“This is bad, Pendragon,” Spader said solemnly. “If they don’t get those hauler doors open—”
“Yeah, I get it,” I said.
The two of us stood there in a daze. There was every probability that the hauler hangar was going to be a tomb for those brave Faarians, and for my Uncle Press.
“We gotta go,” Spader then said.
I looked up toward the tunnel that led out of Faar and saw that we had actually caught a break. The rush of water that was powering down from the dome was on a free fall to the bottom. If it had hit any of the paths, it would have wiped them out. But as it was, the paths weren’t being hit and we could still make it up to the escape tunnel. There was some rubble from the crumbled dome lying around, but nothing we couldn’t jump over or run around. But we had to do it fast. The water level was rising.
There wasn’t a single Faarian left. They had all made it out. We got to the tunnel safely, but before ducking inside I remembered something and stopped. I turned around and looked up toward the Council Circle where I had left Abador. I briefly wondered what he was going to do. It was clear now, Faar was doomed. Did that mean he was going to transpire . . . whatever that meant?
One look up at the distant platform told me that whatever transpire meant, it wasn’t going to happen. That’s because the white marble roof that had protected the Council Circle was gone. It must have been knocked over by pieces of the falling dome. That could only mean one thing—Abador was dead. If he had stayed at the podium, which I was pretty sure he had, then the crashing marble would surely have killed him. And since nothing else dramatic had happened to Faar, I could only assume that it had gotten him before he had the chance to transpire. My heart went out to the old man. His love for Faar and all that it stood for was huge. He had saved his people from a horrible death, but he failed in his last important act. After seeing the dome collapse, he would surely have begun to transpire but he never got the chance. I felt sad for the man who wasn’t able to help Faar through to the final destiny that his ancestors had so carefully planned for.
“Uh, Pendragon, can we leave now?” asked Spader.
I turned away from Faar for what was sure to be the last time and followed my friend into the tunnel. We ran past the empty locker room and right to the spot where we had left our gear. Spader put Uncle Press’s air globe down next to his water sled.
“You never know, right?” he said.
Yeah. You never know. But you usually have a pretty good idea. I didn’t think Uncle Press would be needing his air globe anymore. For a moment time stood still. Seeing that air globe did it. It didn’t matter to me that Faar was crashing down, or that Saint Dane was about to destroy Cloral. All I could think about for those few seconds was that I had lost my Uncle Press. After telling everybody else how they had to be strong and do the right thing and make tough choices, all I wanted to do was stand there and cry.
Spader must have realized what I was going through, because he put a hand on my shoulder, and said, “Time for that later, mate. We have to go.”
Right. We were outta there. We both grabbed our water sleds and headed back through the tunnel. We soon hit the water. It quickly got deep, first covering our ankles, then our knees, our hips, and then finally became so deep that we had to start swimming. We popped on our air globes, triggered our water sleds and submerged into the waters of the tunnel.
Luckily the lights were still on so we could see where we were going. It would have been tough trying to find our way in the pitch black. We sped along, back through the tunnel, without saying a word. I can’t speak for Spader, but I knew where my thoughts were. Though it looked as if we were about to escape the destruction of Faar alive, we were about to enter another mess. No doubt waiting for us in the ocean outside were Saint Dane and his raiders. I only then realized that once the dome cracked, the explosions had stopped. I guess Saint Dane had done all the damage he needed. He had destroyed Faar and kept the haulers from saving the underwater farms. His mission was complete.
The sad truth was that we had failed Cloral. Saint Dane’s plan for pushing the territory into chaos was about to succeed. Food would grow scarce, people would fight to get whatever safe supply was left, and who knew how many thousands would die from either starvation or poisoning.
And still, we had to face Saint Dane. He was out there, waiting for us, I was sure. All we could hope to do now was escape to fight another day.
We swam back to the large rock door that led to the open ocean. The door was wide open, and why not? This wonderful city was history. Why bother to close it? Spader and I shot out into open water, not really sure what we would find.
“Gotta be careful, mate,” said Spader. “Don’t want to get sucked back into that hole in the dome.”
Good point. There were millions of tons of water flooding into that hole. It was like a giant, open drain. It would be easy to get sucked in. I hoped that the Faarians realized this and were keeping their distance.
As we rode our water sleds away from the tunnel to get away from the dome, I actually felt a slight tug, as if we were swimming against a strong current. I knew it was the pull of the water being sucked into the hole in the dome. Luckily we were far enough away that our water sleds kept us moving forward and safe. Did I say safe? Yeah, right. Real safe. I looked ahead and began to see shapes. They were hard to see at first because they weren’t much different than the color of the water, but the closer we got, the more distinct they became. In a few moments I realized what they were.
It was the people of Faar. There were thousands of them, all floating in the water, looking back at the coral reef dome that had protected their city and kept it hidden. It was gut wrenching. These people were now all homeless and stranded in the middle of the ocean.
And we were stranded right along with them. I began thinking about how we could find the closest habitat and get the word out to the aquaneers to start picking up these people, when something caught my eye.
At first I thought it was a shadow. But it was really big, like a shadow from a cloud when it crosses the sun. It was far away and blurry, so I couldn’t tell what it really was. What I could tell for certain was: It was coming toward us.
“You see that?” I asked Spader, and pointed toward the moving shadow.
Spader spun around and looked.
“Never seen any fish that big,” he said.
“Maybe it’s a school of fish, or a whale . . . or . . .”
The words stuck in my throat. As the shadow drew closer, it became very clear how Saint Dane had attacked Faar. I also knew why Spader hadn’t seen it coming when he was on the surface.
Saint Dane was in a submarine. It was a huge, black, monstrous-looking craft with a flat bottom and rounded body. My guess was that it fired underwater missiles, just like the battleship he used to attack Grallion. There was no doubt about it, this was a weapon of war, and it was at Saint Dane’s command.
“About time you two showed up!” came a voice from behind us.
Spader and I both spun around to see four raiders floating there, each with a water sled and holding spearguns on us.
“Looks like you were the last to leave the party,” one laughed. “There’s somebody wants to see you.”
Two of the raiders moved to either side of us, while the other two trailed from behind, guarding us with their spearguns. They motioned for us to swim along with them. There was nothing we could do. We were trapped and on our way to Saint Dane’s submarine.
SECOND EARTH
The phone rang next to Mark’s bed.
“Don’t answer it,” ordered Courtney. She was too involved in Bobby’s adventure to stop reading, even for a moment.
“I have to,” answered Mark. Though he didn’t want to. He was afraid of who might be calling.
“Hello?” Mark answered tentatively.
“Mark Dimond?” came a familiar man’s voice over the phone.
“Yes,” Mark answered. He wasn’t giving up any more
information than necessary.
“This is Captain Hirsch, Mark. Stony Brook Police.”
Mark’s heart instantly started beating faster. This was it. This was the call he was dreading.
“Hi, Captain, how are you?” Mark asked, trying to sound more together than he felt.
At the sound of the word “captain,” Courtney’s ears pricked up.
“Mark, you’re aware that there’s a reward out for any information that would lead us to finding the Pendragons, right?”
“Yeah. Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“That’s right. Do you know where Courtney Chetwynde is?
I called her home but her parents said she was out.”
“Well, yeah. She’s here with me.”
He looked at Courtney. Courtney raised her eyebrows as if to say, “He’s asking about me?”
“That’s good,” Hirsch said. “I wonder if you two would mind coming down to the station. There’s something here I’d like to show you.”
Uh-oh. Mark thought he knew exactly what Captain Hirsch wanted to show him.
“Uhh . . . . I guess. We’re kind of in the middle of something now though.”
“How about an hour?” asked Hirsch. “We could send a car for you.”
“An hour? Uh . . . y-yeah, okay. I guess we could be finished in an hour. You have my address?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Hirsch. “Oh, Mark, one more thing. Do you know a guy named Andy Mitchell?”
That was it. The door holding back Mark’s fears was blown wide open. Andy Mitchell had stolen Bobby’s journals and it took him all of one day to take them to the police, figuring he’d collect the reward money. The only thing that truly surprised Mark about it was that he’d thought it would take Mitchell a week to read those first four journals.
“Mark, you still there?”
“Y-Yeah, I’m here.”
“Do you know Andy Mitchell? Is he a friend of yours?”
Two completely different questions. Mark wondered what Mitchell had said to the police about their relationship. He wondered if Mitchell admitted that he was a bully who had blackmailed Mark into showing him the journals, only to steal them and turn them in for a reward. No, Mitchell probably didn’t go into that kind of detail.
“Yes, I know him. But he’s not exactly a friend of mine.”
“Okay then, we’ll see you in an hour.”
“Bye.” He hung up the phone.
“That was Hirsch? What did he want?” asked Courtney.
“He wants us to come down to the station to show us something.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“No,” answered Mark. “He’s sending a car here in an hour. I figured we’d be finished reading by then.”
Mark’s mind raced. The drama with Andy Mitchell was going to end in an hour, one way or another. But as anxious as that made him, it didn’t even come close to the drama that was playing out on the pages of Bobby’s journal.
Courtney said, “I don’t want to think about the police until we finish. My mind’s not there. That okay?”
That was more than okay with Mark. His mind wasn’t there either. He didn’t want to have to discuss Andy Mitchell or the missing journals or his being an idiot who got blackmailed until they found out what happened to Bobby and Spader and Uncle Press.
“Yeah,” Mark answered. “We gotta read.”
Mark got back on the bed. He and Courtney stretched out on their stomachs, side by side, with the journal in front of them, ready to discover what happened on that dark day under the oceans of Cloral.
JOURNAL #8
(CONTINUED)
CLORAL
You’d think things couldn’t have gotten any worse than they were at this moment: Faar was destroyed. Its entire population was now homeless and floating in the ocean. All but one of the haulers were stuck under tons of water and rubble, unable to save the underwater farms of Cloral. Uncle Press, Kalaloo, and several Faarians were trapped down there as well. If they weren’t dead already, they would be soon.
And now Spader and I were being escorted into an ominous-looking submarine full of killer raiders that was commanded by Saint Dane.
As the raiders brought us toward the hovering sub, I said to Spader, “I didn’t know they had these on Cloral.”
“Same as with the battle cruiser,” answered Spader. “Warships were built long ago in case there was a territory war between the habitats. They never had to use them, and a few were hijacked by raiders.”
“Quiet!” shouted one of our guards.
It now made sense. Saint Dane was able to fire underwater missiles at Faar. He just kept pounding away at the dome until it couldn’t take it anymore.
We were now directly underneath this war machine. I wasn’t sure where we were going until I saw a large door slide open in the bottom of the hull. It led up to a large, flooded chamber. It was probably big enough to bring a truck inside. The raiders directed us to swim up and in. I looked into the black chamber above me and stopped. I didn’t want to board this evil boat. But a sharp jab in my ribs from a raider’s speargun told me we didn’t have a choice. So Spader and I swam up inside Saint Dane’s city-killing submarine.
We floated in this dark chamber while the hull door slid closed below us. We were now inside, in pitch darkness. A hiss of air told me that they were pumping the water out of the chamber. It didn’t take long. Soon we were standing on the hull door that had just closed. The water level kept going down until the chamber was dry. That’s when the lights kicked on and I saw something that made this horrible situation even worse.
Sitting next to us in this large chamber was the one and only hauler that had been launched from Faar. Saint Dane must have captured it the instant it left the underwater city. This was totally depressing. Now there was no chance for any of the underwater farms. Saint Dane had won a complete victory. He didn’t leave any loose ends.
I looked to Spader, who seemed as deflated as I was.
“Drop your gear!” ordered one of the raiders.
We took off our air globes and dropped our water sleds.
“Let’s go. He’s waiting for you,” commanded the same raider.
With another jab in the side from his speargun, Spader and I were escorted out of this chamber and through the submarine to meet Saint Dane. I had never been in a submarine at home. I had only seen pictures and movies. But compared to the high-tech subs from Second Earth, this vehicle looked pretty simple. I expected to see all sorts of tubes and pipes and valves all over the place, but there were none. It was cramped and the walkways were narrow, just like you’d imagine, but there were very few signs of the technology that ran the thing. It was just like walking down a narrow corridor, with rooms off to either side. I guess that made sense. The Clorans definitely had water technology down cold.
Suddenly there was a jolt. The submarine shuddered and we all nearly lost our balance.
“What was that?” I asked.
“We’re surfacing,” answered one of the raiders. “Keep moving.”
We got to a ladder that led up. Two raiders went up first, followed by us, followed by the other two. They were taking no chances with us. I wasn’t exactly sure why. It wasn’t like we were going anywhere.
The ladder led us up to what looked like the control room of the sub. Again, it wasn’t as high-tech looking as the submarines we know. There were two raiders sitting at dual steering wheels forward. Three other raiders manned various control stations. I’m sure one of them controlled the weapons that were fired at the city of Faar. There was only one other person there, and I’m sure you can figure out who that was.
It was Roder, the pirate pilot. Of course, we knew that it was really Saint Dane. He stood between the two guys steering, looking out of a narrow window at the underwater seascape.
“We found only two,” said one of the raiders to him.
Saint Dane turned to us.
“Welcome aboard, my friends,” he said with a war
m smile. “I just love the toys they’ve got here on Cloral, don’t you?”
We didn’t say anything. What was the point? I glanced at Spader and saw that he was grinding his teeth in anger. His hatred for Saint Dane because of what he did to Spader’s father had come flooding back. I really hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid.
“And where is my friend, Press?” he asked. “Not still on Faar, I hope.”
I didn’t answer. But Saint Dane walked up to me and looked me right in the eye. I didn’t want him to think that he scared me, so I looked right back at him. It was like he was searching my mind. After a few seconds he shook his head slowly.
“It’s all in your eyes, Pendragon,” he said. “Press is dead. I am sorry. He was a worthy adversary, but as I’ve told you before, I cannot be beaten. This is the way it was meant to be.”
“No, it isn’t,” I shot back at him. I couldn’t stand hearing those words. “Cloral isn’t done yet.”
Saint Dane chuckled like I was some kind of stupid kid who didn’t know what he was talking about. I hated that. Mostly because he was right.
“Is that what you think?” he asked. “Let me show you something.”
He pointed forward and I now saw light outside through the window. We were no longer underwater.
“All clear,” announced one of the raiders at the controls.
A raider who had been guarding us stepped to the rear of the control room to a round door in the wall. There was a wheel on the door that he spun to disengage the locking mechanism. He then pulled the door in on its hinges and sunlight flooded into the submarine.
“Please,” said Saint Dane, gesturing for us to go outside.
I walked to the door and stepped out, followed by Spader.
The control room was inside the tower above the main body of the sub, so when we went outside, we stepped right onto the top of the hull. The sub was big. I’m guessing from the bow to the tail it was about fifty yards long. The control tower was about two-thirds of the way forward. I also noticed that there were long guns jutting from the control tower. They weren’t as big as the battle cruiser’s, but I’m sure they were just as deadly.