to Cloral.
How did I know that? I heard a sound. I was used to hearing the jumble of sweet musical notes as I shot along, so this new sound jumped out at me. It kept getting louder, which meant I was getting closer to it. It wasn’t until I was almost to the end when I realized what it was.
It was water.
Suddenly the warning Uncle Press had given me before I got sucked into the flume made sense. He told me to remember the Cannonball and to hold my breath. In that instant I remembered the Cannonball. Do you remember, Mark? It was a ride at the water park in New Jersey that Uncle Press took us to a few years ago. It was a short, fast water slide that went underground, then shot you out for a fifteen-foot drop into an icy cold pool of snowmelt mountain water. I think the word you used to describe it was “rude.” Well, if I was right, then Uncle Press’s warning meant that I was about to be shot out of the flume into a pool of water. I quickly folded my arms in front of my chest, crossed my legs, and waited for the end.
It came quickly. I was fired out of the flume like a torpedo, feet first. One moment I was floating comfortably in the flume, the next moment gravity took control and I was falling through the air toward… what? Everything was a blur. I couldn’t get my bearings or my balance. All I could do was hope to land on something soft. Or wet.
It was wet. With a graceless splashdown, I hit water. But thanks to Uncle Press’s warning, I was ready. I hit feet first and plunged below. I even remembered to hold my nose so I wouldn’t get a sudden brain-flush of water shooting up my nostrils.
The water was tropical warm, like swimming in Florida. As soon as I stopped driving downward, I kicked my legs to push back to the surface. I wanted to know where I was and what the territory of Cloral had going on. When I broke the surface I took a quick look around to check the place out. I was treading water in a large pool in an underground cavern. Not a big surprise. So far all the flumes were underground. But unlike the other flumes that I walked into, the opening to this flume was cut into the cavern wall about twenty feet above the water. That’s where I had just been shot out like, well, like a cannonball. Thanks for the warning, Uncle Press.
A quick scan around told me that the cavern was completely sealed and the only light came from the water where I was floating. I figured the sun was shining outside and it reflected off the sandy bottom to create a luminous green pool that was bright enough to light up the entire cavern.
The place was about the size of two tennis courts, with a high arching ceiling that reached a peak far above. It kind of reminded me of being in a small church. The walls were craggy, sand-colored stone that looked to have been carved by centuries of erosion. There were also thousands of green, leafy vines that grew right out of the stone and draped down over the rocks like a curtain.
But the thing that really jumped out at me were the thousands of colorful flowers that grew from the vines. The light from the pool of water must have been enough to let them grow, or maybe flowers didn’t need light on Cloral. Whatever the case, they were like a spectacular tapestry of color all over the walls. There were vivid reds, deep blues and vibrant yellows. The flowers were all different shapes and sizes and looked nothing like Earth flowers. Some were trumpet shaped, others looked more like small helicopter blades. Stranger still, they seemed alive. No kidding, all the blossoms were slowly opening and closing like they were breathing oxygen. Seeing these thousands of moving flowers made the cavern itself seem alive. It was magical and creepy at the same time.
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
