The Lost City of Faar

CLORAL

Talk about feeling helpless. Here we were, two guys floating like corks in an endless ocean. A quick three-sixty scan showed no land, no boat, and no rescue of any kind in sight.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” asked Spader.

Beautiful day? We were lost at sea and he was talking about nice weather? Either he was in strong denial, or he was crazy. Either way, he was starting to make me nervous.

That’s when I felt a tug on my foot.

I screamed. The quig was back. Or he had a brother. Or he hadtwobrothers. And they were both after me and they…

The water to my right began to boil and an instant later a bubble-covered head surfaced. It was Uncle Press. He yanked off his air globe and smiled at me.

“Have a nice trip, Bobby?” he asked. “That wasn’t exactly plan B.”

“You think Itriedto get dragged like that?” I shot back, all indignant.

“Whoa. Relax. I was kidding.”

“And I thought you never missed?”

I couldn’t help but add that last dig. I knew it was my fault he missed hitting the quig with the spear, but still, he did say henevermissed. No qualifications.

“Then it’s a good thing Spader came along,” he said calmly.

“Hello, Press!” exclaimed Spader. “Good to see your face again.”

“Yours, too,” said Uncle Press. “Lucky for us you were in the area.”

“I was out doing a bit of fishin’ and spotted your skimmer anchored a ways back,” said Spader. “I have to say I was a might surprised. You know this is shark territory.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I threw in. “Maybe we shouldn’t be here anymore.”

“Right!” shouted Spader. “No sense in waiting for another nibbler to come a-callin’.”

Spader looked at his big, black diver-style watch. I think it must have been some kind of compass because he checked it, looked up, changed position, then announced, “Off we go.”

He popped the air globe back on his head, pointed his water sled, then shot off across the surface.

I looked at Uncle Press thinking that this guy must be crazy. There was nothing out here. Where was he going?

“I love that guy,” he said.

“Where is he going? We’re in the middle of an ocean.”

Uncle Press put his air globe back on and swam close to me. “He’ll bring us to our skimmer. You okay?”

“I feel like I was stretched on a medieval rack and beaten with a club. Other than that, I’m cool. But I don’t think I can swim.”

“You don’t have to. Put your globe on and grab my belt.”

I did as I was told. I put the air globe back on and it instantly conformed to my head. I then reached out for Uncle Press’s belt. I made sure to use my left hand. My right arm had taken a bit too much abuse. It was probably two inches longer now, too.

Uncle Press gently squeezed the throttle on his water sled and we started our journey toward the skimmer that would take us… somewhere. Luckily the water was calm so the trip was easy. Good thing, too. I needed to catch my breath. As Uncle Press pulled me through the gentle swells, I floated on my back and looked up at the sun. Yes, the sun. There was only one, unlike Denduron where there were three. It was a hot sun, too. So far everything about Cloral gave me the feeling of being someplace tropical. Both the water and the air were warm, but not so hot as to be uncomfortable. Of course, the whole quig thing made the place feel a little less like paradise, but you can’t have everything.

We had only traveled for a few minutes when Uncle Press slowed to a stop. I let go of his belt and saw that bobbing on the water in front of us were two water vehicles — skimmers. Spader had actually found his way here with the help of his watch. Talk about finding a needle in a haystack. I was impressed.

Spader had already climbed aboard one of the vehicles. They looked kind of like Jet Skis. But these sleek vehicles weren’t toys. They were way too high-tech for that. Each frame was about the size of a very shallow bathtub. They were pure white and looked to be made out of plastic. The bow was pointed and the stern was straight across. To control it, the driver stood at a column that looked like motorcycle handlebars. Behind the driver’s space was a molded seat for a second passenger. The sides only came up a few inches. I guess water getting inside wasn’t a problem.

You’d think they’d be unstable, but that was taken care of. The skimmers had wings. If you’ve ever seen an outrigger canoe with beams that project out to the side, with pontoons on the end, you’ll know what I’m talking about. The skimmers had outriggers on either side. Right now they were lifted up out of the water, which gave them the look of a bird frozen in midflap. On the ends of each outrigger were torpedo-shaped pontoons. My guess was that when under way, the outriggers would be lowered into the water to make the skimmer stable.

Spader’s skimmer was identical to Uncle Press’s, except that he had a float thing that was attached to the back like a caboose. It was some kind of equipment carrier that floated behind the main skimmer.

No, these skimmers weren’t toys. They looked more like those sleek, high-end corporate jets that big shots fly around in. I have to admit, they were way cool.

As Uncle Press climbed up on his skimmer, I watched this Spader guy. Who was he? Was he the Traveler from Cloral? Whoever he was, he was pretty confident in the water. But I guess you have to be if you come from Cloral. His skin was really dark, but I don’t know if that was natural or because he was out in the sun so much. Probably a little of both. He was about six feet tall and looked pretty strong. Not a muscle guy, but definitely lean and mean. His black hair was long and shaggy and nearly came to his shoulders.

But the thing that stood out most about him was his personality. I know that sounds weird, especially since I had just met him and all, but right from the start I knew this guy had it all going on. He was concerned enough about Uncle Press that he went looking for him when he saw that his skimmer was anchored in quig waters, then risked himself to save my life. But he shrugged the whole thing off like it was no big deal. That was pretty cool. And the guy always looked like he was having fun. Whether it was flying underwater with his sled, or getting his skimmer ready to run, the little smile on his face made it look as if he always enjoyed whatever he was doing. You gotta like a guy like that. Bottom line, from what I had seen so far, I thought Spader was pretty cool.

“C’mon, Bobby,” said Uncle Press.

I kicked my fins and slid over toward the skimmer. Uncle Press had to pull me out of the water because I had no strength left in my arms. I laid down on the deck of the skimmer, happy to be on something solid again, even if it was just a small high-powered boat.

“You okay, Pendragon?” called Spader from his skimmer.

I struggled to sit up and pretend that I wasn’t totally out of my league here, which I was.

“I’m good,” I shouted, not convincingly. Then added, “Real good!” as if that would make me sound better off than I was. I’m sure I didn’t fool anybody.

Spader let out a big, warm laugh. For a second I thought he was laughing at me, but he wasn’t.

“Don’t you worry, mate, been there myself. Many times,” he said. “We’ll fix you up spiff soon as we get back, don’t you worry.”

“Get back where?” I asked.

Spader now stood at the controls of his skimmer, as did Uncle Press. I saw that they each began flipping toggle switches. As they did, the skimmers came to life. I heard a slight whine of engines, then in turn, each of the outriggers that had been sticking up in the air began their descent into the water.

I also saw that Spader and Uncle Press had both grown tense. They each stood stiffly at their control columns while throwing quick, furtive glances at each other. Something was up. I didn’t like this.

“It’s a wonderful place,” continued Spader. “You’re going to love it.”

“I’ll second that,” added Uncle Press. “Spader lives on the most beautiful habitat on Cloral.”

The two were speaking calmly, but their body language said they were anything but calm. What was going on? Was there another quig zeroing in on us? Each of the four outriggers was now underwater and I could hear the low hum of the skimmer’s engines waiting to be told what to do.

“Nice of you to say, Press,” replied Spader. “Last one to Grallion buys the sniggers?”

“Snickers?” I said. “They have candy bars here?”

“Sniggers, Bobby. It’s a drink,” answered Uncle Press. Then to Spader, “But I don’t know the way.”

“No worries,” laughed Spader. “Follow me!”

With that Spader gunned his skimmer and shot forward.

“Hang on!” shouted Uncle Press and hit the throttle.

Our skimmer took off and I got rocked back on my butt. I wished he had given me a little more warning. Now it all made sense. These guys were playing with each other. They wanted to race. Okay, I could deal with that. I scrambled to my knees and got into the seat behind Uncle Press. Our two air globes were rolling around on the deck so before I could look to see where we were going, I grabbed them to make sure they wouldn’t go flying overboard.

We were moving fast — faster than I’ve ever traveled over the water. I looked down at the pontoons and saw that they weren’t just for balance. They were below the water and I saw a jet of water coming out of each one. They were the skimmer’s engines. The skimmer didn’t have a rudder or anything, so when Uncle Press turned the control bars, it would send more or less power to either pontoon. That’s how the thing was directed. Very cool.

I looked up ahead and saw that Spader had a pretty decent head start. Uncle Press was intense at the controls, but I could tell by the look on his face that he was enjoying this. I didn’t blame him. I was too.

“What is Grallion?” I asked.

Oddly enough, I didn’t have to shout. The engines of the skimmer weren’t loud like a powerboat. Instead they gave off a steady, solid hum. Rather than the loud drone of an engine, most of what I heard was the hull flashing across the water. The water was amazingly smooth too, so we shot across it like ice skates on glass.

“Grallion is the habitat where Spader lives,” said Uncle Press without taking his eyes off our adversary.

“What’s his deal?” I asked.

“He’s what they call an aquaneer. All the habitats have a crew that keeps them moving safely over the water. It’s an important job. Spader’s good at it. He’s a good guy, too.”

“Yeah, but is he the Traveler from Cloral?”

“Look!” he shouted.

He pointed ahead of us and there on the horizon I saw our destination. At first it was just a hazy gray smudge that could have been an island. But the closer we got, the more I saw that the outline was too regular to be an island. No, this thing was man-made. And it was big. This was Grallion.

Uncle Press gunned the throttle and easily caught up to Spader. I then realized what his strategy was. We had to lay back until we saw Grallion. But now that we knew where it was, the race was really on.

“You’ve got too much drag!” taunted Uncle Press at Spader. “We’ll beat you at three-quarters!”

“But you’ve got the extra weight, mate!” Spader shot back. “Even up!”

Both guys gunned the throttle and the skimmers charged forward even faster. We hadn’t been at full speed up till now. Unbelievable.

To be honest, I was less concerned about our race to decide who was going to buy sniggers than I was about our destination. Mark, remember the time we went to Manhattan on that school trip to visit the aircraft carrierIntrepid! It was pretty impressive, right? Well, imagine approaching theIntrepidon the water in a rowboat. Can you picture that? Takes your breath away, doesn’t it? Well, now multiply the size of that aircraft carrier by about four hundred and you’d have Grallion.

I kid you not, this was a floating island. As we sped toward it, I kept thinking that we’d be there any second. But we weren’t. With each passing moment this monster barge kept on getting bigger and bigger. It was about four stories high, but that’s not where the size was. This thing they called a habitat spread out before us for what seemed like a couple of miles. Because we were approaching head-on, I couldn’t tell how far back it went, but if the front end was any indication, this thing was the size of Stony Brook.

“We’ve got him now!” exclaimed Uncle Press with glee.

I looked over to Spader’s skimmer to see we had pulled ahead by a few feet. Apparently the drag from his equipment caboose was a little bit more than the extra weight that I added to our skimmer.

“There’s the marker buoy!” Uncle Press said, pointing ahead.

I looked to see there was a buoy floating about twenty yards off from the habitat. Beyond the buoy I saw that at the water line there was some kind of seagoing entrance to the barge. The opening was large enough to pilot small crafts inside. I could even make out other skimmers in there, along with a few small boats of various shape and design.

“The buoy marks the safety zone,” added Uncle Press. “Once you pass it, you’ve got to slow down. That’s our finish line.”

We were only a few yards away from victory. I didn’t know which excited me more, knowing that we were about to win or looking up at Grallion as it loomed over us. Spader wasn’t giving up though. He coaxed a little more power out of his skimmer and pulled to within a few feet of us. This was going right down to the finish line. And…

We won! We passed the marker buoy first. With an exuberant “Yes!” Uncle Press killed the engine.

But Spader didn’t stop. He kept on full throttle, headed toward the water dock. All we could do was watch him in wonder.

“Maybe he is crazy,” I said.

Uncle Press gunned the engine and followed him in, though at a safer speed. What I saw in the next few seconds was amazing. As I told you before, Spader jammed into Grallion at full throttle and full speed for these skimmers were fast. I saw a handful of dock workers go wide-eyed and scramble out of the way in anticipation of the nasty crash that was sure to follow.

Spader didn’t flinch. He drove his skimmer right toward the dock. In seconds he would be mush. But with only a few yards to spare he hit the water brakes and spun the skimmer — later he called it autorotating — into a complete 360 that killed all his speed. With a rush of water caused by his turn, he slid sideways and barely kissed the dock. Without missing a beat, he jumped out, turned back to us, made a deep bow and said, “You lose, mates.”

We pulled up slowly in our skimmer. All I could do was applaud. Forget anything they’ve ever shown on those network stunt shows, this was hands down the most amazing thing I had ever seen.

“Oh, no,” Uncle Press called out to him. He was trying to sound angry though I know he wasn’t. “We all play by the same rules. We passed the buoy first.”

“But the race was to Grallion!” answered Spader. “That buoy isn’t Grallion. Almost doesn’t count.”

Spader was laughing. So was Uncle Press. Maybe this trip to Cloral was going to be fun after all.

“Spader!” came an annoyed voice from above the dock.

We all looked up to see a woman wearing what looked like some kind of uniform standing on a catwalk above the dock. She looked ticked.

“Wu Yenza,” Uncle Press whispered to me. “Chief aqua-neer.”

“Spader’s boss?” I asked.

“Yeah, Spader’s boss.”

“Uh-oh.”

Yenza looked to be in her thirties. She had short black hair and was in pretty good shape. I guess all aquaneers had to be in good shape. She wore a black outfit that was similar to Spader’s, but it had long sleeves with yellow stripes near the cuff that gave it a kind of military feel. I’d go so far as to say she was kind of hot, in an older woman way.

“Now, Spader!” shouted Yenza. She then stormed off.

Spader turned to us and gave a little shrug. He didn’t look all that nervous about the slamming he was sure to get.

“Let’s call it a tie, right, mates?” he said with a smile. “Sniggers on me at Grolo’s, soon as I can make it!”

With that he turned and bounded up the stairs that led off the dock and into the bowels of Grallion — and to deep trouble for him.

“He’s doomed,” I said.

“Nah. He’ll get yelled at and told never to be so reckless again. But they won’t do anything to him. Everyone likes Spader. He’s the best aquaneer they’ve got.”

We maneuvered the skimmer to the dock, tied it up, and stepped onto the floating platform.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said.

“What question was that, Bobby? You’ve got so many.”

“Is Spader the Traveler from Cloral?”

Uncle Press didn’t answer right away. He busied himself getting our air globes and fins out of the skimmer. I knew he wasn’t ignoring me, but the fact that I didn’t get a simple yes or no made me nervous.

“Yes,” he finally answered. “Spader is the Traveler from Cloral.”

“Iknewit!” I shouted.

“There’s just one thing. Spader doesn’t know it yet. He has no idea that he’s a Traveler. We’re going to have to tell him.”

Uncle Press grabbed our gear and walked toward the stairs. I stayed there a moment, letting those words sink in. Here I had just met a guy who seemed to love everything there was about life — abouthislife — and we now had the job of telling him that it was all going to change. In my short time of being a Traveler, that was the hardest thing I had to deal with — finding out that my life wasn’t what I thought it was, and having to leave it behind.

I didn’t look forward to being the one who had to bring someone else’s world crashing down around them.