Hello, to all you new friends. I come from Fazanimalia and have the honour to carry the brood name, Gob-Anamel-Azuka-Tivra-Fazanimala, so 
everyone calls me 'Gobbi'. This is my first, in-depth report, so I am taking the time to do a full introduction. Alethea chose my portrait, and insisted on the lamp. She said it was symbolic, representing the determined, investigative reporter shining a light on the dark corners of the universe, which others would prefer to keep hidden. I said I would normally use a light stick in a darkened room, or even a torch, but she insisted. Being a co-operative individual, as well as a freelance member of staff, I readily agreed - besides, I am only two feet tall, while she is almost six feet.... and VERY strong. She is also the boss and sponsor for my work permit.
The Tum-Emosak is Sanganara's longest river. Even today, it remains largely unexplored above the seventh cataract - a near vertical wall of rock, rising three hundred feet above the five thousand foot high Quaxotusak Massive: a two thousand square mile, forest covered plateau. Fed by melt water from the Quixamanu mountain range, situated on the northern continent, the Tum-Emosak is both a wonder to behold and a magnet to white water enthusiasts from across the galaxy.
We arrived a little after sunrise at what was once a small fishing village, Tamasangan, but is now a thriving boating and hiking center. Everywhere you look, there are shops offering equipment for hire, tickets for animal rides, air boat rides, aerial sight-seeing tours of the vast plateau and locally prepared dishes and beverages. It is impossible to learn anything about the culture of these people: they have become 'mirrors', reflecting the mores and customs of the endless stream of visitors they seek to entertain and serve, in exchange for hard currency. You have to go a long way downstream, to where the Tum-Emosak becomes quiet and slow moving again, to encounter a truly native Sanganaran. When and if you do, you will find them to be surly, reserved and on occasions, downright rude.It may be that they're envious of their neighbors, further upstream, for occupying the best spot on the river; it may also be that they really are surly and rude. I tried one of the local dishes, consisting of boiled meat - I think the vendor said it was called, 'sulpsi', or something.
The Sanganaran guard their secrets jealously, so I can only present you with a rough diagram of the vessel drawn from memory.
And my ability with the primitive graphics applications I am forced to use is very limited. I have also included myself in the drawing, so you can determine the true scale of the vessel. When I finished drawing it, I thought I had made it too large, because I distinctly remember thinking, as I sat there preparing to depart on my adventure, that it was very small indeed.
Anyway, to the technical detail. Simply put, it consists of three disks, separated by spacers, through which a constant, circular blast of air is maintained, to produce a 'cushion' on which the boat sits upon the water. Forward motion is provided by a pair of horizontally mounted tubes, fed by the single compressor. They are fitted with moveable exhausts, allowing them to act as brakes, and the boat's direction is controlled by a conventional rudder assembly, which only works when the exhausts are pointing towards it. I regard that as a design weakness, because when you try to stop, you can't steer; but since you're moving so fast anyway, direction is more a matter of hope and prayer than skill. Fitted, but not shown, is a parachute pack, designed to bring the boat safely down in the event of an engine failure while it's negotiating the rapids.
You will gather from this description that the air boat has been built with the Tum-Emosak 'experience' in mind, though the technology is not home grown - it originated on Caltari Prime, some thirty light-years away. As was the case with the Tingu and Astu, on Bastario (Click to learn about them), the technology was 'presented' to the Sanganaran by the Missii - that intrepid race of traders who appear to know nothing of, nor care about, the principles governing 'first contact' situations.
If you look at the attached image of the rapids, you'll agree that a parachute is a sensible precaution, though it's doubtful that the pilot would be able to deploy it in the time it would take the boat to fall two hundred meters - the actual height of the rapids when the river is in flood. When I asked a boatman whether any previous passengers had needed to use it, he shrugged, finished polishing the windshield, then ambled off in the direction of his workshop, muttering, "Tourists!"
So, with the absolute minimum of instruction, and no familiarization cruise, I fired the engine and called for someone to caste me off. Slowly, my stomach churning noisily - from nerves and the fermenting 'sulpsi' - my paw scarcely touching the throttle lever, I eased the craft clear of the bank and pointed the nose down stream.
I felt the current take hold of me and, contrary to my instinct - which was to steer back to shore - followed the boatman's instructions and opened the throttle wide. The air boat lifted itself a good foot above the water and rushed towards the rapids. I could see nothing beyond a distance of a hundred yards, and assumed that that was the point at which the river 'turned south'.
Less than ten seconds later, the whooshing sound stopped. It was then that I realized I was airborne, and heading towards a hard impact on the churning river below. My paw hovered over the parachute release, while the single engine raced out of control.
My heart was in my throat, and hitting three hundred beats a minute (three times normal), when I felt the boat suddenly stop falling. It hit the water on its cushion of air and bounced up and down several times - like a spring - before settling and speeding away from the countless millions of gallons of water falling down behind me. I whooped. I whooped again, and cried, "Hurrah!" as it dawned on me that I was still alive. I had lived through the 'Tum-Emosak experience'. Lived to tell the tale. I eased down the throttle and turned towards the river bank.
"I want to do it again," I cried, as a two burly handlers pulled the boat into position, so a large, brightly painted crane could lift it back to the head of the rapids for the next passenger.
"No passengers in the boat while it's being lifted," one of the handlers said, indifferent to my euphoria. He pointed and added, "The steps are over there."
