"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 charged.

"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.

Lasseter strode across the chamber to a corner where he picked up several parcels. Skylar leaped down from the runway and went over to him.

"These are for you," said Lasseter, throwing him two cloth-wrapped bundles. "The oilskin was finished a day early. You'll need it."

His uncle went over to the desk, rolled up a few of the parchments and maps, then deposited these into a satchel. He then proceeded to hastily collect items from around his cave and stuff them into a rucksack. Shouldering the pack and satchel, Lasseter threw another sack to Skylar.

"I suggest you pack those," he said, indicating the parcels.

Skylar jammed them inside the sack then followed after his uncle, who had disappeared through a portal near the rover's alcove.

"But uncle," he said plunging into the darkness. "Where are we going? Can you please tell me what is happening?"

His uncle made no reply. Skylar groped his way deeper into the blackness, feeling his way along the rough wall with his hand. Lights snapped on and Skylar could see that the portal had led them into a side chamber of the cavern, smaller and with a lower ceiling. What caught his attention, however, was what stood in the middle of the chamber, filling most of the space. He gaped at it.

"Is that yours?" he asked in astonishment.

It was a shuttle. A small one, not built for shipping cargo or for intergalactic travel, but a shuttle nonetheless. Skylar had seen a few shuttles like it while working at the docks. Planet hoppers some of the dockhands called them. The shuttle had short wings, angled back in a v-shape. Two moderately sized rockets extended from its rear. The nose was also short, scarcely extending beyond the shoulder of the wings before coming to a point. The cock pit was located at the rear of the craft. A steel-reinforced glass bubble covered the cockpit, admitting a view for the only two seats in the craft. The shuttle looked old and well-used. Burn marks blackened its undercarriage, the scars from hundreds of re-entries back into the atmosphere. The other parts of the hull were a dingy gray and mottled with dents and scratches.

Lasseter mounted the left wing, opened a compartment near the cockpit, and placed his baggage inside.

"There's another compartment on that other wing. Load your things then strap yourself into the co-pilot's seat. I'll take care of the preflight measures." So saying, he opened the cockpit's hatch, then climbed down from the wing.

"Preflight measure?" said Skylar. "But―"

"There is no time to argue, Skylar. Get yourself strapped in."

There was a bite in Lasseter's tone that told Skylar he didn't dare defy him. Skylar could not believe what was happening.

Again he thought about Kendyl. His heart sank. What would she think? She was probably waiting for him at that moment, wondering when he would show up. He imagined her standing there out on the dunes, her red hair caught on the evening breeze, her blue eyes scanning the glowing horizon.

Lasseter briefly paused his preparation and met Skylar's gaze. "Skylar, I need you to trust me. Get in the shuttle."

Something in his uncle's look and tone made Skylar abandon his objection and follow his uncle's instructions. He scrambled up the wing, stored his rucksack within the other compartment and lowered himself into the cockpit.

Though he could only guess how his uncle came into possession of a shuttle or for what purpose, he now understood where all that teryleum went.

Within a few minutes Lasseter had made the necessary preparations for the flight. Climbing into the cock pit and taking his pilot's seat, he said, "We should have plenty of oxygen for the journey to Quoryn. But to be safe, I want to avoid any unnecessary verbal communication. Understood?"

Skylar nodded rapidly, still not believing that they were about to take off.

Lasseter pulled down the hatch and locked it into place, then brought the shuttle to life with a few switches. The inside of the cockpit glowed with the lights of the myriad of buttons, switches, indicators and gauges. With another switch a large door, which Skylar had thought a wall, began to part down the middle, revealing the dusky terrain and darkening sky.

Lasseter activated the throttle and the craft rumbled forward. Outside the cavern, Lasseter initiated the vertical thrusters, which lifted the shuttle off the ground. Then with a thrust of speed that pushed Skylar deep within his seat, the ship rocketed skyward.

Skylar craned his neck to catch a final glimpse of his home and everything he loved―perhaps for the last time.