The Pilgrims of Rayne (5 page)

“What does that mean?” Courtney asked Patrick.

“I've never seen this before. It seems to be cross-referencing several different entries.”

“Is it gonna crash?” I asked.

“Crash? What does that mean?”

I didn't press. I figured computers on Third Earth were too advanced to crash, the way ours did on primitive old Stone Age Second Earth.

“Discrepancy in search for disappearance of Dimond,
Mark,” the computer finally announced. “Multiple, conflicting entries.”

“What the heck does that mean?” Courtney asked.

“Explain,” Patrick demanded.

Another image appeared next to Mark. The original hologram was a ten-year-old Mark in his cap and gown. The second image was also of Mark, but he looked older. He was more like the Mark of today, or yesterday, or whatever. He looked about seventeen and much taller. He was dressed strangely in long pants, a stiff white shirt, and a bow tie. His hair was cut short and parted in the middle, like I'd never seen it before. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses. This image of Mark looked like the dados on Third Earth. It chilled me.

“Details,” Patrick requested.

“Person of note,” the computer responded. “Dimond, Mark. Father of Forge technology.”

“Forge!” Courtney screamed. “That's the thing Mark invented!”

The hologram of Mark came to life. He reached into his pocket, took out a small, rubbery object, and held it in his open hand. The hologram of Mark spoke. “Cube.”

“Whoa,” Courtney muttered, sitting back in her chair.

The little object writhed and changed from a round blob into a perfect cube.

“Is that how it worked?” I asked. “Is that Forge?”

“Yup,” Courtney answered, dumbfounded. “Man, I so want one of these computers.”

“Details of Forge and Mark Dimond,” Patrick pressed.

“Forge technology. United States Patent Number 2,066,313. Issued to Dimond, Mark. President of the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization.”

“Dado!” Courtney yelled.

The computer continued, “The Dimond Alpha Digital Organization, along with its parent company, KEM Limited, developed Forge technology. It became the basis for an innovative robotics system. It changed the course of manufacturing and created the field of computer science. Mark Dimond is considered to be the genius visionary who began the computer age.”

“Once again, whoa,” Courtney gasped.

“When?” I blurted out. “When did this happen?”

“Computer,” Patrick announced, “What was the Forge patent application date?”

The cap and gown image of young Mark disappeared, leaving the older Mark, holding his invention. Andy's invention. Saint Dane's invention. The computer answered, “United States Patent Number 2,066,313 was filed on October sixth, 1937.”

“First Earth,” I whispered.

“That's it,” Courtney exclaimed. “He went to First Earth and brought Forge with him. He changed the course of history by introducing his simple computer years before it was supposed to be invented. No, forget simple. That thing was advanced, even by Second Earth standards. He jumped the natural evolution of computer science by, like, sixty years. That's why Second Earth changed. That's why Third Earth changed. That's why freaking robots are everywhere. Mark changed the future by bringing Forge to the past.”

I wanted to say I was surprised, but it was exactly what I feared. By bringing his invention to the past, Mark had mixed the territories and changed the natural destiny of Halla. I didn't say anything. My mind was working over the possibilities.

“What the matter?” Courtney asked impatiently. “This is exactly the kind of thing we thought happened.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But it doesn't answer the bigger question.”

“What's that?” Patrick asked.

“It doesn't tell us why. Why did Mark do it? He knew how wrong it was. How did Saint Dane get to him?”

The three of us sat there, looking at our feet. None of us had that answer, and I doubted the computer would either, but I had to try. I stood up, strode to Patrick's seat and hit the white button myself. “Computer!” I demanded. “What is the discrepancy?”

The computer answered, “There is no history of Dimond, Mark prior to the patent filing for his Forge technology in October of 1937.”

“Makes sense,” Courtney said. “He dropped in from the future.”

The computer continued, “There is no history of Dimond, Mark beyond the announcement of the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization partnering with KEM Limited in November of 1937.”

“What does that mean?” Patrick demanded to know. “Mark Dimond disappeared twice?”

Mark's image vanished. We waited. Nothing happened. We stood silently, letting the reality sink in.

“So what happened to him on First Earth?” Patrick asked nobody in particular.

“We got what we came for,” I declared. “Patrick, keep searching.”

“For what?” he asked.

“For anything that will give us a clue as to what happened to Mark on First Earth.”

“And what're you going to do?”

I looked at Courtney. “We're going after him.”

Courtney walked up next to me, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Are we on the wrong territory?”

“Yeah, we're on the wrong territory.”

FIRST EARTH

P
atrick drove us quickly back to the subway city in the Bronx. On the way we grabbed a quick bite to eat. If there was one thing I learned while bouncing through time and space, it was to eat when you could. You never knew when you'd get another chance…or find yourself on a territory where food tasted like shoes. We got the food at a drive-through. Or maybe it was more of a drive-
under,
since we had to go underground to get it. We ate cheeseburgers, fries, and sodas. Some things never change, no matter what century you're in. We ate while Patrick drove. I took the time to fill him in on what had happened to me since I'd seen him last. The wins and the losses. The territories that were set straight, and those that were in trouble. I told him how Gunny and Spader were trapped on Eelong, how many Travelers had been killed, and how Nevva Winter, the Traveler from Quillan, had joined Saint Dane. I also told him about the mysterious Convergence that Saint Dane said was near. I told him quickly and succinctly, only hitting the highlights. Saying it all at once like that made the whole story seem so, I don't know, impossible.

It also made me lose my appetite. So much for the cheeseburgers.

“KEM Limited,” I said. “That's important. Mark wouldn't have been able to spring his invention on the world by himself. He would have needed somebody to help him.”

Courtney asked, “So if we find this KEM company, we'll find Mark.”

My mind ripped through the possibilities.

“Bobby?” Courtney pressed. “What are you thinking?”

“The turning point of First Earth has passed,” I said. “Saint Dane tried to get me to save the
Hindenburg.
I didn't and history continued the way it was supposed to.”

“Old news. So what?”

“So when we step into that flume and call out First Earth, where is it going to send us? No,
when
is it going to send us? What if it sends us back too late to stop Mark? Or way too early? We might be totally spinning our wheels.”

Patrick gave me a dark look. Courtney thought for a moment and said, “You've written in your journals a thousand times how the flumes send the Travelers where they need to be, when they need to be there. It's pretty clear we need to be on First Earth in time to do something about Mark.”

“Yeah,” I said, frowning. “That scares me even more.”

“Why?” she asked impatiently.

“If the flume sends us back in time to do something about Mark, does that mean First Earth has another turning point? Does that mean it's possible for
all
the territories to have more than one turning point? Did the Travelers before us chase Saint Dane from territory to territory, constantly monkeying with turning points? What about after us? Is this battle going to go on forever?”

Courtney had an answer for everything. Not this time. All
she could do was stare at me. Patrick didn't even do that. He kept his eyes on the road. I knew what they were thinking. I could sum it up with one simple question: “What's the point?”

“Stop,” Courtney snapped. “The point is to save Mark. Over and out. We can go nuts thinking about all the cosmic implications of what's been happening, but that's only going to make us
more
nuts. Worrying about anything else is a waste of time.”

“Or is this all just a waste of time?” I asked. “Are we killing ourselves to prolong the inevitable? If Saint Dane can't be destroyed, and he can go back and tinker with territories we've already saved, there'll be no end to this. Until he's won.”

Courtney grabbed my shoulder and yanked me around until we were nose to nose. “I don't believe that,” she said with passion. “Neither do you. You're just feeling sorry for yourself. We've come too far and gone through too much to give up now.”

She was right, of course. We had no choice. The battle would continue. But I was discouraged. Was this going to be a never-ending struggle, with Saint Dane jumping through time, turning events on a whim, twisting the territories, and creating new turning points until Halla finally cracked?

“Are you with me, Bobby?” Courtney asked.

“You know I am.” I didn't have the heart to tell her about the serious doubts I was having.

Patrick dropped us off at the green kiosk in the Bronx that led down to the subway city and the flume. He said to Courtney, “I've only known you a short while, but I can see why Pendragon wants you with him.”

“I should have been with him from the start,” she said. Classic Courtney. “We're going to make things right, don't worry.”

Patrick told me, “If I find out anything more about Mark Dimond, I'll send a note to your acolyte.”

Courtney wiggled her finger bearing her Traveler ring. “That would be me.”

There was an awkward moment. Nobody knew how to say good-bye. It was Patrick who put the situation into perspective.

“It's started,” he said. “Whatever the Convergence is, it feels like Saint Dane is pulling the pieces together by orchestrating events here on Earth.”

“Pulling the pieces together?” Courtney asked. “Or ripping them apart?”

I added, “Saint Dane told me a long time ago that all he had to do was tip over one territory and the rest would fall like dominos. He said the first was Denduron. It wasn't. With the territories being mixed and history changing, I'm beginning to feel as if those dominos are finally lining up.”

We exchanged dark looks. Courtney broke the tension by declaring, “This isn't over.”

We said our good-byes and made our way to the flume. After making sure we weren't being watched, we quickly slipped down onto the tracks and ran for the star that marked the gate. Our timing was just right, for when we reached it, the light of an oncoming monorail train appeared in the distance. I pushed on the star and the door instantly opened. Courtney and I ducked inside and closed the door with plenty of time to spare before the train sped by. We stood together and gazed into the mouth of the flume.

“Should we put our Second Earth clothes back on?” she asked.

“Nah, we'll only have to change again on the other side.”

Courtney nodded. “Hey, the quig is gone,” she exclaimed.

Sure enough, the vicious dog she had blasted into dreamland was nowhere to be seen. I drew no conclusions, but was thankful we didn't have to deal with that snarling monster.

Courtney pulled the silver weapon from her pocket. “I should leave this here. It doesn't belong on First Earth.”

I looked at the silver cylinder. It didn't belong on Second or Third Earth either. Not really. It was a weapon that was developed on Quillan.

“Bring it,” I said with finality. “I'm tired of playing by the rules.”

“You sure?” Courtney asked cautiously.

“No, but if First Earth is back in play, there might be quigs there. If you see one, nail it.”

Courtney nodded and slipped the cylinder back into her pocket. She reached out and took my hand. “I don't know if we're doing the right thing, but it's the only thing.”

Together we stepped into the mouth of the flume.

“First Earth!”
I shouted. The flume sprang to life. The giant rock tube began to writhe. Far in the distance a light appeared that quickly grew brighter as it came to carry us away. The dark walls melted into crystal, revealing the sparkling stars beyond them. The jumble of sweet musical notes grew louder. I felt the slight tug of energy pulling us into the void…and we were off.

 

We didn't talk much on our journey back through time. I think we both made up our minds that we were going to stop guessing at what we might find, and wait until we actually found it. That didn't stop me from thinking, though. And worrying about Mark. How did Saint Dane convince him to change the course of history? What had happened? The computer said he was last seen in November of 1937. What
happened to him after that? Did he go to another territory? My only hope was that we would arrive with enough time to track him down and stop him from introducing his Forge technology to the world. No, that's not true. That wasn't my only hope. I also hoped we wouldn't be faced with another turning point on First Earth.

I couldn't bring myself to look out at the star field. I knew what was there. Beyond the crystal walls of the flume were images from all the territories, floating together in the giant celestial sea. With each trip through the flume, more random images were appearing. It was getting crowded. I didn't know if the images were real, or spirits, or some kind of symbols, but their presence was all too clear. The walls between territories were breaking down. I was failing.

The journey lasted only a few minutes. The musical notes grew louder and more frantic. Soon we were on our feet, back in the rocky cavern room. It looked exactly like the same rocky cavern from Second and Third Earths because, well, it was. The difference lay beyond the wooden door.

I'm happy to say we weren't pounced on by any snarling quigs.

“There!” I said, pointing to a pile of clothes stacked neatly near the mouth of the flume. I found the same clothes from my last trip to First Earth all neatly cleaned and folded. There was the starched white shirt, light gray pants with the darker gray jacket, and leather shoes. There were even those long-legged white grandpa boxers I learned to get used to.

“No way!” Courtney said, disgusted. “I'm not wearing this.” She picked up a pretty dress with a pattern of tiny blue flowers. She also held up a pair of big white underpants that looked like the waist would come up to her armpits. “And what the hell is this?” she added, holding up a white bra that
looked like twin, white waffle cones with a wide white strap holding them together. “You gotta be kidding!”

“Keep your own underwear,” I said, laughing. “I don't think we have to worry about anybody seeing your sports bra.”

“How do you know I wear a sports bra?” she said, squinting suspiciously.

“Just a guess,” I said quickly. “But you gotta wear the dress.”

I took my clothes to the other side of the cavern to get out of the embarrassing situation, and for modesty. Because I had grown a few inches and packed on several more pounds of muscle, I worried that the clothes wouldn't fit me anymore. But they did. Strange. They seemed to be the same clothes that I had worn a few years earlier, but they weren't the same size anymore. I figured I should stop stressing over the details and just go with it.

“I hate dresses,” Courtney complained from across the cavern.

Courtney may have hated dresses, but dresses didn't hate Courtney. She looked awesome. Unlike the clothes on Third Earth, this dress was perfect. It was fitted on top, with a loose skirt that moved when she did. It came down to just below her knees. The blue flowers were bright, like spring. The sleeves were short, and she kept the top few buttons open. She even put on a pair of low, leather shoes that looked practical, if not very comfortable.

“People actually dressed like this?” she said with disgust. “It's just…queer.”

“C'mon!” I cajoled. “You look really good. Like a girl and everything.”

“Give me a break,” she snarled. “How come you get to be
comfortable and I have to look like some dorky schoolmarm?”

“I don't think they use the word ‘dork' in 1937,” I kidded.

“Well they should because that's exactly what I look like!”

“I mean it, Courtney, you look good. But if you seriously hate it, we can find something else when we—” A creaking sound stopped me short. I knew that sound. The flume was coming back to life.

Courtney and I both snapped a look into the tunnel. Somebody was coming in. The two of us stepped closer to each other.

“Any guess?” Courtney asked.

“No idea.”

The light grew brighter, lighting up the rocky cavern.

“Maybe we should take off,” she suggested nervously.

“What if it's a friend? Or Mark?” I asked.

“What if it isn't?” Courtney countered.

Music filled the room. It wasn't a tune, just the clear, sweet notes that always accompany the Travelers through the flume. Courtney slowly bent down to pick up her Third Earth pants. I thought she was going to put them back on, but she dug into the pocket to retrieve the silver Quillan weapon.

The light got so bright that we had to shield our eyes. Squinting through the light, I saw a dark shadow appear at the mouth of the flume. Because the light was so bright, it was hard to make out who it was. The shadow took a step forward. The light didn't diminish.

“This is bad,” Courtney said. “When the light doesn't go away, it's always been—”

“Gee, what a shock!” came a familiar, sarcastic voice. “Seeing you two here!”

“Oh man,” I gasped.

It was Andy Mitchell. It was Saint Dane.

The guy stood at the mouth of the flume, facing us with his hands on his hips. He snorted and spit, still playing the part of the creep from Second Earth.

“So sweet seeing you two together again,” Mitchell said. “And Chetwynde! In a dress! There's something you don't see every day.”

“Where's Mark, Saint Dane?” I demanded.

“Living the life is my guess” Mitchell said. “He's a big shot now, Pendragon. A real fantasy come true for a geek like that. Everybody thinks he's a genius. But, oh man, such a thing he started. Such a thing!”

Mitchell laughed. It made my skin crawl. I wanted to strangle him. I took a step toward him. Mitchell took a step back and the light from the tunnel enveloped him. He didn't leave, though. He transformed. I stopped as he stepped back out of the light in his familiar form. He wore the black suit I knew so well. His bald head was crossed with the red scars that looked like lightning bolts. He grew back to his full height of well over six feet. None of that struck me as much as his eyes. It was always about the eyes. They burned brighter than the light that danced around him, staring me down with their blue-white madness. When he spoke, it was no longer in the voice of Andy Mitchell. It was the low growl of the demon Saint Dane.