Book One of the Travelers

by D. J. MacHale

  Spader held his breath. Would the bluff be enough?

  “We’ll see about that!” a voice challenged from the raider vessel. “Our ship was damaged in the storm. Why should we bother repairing it when you’ve got a perfectly good one for us to take!”

  “Our ship was damaged as well,” Clayton said.

  Spader knew Clayton must have been stalling for time while the crew either got the ship under way or found a way to attack the raiders. Then he realized—the only way to get the ship moving was from the pilot’s tower. His crew didn’t know both the pilot and the navigator were dead.

  A nasty laugh came over the raiders’ system. “You proved it’s perfectly seaworthy when you maneuvered out of our way.”

  It was a trap, Spader thought. And we fell right into it.

  Usually the raiders kept everyone under guard while they off-loaded whatever cargo they wanted. This time they wanted the ship itself—and they wouldn’t want any passengers along. That meant everyone on board would either escape or die.

  Spader knew which category he wanted to be in.

  Another boom rocked the boat. The raiders must have water canons, Spader realized. Only water missiles could do such serious damage.

  The speakers crackled, and Spader heard a crash as something toppled to the deck.

  He crawled to the instrument panel. The raiders probably figured they had taken out the pilot and navigator since the ship wasn’t moving. They didn’t know that there was one more person still in the tower—and Spader intended to keep it that way.

  He pushed out of his mind the sounds of splashes and the exchange of water bullets, screams, and shouts. He had to stay focused. He didn’t know the panel well enough to work it blind from the floor, so he pulled himself up into a crouch, keeping his head low.

  He peered over the board. Several skimmers and a life raft bobbed on the water, making good speed. One of the jobs of the aquaneers was to ensure the safety of the passengers. Spader figured the personnel from Crasker were in the raft, with aquaneers on the skimmers guiding them. The rest of the crew would defend the ship.

  It was up to him to get them out of there.

  Sounds on the ladder to the pilot’s tower sent Spader into high alert. He darted across the tower cabin and flattened himself against the wall next to the door.

  A raider stepped through the doorway, and Spader flung himself at the raider’s knees, knocking him off balance. The raider’s sleek, silver pistol clattered to the ground, and the raider tumbled down beside it.

  Spader leaped onto the raider, never giving him the chance to get back up to his feet. He straddled him and pinned his arms.

  The raider squirmed, struggling to flip Spader off. Spader held on and slammed the raider’s head onto the floor. He saw the raider’s eyes roll up and then shut. The man’s body went limp.

  Spader stared down at the raider. He had never knocked anyone out before. It felt…odd.

  He rummaged in the small storage compartment under the navigation board and pulled out some cable. He wrapped it around the raider’s wrists and then around the handle of the door. Anything to slow the raider down once he woke up. For good measure he crumpled a navigation chart and stuffed it into the raider’s mouth. “No shouting for help for you,” Spader told the unconscious man.

  That was when he realized—it was quiet. The storm was over and so was the battle down below.

  His heart thudded. Had his crew beaten back the raiders?

  Keeping his head down, he crept to the navigation board. He just cleared it to peer out the shattered forward windows.

  Laughter from below floated up to the tower. But whose? He lifted slightly higher, trying to see down into the hold below.

  A head appeared, coming up the stairs on deck.

  A raider.

  Spader ducked back down.

  He swallowed hard and forced himself to look again. His eyes widened. There were two raiders on deck, carrying a dead crew member between them.

  “One, two, three!” one of the raiders shouted. Together the two men flung the crew member overboard.

  Spader’s hands clenched into fists.

  “That’s the last of ’em,” one of the raiders said.

  Spader sank back on his heels. The dead pilot and navigator stared up at the ceiling. “What should I do?” he asked them.

  The longer he looked at the pilot and navigator, the angrier he became. Yes. He would take out the marauding raiders and make them pay for—

  He shut his eyes. No. Think.

  He rubbed his face. What would his father tell him to do? Don’t rush to action without knowing the situation. Well, the situation was about as bad as it could get. He was probably the only person left on board from the original crew. Alive, that is.

  Benn Spader would tell him to stay that way.

  Gradually a plan began to take hold. Energy surged through him. He could do this. He’d need a water sled and an air globe. Yes…it was all falling into place.

  Of course, first he had to make it out of the tower and get to the storage units two decks below.

  He picked up the raider’s pistol. He wasn’t sure how to use it, but wanted it all the same. His trusty knife was still in his boot.

  He peeked over the navigation board again, raising up a little higher so he would get a better view of the entire deck. One of the raiders was relaxed against the rail, while another was helping a raider up the ladder from the water. They seemed to be the only raiders on deck. The others must all have been below. His stomach clenched when he saw Clayton splayed under the struts that had held the loudspeaker. Blood pooled around him from the wounds he’d received. Spader forced himself to look away.

  He crawled to the other window, which gave him a view of the back end of the ship. Empty—other than three dead crew members and one dead raider.

  There were stairs leading down from the deck to the lower levels both fore and aft. Once he was below, he’d have to hurry past the living quarters and down to where the equipment was stored without being seen. The first obstacle, though, was getting to the deck. The stairs down from the tower were on the side of the pilothouse. Would he be visible to the raiders at the front of the ship?

  He peeked out the back window again. He was about thirty feet above the deck. Was there a way to get down there without using the stairs?

  Ducking down again, he searched the cabin for something to use to rappel down the side of the tower. He grabbed more of the cable he had used to tie up the raider. Working quickly, he wrapped the cable several times around the legs of the desk and tied it securely. Then he dropped the line out the window.

  He hopped on to the desk, swiveled, then lowered himself out the window. He gripped the cable and winced. “Hobey, that’s sharp!” Well, as long as it didn’t actually cut him, he’d survive. What was a bit of cable burn compared to being shot by raiders!

  Right quick, now, he told himself. He pushed away from the side of the tower and slid down the cable, stopping to swing back into the wall and push off again to take some of the pressure off his hands. His feet touched down. Made it!

  He raced across the deck and lay flat at the opening to the cabin level below. He listened intently, straining to hear any sounds of the raiders. He could hear shouts and laughter, but they seemed far away.

  He hurried silently down the rungs of the ladder leading below to the living quarters. Good thing no one was around. He was sure they’d hear his ragged breathing and pounding heart.

  Spader wondered how many raiders there were. The small vessel they’d abandoned was meant to carry only five or six, but it certainly sounded like there were more of them. And to take out ten experienced crew members, they had to have been pretty evenly matched.

  Voices. Coming toward the stairs.

  Gotta hide! But where?

  There were cabins on either side of the corridor. He didn’t want one of those—the raiders would search them carefully for valuables.

  He quickly
slipped inside one of the nearby supply closets and shut the door.

  The shelves of linens had fallen during the storm, and linens were strewn all over the floor. Boxes of toiletries had tumbled over, and a few had popped open. He sat on one of the boxes and let out a shaky breath.

  He knew he didn’t have long. The supply closets would be checked too.

  Something caught his eye. Was it his imagination? It looked as if the pile of linens moved.

  He pulled the pistol he’d taken from the raider out of his waistband. He crept to the pile of linen, his heart pounding. Could he actually shoot a raider up close like this?

  In a quick move he yanked up the sheet and aimed the weapon.

  Straight at Per Watsu.

  TEN

  Hobey, mate, you scared me!” Spader blurted out. Then he clapped a hand over his mouth.

  Per stared at him, his face whiter than the sheet he was hiding under.

  “Guess I scared you too,” Spader whispered.

  “Is there—is there anyone left?” Per asked.

  “I think it’s just us,” Spader replied, still keeping his voice down. “Do you have any idea how many raiders there are?”

  Per shook his head. “When I heard the shots, I didn’t understand what was happening. I—I hid.”

  “Big surprise,” Spader muttered.

  “I don’t see you out there fighting off the raiders,” Per snapped.

  “I was—oh, shut up,” Spader said. “We don’t want them to hear us.”

  “We have to get out of here,” Per said.

  “State the obvious,” Spader said.

  Per shot Spader a dirty look. “Do you want to take shots at me, or do you want to try to get out of here? We may not like this, but we’re all we’ve got. So we should probably try to work together.”

  Spader hated admitting it, but Per was right. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Per pretended to be shocked. “The great Spader is apologizing? You mean you actually admit you’re wrong about something?”

  “Now who’s taking shots?” Spader said. “Why are you always on me? I’ve never done anything to you.”

  “Except beat me in every class, test, and competition!” Per blurted out. “It’s humiliating.”

  Spader gaped at Per. “I wasn’t trying to make you look bad,” he said. “But I’m not going to be sorry for being good.”

  Per let out a long sigh and looked away. “That’s what makes it even worse,” he said softly. “You don’t even have to try. At the academy I worked so hard to keep up. I sweated for every single grade. Put in extra practice time. You just coasted your way to being everyone’s favorite.”

  Spader didn’t know how to respond, so instead he focused on the current problem. “Listen. I have a plan. We get to the raider’s disabled vessel and hide out until the raiders leave the area.”

  “And sit there until we sink like Faar?” Per asked.

  “You have a better idea?” Spader demanded.

  “The sleds are on the lower level,” Per pointed out. “Where most of the raiders are.”

  “Did you do the sled drill?” Spader asked.

  “No,” Per admitted. He scowled. “I guess you’re ahead of me. As usual.” He gave a hollow laugh. “I can just hear what my father would say about that!”

  “Well, your father’s not here. So let’s stay on the subject,” Spader said.

  Per slumped but nodded.

  “Okay. We know the sleds can be accessed from the water,” Spader said. “So we just need to get off the ship, swim to the hatches, and then sled over to the raider ship.”

  Per looked at him as if he were crazy. “We’ll be shot before we hit the waves.”

  Spader threw up his hands. “Come with me or don’t. Because I’m not staying here one minute longer!”

  Spader pressed his ear against the door. It had grown quiet again. He pictured his route. Air globes were kept in strategic spots along the corridor. That would be the easy part. Getting into the water would be tougher. He could either dive from the deck above or go down another level to the swim exit.

  He cracked open the door. He could still hear laughing and talking down in the cargo area.

  Deck it is, he decided.

  “Hang on,” Per whispered. “I’m going with you.”

  Spader glanced back at Per. He seemed to have pulled himself together. Spader nodded. “Once we’re underwater, follow me to the hatch. I know how to open it.”

  Spader slipped out of the closet and hurried along the corridor. He grabbed one of the globes hanging near the ladder. He put it on as he clambered up the ladder and peered over the lip of the deck. All clear.

  He climbed up to the deck and dashed toward the ladder.

  Suddenly an alarm went off, and lights went on in the pilot’s tower. Had he been discovered?

  No, he realized. They’d found the unconscious raider!

  Spader couldn’t take the time to be careful. The deck would be swarming with raiders any moment now. He flung himself overboard, cutting into the water clean as a knife.

  He kicked hard, wanting to get to the hatches fast. He opened the latch as he had during the drill and pulled out two sleds. Where was Per? Had he changed his mind?

  Spader tread water, his heart sinking with each passing moment. No matter how much he tried to push the thought aside, the only conclusion he could reach was that Per had been caught by the raiders.

  Now the question was, what should Spader do about it?

  ELEVEN

  Spader couldn’t just leave him. Per was a right dunderhead, and Spader’s life would be smooth waters without him, but he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t at least try to find out whether the soaker was still alive.

  Maybe Per never left that linen closet. That would be where Spader would look first.

  Spader poked his head above the ladder and scanned the deck.

  Now that the sun had gone down, the deck lights were on, so Spader had no trouble seeing that there were still no raiders at the back end of the boat. But he’d also be spotted immediately if anyone looked.

  Spader raced across the deck and dropped onto the ladder leading below. No point even in checking for raiders—they were either there or they weren’t.

  Luck was with him. The corridor was empty. He pulled the pistol from his waistband again. Now he moved slowly, quietly, deliberately. He listened at each closed door, hoping he’d get some clue to what happened to Per.

  He arrived at the linen closet. That door was wide open.

  Spader slowed his breathing to calm himself. Then he stepped into the doorway, weapon aimed chest high.

  It was empty.

  The closet had been his best guess. Only guess, truth be told. If Per wasn’t in here, Spader would have to search the entire ship, room by room, until he either found him or found his dead body.

  He continued along the corridor, stopping and listening at each door. As he approached the last door, he heard talking.

  “How many others?” a hard voice demanded. “Where are they hiding?”

  “There are no others. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  Spader’s heart sped up. Per!

  The sound of fist hitting flesh made Spader cringe.

  “Let’s try this again,” the hard voice snarled. “Finding you in that hold was a big surprise. And we don’t like surprises.”

  Per must have heard the raiders coming and found a new hiding place, Spader thought.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Per said, the terror in his voice clear. “I told you the truth and you don’t believe me.”

  “What do you think, Shax?” the hard voice said. “Do you believe him?”

  “Keep working on him, Frey.” Shax’s voice was right on the other side of the door. “Either we’ll get the truth out of him, or we’ll kill him. Either way we get what we want.”

  Spader pushed the door in with a quick, powerful flick, slamming it into the
raider called “Shax,” startling him and knocking him to the floor. Spader jumped into the room and pressed his foot hard onto Shax’s neck. He aimed his silver pistol at the raider who had hit Per. Shax grabbed Spader’s ankle, but Spader just pressed down harder, cutting off the man’s air.

  “Wouldn’t suggest that,” Spader said. “A crushed windpipe is tough to get over.”

  Shax stopped struggling and Spader eased up. A tiny bit.

  “I see why you don’t like surprises,” Spader said. Without lowering his pistol, he knelt down and disarmed Shax. Now he aimed a weapon at each raider. “They do put you at a disadvantage.”

  Frey smiled slowly at Spader. “So you got the best of us. But do you really think you can fight off all of us?”

  “What I think is that if you leave this guy’s not-so-pretty face intact,” Spader said, “you can do a lot better than if you leave him for dead.”

  “Yeah?” Frey smirked. “What makes you think that?”

  Spader smiled cheerfully. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  TWELVE

  You slusk fish!” Per exclaimed. “Djungu bug! You hate me so much that you’d side with them?”

  Spader just kept smiling. Per’s outburst only helped.

  “Do you know who this is?” Spader said. “He’s Per Watsu. Of Watsu shipyards.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” Per said.

  “You kill him, and what do you have?” Spader continued. “A dead body to unload. But you keep him alive, you have something valuable to sell. I’d bet his daddy would pay a lot of money to get him back in one piece.”

  “And we get caught making the exchange?” Frey said. “No thank you.”

  “You’re missing the beauty part, mate,” Spader said. “Me.”

  Frey raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What makes you so beautiful?”

  Spader laughed. “I hear I get my good looks from my mother, but what matters is that I can help you pull this off.”

  “How exactly would you do that?” Frey asked.

  “Bring the ship back to Crasker. If I’m the contact from the Grallion vessel, its arrival won’t arouse suspicion. After all, I’m on the official list of crew. I can easily make contact with Watsu. That will delay the authorities getting involved. And Daddy Watsu will trust me. He’ll think I only have Per’s safety in mind.”