The Lost City of Faar (7 page)

He knew how to handle a water sled, too. He eased over close to me until we were traveling side by side. He held on to his sled with one hand and let go with the other to reach back to his leg. What was he doing? He brought his hand forward again and I saw that he was now holding a very large, very nasty-looking silver knife. For a second I freaked. Was he going to stab me? But that didn't make sense. He wouldn't have gone through the trouble of killing the quig just to kill me himself. At least I didn't think so.

He reached forward with the knife and with one quick move he lashed out at me. Not knowing what he was doing, I closed my eyes. But what he did with that one strong swipe was cut the vine that attached me to the runaway water sled. The pull on my arm stopped instantly. The force of the water slowed me down. I looked ahead to see the runaway water sled continue forward on its crazed trip to nowhere. Good riddance!

I was dazed and hurt. I tried to move my legs to get some sort of control, but I was floundering. That's when I felt something grab the back of my shirt. It was the guy in black. He had come around and was now right next to me.
Without a word he grabbed the back of my collar and began towing me to the surface. I totally relaxed. Whoever this guy was, he was in charge now and I didn't care. All I could think about was breathing fresh air again.

The trip to the surface took about twenty seconds. The closer we got, the brighter the water became. I couldn't wait to get on top. Then just before we surfaced, the guy in black let go of my collar and let me float up on my own.

It was a great feeling. My head broke the surface and the BC belt kept me floating. That was a good thing because I didn't think I could tread water just then. I yanked the air globe off my head and took a deep breath of fresh air. The sun was warm, the air smelled sweet, and I was alive.

“Friend of Press's, are you?” came a voice from behind me.

I spun around to see the guy in black floating next to me. He had taken off his air globe and I now saw that he was a little older than me, and had a slight Asian look with almond-shaped eyes. He had deep, sun-colored skin and long black hair. He also had the biggest, friendliest smile I thought I'd ever seen in my life.

“Told me he was bringing somebody to visit,” the guy said cheerfully. “Sorry ‘bout the rude welcome. Them sharks can stir up a real natty-do sometimes. Easy enough to handle 'em though. Just gotta know the soft spots,” he said, tapping his head.

“Who are you?” was all I could think of saying.

“Name's Spader. Vo Spader. Pleased to meet you.”

“I'm Bobby Pendragon. You saved my life.” I wasn't sure what else to add but, “Thanks.”

“No big stuff. It happens. Never saw anyone caught up by a sled like that though. No sir, that was a real tum-tigger.”

“Yeah, a real tum-tigger,” I said. Whatever
that
was.

“Took us a might off course though,” he added, looking around.

I looked around too and what I saw made my heart start to race again. Because what I saw was . . . nothing. Oh, there was plenty of water all right. But that was it. We were in the middle of the ocean with no landmass in sight.

If a tum-tigger was bad, this was definitely a tum-tigger.

T
alk 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 had
two
brothers. 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 I
tried
to 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 he
never
missed. 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.”