by Gregory Mone
“Why does that even matter?” Weed Chin asked.
“I figured maybe you Atlanteans had developed some way to grow seaweed from your chins,” Lewis suggested. “Then you could snip some off whenever you got hungry.”
“Wouldn’t that be self-cannibalism or something?” Hanna asked.
Weed Chin stomped his foot. “QUIET! Or I will dial up this weapon and send you both into a world of complete and total pain.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
The man covered his chin. “You’re still looking at it.”
“It’s just really—”
Weed Chin leaned forward menacingly, looking very ready and willing to fire. Lewis stopped talking. Mrs. Finkleman backed out of the room, still studying them, and Weed Chin slammed the door behind him as they left. Only a few minutes later, it opened again, and a different man stood in the doorway.
The lights in their room brightened as the man whistled, and he stepped inside. His hair was short, and there wasn’t much of it, either. He was skinnier than the other Atlanteans, and his chin jutted out sharply. His lips were almost purple, and he held his hands behind his back. “Welcome,” he said.
“Are we really welcome?” Hanna asked.
“Where’s my dad?” Lewis asked.
The man moved slowly; Lewis realized he was old. The skin around his high cheekbones sagged slightly. He sat across from them on a thin chair. “Your father is fine,” he said. “No harm has come to him.”
Hanna sighed, and Lewis felt a wave of relief pass through him. He didn’t feel better for long, though. The man’s gaze was creepy. He was watching them like they were zoo animals. Or patients—Lewis felt like he was getting a physical exam at the doctor’s office. The guy wasn’t sticking an otoscope in his ear, exactly, but his huge eyes squinted, then widened as if he were recording everything about them in his memory. Was this what Kaya had felt like when his own dad checked her neck for gills? He didn’t like it. Not at all.
“What do you want?” Hanna asked.
“What is important is what you invaders want and why you’re here.”
“Why does everyone keep calling us invaders?” Hanna asked. “We’re explorers! We’re scientists and engineers and . . . well, and Lewis.”
“Lies,” the old man said. “What do you want?”
“Well,” Lewis said, “I want to see my dad. And I want to go home. Soon, if possible. I’d also like some clothes that don’t smell like feet. Maybe a little seltzer, too. My stomach feels weird.”
“Seltzer?”
“Water with bubbles,” Lewis explained.
“No, we don’t have that,” the man replied, “and I think you misunderstood my question. I would like to know why you’re here in Atlantis.”
“To learn,” Hanna said. “We want to know about your history, your society, your technology. I mean, how did you figure out how to control gravity?”
Lewis pointed at the door. “Also, are you sure that’s not edible seaweed growing out of that guy’s chin?”
The old man ignored him and pointed to Hanna. “I admire your curiosity.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“My name is Demos, and I represent a very powerful group.”
“Yeah, we know,” Hanna said. “The Erasers.”
“Slang. I detest that name. I am a member of the High Council of Atlantis. The ones you call the Erasers are, I suppose, our agents. You see, our world is fragile. Cities collapse with little notice. Down here under the ocean, clean air, water, and food are all very difficult to provide.” He breathed deeply. “Even the presence of this wondrous oxygen we’re breathing is a fantastic technological feat. It takes work to keep Atlantis stable and peaceful. So when troublesome individuals or groups arise in our society, the High Council deploys its agents.”
“And erases them?” Hanna replied.
Demos waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Don’t be dramatic. We’re not murderers. Not like you Sun People. Our solutions are far more civilized.” The man stood and moved closer to Lewis, then reached out and grabbed his forearms, checking each of his wrists. His hands were cold, and he smelled like mushrooms. Lewis wrinkled his nose.
Demos backed away. “Are you smelling me?” he asked.
“No, I was listening. We listen through our noses on the surface.”
“We drink through our ears, too,” Hanna added.
“You’re lying.”
“Why were you checking my wrists?”
Demos inspected Hanna’s forearm. “I was looking for a device your friend Gogol mentioned when we spoke with him. Something your father had on his wrist. But the Sun Person didn’t have it with him. Still, I’ll admit, your technology is intriguing.” He motioned to Hanna. “I’m impressed you were able to fix the gravity drive in that old cruiser, too, and your submarine has already provided us with a wealth of knowledge. I imagine we’ll be studying it for years.”
“You better not mess it up,” Hanna said.
Demos didn’t respond; he was staring at Lewis’s nose. Lewis really, really hoped the guy believed the listening thing. “So where is my dad?”
“You’ll see him shortly,” Demos answered.
Hanna scratched her chin. “So, the professor probably asked you this already—”
“He asks a lot of questions,” Demos replied.
Lewis smiled. The man was clearly annoyed. That confirmed his dad was okay.
“Right, but I’m burning to know,” Hanna continued, “do you generate the waves? Atlantis, I mean.”
Demos shrugged. “Yes. Of course we do. Most people here in Atlantis have no idea, though. Personally, I’m not fond of the approach.”
“Because your waves kill people?” Hanna said.
“No, because the waves are ineffective,” he said. “You continue to poison and pollute the oceans no matter how frequently we pound your coasts.”
“So you don’t even care that people have died?” Lewis asked.
“Those waves ruined homes, towns, entire cities!” Hanna added.
Demos waved his hand again. “We’re doing it to protect the hundred million people here in Atlantis. Leaders must make difficult choices. This is the nature of war.”
“War?” Lewis asked. “Who’s at war?”
“Our two worlds, of course.”
“But that’s crazy,” Hanna answered. “No one on the surface even knows Atlantis exists!”
“Of course they do. It appears the secret is well kept.”
Wait. What?
This was huge news.
Enormous.
“Really?” Lewis asked. “Who knows? The government? The military? Circus clowns?” Lewis had a theory about them: The reason they danced around acting goofy and silly all the time was that they were secretly spies. The greatest clowns in history were all Russian. Coincidence? Nope. And the clowns probably knew all about Atlantis, too.
“I can assure you that powerful forces on the surface are very well aware of our existence,” Demos said. “They’ve failed to locate us so far, but your underwater probes constantly scour the oceans in search of Atlantis. Thankfully, while some of your technology is far beyond ours, your tools for exploring the seas are primitive. We can dispense with those robotic submarines of yours easily. We’re lucky none of your warmakers are as resourceful as your father, boy. There would be no Atlantis if they were.”
“I’m the one who designed the sub,” Hanna noted. “Funded it, too.”
Lewis was stuck on the man’s last point. No Atlantis? What was he talking about? “I don’t understand,” he said. “What do you mean?”
“The moment your leaders find Atlantis, we’re doomed.”
What? Lewis thought of the kids in his grade. His little brother. Even Roberts. Everyone would be thrilled. They’d probably put together real, actual parades. Huge ones, with marching bands and colorful paper tossed out of windows and good, hot food spread out on giant buffet tables, not cold fish wraps. Maybe they’d p
lay music, too. Everyone could dance in the streets. Or on the beach, if that made the Atlanteans more comfortable. “People would be amazed!”
Demos laughed coldly. “Amazed? Have you studied the history of your civilization, child? When new lands and peoples are discovered, they are conquered, slaughtered, and destroyed.”
Christopher Columbus, the conquistadors, the Pilgrims, the settlers of the Old West, even his namesake . . . not exactly a string of saints. Okay, maybe the Atlantean had a point.
But that was a long time ago!
“How do you even know our history?” Hanna asked.
“We’re very good listeners,” Demos replied with a smirk. He tapped his earpiece. “As you’ve learned, our audio technology is very advanced. We have probes on the surface and microphones and recording devices placed throughout your world.”
“We? You mean Atlantis?” asked Lewis.
“The Erasers,” Hanna snapped.
“The High Council,” Demos said, correcting her. “Our goal is to ensure that Atlantis survives and flourishes, and for that to happen, we must do the work that others are too timid or cowardly to do themselves. You Sun People are poisoning the oceans with your plastics and chemicals. Soon, the oceans will be so ruined that we won’t be able to feed ourselves. Atlantis will die. The waves were our first attempt to urge you to leave the seas alone, a warning meant to push you back. But they have failed, and we fear the oceans may need decades to recover, so we have been forced to implement the next phase.”
“The next phase?” Hanna asked.
“A more complete approach to securing the future of Atlantis and her people. You’re the engineer, right?” he said to Hanna. “From a technology standpoint, I think you’d find it brilliant, Hanna. I’m incredibly proud of the work our team has done. Our original hope was simple: That you would leave us the sea, since you have the sky. But your factories and vehicles are destroying the oceans and the skies. For so long, we’ve told our people that the air above is poisoned. Now the lie is becoming truth.”
“I’m sure there’s another way,” Hanna said. “We could have a truce, or . . .”
She let her words trail off as Demos began laughing. “A truce? There is no hope for peace now. We tried that once.”
“What do you mean?” Lewis asked.
Demos didn’t answer. “My point is that we in the High Council know the difficult truth. War is the only path to peace and security.”
Now Lewis’s brain hurt. The only way to peace was through war? That would be like settling an argument with a kid in his grade by punching him in the face. That was a terrible strategy! His hand would hurt. The kid would probably hit him back, harder. And they’d both get suspended.
“What are you going to do with us?” Hanna asked. “We’re obviously not invaders.” She motioned toward Lewis for emphasis. “I mean, look at him. Why can’t you just let us go?”
“Because there is so much more we can learn from you,” Demos said. He looked over his shoulder. An unfamiliar woman stood in the doorway. Her nose and eyebrows were thin, and her hair was short on the sides. She reminded Lewis of a school principal. A coldhearted, evil school principal who slept in a coffin under her desk.
“Everything is ready for them,” she said.
With Weed Chin and Mrs. Finkleman walking a few steps behind, Demos led them down a series of hallways, past closed doors and the occasional startled Atlantean, until they entered a room the size of the small auditorium at Lewis’s school. Long desks were lined with speakers, knobs, dials, and those strange tablets. The surface of each one moved constantly. A woman standing at one of the workstations glanced up when they arrived. Her already large eyes widened. Then she looked away, refocusing on her work.
The vampire principal activated some kind of speaker.
A strange, low tune played, and the whole room vibrated.
The wall across from the door began to change and shift, the stones rearranging themselves until they revealed an enormous metal hatch. Two semicircles opened like eyelids, unveiling a large glass window that looked out over a vast undersea pool. Lewis moved forward. No one stopped him. The water was dark and stretched on forever. “Is that the ocean?” he asked.
“No, an enclosed pool,” Demos answered, “but a large one.”
Hanna stood at his side. She pointed. Dots of blue-white light moved past the window from right to left, coasting through the darkness like slow shooting stars. The water was moving like an enormous, swollen underground river. Lewis felt cold. The darkness reminded him of the ocean before that tsunami had struck. One of the lights was closer, and larger. “What are those things?” he asked.
“You’ll see,” Demos said.
The water to his right brightened and glowed as something swept into view with the current. Something the shape of their own submarine but smaller, and made of clear glass. Inside, the space was divided into three floors. There were tables and chairs. A couch. Even a bed. Vines were growing up the back wall. “That looks like a little house,” Lewis said.
“Something like that,” Demos replied. “Our residents are criminals, revolutionaries, and disruptors of the peace. We remove all of the most unfavorable elements from society.”
“So what is this place? Some kind of underwater jail?” Hanna asked.
“A highly civilized and inescapable prison,” the vampire principal replied. “Each of the spheres has everything one needs to lead a long and healthy life. I would venture to say that many of our guests are healthier now than when they arrived.”
“But they’re in prison,” Hanna noted.
“Where . . .” Lewis struggled to speak. His voice was low and weak. “Where’s my dad?”
A glass cell drifted closer, then attached itself to the wall with a heavy thunk. The viewing window slid into the stone and a circular glass hatch swung open. Warm air rushed out of the cell, as if it were exhaling a long-held breath. Lewis felt the air sweep past the tiny hairs on his face. He shivered, despite the warmth. His father was standing inside the cell, looking out, and any joy or relief Lewis might have felt upon finding him disappeared immediately. His father turned ghostly pale. The principal raised a weapon, on the off chance he was considering rushing out.
“What are they doing here?” his dad asked Demos.
“Why is the professor in there?” Hanna pressed. “What are you doing to him?”
“I assure you, he’s quite comfortable,” Demos said. “But there is no hope of escape. The water is only a notch above freezing, and it is laced with toxins. Even if he were stupid enough to try to swim to safety, he’d die within minutes from the cold and the poison.”
Hanna gulped. “That’s . . . evil.”
“It’s necessary.”
If he was trying to scare them, it was working. Lewis shivered again. “Why are you telling us all this?” he asked.
Demos walked to the hatch and pointed inside. “My apologies. I thought that was obvious. I’m telling you this because this cell is going to be your new home. This is where the three of you will spend the rest of your lives.”
15
An Elaborate Scheme
A whirlpool of thoughts and questions and emotions roiled in Kaya’s brain. Her father was an Eraser? Impossible! Ridiculous. Absurd, even. She wouldn’t have considered the idea if someone else had suggested it. She would have laughed. But this had come from her grandmother. She’d even sworn to Kaya that it was true. Still, it didn’t make sense. Sure, her father went away for long stretches of time. He was absolutely devoted to Atlantis and its people. But she thought he was just an engineer. How could her gentle, loving dad be part of such a brutal, heartless group? And why would he lie to his own daughter? The idea was preposterous.
Right?
A question popped into her head. One that it hurt to even ask. And one she definitely didn’t expect her grandmother to answer. “What would my mom have thought?”
Her mother was the one who had introduced Kaya to Elid
a’s stories of the surface.
Her mother had believed in the People of the Sun.
She had thought the stories were true.
“Kaya, dear,” her grandmother replied, “she was the reason your father joined the Erasers.”
This one really mangled her mind.
She couldn’t even respond.
Rian was the one who asked her grandmother to explain. “What do you mean?” he pressed.
Her grandmother pointed to the device Naxos had set on the floor. “That is still working, yes?” she asked. “We can speak freely?” He nodded. “Very well. So, Kaya, your mother was chosen for a mission to the surface—”
Kaya interrupted her. “Excuse me,” she said. “What?”
Her grandmother turned to Naxos. “My daughter, Kaya’s mother, was something of a bright light in the political world, you see.” She faced Kaya again. “She was no great force at the time, but she had a wonderful career ahead of her. There were some who thought she might one day be the leader of the High Council. Anyway, she was part of a small group of prominent Atlanteans—politicians, scientists, and storytellers—chosen for a mission to the surface. Their goal was to attempt to meet the leaders of the People of the Sun.”
“So she did know they were real,” Kaya said, as much to herself as to anyone else.
“She did, yes,” her grandmother answered. “But I’m not sure she ever had the chance to see them for herself.” Her tone darkened. “We were never told the exact details, but evidence suggests their ship was destroyed before they made it to land. Some believed there had been an accident. Others—your father included—believed it was intentional. They thought the People of the Sun had struck out against us, and they took this as a declaration of war.”
Both Rian and Kaya barraged her with questions. Unfortunately, this was all her grandmother knew, and Naxos had little to add. He was merely an inventor, he insisted. But Kaya was already overwhelmed anyway. The story of her mother’s disappearance, the truth about her dad, Naxos and Rian and her grandmother all watching her as she tried to make sense of this information—it was too much. She rushed out of the kitchen and into her room. The Narwhals flag was hanging over her bed; she tore it down and tossed it into the corner. Now more than ever, she needed to talk to her father. Not through her earpiece, either. Face-to-face.
