The Lost City of Faar by D.J. MacHale

though the underbelly of Grallion 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.
    â€œWhat do they do here?” I asked Uncle Press as we climbed the stairs. “Do they just float around fishing and racing skimmers?”
    â€œEvery habitat has a specific purpose,” was his answer. “Some manufacture materials, others process food, some are financial centers, others mine raw materials.”
    â€œAnd what about Grallion?” I asked.
    â€œSee 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!
    â€œThis 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.
    â€œYou’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 areatook 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.
    â€œThis 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