The Lost City of Faar (4 page)

I had calmed down by now and floated lazily in the green pool. It was actually kind of cool. I also think I was mesmerized by this wondrous place. I probably would have kept floating there for a long time if I hadn't heard the familiar sound of musical notes coming from the flume overhead. It took a second for me to register what was happening. Uncle Press was about to arrive. That was good. But I was treading water on the very spot where he was going to land. That was bad. I instantly kicked and lunged for the side of the pool to get out of the way. No sooner did I touch the rocky edge when I heard, “Eeeehaaaa!”

Uncle Press shot out of the flume headfirst. The force of it sent him sailing out into the center of the cavern. He seemed to hang there for an impossible second until gravity kicked in. As he began his arc down, he thrust his arms out to form a perfect swan dive. Then just before splashdown, he brought his arms together and entered the water almost vertically. He barely even made a splash. A perfect ten all the way around.

I pulled myself up and sat on the edge of the pool as Uncle Press resurfaced. He had a huge, exhilarated smile on his face
as he shook his head to throw his wet hair out of his eyes.

“Yeah! I love this place!” he shouted with joy. “Headfirst is the only way to go.”

I was beginning to think that Uncle Press liked being a Traveler. At least he enjoyed it more than I did, that was for sure. With two quick strokes he swam to the side of the pool and hauled himself out. He was a little out of breath from his dramatic arrival, so he sat on the edge and looked at me with eyes that were alive with excitement.

“Welcome to Cloral,” he said with glee. “This is my favorite territory. No contest.”

He sounded like some kind of tour guide whose job it was to make sure I was enjoying my vacation. But this was no vacation. Not even close.

“So what's the deal here?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. “Is there a war? Some impending disaster? Some evildoings that Saint Dane cooked up to make our lives miserable?”

Uncle Press gave a shrug. “I don't know,” was his casual response.

Huh? Up until now Uncle Press had all the answers. He didn't always share them with me, but it was good to know that at least one of us wasn't totally clueless.

“Don't know?” I shot back. “Why do you keep stuff from me? If we're headed for trouble, I want to know.”

“I'm not trying to hide things from you, Bobby,” he said sincerely. “I really don't know what's happening here. On Denduron, I'd been living with the Milago and knew that there was civil war brewing. But I've only been to Cloral a couple of times. As far as I know, everything here is fine and dandy.”

“So then why are we here?” I asked with frustration.

Uncle Press looked me right in the eye, suddenly all business.

“We're here because Saint Dane is here,” he said soberly. “He hasn't tipped his hand yet, but he will.”

Right. Saint Dane. Back on Denduron, moments before Loor and I had made our death-defying escape from the mine shaft, Saint Dane had jumped into a flume and shouted,
“Cloral!”
Since the mine was seconds away from blowing up, Loor and I would have gladly followed him, except that he sent a killer shark riding a wave of water back through the flume to stop us. We had two choices: death by shark-lunch, or flee deeper into the doomed mine. We chose to run and luckily escaped through a ventilation shaft before the entire place exploded.

It suddenly dawned on me that the reason we were here on Cloral was because of me. I was the one who knew Saint Dane came here. I guess I was playing more of a part in this whole saga than I really cared to.

“Tell me about Cloral,” I asked. I figured I should at least know what to expect from this new territory.

Uncle Press stood up and glanced around the colorful, living, underground cavern.

“The whole planet is covered by water,” he began. “As far as I know there isn't an inch of dry land anywhere. This cave is part of a coral reef that's about sixty feet underwater.”

“You're kidding?” I interrupted. “Who lives on this territory? Fish?”

Uncle Press laughed and reached toward one of the vines that clung to the rocks. Behind the colorful flowers, attached to the same vine, were dark lumpy-looking things. He plucked one off like an apple from a tree and tossed it to me. I caught it awkwardly and saw that it looked like a small, dark green
cucumber. It was kind of rubbery, so I guess it was really more like a pickle than a cucumber.

“Break it in half,” he said.

I held both ends and snapped the strange tube in half easily. The green skin on the outside was so dark that it was nearly black, but the inside was bright red.

“Try it,” he said while plucking another one for himself. He took a big bite and chewed. I figured if it didn't kill him, it wouldn't kill me, so I took a bite and it was delicious! It was like the sweetest little watermelon I had ever eaten. Even the skin was good, though chewier and a bit more salty than the sweet pulp inside. No seeds, either.

“I think there may have been a time when the people of Cloral lived on dry land,” he continued. “But that was centuries ago. There aren't any records of it. Whatever happened to the planet, no one knows. But the land is long gone.”

“So how do they live in water?” I asked while wiping the sweet juice from my chin.

“They don't,” he answered. “They live on floating cities called ‘habitats.' Whole communities are built on these monster barges. Some are so big you'd swear you were on an island.”

“That sounds impossible,” I said. “Where do they get food? And building materials? And—”

“Why don't I just show you?” Uncle Press interrupted.

Good point. We could sit here talking about it, or I could see for myself. I hated to admit it, but I was kind of interested by a world that was always floating.

Uncle Press wiped fruit juice from his mouth and walked carefully across the rocky ledge until he came to a thick mound of vines near the base of the wall. He pulled them away and I saw that the vines had been covering a pile of clothing and
equipment. I immediately remembered the cave on top of the mountain on Denduron where Uncle Press gave me the leather clothes of that territory. It was against the rules to wear anything from other territories, so we needed some Cloral clothes.

“I don't get it,” I said quizzically. “If you didn't know we were coming here, how did you know enough to have this little stash of stuff ready?”

“We aren't alone, Bobby,” he said while picking up and checking out something that looked like a clear-plastic bubble the size of a basketball. “There are acolytes who support us on every territory. They brought this gear here.”

Acolytes. That's who supposedly took care of the motorcycle back in the Bronx.

“Who are they?” I asked. “How come I've never seen one?”

“You won't,” he answered. “At least not often. But they're around.”

“If they're so helpful,” I added suspiciously, “how come they didn't help us out a little more on Denduron?”

“It's not like that,” he said. “They aren't Travelers. They can't play a direct role in our mission. All they can do is help us blend into the territory. Here!”

He tossed the plastic bubble to me. It was light, but solid. One section of the globe was open so it looked kind of like a big, round fishbowl. There was also a small gizmo attached to it that looked like a silver harmonica.

“Put your head in it.”

Yeah, right. Sticking my head into that alien object is not something I'd do by choice.

“Just put it on,” he said with a smile.

Why couldn't he just tell me what was about to happen for a change? Why did I always have to experience it myself? Oh
well. Why argue? I reluctantly lifted the clear globe and slowly lowered it down over my head—until a freaky thing happened. As soon as the top of my head touched the inside of the globe, the clear dome started to change shape! I instantly yanked the cursed thing off. It immediately stopped moving and returned to its original round shape.

“What the hell was that?” I exclaimed, totally freaked out.

Uncle Press laughed and reached toward the pile of stuff to get another clear globe.

“The Clorans are pretty advanced,” he explained. “They've got some pretty incredible toys.”

“Like torture devices that clamp on your head and suck out your brain?”

“No, like anything to do with water. Water is their life. They've learned how to use it in ways you can't even imagine.”

He put the second globe over his head. Instantly the clear dome began to writhe and change shape. In a few seconds the sphere went from totally round, to a perfect formfitting shell around his head. It was unbelievable. The thing had taken on the shape of Uncle Press's head. He smiled at me from inside the clear mask.

“They've figured out how to create solid material from water,” he said while tapping the shell that had formed around his face. It was hard again. Amazing. I could even hear him clearly, though his head was encased in . . . whatever it was encased in.

“And this thing here”—he pointed to the silver harmonica thing attached at the back of his head—“this is a filter that takes in water, breaks it down atomically, and feeds oxygen into the mask so you can breathe. Cool, aye?”

Now I got it. This strange living mask was some kind of scuba gizmo. You could breathe underwater with this thing.
And the clear plastic would act as a mask to keep water out of your eyes so you could see. How cool is that?

Uncle Press pulled the clear mask up off his head, and by the time he placed it in his lap it had already become round again.

“Centuries of living on water makes you resourceful,” he said.

“Absolutely,” I added. “What else you got there?”

There were two gizmos on the pile that I can best describe as looking like the plastic floats lifeguards use when they make rescues. Uncle Press picked one up and held it out for me to see. It was roughly football shaped, bright purple, and had handle grips on each side. It was about a foot and a half long. One end had a round, open mouth. The other end came to a point. There were also rows of slits that ran across the top and bottom.

“Okay, I give up,” I said.

“It's a water sled. When you're in the water, grab the handles, hold it out in front of you and pull the trigger.”

I could see that hidden inside each of the handles was a trigger.

“The open end goes in front,” he explained. “Point it where you want to go. Water gets sucked in through these slits for power and the whole thing pulls you along. The harder you squeeze the trigger, the faster you go. Easy peazy.”

This was getting good. I was beginning to see why Uncle Press liked Cloral so much. He then threw me a pair of rubbery swim fins that needed no explanation.

“Get changed,” he added.

It was time to dress like a Cloran. I had been through this drill before. So I walked across the stone ledge and began to dig through the pile of Cloral clothes. Uncle Press did the
same. There were shirts and pants and even shorts that I guess were supposed to be used as underwear. Good thing. I didn't get to wear any underwear on Denduron and the rough leather clothes gave me a raging rash that was only now starting to calm down.

The material was soft and kind of rubbery. Cloral was all about water, so I guessed these clothes would be perfect for swimming and would dry fast. The colors were bright, too. All were on the cool end of the spectrum, blue, green, and purple. I knew from the times that Uncle Press had taken me scuba diving that the best colors to use underwater were in the blue family—they showed up best. Colors like red and yellow were quickly filtered away underwater so they ended up looking gray, but blue still looked like blue underwater. So did purple and green.

I had the feeling that there would be more opportunities for my scuba diving experience to come in handy here on this water territory. Uncle Press had taken me to diving classes last year and I got my open-water diver's certification. Uncle Press then took me on a great trip to Florida where we dove in the ocean and explored some of the fresh water springs. That was fantastic. We swam with schools of fish and hitched rides on turtles.

Uncle Press and I had done a lot of great things like that. I was beginning to think that maybe those adventures weren't so much about having fun as they were about preparing me for some of the challenges I would face as a Traveler. I guess I should be grateful—except maybe for the time he took me sky diving. It was a blast, but I really didn't want to think about what he may have been preparing me for with that little episode. Yikes.

I grabbed a light blue shirt and pair of pants that looked
sort of like the same color. Nobody knew me here, but I didn't want to look like a clashing, colorblind geek. I picked out some blue shorts, too. I wasn't sure if they were the right size, but when I put them on, it was like they were made for me! There weren't any zippers or buttons, either. I dumped my Second Earth clothes and stepped into the shorts and pants, then pulled the shirt down over my head. The stretchy clothes molded to my body perfectly. They weren't too tight, but were still formfitting enough that nothing would twist and get in the way in the water. There were even soft boots with hard rubber souls that slipped on easily and fit like they were custom-made. It was all very Star Trek.

“Put on a belt, too,” said Uncle Press, and handed me a thin, soft strap.

“That's okay,” I replied. “I'm not a belt kind of guy.”

“It's not about fashion,” he said. “It's a BC.”

Cool. Going back to my scuba experience, I knew that BC stood for buoyancy compensator. Scuba divers have to wear a weight belt underwater or they'd float back to the surface. A BC is a vest that you fill with air from your scuba tank to help you adjust your buoyancy so you won't sink to the bottom, or shoot up to the surface. When everything is perfect, it's called “neutrally buoyant.” It makes swimming feel like flying. But I wasn't sure how this little belt was going to keep anybody neutrally buoyant.