As I opened my mouth to say… I don’t know what, Uncle Press entered the apartment. Whoa, big relief. He had bailed me out big time.
“I have news,” he said. “About Magorran.”
Spader and I both sat up in anticipation. We had been waiting for information for days. But one look at Uncle Press told me that it wasn’t going to be good news. He looked nervous, and maybe even a little bit angry.
“Let’s have it then,” prodded Spader.
Uncle Press took a chair and sat opposite us. He spoke softly and clearly so we understood completely.
“The medical team made their report,” he began. “They examined and tested every one of the victims.”
“How many?” I asked.
“Two hundred and twenty.”
Though I knew the number was going to be high, it was still a shock to hear it. Uncle Press let that information sink in, then continued.
“The test results came back exactly the same on each and every one of them.” He took a breath and said, “They were all poisoned.”
The news hit me like a hammer to the head.
“H-How?” I blurted out. “How can that many people be poisoned?”
“They aren’t sure, but they think it may have had something to do with a shipment of rice. It was bad, and they all ate it.”
“What do you meanbad!”demanded Spader.
“They don’t know,” answered Uncle Press, trying to stay calm. “They can’t tell. They said it was unlike anything they’d seen before.”
Spader jumped to his feet and started to pace. “Bad rice? How can people die because of bad rice?”
“It gets worse,” added Uncle Press. “The agronomers are afraid it may not be the only case. If there’s a problem with the food supply, then what happened on Magorran is just the tip of the iceberg.”
My thoughts immediately went back to the argument I witnessed between the two agronomers on Grallion. They knew something was wrong. The horrible reality was slowly beginning to sink in. Cloral was a territory covered by water. People relied on farmers to grow food both on the habitats and underwater. If something was poisoning the food supply, it would be beyond disaster. Compared to this, bubonic plague would seem like a nasty cold going around.
There could be only one reason for this…
Saint Dane. This had his stamp all over it. If the food supply went bad, there would be chaos throughout the territory, no question about it.
“We don’t know the extent of the problem. Maybe it was a one-time thing and they caught it,” Uncle Press said calmly.
“Not in time to save my father,” snapped Spader. There was anger in his eyes. He wanted someone to blame for his father’s death. Uncle Press and I knew who it might be, but now was not the time to share it.
It was late, so we left Spader alone. Uncle Press and I went home to form a plan. The next day was the memorial service for the victims on Magorran. We decided that after the ceremony we would join with Spader, get a boat, and travel to Panger City to find Spader’s mom. The only clue we had to go on to start tracking down Saint Dane was the strange symbol that Spader’s dad left him, and Panger City was as good a place to start looking as any. With that plan in place, we tried to get some sleep.
I barely slept all night. The thought of territorywide famine made it a little hard to have sweet dreams. There were too many thoughts banging around in my head, so I decided to finish my journal to you. Writing always makes me sleepy, and this time was no different. I got as far as telling you that Magorran and Grallion had collided, and couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. So I rolled up the pages and sent them on to you. It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized what a cliffhanger I had written. Again, sorry.
I laid back down on my bunk and finally got a few z’s. But soon the sun was brightening the sky on a new day, the day we would leave Grallion.
The memorial service was scheduled for shortly after sunrise. I didn’t know what to expect, but it turned out to be a pretty emotional moment. It took place on the stern of the habitat, away from the destruction up front. Everyone on Grallion was there. We stayed with the farm workers, the vators, who pretty much kept together in one large group. The aquaneers were lined up along the stern, shoulder to shoulder, in full dress uniform. Spader was among them. It had to be tough for him to stand there, but he did it. Good man.
The pilot of Grallion, a leathery-looking gray-haired guy named Quinnick, led the ceremony. I won’t write down all that was said, but as you can imagine, it was pretty intense. He spoke about the dedication of those who serve others, and the harsh reality that all life must one day come to an end. He spoke glowingly of the crew and workers of Magorran, and about how they would never be forgotten.
Then an aquaneer stepped forward and began to play an instrument that looked to be made from a large piece of coral. It was a wind instrument, and though it seemed pretty crude, the sound it made was sweet, like an oboe. The tune he played was haunting and sad. It was a fitting send-off to the poor people of Magorran.
But it was short-lived because suddenly, without warning…boom!
An explosion rocked Grallion only a few yards from where we stood. The crowd didn’t react immediately. Everyone just sort of looked around, stunned, not knowing what was happening.
Boom! Boom!
Two more explosions rocked the habitat, chewing up pieces of deck and dirt. People started to scatter and run for cover. We were under attack, but from where?
The answer came from Wu Yenza. She stood on the stern and yelled out,”Raiders!”
Raiders? What were raiders? The only raiders I knew were from Oakland. I looked off the stern and had my answer. There was a ship powering toward us. It wasn’t a habitat, it was a battleship, and its giant guns were trained on us. These guys weren’t from Oakland.
Things were turning very sour, very fast here on Cloral.
(CONTINUED)
CLORAL
We were under attack.
Most people on deck scrambled for cover and I was one of them. Uncle Press and I stuck with a group of vators who fled to the building that held most of the farming equipment. That wouldn’t give much protection, but it was better than standing out in the open with bombs raining down!
As we ran more missiles pounded the deck and blasted dirt and water everywhere. Yes, water. These weren’t your everyday, ordinary cannonballs. Remember, this was Cloral. Everything here had to do with water. I soon found out that the giant guns on the battleship were actually huge water cannons that fired big, dense balls of water. But when these water missiles hit, they were every bit as destructive as a steel shell. And they could fire round after round without fear of running out of ammunition. After all, their ammunition was water, and there was an infinite supply around these parts. What made it even more frightening was that there was no sound. The guns didn’t let out a giant roar when they fired, so it was impossible to prepare for a strike. The first clue that a water missile was about to hit was a faint whistling sound, and then it hit.
About a dozen of us crowded into the equipment shed and scrambled to the windows to look out on the action.
I looked to Uncle Press and said, “Raiders? What’s the deal?”
Uncle Press didn’t know. This was a wrinkle he wasn’t prepared for.
“I have never seen them attack a habitat this large,” one vator said with more than a touch of fear. “They usually prey on small vessels.”
“What do they want?” I asked.
“Whatever we have,” came the simple answer. “And they’re not afraid to kill for it.”
Gulp. I looked out the window to see that the aquaneers were scrambling to defend the habitat. These guys weren’t just sailors, they were trained in using weapons as well. They moved fast and efficiently as they took up
