is beautiful. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Leaving that ominous thought hanging, Uncle Press started climbing back down the stairs to the main deck.
“What do you mean? What could happen?” I asked while following.
“Did you forget why we’re here?” said Uncle Press tersely.
Oh, right. Saint Dane. The turning point. For a few seconds I actually stopped worrying about him. It was hard to imagine this place facing any kind of huge turmoil. Not like Denduron. That territory was a mess from the get-go. This place seemed more like, I don’t know, Eden.
“So what do we do?” I asked, feeling kind of dumb for asking my previous question.
“I think we should live here for a while,” he answered. “If Saint Dane is here, he’ll be planning something. The best thing we can do is blend in, get to know the territory, and be ready if something strange happens.”
“Which leads me to another question,” I said.
“Of course it does,” he replied. Wise guy.
“What do you tell people when you flume to a new territory? Don’t they wonder who you are? Where you came from? Why you just happened to drop out of nowhere?”
“Ahhh,” said Uncle Press knowingly. “Good question. Obviously you can’t go telling people you’re a Traveler from a distant territory and you’re here to prevent their world from crumbling into chaos. That would be bad.”
“Yes, that would be bad,” I agreed.
“But there’s another way of saying it,” he went on. “I have told Spader that I’m from a distant habitat and my goal is to see all of Cloral. So I’m traveling around, going where my mood takes me and picking up work to help pay for my journey.”
We had reached the bottom of the tower and Uncle Press stopped and looked at me.
“The thing is,” he said with a sly smile, “that’s not far from the truth. I just leave out the part about trying to prevent the collapse of their civilization. That would be hard to explain.”
“Tell me about it,” I said.
We continued walking along the perimeter of the farm.
“So we’ll take jobs here. It’s not difficult work. They’re always looking for help. And we’ll stay vigilant. The more you know about a territory, the better chance you’ll have of helping them. That’s what I did on Denduron.”
“And when do we tell Spader that he’s a Traveler?” I asked.
“When we need to,” came the quick reply.
Uncle Press picked up the pace and I had to keep up with him. He suddenly seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere.
“Where are we going now?”
“You heard Spader!” he answered, suddenly sounding all enthusiastic. “Sniggers are on him at Grolo’s. You don’t pass up an offer like that.”
Sniggers at Grolo’s. I guessed that would be a good thing.
We walked to the far side of the habitat where the temporary housing quarters were. Close-up they looked like small apartments. Nothing fancy, but nice enough. Men and women were hanging out, some were reading, others played with their kids. Two guys were playing catch with a curved tube that looked like a boomerang. I watched as they threw it far off to the side, only to have it circle back and land right in the catcher’s hands. It was the Cloran version of playing Frisbee.
All these people wore the same lightweight, colorful clothing that Uncle Press and I now had on. We fit right in. Many smiled and waved a friendly greeting as we passed by. Uncle Press made sure to return every wave and I did the same. These people didn’t know who we were, but it didn’t seem to matter. They looked like a friendly bunch and that was okay with me.
After walking for what seemed like a mile, we came upon another row of low buildings that ran parallel to the homes along the edge. I didn’t have to ask what they were. It was a minimall Grallion-style. There was a clothing store and a place to get haircuts. A small grocery store was next to a small library and that was next to a shop that carried a little bit of everything from tools to toys to cookware. On Second Earth we had a name for this kind of store. Target.
I wondered if there was a video arcade hidden somewhere, but then figured that was probably something unique to Second Earth. Oh, well. We got to the far end of the shops and finally arrived at our destination. A carved sign over the door welcomed all who came this way. It said simply: GROLO’S.
“Center of the Grallion universe,” said Uncle Press. “And the finest sniggers ever pulled on any habitat this side of center.”
“If you say so,” I said, humoring him.
“Actually I have no idea,” he said softly. “I haven’t had sniggers anywhere else, but that’s what they tell me.”
He winked and entered the pub. I was right after him, excited about finally discovering the wonders of the much-talked-about sniggers.
As we walked inside, I saw that Grolo’s was pretty much your standard tavern. I guess it doesn’t matter what territory you’re on, people like to meet and drink and swap stories and laugh too loud, because that’s exactly what was going on here. There was odd music playing, though I’m sure to the good people of Cloral it wasn’t odd at all. If I were to liken the music to something at home, I’d say it was kind of a New Age, techno, Japanese, string thing. How’s that for a description? I know, it makes no sense, but if you heard it, you’d agree. I have to admit, I didn’t hate it. It had kind of a dance beat and added a strong helping of feel-good to the place.
The pub was jammed. It was a mix of men and women of all ages, though I think I was the youngest there. I suddenly wondered if they would card me. That would have been embarrassing. Not only was I underage (at least by Second Earth standards), I didn’t have any ID on me at all. If anyone asked, it would have gotten tricky. But they didn’t, I’m glad to report.
Everyone seemed to be having a good time while drinking, or laughing, or telling stories, or doing all three at once. I noticed one table of people who weren’t swept up in all the revelry though. There were four people, two men and two women, who were having an intense debate. The table they sat around was covered with large pieces of paper that looked like plans of some sort. They each kept jabbing their fingers at the plans while trying to make their point.
“Agronomers,” Uncle Press said. “I think they’re the only people around here who ever get stressed.”
“How come?” I asked.
“It’s their show. Grallion is about farming and if Grallion doesn’t produce, then they’re not doing their job.”
I looked again at the agronomers, but now with respect. That’s got to be some kind of serious pressure. If they fail, people don’t eat.
“Press!” someone called out above the din. “What kept you? I thought you got into another natty-do with the sharkies!”
It was Spader. He had beaten us there. He sat on the bar, surrounded by a few other people who were laughing and drinking with him.
Uncle Press strode right up to the group.
“I thought you were in for a tum-tigger with Yenza!” exclaimed Press.
Sheesh, we’d just gotten here and Uncle Press was already picking up on the local jargon. I figured I’d better keep on my toes.
“Me?” laughed Spader with huge bravado. “Now why would dear Yenza have a row with me? I fill her life with happiness and joy!” He then added slyly, “And besides, I think she fancies me. If she were to kick me off Grallion, she’d die of a broken heart.”
Everyone laughed at Spader’s high praise of himself, but it was a friendly laugh. They knew Spader was joking. It was all just a goof.
“The chances of Wu Yenza dying of heartache over the sorry likes of you,” shouted one guy jovially, “is about the same as old Grolo running out of sniggers.”
Everyone hooted in mock horror. A quick look around showed me that everyone was drinking from clear mugs that were filled with a deep red liquid that I figured was the legendary sniggers. Spader leaned back over the bar and grabbed the handle of the tap that I assumed was where they drew the sniggers. He pretended to pull it, and his eyes went wide with shock.
“Empty!” he shouted in overblown horror. “Hobey-ho, he’s run out of sniggers! Yenza does fancy me!”
Everybody laughed. A heavyset guy behind the bar, who must have been Grolo, playfully shoved Spader away from the tap.
“Don’t go startin’ rumors,” he said, laughing, “or it’ll be up to you to stop the riot!”
Spader laughed and rolled away. Grolo grabbed the tap and drew another mug of the frothy red liquid. Everyone was having a great time and Spader was the reason. He was the center of attention and he didn’t disappoint those who wanted him to keep the party rolling. He grabbed a mug of sniggers and exclaimed, “So where is he, Press?”
“Standing right here, watching the show,” answered Uncle Press.
Who were they talking about? Spader handed Press the mug of sniggers and quickly glanced around. In a second his eyes settled on me. Uh-oh. He was talking about me. I was sure that he had already told the story about how I got tangled up in the water sled and had to be rescued. I wanted to crawl away and hide. If I was going to live on Grallion, I didn’t want people to think that I was a total loser. For a second I thought of turning and running, but that would have made it worse. No, I was going to have to face the ridicule. I could only hope that it would be fast.
“That’s the guy!” shouted Spader.
All eyes turned to me. The best I could do was stand there and take it. I thought that maybe I could come up with something clever to make it all a joke. But my mind locked. I couldn’t come up with anything funny about what had happened. My sore ribs and aching shoulder were a painful reminder of that.
“If it weren’t for him,” began Spader, “Press would be shark meat.”
Huh? I looked to Uncle Press. He raised his mug of sniggers at me and winked.
“Press was trapped under the shelf,” said Spader, spinning a dramatic tale that had everyone enthralled. “The nasty wogglie was nosing in on him. He was a big ’un, mind you. But then Pendragon here came flying by with the water sled. With no fear for himself, he distracted the beggar and gave Press the chance to slip away. Bravest thing I ever saw. Of course, I was lucky enough to be in the right place to put the finishing touches on the big wogglie myself.”
He added this last bit with false modesty and everyone responded with hoots, like they didn’t think he deserved any credit at all. No, in their minds, the real hero was me! I couldn’t believe it. Suddenly, a mug of sniggers was thrust into my hand.
“To Pendragon!” shouted Spader. He raised his mug in a toast. Everyone else around the bar raised their mugs toward me as well. Uncle Press did too, with a huge smile on his face.
“Welcome to Grallion!” added Spader.
“Hobey-ho ho!” chimed everyone else as they raised their mugs to drink in my honor.
I couldn’t believe it. Talk about snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, no pun intended. Of course, I felt a little guilty. It didn’t exactly happen the way Spader described it. But still, it was sort of the truth. I looked to Spader and he gave me a little smile that told me he knew it was only sort of the truth too. But it didn’t matter to him. He motioned for me to take a drink of sniggers, and I did.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had tasted beer once before and I guess that’s what I thought it would be like, but it wasn’t. That was a good thing because I hated the taste of beer. To be honest, the first taste of sniggers that hit my tongue was totally nasty. It was like drinking carbonated cabbage juice. But in an instant the sour taste went away and what I was left with was an incredibly sweet sensation that actually left my mouth tingling. I once had this soda in Maine called Moxie. When Moxie first hits your tongue it tastes sweet, but after you swallow it leaves a nasty, bitter taste. This sniggers stuff was like reverse-Moxie. The first taste was foul, but it immediately went away and left a wonderful memory that lingered until your next sip. I liked this stuff! Hobey-ho ho!
“Put these on my tab, Grolo!” announced Spader as he jumped off the bar. “I’ve got business with my friends.”
“You don’t have a tab, Spader,” barked Grolo.
“Then start one for me!” Spader shot back with bravura.
Grolo waved him off with a mock disgusted gesture. I didn’t think he minded giving away a few pints of sniggers to Spader. The aquaneer was the life of the party here at the tavern. The more stories he told, the more everyone else drank sniggers. Spader was good for business. He put an arm around Uncle Press, his other arm around me, and led us away from the group toward the front door.
But when we reached the table of agronomers, he suddenly stopped and turned us to them. The scientists stopped their work and looked up to us expectantly.
“We just want you mates to know,” said Spader, “we think you are doing a bang-up job. Really.”
The scientists didn’t know how to react. They just sat there and stared at us.
“Now get back to work!” snapped Spader and led us toward the door. As we walked he whispered to us, “Scientists. They’re brilliant but easily confused.”
We blasted out of Grolo’s into the sunlight, laughing.
I really liked this guy. But even though I was grateful for his story back there, I couldn’t let it go without saying something.
“That story you told about me,” I said. “You know that wasn’t really how it happened.”
“Says who?” Spader shot back. “That’s how I saw it. There’s always two ways of looking at things, Pendragon. In my few short years I learned that seeing what’s positive about a situation is a lot more fun and gets you a lot further than looking for what might be wrong with it. That’s my philosophy, for what it’s worth.”
Spader may not have been a wise old soul, but what he said made a whole lot of sense. I didn’t think I had ever met anyone who was as full of energy and fun as this guy was. Without trying all that hard, he made you feel good. I could tell Spader had even gotten to Uncle Press. He said that Cloral was his favorite territory. I’m sure there were a lot of reasons for that, but I’m guessing Spader was a big one. It was fun to be around him. Over the next few weeks I learned a lot more about Vo Spader, and all of it was good.
He was the kind of guy who knew the right people to go to in order to get things done. He got Uncle Press and me set up in a small house near his. It was on the side of Grallion where the temporary workers lived, and since we had become temporary workers, we were right at home. The place was small, but comfortable enough. There were bunk beds (I got the top) and a small kitchen and some simple furniture. The best part about it though, was that the back window looked right out on the ocean. How great was that?
He got us jobs working on the farm. I was afraid this was going to be torture, but it wasn’t. Not all of it, anyway. At home on Second Earth the big farms employ pickers who show up during harvest time, pick whatever needs to be picked, and move on to another. That seemed like pretty hard work, and not all that rewarding.
But that’s not how it worked on Grallion. Rather than simply going out to pick whatever is ripe, the farm workers on Grallion are assigned to a quadrant. That’s an area roughly the size of an acre. The workers are called “vators” and they have the responsibility of taking complete care of their quadrant, from feeding the plants to pruning, and yes, to picking the fruit. But the vators’ responsibility doesn’t end with the picking. They follow their crops all the way through the washing, sorting, and packing process right up until their crops are shipped out. It’s very cool and gives you a real sense of accomplishment. I guess it’s the difference between working on an auto assembly line where your whole job is to put the wheels on cars as they pass by you, versus staying with the same car from the very beginning and proudly watching it roll off the line.
Now, you may be thinking that I have no business running a farm, and you’d be right. Before coming to Grallion I didn’t know the difference between weeds and worms. I didn’t think Uncle Press did either. But it didn’t matter because we weren’t the only vators assigned to our quadrant. There were six other workers with us and each was pretty experienced. They showed us how to check plants for signs of disease and how to treat them with natural compounds brought up from the ocean floor. All the fertilizer was natural too. It seemed like even though Cloral was covered with water, much of what they used on the surface was brought up from below and processed for use on the habitats.
The fruit grew quickly on Grallion, so there was a harvest of some sort every few days. You would think this was the hardest part, and maybe it was, but it wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t like we had to go out into the fields with baskets and fill them up with heavy fruit and lug them back to a central area or anything. It was way more civilized than that. Beneath every narrow walking path was an underground conveyor belt. All we had to do was pick the fruit and drop it on the ground, then lift the doors and drop the fruit down below. The conveyor belt would take it all to a central area where another of the vators from our quadrant would be waiting to wash, sort, and pack them up. It was all so simple.
Uncle Press and I went below several times to receive the harvested fruit from our quadrant and ensure that it was all cleaned and packed properly. We then used a forklift to bring the boxes of fruit all the way forward to the loading docks.
This is where we saw Spader at work. It was a busy place. There were all sorts of transport boats coming and going, bringing shipments of fresh fruits and vegetables back to their habitats. The habitats themselves were never allowed closer than a half mile to Grallion. That would have been dangerous. Instead they would send in small boats that would safely enter the docking area. Spader’s job was that of traffic cop. He’d travel just in front of the incoming boats on his skimmer, calling back instructions to get them safely docked. He’d then jump on the dock, tie up the boat and signal the dock workers to begin the loading process. Once a cargo boat was loaded, he’d reverse the process and guide the boats safely out of the docking area and send them on their way back to their habitats.
But that’s not all Spader did. He was also on the pilot’s crew. The pilot was like the captain of a ship. He was in charge of the vessel and its safety. Spader was still kind of a junior crew member, so most of his duties were of the lookout variety. At any given time there were ten lookouts stationed around the habitat to warn of any impending problems. It was a boring job, but an important one. It was probably pretty boring being a lookout on the Titanic, too. For a while, anyway. That will give you an idea of how important that job was.
I can guess what you’re thinking. I made working on Grallion sound as if it were actually fun. Well, fun isn’t exactly the word. It was work and some of it was hard, but I didn’t mind it. I felt like I was an important part in keeping the wheels turning.
No, working the farm wasn’t exactly fun, but there were plenty of other things to do that were definitely fun.
Spader took me on adventures. You know how much I like to dive, and on Grallion, hanging out below the water was a pretty normal thing. I already described how easy it was to swim underwater using the air globes. These gizmos made swimming underwater almost as natural as walking on the deck of Grallion. Actually, it was better. This is the closest to flying that I think a human will ever come. Spader and I would have races underneath Grallion. I really got the knack of using the water sleds. I found that by subtly shifting my body position, I could turn faster and move quicker. It was all about becoming aqua-dynamic. It didn’t take long before I was almost as fast as Spader.
Spader took me fishing, too. I’m not much of a hunter, so he did most of the spearing. I acted more like a scout who found the larger fish and alerted Spader. I guess that makes me kind of like a hunting dog. Oh, well, that was my choice. But I have to tell you, I didn’t mind eating the fish afterward. (Spader was a pretty decent cook, too.)
At first I was nervous about quigs, but Spader assured me that the sharks never came near Grallion. I knew that was because quigs only patrolled near gates and flumes, but I wasn’t about to tell Spader that—yet.
Spader also showed me something that was really bizarre. Near where Grallion was anchored was another farm. An underwater farm! The people of Grallion didn’t just farm on the habitat, they had crops growing on the ocean floor, too! This submerged farm had its own vators who tended the place wearing air globes. They grew everything from fruit, to long leafy vines that were cut at the base and brought up whole. Spader explained to me that these underwater farms were even more important to Cloral than farms like Grallion. He said there were farms all over the planet on the ocean’s floor that had fed the Clorans for centuries. Growing food on habitats was a relatively new practice. The most important farms were underwater.
There was another underwater sport that Spader introduced me to, and once I got the guts to try it, I was hooked. Spader called it spinney-do and this is how it worked: A spinney was a kind of fish that traveled in small schools of maybe four or five and they looked like really skinny dolphins. I’m serious. Imagine a regular old dolphin, then imagine it being only about six inches in diameter and you’d have a spinney. At the backs of their heads they had these bizarro ridges. I had no idea what the spinneys needed them for, but they were crucial to playing spinney-do.
Spader motioned for me to be quiet and to watch. He then left me and swam cautiously up behind the spinneys, who were busily feeding on some kelp. They had no clue that he was there. They may have looked like skinny dolphins, but they were nowhere near as smart. Spader was able to sneak up right behind them. With one quick move, he jumped on the back of one and grabbed the ridge behind its head! Well, the spinney didn’t like that at all and it started to bloat! It was like one of those puffer fishes that get all fat when you touch them. Only the spinney was so big, when it puffed up it got huge! It was strong, too! It had suddenly transformed from this sleepy, dopey fish into a water-going bucking bronco! Spader held on to the back ridge with both hands and wrapped his legs around its body as the fish started thrashing and bucking.
“Eeeyahhhaaa!” shouted Spader. You’d think he knew about Westerns and bronco busting, but I guess shouting like that comes naturally when your adrenaline spikes and you’re holding on to an animal for all you’re worth. Spader then got cocky and let one hand go, just to show off. The spinney twisted and spun and did its best to launch Spader, but Spader wasn’t letting go. Finally, the big fish shot upward. Spader wasn’t ready for that move because he did a somersault right off the fish’s back. The real beauty of spinney-do was that even when you got thrown, you were still underwater so it wasn’t like you were going to hit the ground and break a rib or anything.
“Next one’s yours, mate!” exclaimed Spader, still flush with excitement.
I wasn’t so sure I wanted to try, but it looked like fun. Two spinneys were poking around the kelp and Spader motioned for me to give it a go. To be honest, I was scared. But I wasn’t going to let Spader see me chicken out, so I did my best.
My best was bad. I actually got as far as grabbing the spinney’s back ridge and wrapping my legs around its body. But I hadn’t expected it to be so strong. The thing bloated, bolted, and was gone. I just floated there, my hand still out, not sure of what happened. Spader swam up to me and patted me on the back.
“Gotta be faster than that, mate,” he said, laughing. “You’re on their turf down here.”
Good advice. I’d remember it next time.
While Spader and I were having these adventures under the sea, Uncle Press was spending his off time learning more about Grallion and about Cloral. After all, we were here on a mission and the more we learned about this territory, the better prepared we’d be when Saint Dane made his move. I felt kind of guilty about having so much fun while Uncle Press was playing Sherlock. But he assured me that it was just as important for me to get to know Spader—he was the Traveler from Cloral, even though he didn’t know it yet. At some point we were going to have to work together, so Uncle Press figured it would be a good idea for the two of us to bond.
That was okay by me. Spader and I were having a blast. The thought of battling Saint Dane was the furthest thing from my mind, most of the time. So after having spent a bunch of weeks on Grallion with Spader, I decided that my first impression of him still stood. He was a guy with a big personality and an even bigger sense of fun. He was a truly good guy who listened as much as he spoke. He also cared. He was quick to help out a friend, or even a stranger. He wasn’t a slacker, either. He may have liked to have a good time, but he worked hard and he loved his job. This was a good guy to know. I’ll remember those first few weeks on Grallion for the rest of my life. It was a great time.
But it was soon going to end.
One evening Spader made me dinner at his house. Uncle Press chose to hang at Grolo’s instead. Spader had speared a couple of particularly tasty Kooloo fish that day and grilled them over hot coals in his backyard. Sounds like home, no? The fish was golden and delicious. After dinner I cleaned up the dishes and Spader went to work cleaning up the rest of his house. There were clothes and pieces of equipment scattered everywhere. To be honest, it looked more like a garage than an apartment. Spader wasn’t big on being neat, but tonight was different. He went around picking things up and putting things away and basically making the place look like someone actually lived there.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked. “Got a date?”
I then noticed that Spader had more energy than usual. Believe me, for Spader that’s really saying something. He was pretty much bouncing off the walls as he worked. It was like somebody took his power dial and notched it up a few amps.
“Big day tomorrow, mate,” he said with excitement. “My father is coming by. Can’t let ’im think I live like a dirty old crocker fish!”
This was the first I heard about Spader’s family.
“Where does he live?” I asked.
“He’s an aquaneer on Magorran,” he said while continuing to clean up. “It’s a manu habitat. Schedule has it swinging by tomorrow for supplies.”
“Manu habitat?”
“They build things. Pieces for machinery and skinners and whatnot.”
“Is that your home?”
“Home? No, mate. Home is Panger City. Lived there my whole life until I went to the Aquaneer Academy. My mum’s still there. Haven’t seen either of ’em for . . . hobey, can’t remember. It’s been a while.”
I was beginning to get the bigger picture about what life was like on Cloral. These habitats were like cities and people left home to work, just like back on Second Earth.
“Dad’s a real spiffer,” Spader continued. “Gave me the aquaneer bug. Had me around skimmers my whole life. They wanted to make him an officer but he turned ’em down—didn’t want to leave the docks. His tour’s up soon so he can get back to Mum. Hobey, I can’t wait to see his face again. Give me a hand here mate, would you?”
I helped him lift a couple of large water sleds he had been working on and put them into a closet.
“You never told me about your parents,” said Spader.
Uh-oh. Up until now I’d been able to dodge questions about home. I’m not a good liar. Uncle Press and I made up a story about how we came from a distant habitat that was a university. We said it was full of intellectuals and professors, which explained why I needed to learn so much about working in the water and how the “real world” worked. Whenever Spader couldn’t believe how little I knew about Cloral, I’d shrug and say: “I didn’t get out much.”
I hated lying to Spader, but I knew the truth would come out soon enough and hoped that when it did, he’d understand. But now he was putting me on the spot again by asking about my parents. I was going to have to come up with some version of the truth, because the whole truth would have blown Spader’s head off.
“Dad’s a writer,” I said. “Mom works in a library.”
That was the absolute truth, and it made my heart sink. This was the first time I had spoken about my parents in a long time. What made it worse was I had to pretend as if nothing was wrong. I couldn’t tell Spader that they had disappeared, along with my sister and my dog. I think Spader must have sensed my anguish, because he didn’t ask any more questions. That was good for all sorts of reasons.
“It’s tough being away from loved ones,” he said softly.
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Tell you what, come with me to meet Dad tomorrow! You’ll get a knock out of him, you will!”
“Sounds good,” I said, but with a touch of sadness. I missed my family.
Uncle Press said that Spader was the Traveler from Cloral. I wondered if his parents had raised him to be a Traveler the same way Uncle Press said my family did for me. If so, did that mean they would disappear the same way my family had? Spader obviously cared about his parents. As we worked to make his house a little neater, I hoped that when the habitat of Magorran arrived the next day, his father would be on it.
The next day Uncle Press and I made the long walk forward to the transport docks to be there when Spader’s father arrived. I could tell that Uncle Press was disturbed about something. As I told him of my previous day’s adventures under the waters near Grallion, he stared straight down at his feet and didn’t say a word. His mind was definitely somewhere else.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” came his thoughtful answer. “I’m feeling . . . uneasy, and I can’t put my finger on it.”
“What? Now you’re psychic?”
“It’s just a feeling. Don’t you sense it?”
I thought. I felt. I looked around. Nothing.
“Uhh . . . no. Should I?”
“Maybe,” he answered. “It’s a Traveler thing.”
“You mean we can predict the future, too?”
“No, but you’ll start to realize you can pick up on things. It’s like walking into a room and knowing right away that there’s an argument going on, even though you haven’t heard a word spoken. It’s just picking up on the signals that people send out. No big deal.”
“And you’re picking up bad signals right now?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
“I’m not sure. I just have this sense of . . . dread.”
“I don’t like dread,” I shot back. “Dread is bad. Could this have anything to do with Spader’s parents?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” he said while pointing forward.
I looked to where he was pointing and saw it.
Magorran.
The manu habitat had appeared on the horizon and was steaming toward Grallion. Though it was still far away, I could tell that it was a different type of habitat than Grallion. It didn’t seem as big. It might have been a third of the size. But the buildings on deck were taller. I guessed that these were some of the factories that Spader told me about. The closer it got, the larger these buildings loomed. It was pretty impressive. Uncle Press and I picked up the pace and hurried to the forward dock area to be there when the first advance boats arrived.
When we got there, we saw that several aquaneers stood on their skimmers, ready to shoot out to meet the advance boats. Uncle Press saw something down on the dock and pointed it out to me. I looked, and couldn’t help but smile.
It was Spader. It wasn’t weird for him to be down there or anything. It was the way he was dressed. Spader wasn’t much for wearing his aquaneer uniform: the black long-sleeved outfit with the yellow stripes on the cuff. He normally wore his sleeveless shirt that was cut off at the shoulders. But today was different. Today Spader was here to greet his father and he was decked out in his best uniform. It was clean, too. I even think he took the time to comb his hair. To use one of his sayings, he looked pretty spiff.
As we stood above the docks, waiting for the first boat from Magorran to arrive, I began to have the same sense of dread that Uncle Press was feeling. I wasn’t being overly insightful or anything, it was because I sensed a stirring among the aquaneers who were gathered below on the floating dock. Up until now they had been casually chatting and laughing. Suddenly their body language grew more tense. All eyes were focused out on the water and at Magorran.
I then looked up at Magorran. The habitat was drawing nearer. Most of the habitats that came to Grallion for supplies stayed far away. Grallion was anchored and stayed in place while the other habitats hovered about a half mile away. It was a safety thing. The habitats were so big that they didn’t exactly turn on a dime and you never knew when the current would change. So all things considered, it was smart to keep the habitats far apart and send smaller boats between them.
But now something was wrong. There was confusion. It looked as if the aquaneers weren’t sure of what to do. I didn’t know what was going on, but whatever it was, it was bad. The answer came quickly. Wu Yenza, the chief aquaneer, ran out onto the upper platform near us. Her eyes were wild with excitement—and fear.
“Perimeter breach!” she barked out. “Warn them off!”
The aquaneers scattered. A moment later a piercing horn sounded long and loud.
“What’s going on?” I asked Uncle Press.
Uncle Press didn’t look at me. His eyes were focused on Magorran. When he spoke his voice was soft and calm. It was the voice of someone describing the inevitable.
“It’s not stopping,” was all he said.
I looked out onto the water and saw what he meant. Magorran, this giant habitat, was headed right for us. It had already passed the half-mile safety border and was showing no signs of slowing down. Even if it threw its engines into reverse, it was already too late. There was going to be a crash.
A second alarm sounded that was even louder and more piercing than the first. Where the first alarm sounded like a warning to Magorran, this new alarm sounded more like a warning to Grallion. Impact was inevitable. The only thing that could be done was to prepare for it.
The habitat of Magorran was looming closer. I could now look onto the deck and was surprised to see that there were no people. Wherever they were, I hoped they were doing whatever they could to slow themselves down.
The aquaneers below us began to stream up the stairs to get on deck. That is, all but Spader. Spader just stood there, staring at the oncoming habitat. It looked as if he were mesmerized by the behemoth that would soon crash into Grallion.
“Cast off lines!” shouted Yenza. “Everyone on deck! Move!”
Spader didn’t move. Somebody had to kick him into gear. I started for the stairs to go down to him, but Uncle Press put a firm hand on my shoulder. I looked up to my uncle and saw that he was calm. He shook his head no, telling me not to go. But something had to be done.
“Spader!” Uncle Press called out to him.
Thankfully, Spader heard him. He turned around and looked up to us. On his face was a look of confusion. Not fear, just concern.
“Time to go, son,” Uncle Press called to him. His voice was firm but unpanicked. It cut through the frenzied energy around us louder than any siren. Spader gave one quick glance back at Magorran to see that it was nearly on us, and then he broke for the stairs. He was the last one up.
“Let’s get out of here,” commanded Uncle Press. “We’ll be safest on deck.”
Spader joined the other aquaneers while Uncle Press and I ran for our lives. We climbed up the stairs as quickly as possible until we got on deck. I didn’t dare look back. I didn’t want to see what was about to happen. All around us was panic. Several different alarms were sounding. Aquaneers were everywhere, desperately trying to cast off the heavy lines that kept Grallion in place. Those who didn’t have specific jobs in an emergency were doing the same thing we were—running back to get as far away from the impact zone as possible.
It was going to be ugly. I briefly wondered if both these giant habitats could withstand a collision without sinking. The thought of these huge vessels both going to the bottom was too horrible to even imagine, especially since I was on one of them. I tried to get that out of my mind. One thing at a time, and right now, the best thing we could do was keep running away from the impact zone.
On the deck in front of us I saw a frightening sight. The shadows cast by the buildings on Magorran were chasing us across the deck. It was right behind us. Impact was imminent. I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and had to turn and look. What I saw made me gasp. The sheer size of Magorran was mind-boggling. The buildings on its bow must have been seven or eight stories tall, and they were headed right for us. Seeing something so big took my breath away. Knowing that it was going to hit us made me think I’d never take another breath again.
“Keep moving!” ordered Uncle Press.
I turned to continue running with him, and that’s when it happened.
Magorran collided with Grallion, full steam ahead into a world that would never be the same.
END OF JOURNAL #5