But I’m getting way ahead of myself. Let me tell you what happened right after Uncle Press and I arrived on Grallion.
Since Uncle Press had been there before, he gave me a tour. As we climbed up from the depths of the docks, I noticed two things. One was that the inside of this barge was a labyrinth of machinery, pipes, engines, and pumps. I looked down long catwalks where workers busied themselves keeping the giant floating habitat running.
The second thing I noticed was that nothing seemed to be made out of metal. I’m not sure what the material was, I guess you would call it plastic or fiberglass or something. But all the walkways, pipes, supports, girders, and even the machines looked to be made out of the same kind of lightweight material.
When we walked on the stairs, rather than the sharp clanging sound of metal, our footfalls were almost silent, as if we were walking on carpet. I guess it made sense. You have to use lightweight stuff when everything has to float. And here’s a weird thing: Even though the underbelly of GralUon looked like a vast factory, it wasn’t all that loud. You could tell the place was alive, but it wasn’t much noisier than Stony Brook Library on a busy Saturday. Pretty cool.
“What do they do here?” I asked Uncle Press as we climbed the stairs. “Do they just float around fishing and racing skimmers?”
“Every habitat has a specific purpose,” was his answer. “Some manufacture materials, others process food, some are financial centers, others mine raw materials.”
“And what about Grallion?” I asked.
“See for yourself.”
We had reached the top of the stairs, where a door opened onto the main surface. We quickly stepped out into the sun and I got my first look at Grallion. Mark, Courtney, I’m not sure I can find the right words to describe it, that’s how awesome a sight it was.
First, did I say Grallion was big? Well, big doesn’t cover it. It was enormous. I felt as if I had reached dry land. But after having been below, I knew this wasn’t dry land at all. This was a vehicle, but unlike any vehicle I had ever seen. Now, are you ready for this? Stretching out in front of me for as far as I could see… was farmland. I swear. I saw acre upon acre of flowering plants, fruit trees, and vines heavy with colorful vegetables.
Yes, Grallion was a giant, floating farm!
“This way,” said Uncle Press, and walked off.
I didn’t move at first. I couldn’t. I wanted to get my mind around what I was seeing.
“You’ll get a better view over here, called Uncle Press, laughing.
He knew I was blown away and he was enjoying it. I ran after him. I wanted to see more. He led me up the stairs of a tower, and from this higher vantage point I got a great view of the farms of Grallion. I saw that there were very distinct sections, broken up by walkways where farm workers could travel. There were even small electric vehicles that moved quickly and silently along roads that criss-crossed each other. To our far left I saw row after row of fruit trees. Many of them bore fruit that looked like apples and oranges, but there were trees with clusters of unfamiliar fruit as well. Some were bright green tubes that looked like balloons hanging from the branches. Other trees had great purple orbs the size of grapefruits. Others were covered with pure white fat berries. They all looked ripe and ready for picking.
Directly in front of us were rows of thousands of individual plants that grew out of the dirt. Yes, dirt. At least I think it was dirt. It was brown and looked soft, so if it wasn’t dirt, it was a good imitation. Some plants bore small fruits and vegetables, others looked as if the whole thing would be picked like lettuce, or pulled out of the ground like a carrot or a potato.
To our right were aisles of fences where viney plants grew. This section held the same dark green, pickle-looking fruit that we had found in the cavern underwater. Another area of vines was covered with fruit that looked like round white disks. This odd fruit looked fragile and fluttered when the wind blew.
There was another whole section that grew beneath the shade of a gauzy tarp. These must have been plants that do better with indirect light. I’m guessing that the covered area took up a square mile. Another whole area looked to be planted with some kind of wheat. Unbelievable.
I watched as workers went busily about their jobs, tending to the crops. Some were pickers, others took water and soil samples. Still others did pruning.
The best word I can use to describe this vast farm full of lush fruits and vegetables is… perfect.
“This habitat feeds around thirty thousand people, give or take,” Uncle Press explained. “The crating is done below and it’s all transported forward. There’s another dock near the bow where boats from other habitats arrive to transport the produce back to their homes. It’s all very efficient.”
“How many people work here?” I asked.
“I think about two hundred,” he answered. “Only about fifty live here full-time: the habitat pilot and crew, some support people, the farm supervisors, and the agronomers.”
“Agronomers?”
“Scientists. The guys who figure out what gets planted where. They’re always experimenting with fertilizers and crop rotation and whatnot.”
“Then there are about sixty aquaneers like Spader who keep the habitat running smoothly and coordinate the comings and goings of all the small boats. They live here in short shifts — maybe three months at a time. The rest of the people are like migrant farm workers. They come and go depending on the needs of the crops. That’s where all the short-timers live.”
He pointed far off to the left, where I saw a row of low houses running along the length of one side of the habitat. The houses looked like small, two-level homes.
“The homes on the other side are for the long-timers — the pilot and agronomers and whatnot.”
I looked far to my right and saw another row of houses along the opposite side that seemed to be a bit larger than the others. And why not? If these people were here permanently, theyshouldhave bigger homes.
“We’re at the stern,” he pointed out. “This is where most of the farm equipment is kept and where the agronomers work. In the bow there’s a big wheelhouse where the habitat is controlled, but there are smaller control sheds on each side.”
“This is a weird thing to say about a farm but, it’s beautiful,” I said.
“It’s not weird at all. Itisbeautiful. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Leaving that ominous thought hanging, Uncle Press started climbing back down the stairs to the main deck.
“What do you mean? What could happen?” I asked while following.
“Did you forget why we’re here?” said Uncle Press tersely.
Oh, right. Saint Dane. The turning point. For a few seconds I actually stopped worrying about him. It was hard to imagine this place facing any kind of huge turmoil. Not like Denduron. That territory was a mess from the get-go. This place seemed more like, I don’t know, Eden.
“So what do we do?” I asked, feeling kind of dumb for asking my previous question.
“I think we should live here for a while,” he answered. “If Saint Dane is here, he’ll be planning something. The best thing we can do is blend in, get to know the territory, and be ready if something strange happens.”
“Which leads me to another question,” I said.
“Of course it does,” he replied. Wise guy.
“What do you tell people when you flume to a new territory? Don’t they wonder who you are? Where you came from? Why you just happened to drop out of nowhere?”
“Ahhh,” said Uncle Press knowingly. “Good question. Obviously you can’t go telling people you’re a Traveler from a distant territory and you’re here to prevent their world from crumbling into chaos. That would be bad.”