The Lost City of Faar

CLORAL

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 scaredandconfused. 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 GralUon 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, theyshouldhave 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. Itisbeautiful. 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’sthatfor 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! Yenzadoesfancy 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 wog-glie 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 dockworkers 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 theTitanic, 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 weredefinitelyfun.

Spader took me on adventures. You know how much I like to dive, and on Grallion, hanging outbelowthe 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 gothugeIt 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

“How can he end a journal here?”shouted Courtney in dismay. “That’s not fair. He can’t leave us hanging like that!”

Courtney looked to Mark, expecting him to be just as outraged as she was. But Mark had other things on his mind. He had finished reading the journal several minutes before Courtney and was now busily leafing back through the pages of Bobby’s Journal #5 and rummaging in his backpack. The frown on his face said that something was bothering him.

“He’s messing with us,” added Courtney. “He knows we pore over every word of his journals and he gave us a cliffhanger. That’s just… wrong. This isn’t a game. Why did he… What are you doing?”

Mark kept reading through the earlier pages, looking for something. Courtney was suddenly intrigued.

“You saw something, didn’t you?” she asked. “Did you figure out who caused the habitats to crash? Was it Saint Dane?”

Mark didn’t answer. The scowl of tension didn’t leave his face either.

“Mark!”Courtney shouted with frustration.

This rocked Mark back into the room. His look of worry was replaced by the look of a small boy who just got caught doing something wrong.

“I–I’m an idiot. A total idiot, th-that’s all I can say.”

He was on the verge of tears. He held up the pages of Bobby’s latest journal. “It’s missing. The first page is missing.”

Courtney jumped to her feet and grabbed the light green pages from him. She shuffled through them quickly, looking for the missing page.

“That’s impossible. We read it together, in the bathroom at school. It’s got to be here.”

She flipped through the pages once, twice, a third time and then looked to Mark and shouted, “It’s not here!”

“I know!” cried Mark.

“Don’t panic. When was the last time we saw it for sure?”

“In the boys’ room,” whined Mark. “We were reading when Mr. Dorrico burst in yelling and I jammed all the pages in my pack and — “

Courtney dove at Mark’s pack and frantically dug through it.

“Don’t you think I already looked there?” said Mark with frustration. “Like five times already?”

Courtney threw the pack down and clicked into a different gear. She knew that being all frantic and pointing fingers of blame wouldn’t help get the page back. They had to think clearly.

“We had it in the bathroom,” she began, thinking out loud. “That’s for definite. But we came right here. That means we lost it somewhere between the bathroom and here. It’s gotta be here!”

Courtney started tossing the cushions on the sofa, desperate to find the lost page. Mark didn’t help. His mind was already jumping ahead.

“There’s another possibility,” said Mark softly. “M-maybe it never left the bathroom.”

“What?”

“1–1 mean, everything happened fast with Mr. Dorrico and all. Maybe I didn’t grab all the pages.”

Courtney stared at Mark. For a moment Mark was afraid she would lunge at him and tear out his adenoids. But she didn’t. Instead she glanced at her watch.

“School’s closed,” she said, all business. “If Mr. Dorrico found that page, he probably tossed it in the trash. That means it’s either still in that trash can, or outside in the Dumpster.”

The two stared at each other for a solid thirty seconds. Neither wanted to admit what the next step might be. Mark broke first.

“We’re going through that Dumpster tonight, aren’t we?” he said, sounding sick.

“Do you want someone to find that page and start asking questions? Like the police?”

That was a no-brainer. There would be way too many questions to answer if Captain Hirsch of the Stony Brook Police saw that page. Mark and Courtney hadn’t been entirely honest with him about their knowledge of Bobby’s disappearance, so if someone else found that page, they would look really bad.

“I’ll meet you there after dinner,” said Mark. “Bring rubber gloves. This is gonna be gross.”

And itwasgross.

Mark and Courtney met as planned, right after dinner. Both used the excuse that they were going to the library on the Ave. Instead they spent a solid two hours digging through the Dumpsters of Stony Brook Junior High. Neither could have imagined that one school could create so much disgusting ick in one day. Going through piles of discarded paper wasn’t so bad. Paper was dry. Where it got tough was when they had to search through the stuff thatwasn’tdry. Their journey through garbageland couldn’t have happened at a worse time. On that very day, the cafeteria had served spaghetti Creole, the furnace had been cleaned and overhauled, and Miss Britton’s biology class had the pleasure of dissecting frogs. That meant that the Dumpsters were loaded with sticky tomato sauce, greasy rags, and putrid frog guts.

It was not a happy two hours. Finally, after having wiped sloppy red sauce off yet another page for what seemed like the one zillionth time, Courtney had had enough.

“It’s not here,” she announced.

“It’s gotta be,” said Mark while wiping a smudge of grease from his chin. “Keep looking.”

Courtney hauled herself out of the Dumpster. She was done.

“Look,” she said. “If it’s in here and we can’t find it, then nobody else will either. It’ll just end up at the dump and nobody will ever see it again.”

“That’s just it!” cried Mark. “Bobby trusted me with his journals. I could never face him again if I lost even one page.”

He began digging again with even more energy. A tear grew in his eye. Not because the Dumpster smelled rank, which it did, but because he felt horrible for having let his best friend down. Courtney leaned into the Dumpster and put a hand on his shoulder. Mark stopped digging and looked at her.

“We’re not going to find it here,” she said softly, trying to calm Mark down. “The more I think about it the more I think it’s gotta still be in the garbage can in the boys’ bathroom.”

Mark felt a spark of hope.

“You think?”

“We were in there just before last period, right? I always see the janitors emptying the garbage cans early in the day. I think there’s a good chance Mr. Dorrico saw the page and stuck it in the can and it’s still sitting there, waiting to get emptied tomorrow.”

“I think you’re right,” he exclaimed, his spirits rising. “All I’ve got to do is get there first thing, before it gets emptied.”

Mark felt much better. There was still hope, and a plan. Both were cautiously optimistic that they’d find the stray page the next day. The only thing they had to worry about for now was getting home and dumping their clothes before their parents caught a whiff of them. They bothreallyneeded a shower. It would be tough to explain why they smelled like rotten tomatoes, grease, and formaldehyde.

The next morning Mark was waiting at the front door of school as the janitors arrived for the day. He usually got to school early because he liked to hang out in the library and get some work done before classes, so the janitors didn’t think it was odd that he was there. Mr. Dorrico was with the group. Mark knew that this was his chance to find out about the paper, but after what happened in the bathroom with Courtney the day before, he was totally embarrassed about approaching the man. Still, he didn’t have any choice.

“Excuse me, Mr. Dorrico?” called Mark.

Mr. Dorrico stopped and looked at him suspiciously. The kids at Stony Brook almost never spoke to the custodians. It wasn’t a law or anything, but the two groups didn’t have much in common. Until today, that is. Mr. Dorrico stared at Mark. Mark could tell that he was trying to remember where he had seen him recently. Unfortunately Mark was going to have to remind him.

“My name’s Mark Dimond,” he said tentatively. “R-Remember yesterday? I was in the third-floor bathroom with Courtney and we were reading and — “

“That’show I know you!” exclaimed Mr. Dorrico.

At first he seemed happy for having solved the mystery of who this kid was, but his joy quickly turned sour as he remembered the scene from the day before.

“You kids think you’re funny, don’t you,” he scolded.

Mark didn’t feel like being lectured, but he figured it would be better to let Mr. Dorrico blow off steam. He might have a better chance of getting the information he needed if Mr. Dorrico felt like he had done a good job of telling him off. So Mark didn’t interrupt him. He stood there and took it.

“I’ve been working at this school for the better part of fifty years,” Dorrico went on. “There’s nothing I haven’t seen and nothing I haven’t cleaned up.”

Mark thought that was a particularly disgusting thought, but he let the guy ramble.

“So if you think you’re being clever or original by trying to make me look foolish, then you’ve got another think coming!”

“You are absolutely right, sir,” said Mark in the most respectful tone he could manage. “We both felt really bad about what happened. A girl shouldneverbe in the boys’ lavatory. To make light of that rule is an insult to everything this school stands for. We felt so bad about it, we decided the best thing to do would be to apologize to you.”

He ended his speech with a big, sincere smile. He was afraid he was laying it on a little thick, but he was on a roll and couldn’t stop. Mr. Dorrico was thrown. He wasn’t expecting a total apology.

“Uh, well,” he fumfered. “You’re right. Where’s the girl? Shouldn’t she apologize too?”

“She will,” answered Mark quickly. “As soon as she gets to school.”

“Okay then,” said Mr. Dorrico with finality. “I’m glad we agree.”

He started to walk off, satisfied with the knowledge that he had been shown the respect he deserved. But Mark couldn’t let him go. He ran quickly in front of him.

“Uhh, there’s one thing though,” he said tentatively. “When we were in there, we were doing homework. I know, bad place to do homework. But I’m afraid I might have left one of my papers behind. You didn’t see it, did you?”

Mr. Dorrico kept walking.

“I saw something,” he answered thoughtfully. “It was a green piece of paper with writing on it. Didn’t look like a normal piece of paper though. It was more like a piece of plant or something.”

“Yes! That’s it!” shouted Mark jubilantly. “Did you throw it in the trash?”

“I got a policy. Things get misplaced. If I find something that looks like schoolwork I’ll leave it where I found it for a day in case the kid comes back to fetch it. If it’s still there after a day then…”

Mr. Dorrico continued talking, but nobody was listening. Mark was already gone. As soon as he heard that the paper was left out in the open in the bathroom, he beat feet for the third floor.

Mark flew up the stairs, sprinted down the hall, skidded around the corner, and blasted through the swinging door that led into the lavatory. When he got inside he did a quick look around to discover there was no journal page to be seen. He dropped to his knees and looked on the floor. He checked all the stalls. He looked on the window ledges and under the sinks. No page. He then grabbed the wastebasket and turned it over. It was empty. Mark felt sick. Could one of the other custodians have thrown it away and then emptied the wastebasket last night? That wouldn’t be fair. Courtney said they didn’t empty them until the morning. But then where was Bobby’s page?

Mark sat down on the floor of the lavatory, totally beaten. His last hope was gone. He dropped his head into his knees and closed his eyes. He knew he had to clear his head and think. What would he tell Bobby? He had let his best friend down. Bobby was able to flume all over Halla and stop wars but he couldn’t even be trusted to hold on to a sheet of paper.

“‘Hi, guys. I gotta apologize for taking so long to write. So much has happened since I left you two, I’m not really sure where to begin.’”

Mark heard those words being read aloud. They were the first words from Bobby’s Journal #5 — the first words on the missing page.

Mark raised his eyes from his arms. When he did, his heart sank even deeper than it had been a few moments before. Standing inside the door to the boys’ lavatory, holding the missing page, was Andy Mitchell. Mark stared up at the kid with greasy dark-blond hair and a bad case of acne… and wanted to retch.

If it was possible to have a true archenemy in junior high, then Andy Mitchell was Mark’s archenemy. Mitchell was the kind of guy who loved to pick on guys like Mark. The word “bully” always jumped into Mark’s mind, but he was a little old to be afraid of bullies. Still, Mitchell loved to harass Mark. He’d cheat off of him in class — when Mitchell decided to show up for class, that is. He’d make fun of Mark’s stutter for the amusement of his equally idiotic band of friends, and he never passed Mark in the hallway without giving him a quick punch in the arm. Mark always had to be looking over his shoulder for Mitchell because he never knew where the next bomb was coming from.

The only time Mark was completely safe was when he was with Bobby or Courtney. Mitchell never messed with those guys. Like all good bullies, he was also a coward. Of course, since Bobby left on his adventure, Mark found himself alone more often and at the mercy of the ever present Mitchell. Mark knew he was a classic creep whose power came from the fact that he wasn’t afraid to intimidate and belittle. But he was also the kind of guy who would find that power ebbing as his peers grew up and stopped taking him seriously. Unfortunately that time wouldn’t come for a while yet. For now, Mitchell was in charge.

Mitchell stood inside the lavatory door with Bobby’s journal page in one hand and a burning cigarette in the other.

“There’s two possibilities here, Dimond,” said Mitchell as he gave a quick, juicy snort. Mitchell always seemed to have a cold. It added to his hideous mystique. “Either this is some lame story you’re writing, or you know exactly what happened to Pendragon and you’re not telling anybody.”

Mark slowly stood up. His mind was in overdrive. What would he tell this guy to get him to give up the page and leave him alone? There weren’t a whole lot of options open.

“Y-You g-got me, Mitchell,” Mark said tentatively. “It’s a s-story. For English. Where did you get it?”

“I found it in here after school yesterday,” answered Mitchell. “What’s the deal? You miss your buddy Pendragon so bad you gotta make up stupid stories about him?”

“1–1 know. It’s really s-stupid,” said Mark.

This was going pretty well. Mitchell was making up all the answers. Mark didn’t have to do anything. Now all he had to do was get Mitchell to give him the page.

“Thanks for finding it.”

He held his hand out for the page. This was the moment of truth. Was Mitchell going to give it back?

“What’ll you give me for it?” Mitchell asked.

“What do you want?”

Mitchell gave this some thought. This was tough for him. He usually didn’t think much.

“Forget it,” he answered. “Just take it. It’s no fun messing with you anymore. It’s too easy.”

Mark had to try to stop from smiling. This was amazing. He was going to get the page back, no harm, no foul. He didn’t want Mitchell to think he was too happy about it, so he just shrugged and held his hand out. However…

It was at that exact instant that his ring started to twitch. Mark felt the telltale movement, but it was such a surprise that he could only stand there, frozen. Then the gray stone started to turn clear and glow. Bobby’s next journal was about to show up, and it couldn’t be happening at a worse time.

Mark clamped his other hand over the ring to hide it. He made eye contact with Mitchell, hoping against hope that he hadn’t seen the ring move. But one look into Mitchell’s wide eyes told him the truth. Mitchell had seen it, all right. They stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Finally…

“Gotta go!” Mark put his head down and headed for the door. But he had to go past Mitchell, and there was no way Mitchell was going to let him get past. He caught Mark and shoved him back into the bathroom.

“What’s going on?” shouted Mitchell, with a touch of fear.

“N-Nothing. I–I’m sick is all.”

Mark tried to get by again, but Mitchell wouldn’t let him pass.

“Show me that ring!” Mitchell demanded.

By this point the ring was starting to expand on Mark’s finger. He couldn’t keep his hand on it any longer. Though it killed him to do it, he had to take the ring off and lay it on the ground. As soon as it hit the floor, the dazzling flash from the stone lit up the dark bathroom with a sparkling spray of light.

Mitchell stood over the ring in wonder. He started to bend down to touch it.

“Don’t!” commanded Mark.

His voice was so forceful, Mitchell backed off. It was the only time Mitchell had ever done anything Mark wanted him to. Mark didn’t feel any victory though; his dominance would be short-lived.

The ring was now expanded to its full size and Mark saw the familiar black hole in its center. The two then heard some odd musical notes coming from deep within.

“Dimond?” yelled Mitchell nervously. “What is this?”

Mark didn’t answer. He knew it would be over soon. If he were lucky, Mitchell would run in terror.

But Mark wasn’t lucky.

Mitchell stayed. The light from the stone blasted out so brightly that both guys had to shield their eyes. The musical notes grew louder, and then a second later, it was over. The lights stopped flashing. The ring was back to its normal size. Sitting next to it on the floor was another roll of pages that Mark knew was Bobby’s next journal. It had arrived the exact same way all the others had, only this time it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

Mark bent down and picked up the roll and the ring. He put the ring back on his finger, and hoping to keep whatever power he had over Mitchell going, he held out his hand.

“Give me the page,” he said as forcefully as possible.

Mitchell was numb. He actually started to do what he was told. He held the lost page out for Mark. Mark reached for it, and just as he was about to grab it, Mitchell snatched it back. He was slowly getting his balance back.

“What just happened here?” he asked shakily.

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Mark, still trying to hold on to whatever leverage the bizarre episode had given him. “J-Just give me the p-page.” Mark was losing it.

“I ain’t giving you nothing!” declared Mitchell.

The power had shifted again. Mitchell was back in charge.

“I’m starting to think you didn’t write this. I’m starting to think Pendragon’s been writing about where he is, and he’s sending letters to you, special delivery.”

Mark didn’t know what to say. Mitchell had hit the nail right on the head. How was he going to explain this? Mitchell looked at the page again, then smiled a sly little smile. Mark’s heart sank.

“I’ll bet there are a lot of people who’d like to know about these,” he said.

“Andy, you can’t,” Mark pleaded. “This isn’t stupid kid stuff at school. There are things going on here you can’t even imagine. If you told anybody about it, you’d be starting something that I guarantee you’d regret.”

This seemed to hit home with Mitchell. Mark realized it might be his one chance to gain some real leverage over the bully.

“There are only three people who know about these pages,” Mark continued. “Me, Courtney Chetwynde… and now you.”

“Chetwynde knows?” shouted Mitchell in disappointment.

This was good for Mark. Mitchell was just as afraid of Courtney as Mark was of Mitchell. Mark was beginning to realize he had more tools to work with than he thought.

“Yes, Courtney knows everything,” continued Mark. “This is a serious thing. If you start telling people about it, then you might get in just as much trouble as we will. There’s a lot at stake here. You want to go public with it? Go ahead. But your life will never be the same.”

Mark felt as if he had laid that on pretty thick. He wasn’t at all sure whether Mitchell would get in trouble if he revealed the journals, but he counted on the fact that Mitchell was dumb enough tothinkhe could get in trouble. Mark knew that was the one weapon guys like Mark had over guys like Mitchell. They were smarter.

“Don’t be an idiot, Mitchell,” said Mark. “Give me the page, forget you saw anything, and I promise never to tell anyone that you know.”

Mitchell stared at the ground, thinking about the offer. Mark knew that Mitchell was over his head. This was way too much for his brain to process.

“I’ll make you a deal, Dimond,” said Mitchell tentatively. “I’ll give you the page, and I’ll shut up about what I saw. But you gotta do something for me too.”

“I asked you before, what?”

“This isn’t before,” said Mitchell. “This is now. Before I didn’t see the hocus-pocus stuff. My offer is this: I’ll keep quiet as long as you let me read what Pendragon sends you.”

“What?”

This was probably the worst thing Mark could imagine. He didn’t want to share Bobby’s journals with anybody, let alone lame-wad Andy Mitchell. What was he going to say to Courtney? He didn’t know what to do.

“That’s my offer, Dimond,” said Mitchell, suddenly sounding more confident. “Either you start showing me those letters, or I start blabbing to everybody about what’s going on. I might get in a little trouble, but nothing like what you and Chetwynde will catch.”

Uh-oh. Mitchell was being smarter than Mark thought possible.

“Okay,” said Mark, though it killed him to do it. “But I can’t let you read it before me and Courtney. The letters are being sent to us, not you. After we read ‘em, I’ll let you have a look. But the letters stay with me, and if you tell anybody and I meananybodyabout what’s going on, I’ll make sure you get in every bit as much trouble as we do.”

Mitchell thought a second, then handed the lost page to Mark. Mark grabbed it like it was his most valuable possession in the world. And at that moment, it was.

“Deal,” he said. “When do I get to read what you got?”

Mark started for the door. He was feeling bold and lost at the same time. He no longer cared about Mitchell’s bully tactics. Their relationship had just been kicked into a higher gear. It was a dangerous gear that was way beyond petty bully stuff.

“I’ll let you know,” declared Mark, and opened the door.

“You better, Dimond,” threatened Mitchell. “We’re partners now.”

Mark stopped and looked back at the creepy Andy Mitchell. He was right. Theywerepartners now, sort of. The thought made Mark’s stomach roll.

A short while later Mark met Courtney near the gym, just as they had arranged the night before. Courtney was all sorts of excited to know if Mark had found the missing page.

“Well?” she asked impatiently.

Mark’s mind raced. What was he going to tell her? He knew he was going to have to tell her the truth, but right now he felt as if he had failed her, and failed Bobby. It started when he left the page in the bathroom and continued when he didn’t have the guts to stand up to Andy Mitchell. He felt like such a loser. Yes, he was going to have to tell Courtney the truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just then.

“I got the page,” he said. “And this.”

He pulled Bobby’s newest journal from his pack. Courtney’s eyes lit up.

“Double score! Excellent! See, I told you it was going to work out.”

“You were right,” said Mark with absolutely no enthusiasm.

Courtney didn’t sense this. She had enough enthusiasm going for the both of them.

“That’s weird,” said Courtney.

D. J. MacHale

The Lost City of Faar

“What?” Mark shot back, hoping that she hadn’t sensed something had gone terribly wrong.

Courtney took the newest journal from Mark and looked at it.

“This isn’t like the last one,” she said with curiosity. “The last journal was written on that green, waterproof paper. This is… different.”

She was right. Mark had been so nervous about Andy Mitchell, he hadn’t even noticed it himself. This new journal was much more like Bobby’s first journals that he wrote on Denduron. The pages were brown and crusty looking like parchment.

“You’re right,” was all Mark could say.

“Okay, we gotta wait till after school to read,” she said, handing him back the pages. “Meet me out front after last period and we’ll get back to my basement. Okay?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

“Man, I hope I can wait that long. I’m dying! Don’t peek, all right?”

“No problem. I won’t peek,” said Mark, wondering how he was going to keep Andy Mitchell from peeking all day.

Mark and Courtney then separated and went about their normal school day. Mark did his best to immerse himself in school-work to get his mind off his dilemma. A few times while classes were passing, he caught sight of Andy Mitchell. Mitchell wouldn’t say a word. He’d just give Mark this exaggerated wink as if to say: “We’ve got a secret, right, pal?” Mark would just turn away and cringe.

After school Mark and Courtney met up just as planned. They barely said anything to each other as they walked to Courtney’s house. A dozen times Mark started to tell her about Andy Mitchell, but couldn’t find the right words. He saw how excited Courtney was about reading the new journal, and didn’t want to crash her mood.

When they got to the house, Mark decided that he wouldn’t say anything about Mitchell until after they read Bobby’s journal. In spite of all the extra stuff that was going on, Mark was excited to find out what happened to their friend. So without Courtney realizing that a momentous decision had been reached, the two sat down on the dusty couch to jump once again into the world that had become Bobby’s.

“I’m shaking,” said Courtney as she held the pages.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” countered Mark, though he was shaking for a whole bunch more reasons than Courtney.

Luckily for him, the time for talking was over. It was time to read.

Oh, man, I gotta apologize to you guys. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that. It’s just that things are happening fast now and I haven’t had many chances to write. That last journal was getting pretty long and I wanted to send it before something happened to it, or to me. I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.

I’m writing this new journal from a place where I finally feel safe. At least for now, anyway. I won’t tell you where it is yet because the events that led me here were pretty wild. I’d rather recount things as they happened and not jump ahead. It’s easier that way. But I’ll tease you a little by saying you’re not going to believe where I am. Now let’s get back to where I left you hanging.

When Magorran hit Grallion, I felt it rather than saw it. The impact sent a giant Shockwave throughout the habitat that knocked most people off their feet, including me and Uncle Press. The habitat shuddered and shook and a horrible grinding sound filled the air as the two giant ships collided. I couldn’t see it, but I could imagine the destruction that was happening at the point of impact. I could only hope that it wouldn’t be so devastating as to send both habitats to the bottom.

Moments before the collision the aquaneers had thrown off most of the lines that secured Grallion, so that when the habitats hit, we would be pushed back instead of holding firm. If not for that move, there would have been way more damage. Also, the pilot of Grallion threw the engines into full reverse, which helped to soften the blow. Still, that wasn’t enough to avoid the crash. Even after the collision, Magorran kept coming. The big habitat was powerful and moving fast. It pushed Grallion across the surface of the ocean like a toy. A really big toy. The only way to stop it was to stop Magorran.

Once we realized we weren’t going to sink, Uncle Press helped me to my feet. There was a strong vibration from the force of the charging habitat and it was difficult to stand. Up till now I never even felt like I was on a ship. Now I felt like I was on theTitanic, and it was banging against the iceberg.

But there was one other thought that made me even more nervous. When something this huge and bad happened it could only mean one thing: Saint Dane was in the house. The look on Uncle Press’s face told me he was thinking the same thing. This accident was classic Saint Dane. I could almost hear the wheels turning in Uncle Press’s head as he calculated what the crash might mean to Grallion, to Cloral, to Halla, and to us. Finally he announced, “We’re on the wrong habitat.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He wasn’t. Uncle Press took off running toward the impact point. This was insane. The safest place to be was far away from where the two habitats had collided. But being safe wasn’t usually high on Uncle Press’s To Do list. He was headed right for the most dangerous place on board, and I was right after him. We ran past several vators who were fleeing from the bow to a safer part of the habitat. There was a name for those guys. Smart. We weren’t being smart; we were headed toward disaster.

The closer we got to the bow, the more damage there was. The deck had buckled and split. I could look down through jagged tears and see below to the pipes and struts that held Grallion together. It got tricky dodging around these open fissures. One wrong step and we could have fallen a few stories into the guts of Grallion. It was like running over a rickety old footbridge where the bottom could fall out at any moment. Still, Uncle Press wouldn’t stop.

When we got near the bow, we saw the full extent of the devastation. Each of the two habitats were crushed where they impacted. It was a twisted mess of beams, girders, and decking. This no longer looked like a habitat. It looked like a vast, floating junkyard.

“Now what?” I asked.

Uncle Press pointed to several aquaneers who were leaping on board Magorran. They were led by Wu Yenza, the chief aquaneer. It was a daring jump because even though the decks of the two habitats were only a few feet apart, they were both still moving and grinding against each other.

“Follow them,” said Uncle Press, which was the last thing I wanted to hear. But he didn’t give me time to think. He ran to the edge of the deck, hesitated only a second, then leaped from Grallion onto Magorran.

“Let’s go, Bobby!” he yelled.

Imagine standing on an ice floe as it hurtled down a river and you had to jump onto another ice floe that was going just as fast. That’s pretty much what this felt like. The gap between the two decks was only a few feet, but it felt like a mile. I looked down. Big mistake. I could see through four stories down of twisted wreckage to the frothing white water. Falling would really, really hurt.

“It’s cake, Bobby!” shouted Uncle Press. “C’mon!”

Cake. Yeah, right. I inched as close as I could to the edge without getting dizzy. The deck lurched under my feet. This was definitelynotcake! I waited until Grallion settled, took a breath — and jumped.

I cleared the chasm by a good five feet. Okay, maybe itwascake.

“Now what?” I asked, trying to sound as if I were more in control of myself than I really was.

“The pilot house,” answered Uncle Press. “Let’s find out who’s driving this bus.”

The pilot house where the habitat was controlled wasn’t far from which we boarded. Like the pilot house on Grallion, this was an enclosed structure where the pilot, the first mate, and a few other aquaneers would send the commands that controlled the habitat. Whatever the problem was with Magorran, the logical place to start looking for it was the pilot house.

We took off running, but it wasn’t any easier over here than it was on Grallion. This deck was torn up from the impact as well. The whole habitat shuddered and heaved as it bounced against Grallion. It was like trying to run across a minefield during an earthquake.

The goal was to stop Magorran. I feared that when we got to the pilot house, we’d find none other than Saint Dane standing at the wheel wearing an aquaneer uniform and an evil, leering smile. But that would have been too easy. Saint Dane may have been responsible for this, but he wouldn’t have done something as obvious as piloting the habitat himself. No, Saint Dane didn’t work that way. He was a manipulator. This was an epic disaster that was worthy of him, but the cause of it would be far more diabolical. This was only the beginning. It wasn’t just about two habitats colliding. There had to be something grander at stake. So as much as I feared seeing Saint Dane at the wheel, it was his overall scheme that I feared more.

Before we got to the pilot house, the habitat suddenly stopped shuddering. The aquaneers who boarded ahead of us must have reached the controls and shut down the engines. There was a strange calm. The horrible cracking sound of the two habitats grinding against each other stopped. The drone of the engines stopped. The rush of the water crashing between the two wrecked habitats stopped. The aquaneers must have slowed Magorran because after one last loud, twisting crunch, I saw Grallion pull away. The two habitats were once again separate.

As Grallion drifted away, I saw the extent of the damage, and it was pretty nasty. The entire bow end of the farm barge looked like a car after a head-on collision. Decking was bent and cracked. Geysers of water shot from burst pipes. Pieces of beams and struts floated in the water. The dock area was destroyed along with most of the small boats that were kept there. In a word, it was mangled. I’m sure that Magorran looked the same, though I couldn’t tell because I was standing on it. The big question now was, why had the aquaneers on Magorran lost control? If our aquaneers could stop it so easily, what prevented the Magorran crew from doing the same?

Uncle Press and I reached the pilot house that was about a hundred yards back from the damaged bow. I was glad to see the collision hadn’t destroyed it. It was a solid structure that was probably built that way in case something hairy like this happened. This was the first good news we saw. Magorran could still be controlled from here. The question was, why did it go out of control in the first place? The moment we opened the door, we had the answer. There were two aquaneers from Grallion at the controls. Yenza was at the wheel, the other worked the array of toggle switches for the many water-powered engines that controlled the habitat.

The aquaneer crew from Magorran was there as well. There was the pilot, the first mate, and three other aquaneers. I recognized their rank because they wore the same uniforms as the crew from Grallion. But there was one big difference between this crew and our crew.

These guys were all dead.

It was a creepy scene for obvious reasons, but it was made all the more so because the crew looked so… natural. It wasn’t like there was a violent fight or anything. Just the opposite. The pilot sat in his chair, still looking forward with sightless eyes. The first mate was hunched over a map with a pen still in his hand as if he were in the middle of plotting a course, probably to rendezvous with Grallion. The other aquaneers were sitting on the deck near their stations as if they had simply fallen asleep. But these guys were definitely not asleep. Their eyes were wide open. There was something else. Uncle Press saw it first and pointed it out to me. Each of the poor dead aquaneers had a trace of something on the corners of their mouths. It was dry now, but it looked to have been a trickle of green liquid that had dribbled out of the corners of their mouths and crusted there.

They were dead all right. The mystery of the collision was solved. These guys died at their posts under full power. But the idea of five guys suddenly dying was tough to comprehend. It was then that I was hit with a thought that was even more horrific than the sight in front of me. It was like an alarm rang in my head. I reached out to Uncle Press, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him out of the pilot house.

“This wasn’t a sudden crash,” I croaked out through my dry mouth. “I mean, we saw it coming, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So if we saw it coming, how come nobody else on board Magorran did?”

Before I got all the words out, I saw in Uncle Press’s face that he knew exactly where I was going with this. The crash happened because the pilot and his crew were dead. But somebody else on Magorran should have seen the crash coming and tried to stop it. That is, if anybody else on Magorran were alive to see it. The horrible realization hit Uncle Press just as it hit me. If nobody else tried to stop the crash, did that mean more people were dead? We both did a quick scan around and saw the same thing — nothing. There was no movement. No life. The sickening truth was setting in. There was a very good chance that everybody on Magorran had met the same fate as its crew.

This may have become a ship of the dead.

I turned away from Uncle Press and puked.

(CONTINUED)