The chief engineer manned the winch Skylar had been using on the day of the incident. Within short order the group, under Captain Arturo’s concise directions, had prepared everything to perform the test. Skylar watched intently as the two sagging cables tightened, his own muscles tightening with every passing second.
Gradually the needle of the gauge moved, the tension rising higher. Every millimeter it moved brought him closer to his fate. What would happen? He knew the winch had malfunctioned before. He couldn’t be sure it would happen again. Perhaps it had been a fluke. Perhaps when he had detached the cable from Arturo’s ship, the problem had somehow righted itself.
“We are nearing maximum load, Captain,” said the chief engineer. “It could take more load, but I advise against it.”
Arturo acknowledged the engineer’s statement by turning to Skylar. “What was the pressure reading on your cable when you first attempted the emergency release?”
“15,000 terapascals, Sir.”
“Very good. What does our chief engineer read from the gauge?”
“14,500.”
“Take it to 15,000.”
The chief engineer shook his head and spat on the ground. “I don’t like it,” he grumbled, as he turned back to the controls and brought the winch back to life. After a minute, he halted it again.
“15,000, Captain,” he said gruffly. “And no more. We’re in dangerous territory.”
“Proceed, then, Mr. Chief Engineer. Activate the emergency release.”
The chief engineer lifted the cover for the emergency release button. Skylar squeezed his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms. The engineer pressed the red button. Skylar clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, willing the contraption to fail.
He waited to hear the clinking of the winch cable.
After several breathless moments, Skylar ventured a peek. The engineer had lifted his grease-stained finger from the button, and now stared at it irritably. Nothing had happened. The chief engineer pressed it again. Nothing. He tried pressing harder. He struck at it with his fist, his face beginning to redden. Muttering to himself, he tried, just as Skylar had done to back out the cable by putting it into full reverse. The winch refused to budge. In pure desperation, the engineer grabbed at the massive pipe wrench hanging from his belt, clearly intending to beat the winch into submission.
“That will do,” said Arturo, holding back the man’s arm. “I think we have our answer. Put everything back in order. We shall report our findings to the court.”
So saying, the captain turned and strode back toward the port station, leaving Skylar standing, staring at the winch, unable to believe what had happened.
An energetic slap on the back woke Skylar from his trance.
“Congratulations, Skylar,” said Kindor. “Only a fool would not believe you now.”
The chief engineer turned and glared at them.
The results of Arturo’s test had a dramatic effect on the outcome of the investigation. The court found both Skylar and Kindor guiltless of any wrongdoing. The board ordered Rasbus to replace the faulty winch. And the investigation closed.
As Skylar left the court chamber with Kindor, Captain Arturo approached him.
“That was a brave move you made with your jetwing,” he said. “And quick thinking, too. Would that more of my men had that kind of mettle. I’ll be watching you.”
Then he turned and walked out of the chamber.
SEVEN
“THAT’S WONDERFUL!” EXCLAIMED Kendyl after hearing from Skylar about the court of investigation. “That’ll teach Drake a lesson. Did Rasbus say anything about your apprenticeship? He has to let you come back now—you’re a hero.”
“He told me to report for duty in two days. He’s letting Kindor return, too. Although, I don’t think he felt happy about it.”
“Let Rasbus be sour all he wants. Arturo’s opinion is worth ten times what Rasbus thinks.”
Skylar smiled and laughed. Things were almost too good to be true. Somehow all the horrible repercussions from the incident had reversed themselves. The situation in which he now found himself far exceeded his greatest hopes.
“I think we should celebrate,” said Kendyl.
“Celebrate?” he said with surprise. “Celebrate what?”
“The good news, silly,” she said, giving him a playful nudge with her elbow.
“Um, sure.”
Kendyl frowned.
“That is, of course, unless you don’t want to celebrate with me.”
“No...no,” he said hastily, feeling his face redden. “I’d love to...celebrate. It’s just that I don’t know what we’d do.”
“Well, a few of my friends and I are planning to go sand sailing at the red dunes the day after tomorrow. We could have our celebration then. I’ll bring some of my grandmother’s famous tarts.
“Will you come?”
Of course, I'll come, he thought. I can’t wait.
All that came out of his mouth was a high-pitched, “Sure.”
Kendyl giggled with amusement.
“Well, Skylar,” she said, between giggles, “at least your voice is excited.”
During the next two days Skylar thought of little else but Kendyl and the planned celebration. He looked forward to it even more than his return to the docks on that same day. Yet once he was back, the hard labour on deck helped to refocus his distracted mind.
Skylar enjoyed being back at the docks, seeing Kindor and his other friends, and even listening to Rasbus bellow out commands to the deck crew. Nothing had changed between him and the harbor master. Rasbus still treated him with the same sternness and indifference as before. Skylar didn’t mind. He was glad things were back to normal.
It was a fairly typical day at the docks. They had plenty of work to do. Skylar stayed busy loading and unloading cargo from small merchant ships coming in and out of port.
Toward mid-afternoon, Skylar received an assignment to unload crates of textiles and pipe fittings from a merchant ship just come into port. Sweat glistened on his face from the harsh sun and his muscles burned from the exertion. Tired, he set down one of the ponderous wooden crates on the deck and leaned on it to rest for a moment and mop the perspiration from his forehead. Without warning, he felt a prick on the back of his neck. Instinctively, he reached for the spot.
Nothing was there.
He jerked his head around to see if one of the dock crew was playing a trick on him. None of them were near enough to have touched his neck just a second before. Puzzled, he looked around in the sky. It was clear.
Skylar reached for the spot on his neck again, inspecting it with his forefinger. It felt wet. He pulled his hand back. A smear of crimson blood covered his fingertip.
What could have done that?
A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning, for a brief instant he saw a dark speck against the blue sky dart away from him. The speck was too small and faint for him to detect what it was. And before he could study it too long, the speck disappeared from his view.
“Oi, Skylar! No time for day dreaming. We have crates to move.”
Stealing a last glance at the spot where he’d last seen the speck, he turned and walked back up the gangplank.
The remainder of his dock assignment passed without event. Skylar saw no more signs of the mysterious flying speck. Had it stung him? The adamant warnings of his uncle swirled in his mind. Could it have been...Skylar quickly dismissed the possibility; in all the accounts he’d heard the insects were seen in a swarm. Besides, why would it just sting him?
By the time his dock assignment ended for the day, all his thoughts had returned to Kendyl. He planned to meet her at the dunes immediately after leaving the harbor. Excitedly he changed back into his normal attire, grabbed his helmet and jetwing, then ran back onto the deck. In one rapid movement he donned his helmet, took hold of his jetwing, and shot like a rocket into the sky.
He flew at full throttle across
the desert. The evening sun hovered low in the sky, casting a red glow on the sand and stone that passed in a blur below him. Nevlus, Haladras’ second moon already beamed dusty white in the sky above the far off Adris Mountains. A gentle northern breeze accompanied the sinking sun and rising moon.
A perfect night for sailing.
The tranquil scene calmed Skylar’s nerves after the strenuous day at the docks. The opening to the Devil’s Throat gaped just ahead of him. Skylar eased up on the throttle and dove down near to the ground, in preparation to enter the Throat.
As he drew nearer the ground he noticed his shadow stretch out before him. Something startled him about it. At first he thought he had seen tiny shadows of pebbles laying on the desert. These shadows were moving, though, moving with him, just above his own shadow.
He had little time to consider the matter, for the Devil’s Throat was practically upon him. Probably the sand playing tricks on me, he thought as he flew headlong into the ravine.
Before Skylar rounded the first bend, he felt something cling to his right arm. He glanced just long enough to see a small silver-winged insect crawling toward his face. Then something else grabbed onto his back; then his leg; more on his back and arms. Every second he felt more and more of whatever they were grabbing onto him, crawling closer to his head.
Panicked, he thrust his jetwing into full throttle, rolling and weaving through the air in an attempt to shake them off. They held fast. He careered through the ravine like a wing-less rocket, narrowly missing the jutting stones and outcroppings in his path.
Realizing he would likely crash if he kept flying, he made a rough landing, threw down his jetwing, and began swatting away the insects from his arms and legs. There were too many. He rolled on the ground, battered himself against the ravine wall—anything to get them off his body. It was futile. More insects continued to swarm in from everywhere. In sheer desperation he ran.
The insects began to cover his faceplate, blinding his vision. He tried to wipe them away. But a new blanket of them only replaced the old. Running grew difficult. His legs felt heavy and sluggish. The insects were everywhere, engulfing his body. His boot struck a rock, sending him hurtling to the ground.
He fought to regain is feet. But the weight of the insects pressed down on him, squeezed him from all sides.
He struggled to breathe.
He felt himself losing consciousness. The world around him spun. Blackness pushed in from the edges of his vision. The shrill buzzing of his captors sounded far off. He was sinking, sinking into the blackness.
Somewhere from within the void into which he was sinking a scream rang out, piercing and inhuman.
Suddenly the blackness gave way to light.
Skylar wondered if he was dead.
The buzzing had ceased.
And then he felt himself gasping and choking as the evening air flooded into his burning lungs.
For several moments he lay on the ground, lifeless, scarcely seeing or thinking. A voice gradually filled the air, faint and unreal. Slowly it grew loud and sharp.
“Skylar...Skylar, can you hear me?”
The blurry form of his uncle’s face took shape above him.
“Get up, Skylar,” his uncle urged. “You cannot stay here.”
“Lasseter?” said Skylar, still dazed. “I’m glad to see you. How did you…where did you come from?”
“Later. We must get you away from here. More will surely come.”
Lasseter’s voice was low but filled with an urgency that Skylar had never known in his uncle. Skylar sat up and felt a wave of dizziness. His uncle gripped his arm and helped him to his feet.
“This way,” said Lasseter, helping him back toward the mouth of the ravine. Skylar looked down at the ravine floor. Hundreds of the silver-winged insects lay scattered and motionless. Their round exoskeletons shimmered faintly in the dying daylight. Skylar wanted to inspect them closer, but his uncle urged him along.
Lasseter snatched up Skylar’s jetwing as they hurried along.
“My rover is just over here. Quickly now.”
Skylar looked up and saw the bulky form of his uncle’s sand rover. It was quite camouflaged with its sand-colored metal exterior. They hastened over to it and clambered inside. Taking no time to strap himself in, Lasseter manned the controls and brought the rover to life with a burst of speed.
“What just happened back there?” asked Skylar, once they were free of the Devil’s Throat.
“I blasted them with sand. I hope it didn’t hurt you too badly.”
“Now that you mention it...” said Skylar, rubbing the skin of his arms and face tenderly, “I feel like I have a sunburn all over. How did you do that?”
“Pressurized air canister. Steel flex-tube. Contraction nozzle. It was a crude contraption. I wasn’t sure it would work.”
“What I mean, though, is what were those things? You seem to know a lot about them. All I know is that they just tried to kill me, and that supposedly they’re machines.”
Skylar surprised himself by how calm he seemed given what just happened to him. He must still be in a state of shock—unable to comprehend it.
“You are correct. They are in actuality machines, called Trackers. But they weren’t trying to kill you.”
“How do you know that? It felt like they were trying to suffocate me. If you hadn’t come when you did…and how did you come when you did?”
There was no possible way that his uncle just happened to be at the mouth of the Devil’s Throat at the precise moment Skylar needed help. Something more than suspicious was going on.
“I’ve been following you, Skylar,” he said, at last. “That’s how I knew you were in trouble. I knew they were looking for you. They’ve been looking long and tirelessly for you.”
“Looking for me?”
The words blurted out of Skylar’s mouth with unmasked incredulity. Had his uncle truly lost his wit?
“Yes, Skylar,” said Lasseter, calmly, “those Trackers have been looking for you. And more will come. You’re in grave danger.”
“That’s impossible. Why would they be looking for me?”
Skylar felt a sudden suffocation, a longing for answers, like his lungs longed for air when the insects had nearly drowned him in a flood of their silver bodies.
“The answer to that question is a lengthy tale, one which I have not the time to recount at present. I must focus now. The Trackers have found you sooner than I hoped. We must act swiftly. Else all may be lost.”
Lasseter said no more, leaving Skylar to wonder at the strange insects—the Trackers—and why they could possibly be looking for him. They’d been searching for him for a long time. Why? Who sent them? Skylar stared unseeing out the rover’s window. The vast expanse of twilight-lit desert stretched before them.
After a time, Skylar became aware of his surrounding and the direction they were headed. They were driving in nearly the opposite direction from the Gorge.
“Aren’t you going to take me home?” he asked, beginning to worry that he would be late to meet Kendyl.
“No, Skylar, you’re not going back home.”
“I have to get back home! I have—what about mother?”
“You would only endanger her, too, if you went back.”
“Why would it endanger her? I don’t even know what I’m in danger of, what those Trackers want or even who sent them. You haven’t told me what’s really going on.”
The muscles along Lasseter’s jawline tensed, but he made no reply.
Skylar sat back in his seat in defeat. Was this really happening?
The sand rover rumbled onward.
After a few minutes, he noticed a massive rock formation looming just a few hundred meters in front of them. They were headed straight for it. Skylar glanced tentatively at his uncle. But Lasseter showed no signs of slowly down or that he registered the danger. The black wall stood just fifty meters away. Skylar squirmed. “Uncle?” he said.
Closer they char
ged.
“Uncle!”
His legs tried to escape the impending collision, pressing his body hard against the back of his seat. He turned his eyes away. Braced for impacted, a pitiful moan escaping his lips.
He felt the vehicle lurch, a sudden tightening of the straps against his shoulders, a sense of rapid free-fall. It lasted only an instant. His body sank back into the seat, the harness slackened. The rover’s engine hummed along.
Skylar cautiously opened one eye. An unnatural phosphorescent glow permeated the darkness, which grew then vanished as they sped past it, then another grew and vanished, again and again. In the faint, irregular light all he could see were narrow rock walls and ceiling. The lights were attached at intervals to the low stone-carved ceiling.
They were underground, like a worm tunneling deeper and deeper into the planet’s core, twisting and turning into some dark unknown. What only lasted a half minute seemed to go on for an hour in that dark and mysterious place.
Lasseter decreased the speed of the rover. The tunnel walls and ceiling suddenly opened up into a small cavern illuminated dimly by that same green phosphorescence. Lasseter halted the rover in an alcove at the end of the runway which led into the cavern.
“We must make haste,” said Lasseter, as he climbed out of the rover. “Time presses.”
Skylar removed his harness and clambered after his uncle.
The runway was slightly raised from the main floor of the cavern and admitted a good view of the surroundings. In the pale light he could only distinguish shapes and shadows. There was a click from somewhere within the darkness, accompanied by a flood of bright light filling the stone chamber. Skylar stood, taking in the whole scene.
The cavern was several times larger than his own cave at the Gorge, though it lacked the same comforts. A hammock hung from one of the side walls. Above it, on a ledge of stone, stood a long row of books. On the opposite wall wooden crates were stacked three-high next to open sacks of flour and beans. A fireplace for cooking was carved into the same wall, whose stovepipe must have pierced through a hundred meters of stone or more. A table and chair sat near the stove. A desk strewn with parchments stood on the other wall. Hanging above it, affixed to the rock, were dozens of maps all marked and dotted.
Haladras Page 7
