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knot on the end of each leg.
    â€œGrab a bunch of fruit,” he ordered.
    I started grabbing off pieces of fruit from the vines. Uncle Press took the pieces and stuffed them into the pant legs he had just tied off. I figured maybe he was using the pants as a makeshift bag to carry some fruit to the surface. That was cool. I liked the stuff. He filled the pants up until they looked like a lumpy pair of legs, then yanked down a piece of vine from the wall and used it as a rope to thread through the belt loops and tie off the waist.
    â€œHand me one of the water sleds,” he asked.
    Okay, now he lost me. What was he doing? I gave him one of the two purple sleds and he tied the other end of the vine that was holding the pants together to the handles. There was now about a three-foot length of vine between the water sled and the pants full of fruit.
    â€œYou gonna tell me what you’re doing?”
    â€œWe’ve got to swim out of here,” he explained. “Put on fins. We’ll use the air globes to breathe. We’re only about sixty feet down. There should be a skimmer waiting for us on the surface.”
    â€œA skimmer?”
    â€œIt’s like a speedboat. Very fast. Easy to maneuver. You’ll love it.”
    â€œCourtesy of the acolytes?”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œWhat’s with the fruity pants?”
    â€œNo big deal. Just a little quig bait.”
    Uh-oh. That was it. Fun time was over. He punctuated this last comment by digging down under the rest of the Cloral clothes and pulling out a nasty-looking speargun. I knew this was going too well. There were quigs lurking outside. If you remember, quigs were the nasty beasties that Saint Dane used to guard the gates to the flumes. On Second Earth they were wild dogs. On Denduron they were prehistoric, cannibal bears with spiny backs. On Cloral they could only be . . .
    â€œSharks,” I said flatly. “You’re saying there are giant sharks swimming around out there waiting for us to pop out in our spiffy new rubber outfits?”
    â€œYou saw one yourself, on Denduron.”
    I did. In the mine shaft flume on Denduron. I still remember its demonic, yellow quig-eyes as it rode the wave of water toward us. The memory made my knees buckle. The tropical vacation was over.
    â€œDon’t worry,” said Uncle Press. “I’ll send the water sled out first. Our smell is already on these pants. If there are any quigs around, and I’m not saying there are , mind you, they’ll chase the smell.”
    â€œYou think they’ll be dumb enough to go for it?”
    â€œThey’re vicious, not bright,” he answered with confidence. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to the surface and find the skimmer.”
    He handed me the speargun, which I took gingerly.
    â€œYou don’t expect me to use this, do you?”
    â€œJust hold it,” he said. He then took another small piece of vine and looped it through the handle of the water sled. With a quick tug, he tightened it down so that it pulled the trigger, then tied a knot to keep it in place. The trigger supposedly kicked over the engine, but it wasn’t making any noise.
    â€œWhy didn’t it turn on?” I asked.
    â€œI told you, it needs water for power.”
    Uncle Press knelt down next to the pool. He first placed the loaded pants into the water. They floated off to the length of the vine that was attached to the sled. Then with both hands on the sled, he lowered the purple engine underwater as well. As soon as the slits were underwater, I could hear the low whine of its motor kick to life. The trigger was pulled all the way so it was on full power. The little sled nearly yanked Uncle Press off the ledge. He had to struggle just to hang on to it.
    â€œTold you,” he said with a laugh. “This thing has some giddyap.”
    He was enjoying this way too much. He then released his grip and the sled jumped