defensive positions facing the incoming cruiser. But the only weapons they had were the silver rifles I saw back on Magorran. They didn’t have big cannons or missile launchers or firepower of any kind that could stand up to the barrage from the raiders’ huge water guns. Their rifles seemed like, well, they seemed like water pistols compared to the mighty arsenal they faced.
“Why isn’t Grallion armed?” I asked the vator.
“I told you,” he answered. “The raiders have never been so bold. There was never a reason to be armed. Until now,” added Uncle Press soberly.
All my romantic notions about pirates were just blown away, no pun intended. To me pirates were charming rogues who drank grog and chased wenches and shivered me timbers and were basically comical characters in search of treasure. But these weren’t Disney pirates. The guys firing on us were killers. Boldkillers. They were attacking an unarmed farming habitat with over two hundred people on board. But for what? There were no riches on Grallion. What could they possibly want?
Then the barrage of missiles stopped. We took a look at the battle cruiser and saw that it had pulled to within a few hundred yards of Grallion. Its guns were still aimed at us, but they were no longer firing for the time being.
The ship looked very much like a battleship from home, though of course there were no military markings. It was a light green color that made it blend in with the green water. I counted eight water cannons in all. Four front and four back. I wondered what their next step was. Were they going to board us? That wouldn’t make sense because any advantage they had with their big guns would be lost once they set foot onboard. There were plenty of aquaneers with rifles to give them a hard time if they set foot on our deck. No, the advantage these bad guys had was from a distance.
Then, a booming, amplified voice came from the battle cruiser.
“Good morning, Grallion! I trust we have your attention.”
It was a man’s voice and he actually sounded cheery. He could have been calling to a neighbor over the backyard fence to talk about the Yankees.
“My name is Zy Roder, pilot and chief of the good shipPursuit. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”
The more I listened to this guy’s booming voice, the more my stomach twisted. I looked to Uncle Press and his grim expression told me he was feeling the same way. Near us, a vator had been watching the cruiser through a spyglass. The moment we heard the voice coming from the raiders’ ship, Uncle Press approached the man and asked if he could borrow the telescope. The worker obliged and Uncle Press took a closer look at our new nemesis.
“If you have heard of me,” the voice continued, “then you know I am a fair man. I wish no harm on anyone.”
Uncle Press saw what he needed to see, then handed me the spyglass. I took it and looked out at the cruiser. The crew of the ship he calledPursuitwere all on deck. There was a mix of men and women, which meant that at least raiders weren’t sexist. They weren’t all torn up and scuzy looking the way you think of movie pirates either. No, just the opposite. These guys looked like an organized, buttoned-up crew. But the way they stared at Grallion made me think of a pack of hungry wolves, patiently waiting to strike. Their stares were blank and lacked any human emotion, except for maybe greed.
I moved the spyglass until I found the man called Zy Roder. He stood on the uppermost deck, holding something dark that I could only guess was a microphone. Like all the raiders, Zy Roder wore the same kind of lightweight clothing that everyone wore here on Grallion. He was a tall guy, with shoulder-length blond hair that blew around in the sea breeze. You might even call him handsome. He stood with his legs apart defiantly, with one hand on his hip. Pretty cocky. This was a guy who was used to getting what he wanted. I wondered what it was he wanted from us.
But the thing that struck me most about him was his eyes. Even though I was looking through a spyglass, I could see they were the same, icy blue eyes that I had grown to fear. There was no mistake.
It was Saint Dane.
He had arrived on Cloral and taken up with a band of outlaw marauders. The question now became, what was his next move? I handed the spyglass back to the vator. I didn’t want to watch anymore.
“By now you must know of the horrible disease that is spreading throughout Cloral,” he continued. “Our food is being poisoned. Why? I have no idea. But I do know that safe food will soon grow scarce.”
This was Saint Dane all right. He was doing what he did best, spreading fear.
“Our request is simple. The food on Grallion is safe… so far. You have so much, and we so little. These are my terms. Load ten of your largest transfer barges with grain, fruit, and vegetables. Send each barge out to us with a single aquaneer. We will take the barges and leave you in peace.”
The farm workers around us erupted in protest. They complained that ten barges of food would wipe Grallion out for weeks. Worse, if they gave up all their supply of safe food, then what would be left for them to eat? Already, the fear of tainted food coming in from the outside was suspect. Who could blame them, after what happened on Magorran?
“If you refuse us,” Zy Roder continued, “then we will resume our attack.” The man now grew more intense. Gone was the pleasant voice of a fellow sailor. Saint Dane or Zy Roder — whatever he called himself here — wanted the people of Grallion to understand what he was capable of.
“We cannot sink Grallion, but that is not our intent. We will begin with your pilot house. It will be obliterated so that you will have no control of your habitat. Then we will destroy your docks so you will be trapped. We will target your engine rooms so you will have no power. You will be prisoners on your own habitat, with no means of escape. Trust me, friends, we know where you are most vulnerable and we will not leave until our demands are met.”
This was pure Saint Dane. He probably didn’t even care about getting the food. What he wanted was to cause panic. The word would spread quickly among the habitats that the food supply on Cloral was suspect, and that would create chaos as normally peaceful people would start to fight over the dwindling supply of fresh food. My guess is that Saint Dane probably had something to do with poisoning the food supply as well. His plan for toppling Cloral was beginning to become clear.
“I will give you one peck of time to begin the transfer,” his voice boomed. “If I see no sign of your compliance, we will open fire. So until then, enjoy your day!”
What was a peck? Was that an hour? A minute? A second? Uncle Press read my mind and said, “Twenty minutes, in case you were wondering.”
Saint Dane had one more thought. “Oh, one last thing,” his voice boomed. “Welcome to Cloral… Pendragon.”
Yikes. My knees buckled, which I’m sure was the exact reaction Saint Dane wanted. He knew we were here. Luckily, the other vators had more to worry about than why this pirate had given me a personal greeting. That would have been hard to explain. So instead of questioning me, they all started chattering at once. Half argued to give him the food, the other half wanted to fight. Neither choice was a good one.
“At least we know a little about his plan now,” said Uncle Press, trying to sound positive.
“Yeah, big deal,” I shot back. “What are we going to do about it?”
At that moment Spader burst into the shack. He looked around quickly until he saw us. “Press, Pendragon, come!” he shouted.
Neither of us knew what else to do, so we followed. Once outside we saw that Spader was off and running. He led us down to the same floating docks where we first arrived on Grallion. The area was deserted because all the other aqua-neers were up on deck, ready to defend their habitat.
He ran to the end of one dock and jumped onto his skimmer. We finally caught up to him. I shouted, “What are you doing?”
While he spoke Spader busily prepared the skimmer for a trip.
“My father taught me everything there is to know about every ship on the sea,” he said quickly. “I know about that raider cruiser, thePursuit. There were only a few built, back when the aquaneers feared there might be a war between the habitats. They even built warships that traveled underwater. But the war never happened and the cruisers and submarines were never used — except for a few that got hijacked by raiders.”
“What’s the point, Spader?” asked Uncle Press.
Spader stopped working and looked up at us. “I know where she’s vulnerable. I can scuttle the guns.”
