The Pilgrims of Rayne

IBARA

It was all about getting back to Ibara.

The people had to know an attack was coming that would be like nothing they’d seen before. Heck, like nobody had seen before. Fighting off a handful of grungy Flighters was one thing. Protecting the island from thousands of killer dados was another ball game. I remembered those automatic guns that blew the Flighters’ gunboat out of the water. I hoped there were more of those bad boys around Ibara. Fighting the dados with poison blow darts was going to be worse than useless.

Siry and I ran along the balcony until we reached the first corner. Sure enough, there was a doorway that led to a staircase. We quickly charged down. Did I say quickly? It took forever to get down those stairs, because we weren’t going straight down. It was a pyramid. The stairs were on a flatter angle than normal stairs. We were moving away from the center of the pyramid as thought we were Flighters. Or maybe they weren’t thinking. They were robots after all. They reminded me of the mindless security goons of Quillan, with their square heads and oversize bodies. Their eyes were just as dead as the dados from Quillan, too. For all I knew, these were the dados from Quillan. Saint Dane had gotten these dados from somewhere. From what I’d seen of Veelox, they weren’t able to manufacture clothes, let alone sophisticated robots. The walls between the territories were nearly down.

I was too busy running to worry much about the larger implications. I’m guessing it took us about half an hour to finally hit the bottom of the pyramid.

“This is where it gets tricky,” I said to Siry, as if everything up to this point hadn’t been tricky at all.

As we got closer to ground level, we started seeing Flighters mixed in with the dados. They may have all worn the same raggy clothing, but there was no mistaking the two. The dados were tall and powerful looking with scary-big square heads. The Flighters were much smaller than me, probably a result of centuries of lousy food. Or no food. I don’t think any of them had cut their hair. Ever. And they smelled. At least the dados didn’t have that foul odor. That would have been gruesome, times many thousand.

Strangely, none of them gave us a second look. I was beginning to think the Flighters didn’t have much more brainpower than the robotic dados. If all it took to fool them was a change of clothing, then three hundred years of evolution didn’t do much for improving intelligence. Dopes. When we entered the central area of the pyramid, I saw signs that the Flighters had made the Lifelight monolith home. Several slept along the walls. Garbage was everywhere. Smelly, rotten rags were piled up in random areas. It was probably their laundry.

Their clean laundry. The smell was pretty rank. There wasn’t a whole lot of hygiene going on around there.

“Look,” Siry whispered, pointing toward the center of the large area.

It was Saint Dane. He was walking in front of a line of dados with his hands clasped behind his back, like a general inspecting his troops. I’m not sure whether to describe the army of dados as pathetic or frightening. They weren’t dressed like an army. There were no uniforms. They all wore threadbare rags, like the Flighters. Many of them wore shredded coveralls that were red, or dark blue, or dark green-the coveralls that had once belonged to the vedders, phaders, and jumpers of Lifelight. They had no weapons, either.

But they were dados. They couldn’t be killed. Each one was an exact duplicate of the other. They stood over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and big hands. They looked like muscle guys, though I guess robots don’t really have muscles, technically. And those big, square heads made them look like an army of Frankenstein monsters. More intimidating than anything was that there were so many of them. They could throw a thousand dados at Ibara, lose every one, and have thousands more to take their place. They didn’t have to be good or experienced or have any great tactical plan. All they had to do was keep coming.

I guess the best word to describe the sight was… “overwhelming.”

“Why isn’t Saint Dane looking for us?” Siry asked.

“He probably thinks we’re trapped up in the pyramid. He’d never think we’d be crazy enough to slide down the outside.”

Siry added, “I can’t believe we were that crazy either.” We ducked down, waiting for enough away so he wouldn’t catch sight of us. We quickly moved along the wall, headed for the glass corridor of the core, and the exit. We dodged in and out of Flighters who were sleeping or gnawing on bones (I didn’t want to know where the bones were from), or watching the spectacle of the dados being assembled. They didn’t care about two semiclean Flighters who had no interest in anything other than getting the heck out of there. We made it around the perimeter and back into the core with no problem. Quickly we moved through the glass-walled control rooms of Lifelight. The monitors were still lit. It was amazing that after three hundred years they still had power in the pyramid. I didn’t stop to try and figure out why or how.

The last step before leaving the pyramid was a grisly one. Remember I wrote about the sticks we kicked aside in the long corridor on the way in? Now that the lights were on, we saw what they were. Bones. Human bones. Lots of them. I knew they were human because there were a load of skulls, too. Siry froze. He’d never seen anything like that before. Come to think of it, neither had I. The closest I’d ever come was in the quig pen under the Bedoowan castle on Denduron. I’ve been calling Rubic City a place “of the dead.” Until that moment we’d never actually witnessed the physical remains of those who didn’t make it. I’d just as soon have gotten out of there without having had that pleasure.

“This is Saint Dane’s grand plan for remaking Halla,” I said. “Do you need to see any more?”

Siry’s eyes were glassy. He gingerly stepped through the scattered bones, trying hard not to disturb them. Moments later we were back out in the warm sunlight of Rubic City.

“I didn’t think we’d make it,” Siry said.

“We haven’t,” I cautioned.

“So how do we get back to Ibara?”

“That’s the easy part,” I said with a smile. “There’s a flume in Rubic City. C’mon.” I took off running.

This was a no-brainer. The flume could put us back on the island in minutes. I’d never traveled within a territory, but since the flumes always put us where we needed to be when we needed to be there, I was totally confident that we could step into the tunnel in Rubic City and step out on Ibara. Okay, maybe it was more like semiconfident, but we had to try. The more time the people of Rayne had to prepare for the attack, the better. All we had to worry about was getting past the quig-bees. Oh, that. One step at a time.

By my clock it had only been a few years since I’d been to Veelox, so I remembered exactly where to find the manhole that led down to the underground train tunnel and the flume. We jogged quickly along the deserted city. I wasn’t even afraid of being jumped by Flighters, because we looked like them now. Idiots. In no time we arrived at the street that held the flume. There was only one problem.

The street was gone. Well, not exactly gone, it was probably still there, only it was buried under the rubble of a collapsed skyscraper. I looked around, thinking-no, hoping- we were on the wrong street. I quickly realized it wouldn’t have mattered. The whole block was under a three-story pile of broken stuff.

“Maybe we can dig to it,” Siry suggested.

“With what? Our hands?”

We stared at the warlike ruins of what had once been a street lined with pretty brownstone buildings and trees. The flume was a no-go. We both knew what we had to do. Without another word we took off for the pier. It was Plan B time. We had to find a boat to get us back to Ibara. We quickly ran to the block where we had first entered the streets of Rubic City and got a view of the pier. Tied up alongside it was our yellow pirate ship. Though it wasn’t yellow anymore. It was a smoking, charred-black wreck that listed hard to the right, with its bow sticking up as if gasping for air. Siry and I stood at the edge of the buildings, staring at the sad remains.

“Do you think any of them are alive?” he asked.

“They could be,” I answered with absolutely no confidence.

“We didn’t find Twig, either,” he added sadly.

“We were lucky to get out ourselves. When this is over, we’ll look for them. All of them.”

Siry said, “When this is over, Rayne could end up like Rubic City.”

We exchanged grim looks. “Let’s find a boat.”

The rusty gunboats that had attacked our yellow ship were gone. I scanned the harbor, looking for any other usable craft. There was nothing. Zero. Not a ship in sight. Besides the pier with our smoldering ship, two more piers jutted into the harbor. Neither had any boats tied alongside.

“This makes no sense,” I said thoughtfully. “If Saint Dane’s going to send thousands of dados to attack Ibara, how are they going to get there?”

Siry’s eyes widened. He took off his belt with the pouch that contained Aja Killian’s ancient map. He unfolded it for both of us to see.

“We’re here on this peninsula,” he said, pointing to the map. “According to the map, the coast looks pretty rugged on either side.”

I scanned the harbor. The water was flat and calm. “Why would they keep their ships anywhere but right here where it’s close?” I wondered out loud.

Siry said, “It would take a very big ship to move those dados. Probably more than one. They could tie them right up here to the piers.”

The piers. I looked at all three. Something was off. Two looked the exact same, but the one to our far right looked slightly different. It was built higher. Where the other two piers had steel pilings beneath that could be seen when the tide was lower, this pier looked more like a solid structure, with sides that reached down under the water.

“I want to get a closer look at that pier,” I said, and started walking.

We moved quickly across a few hundred yards of debris. The closer we got, the more the pier looked like an enclosed structure.

“There could be something in there,” I declared. “Inside the pier.”

Siry was skeptical. “Like what? It’s not tall enough for a ship.”

The mystery deepened a few seconds later. Two Flighters appeared from behind a pile of debris at the beginning of the pier. I grabbed Siry and pulled him down behind a pile of twisted steel. The Flighters continued to walk casually along the width of the pier.

“What are they doing?” Siry asked.

“I’ll bet they’re guarding whatever’s inside.”

Siry took a cautious peek at the pier. “There really might be something in there.”

The only way for us to find out would be to get past the Flighters. I needed a weapon. There was nothing around but piles of rubble… and lengths of ancient steel. I grabbed a section of pipe around six feet long and a few inches thick. I tested its strength, felt its weight, then spun it around and snapped it back into fighting position. Perfect.

“Whoa,” Siry gasped. “Where did you learn that?” “Long story,” I said.

It was time to put my Loor skills to work. With the pipe clutched at my side, I crept silently forward, dodging between the mounds of wreckage for cover. The Flighters weren’t exactly a crack security team. The two were in some kind of argument. Over what, I didn’t know or care. The two started shoving each other. It wasn’t violent, just heated.

It was about to get very violent. I was about to drop in.

Their attention was so focused on each other that they didn’t see me creeping toward them. It was perfect, for about ten seconds. I snuck forward and hid behind the final pile of rubble, looking at twenty yards of open ground between me and my quarry. I couldn’t get any closer without being totally exposed. Siry crept up right behind me.

“Once the fight starts,” I whispered to Siry. “Run for the pier.”

He nodded. His eyes were wide and scared, but he was ready.

There was nothing left for me to do but attack. I leaped out from my cover and sprinted toward the Flighters. I was in the open. All they had to do was turn their heads and they’d see me. Luckily, they were focused on each other. I figured I had a good shot at jumping them before they even saw me.

I was wrong.

I was five yards away. The pipe was pulled back, ready to take these guys out, when one of them saw me. The surprise on his face was almost funny. Almost. This was very serious.

“Ahhh!” he screamed, and turned to protect himself.

I went for the guy who turned. I feinted, as if to swing the pipe one way. When he threw his arms up to protect himself, I flashed the pipe the other way… and totally whiffed. The guy ducked and rolled. He was quicker than I thought. Oops. But it was okay. He didn’t jump up to fight. He ran away. I’m serious, he turned and ran. I realized that my back was to the other Flighter, so I spun quickly, ready for his attack. It never came. He was running away too. Both of them sprinted to get the heck away from me. Not exactly dedicated guards. It was the easiest fight I’d had in, well, ever. They were running scared. I figured we had free access to the mysterious warehouse/pier.

I was wrong, again.

One of the Flighters pulled something out of his rotten clothes as he retreated and put it to his mouth. A shrill whistle pierced the air, and my ears. He was sending out an alarm. From one of the buildings a few hundred yards away, doors burst open, and Flighters began pouring out, headed for us. There were so many they reminded me of the quig-spiders on Quillan. We were trapped. The ocean was behind us, the Flighters in front of us. We had to get inside that pier. If there was a ship, there was a slim hope we might be able to get it under way before they reached us. Very slim. We both turned and bolted onto the pier. The floor itself was in way better shape than the pier where we’d first landed. It was cement and solid-a fact that gave me hope there really was something beneath there that they were protecting. That, and the fact that hundreds of Flighters were sprinting closer to keep us away from it.

“How do we get in?” Siry yelled.

I scanned the pier. It was flat. There weren’t any doors or ladders or anything that would be the obvious way to get down below. Suddenly I was beginning to fear we were wrong, and this was pier. A quick glance back showed me the Flighters were getting closer. I was about to suggest that we run to the end of the pier and dive off. Swimming would be our only way to escape.

“There!” Siry shouted, and ran forward.

He’d spotted a three-foot square in the floor that could be a trapdoor. His fingers played across the surface, desperate to find something to grab on to.

“Got it,” he declared.

It was a ring embedded in the surface. He dug his fingers in, lifted the circle up on its hinge, and pulled. The square lifted up. We had our way in, but to what? There wasn’t time to be cautious. Without hesitation Siry dropped his legs into the hole. There was a steel ladder that he used to quickly climb down. I was right after him. Before dropping below, I took a look back to see the Flighters were nearly at the pier. It was hopeless. Even if there was a ship down there, there was no way we’d be able to get under way in time. I closed the trapdoor behind me. I know, it wasn’t much, but slowing them down for even a second might prove critical. Once the door was slammed, I quickly slid down the ladder, eager to see what was below.

Since I began this adventure, I can’t count the number of times I’ve written about how I’d seen something I hadn’t expected. This was one of those times. I think it’s safe to say that it came very close to the top of the list on the surprise scale. What I hoped to see was a ship. Preferably one that Siry could figure out how to get moving quickly. I got my wish… a few thousand times over. What I saw inside that pier, floating on water, wasn’t one ship. Or two or three. I can only guesstimate the number, but I’d say we were looking at a thousand watercraft at least. I say watercraft because these weren’t ships. That’s what the true surprise was.

They were skimmers. From Cloral. Floating side by side were multiple hundreds of the small, sleek watercraft like the aquaneers of Cloral used to fly over the water. This was how Saint Dane would get his dados to Ibara. Each craft could carry a half dozen of them easily. You remember the skimmers, right? They were like oversize Jet Skis with side pontoons for stability. Their bright white hulls made them look like water rockets. They were fast. They could maneuver tight turns, which meant they could dodge the fire from the guns of Ibara. Even if a few were hit, there would be hundreds more behind it.

Looking at the sea of skimmers bobbing on the water was like seeing the last piece in the puzzle that would bring about the destruction of Ibara. There was only one good thing I could say about it. I knew how we were going to get out of there.

Siry was staring out at the small sea of crafts with his mouth open in wonder. There was no time to explain. I could already hear the thundering feet of the Flighters. They were on the pier above our heads, coming our way.

“Let’s go!” I ordered, and started sprinting forward along the long, narrow walkway that ran parallel to the skimmers at water level. We had to get to the front of the pack.

“Pendragon?” Siry called while running behind me. “What are these? Where did they come from?”

“Later!” I screamed.

I heard the creak of the trapdoor opening behind us. Flighters began climbing down the ladder. More trapdoors were yanked open over our heads. Flighters poured down from above. It was going to be close.

In seconds we reached the leading edge of the mass of skimmers. I was happy to see that the end of the pier wasn’t enclosed. Before us was open ocean. The only thing keeping the bobbing skimmers from floating out were several thick chains draped across the opening.

“Get them down!” I screamed to Siry.

I didn’t have to explain. He jumped at the chains and worked to unhook them so we’d have enough space to squeeze out a skimmer. I jumped onto the first skimmer in line. I held my breath. If there was no power, our trip would be over right there. I looked to see the first group of Flighters had landed on the walkway behind us, and they were running forward. I had to stay focused and hope I still knew how to drive a skimmer. One by one I flipped the toggle switches that were lined up on the console. I was rewarded with the high-pitched whining sound of the skimmer coming to life. I wanted to scream, “Yeah!”

Siry was struggling with the chains. If we couldn’t get enough of them down, it wouldn’t matter how much power the skimmer had. We’d be trapped. I toggled the last two switches. The pontoons, which jutted out on either side of the skimmer like wings, began lowering toward the water with a steady hum. They both needed to be in the water for us to have full propulsion, but these skimmers were so jammed in, it looked like they would hit the skimmer to my right and the walkway to my left, stopping their descent. We were going to have to push the craft into open water so they could fully extend, but the chains still kept us back.

“Help!” Siry called in frustration.

I jumped off the skimmer to help with the snarl of chain. The Flighters were fifty yards back and closing fast.

“Pull!” I ordered. We both grabbed the chain that ran through a loop attached to the side of the pier. It was heavy. It needed all our combined strength. Together we pulled hand over hand, yanking the chain through the loop as quickly as possible. The metal sang as it zipped through the loop. The Flighters started screaming. I didn’t know what they were saying, but it definitely sounded angry. They were fired up. If they got to us, there was no telling what they’d do.

With one final yank we pulled the chain out of the loop. It fell into the water. The way was clear. Siry jumped onto the walkway and looked back at the Flighters.

“Hurry!” He shouted and boarded the skimmer.

I leaped back aboard. The engines were whining high. The pontoons were pushing down on the walkway and the next skimmer, straining to go lower, but that wouldn’t happen until we moved forward.

“Sit down,” I yelled to Siry.

I grabbed the motorcycle-like handlebar controls and twisted the throttle. Slowly, painfully, we moved forward. We wouldn’t have full power until the ends of the pontoons dipped into the water.

“C’mon, c’mon!” I coaxed. The skimmer wouldn’t listen. We were moving too slowly.

“Pendragon!” Siry called nervously.

I didn’t have to look to know what he meant. The Flighters were almost on us. The ends of the pontoons scraped against the walkway and the next skimmer. Only a few more feet. I feared they’d get caught up on something and not be able to get into the water. That would be the end of it.

The first Flighter arrived. He jumped onto the skimmer, headfirst, and tackled Siry. Siry hit the deck at my feet. I turned, grabbed the grungy little guy, and heaved him over the side. More were on the way. I looked right at Siry, who was lying on his back, staring up at me with wide, fearful eyes.

“Hold on,” I commanded.

He rolled over and grabbed on to the side of the skimmer.

The two pontoons dipped into the water. I grabbed the handlebars and bent my knees.

“Hobey-ho, let’s go,” I said, and twisted the throttle.

The next Flighter leaped onto the skimmer just as we launched. He didn’t stand a chance. No sooner did his feet touch the deck than he was thrown off balance by the force of the skimmer rocketing forward. His stay on board lasted about a second then he fell over backward, into the water.

“Whoaaaaaa!” Siry yelled as the skimmer flew ahead.

We sailed over the water as smoothly and effortlessly as I remembered skimming over the waters of Cloral. I didn’t even look back at the pier and Rubic City. We had jumped the next hurdle. We were on our way back to Ibara.

I’m going to end this journal here, Courtney. I’m finishing it while sitting in the Jakill clearing on Ibara. We made it back, no problem. Okay, maybe there was a little problem. As far as the people of Rayne are concerned, we’re outlaws. We had to find a quiet stretch of rocky beach and land the skimmer without being seen. That was fairly easy, because we didn’t get back until after dark. I’m guessing this was exactly how the various scouting parties of Flighters traveled from Rubic City to Ibara.

The trip was much quicker than on the pirate ship. Skimmers are fast. Part of me didn’t want the people of Rayne to even see the skimmer. I guess I’m still holding by the rules that say territories shouldn’t be mixed. The skimmer represents technology these people shouldn’t know about. I suppose that’s a pretty idiotic concern. Soon they’ll be seeing a whole bunch of skimmers. Siry and I have got to figure out a way to get to the tribunal and warn them about what’s going to happen. It’s the right thing to do, though I have no real hope that the people of Ibara can repel an invasion of dados. Ibara will fall, which means Veelox will fall. Again. There’s only one thing that might prevent that.

Find Mark, Courtney. If you can stop him from introducing Forge technology to First Earth, it might change history back to the way it was meant to be. It might stop the dados from being invented. It might stop the invasion. Might.

I’ve got to figure out what the second turning point of Veelox is. It can’t be the attack of the dados. That doesn’t fit. There has to be something that was naturally going to happen on Veelox that Saint Dane is trying to influence. If I can learn what the turning point is, there might still be hope. Again, might.

I’ll close by saying one more time that I’m sorry, Courtney. I should have stayed on First Earth. My ego brought me to Ibara. To Veelox. I don’t believe Saint Dane even cares about me anymore. We escaped from the Lifelight pyramid a little too easily. Am I finished? Is my value as a Traveler gone? Has Saint Dane beaten me? I can’t accept that. I’ve got to keep fighting, no matter how bleak it looks.

Find Mark. Stop him. I believe it’s our last and best chance.

END OF JOURNAL # 30

The elegant ocean liner Queen Mary was escorted safely through New York Harbor by six small tugboats. Its enormous hull dwarfed the feisty little crafts as they pushed and prodded the floating city past the Statue of Liberty, through the Verrazano Narrows, and into the deep trench of the Atlantic Ocean, where they peeled off and bid the grand liner a farewell as it continued under its own power toward England.

Courtney and Dodger didn’t see any of that. They had found a quiet little restaurant on a lower deck of the ship that had not yet opened for business. Soon the place would be busy with passengers eager to sample the delights of the renowned kitchens. Until then, it was the perfect place to sit quietly and read Bobby’s journal.

Courtney finished first. She left the pages with Dodger and gazed through a round porthole at the ocean. She had never been on an ocean liner and didn’t know what to expect. She didn’t sense any movement at all, only the steady thrum of the ship’s engines. As she looked out on the horizon, she knew what she had to do, but had no clue how to go about it.

“That settles it,” Dodger said with finality. “We made the right move. We should be on this ship.”

“It’s hard to know what to think,” Courtney said wistfully. “I’m not sure what’s right and wrong anymore. Saint Dane has broken down the barriers between the territories, and it’s about to lead to the final destruction of Veelox. But Mark and I interfered with Eelong and it saved that territory! Now I’m on a ship from the past, trying to change the future back to what it was in the first place. It’s all becoming so incredibly… impossible.”

“Becoming?” Dodger asked.

He joined Courtney at the porthole. “All I know is what I read in these journals and what you tell me. I can’t say if it’s okay to monkey with one territory over another. It’s all science fiction to me. But I know the difference between right and wrong. Saint Dane is going to take those dado things and hurt a lot of people. That’s about as wrong as it gets. If we can stop him by stopping Mark, well, we ain’t got a whole lot of choice.”

Courtney looked at Dodger. Her eyes were watery. Dodger didn’t ask why, and even if he had, Courtney wouldn’t have had an answer. The list was too long. “Do you really think we can save Veelox by stopping Mark?”

Dodger chuckled. “I guess it’s possible, but you’re asking the wrong guy. Besides, what else are we gonna do on this tub? Play shuffleboard?”

Courtney laughed in spite of herself. “This is going to be tough. We’re stowaways, but we can’t hide. We’ve got to search the ship.”

“Not a problem,” Dodger said with confidence. “Hiding is the worst thing a stowaway could do. I say we stroll around like we owned the ship. Let people see us. Nobody will know if we’ve got a cabin or not. You’re with the right fella, Courtney. This ship is a floating hotel. I know hotels. We’re going to find Mark. The hard part comes after that.” “What do you mean?”

“We’ve gotta stop him. I can’t help you there.”

Courtney looked back out at the ocean. The biggest question was still not answered. Why had Mark left Second Earth to change history? Until she learned that, she didn’t know how she would convince him to stop.

“We don’t have much time,” Courtney cautioned.

“Nah, we got six days till we dock, plenty of time.”

“But it isn’t,” Courtney said quickly. “History said that a body from the Queen Mary washed up in New Jersey. Maybe it was Mark and maybe it wasn’t, but whoever it was, unless you believe a body could float from the middle of the ocean all the way back to New Jersey, the shooting is going to happen while we’re still close to the United States.”

Dodger whistled in awe. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“So on top of everything else, we’ve got to solve a murder before it happens,” Courtney concluded.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get cracking,” Dodger announced enthusiastically. “I say we split up. You search the decks. I’ll bet Mark is out walking around right now. You don’t take a cruise to sit alone in your room.”

“You don’t know Mark,” Courtney cautioned. “He’s probably in his cabin eating carrots and reading.”

“Carrots?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, well, that’s where I come in,” Dodger said confidently. “I’ll get hold of the passenger list and find out what cabin he’s in.” “How?”

“I told you, I know hotels. Trust me.”

Courtney shrugged. Dodger reached out and took off her floppy hat. “You’re a pretty gal. Don’t go trying to look like a boy. Dressed like that you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

Courtney looked down at her woolen pants and sweater. She suddenly wished she had thought ahead enough to have worn one of those creepy dresses she’d seen in the shop windows back in New York.

“I look like one of those immigrants you see in pictures from Ellis Island,” Courtney admitted, discouraged.

“Don’t worry,” Dodger assured her. “I’ll scare something up for you.”

Courtney nodded. “Where will I find you?”

Dodger thought and said, “I’ll meet you on the bow in an hour. Be careful, keep moving. Avoid the crew, but don’t be obvious about it. They don’t know all the passengers yet.”

“Okay, good luck.”

“Good hunting.” Dodger tipped his cap and ducked out the door.

Courtney was alone again. The task ahead was daunting, but clear. Find Mark. Stop him. Save him, but stop him. She knew she couldn’t fail. It was all about his Forge invention. She had to get him to destroy the model. The moment it was gone, she felt sure that history would change, and all would be as it was meant to be. The dados would no longer exist on Veelox, and the war for Ibara would never begin. Bobby would be safe. Mark would be safe. Halla would be safe.

Courtney stuck her hat in her back pocket and tied her hair up to look as presentable as possible. She took off her sweater and untucked her white shirt. She then tied her sweater around her waist, hoping to look like a sporty kind of girl rather than a stowaway. She looked at her reflection in a mirror that took up an entire wall of the restaurant. She turned up her collar to try looking even more stylish. She realized it was hopeless. She was going to stick out like, well, like a stowaway. She knew her best chance of not getting caught by a crew member was not being seen by a crew member. With that impossible challenge in mind, she set out in search of Mark.

Her plan was to stick to the areas with the biggest crowds. She figured the odds of spotting Mark were better there. Just as important, she hoped to blend in. Those hopes evaporated as soon as she stepped onto the Promenade Deck. It was a wide, enclosed deck, with a ceiling and windows to protect against the elements. Though the frenzy of the boarding process had died down, the place was still alive with people. None of them looked anything like Courtney.

There would be no blending in.

The women all wore dresses or neatly tailored suits. The men were in suits and ties. Courtney always imagined a cruise to be a place where people dressed down and wore shorts and ran around having fun. That wasn’t the case in 1937. She felt like a little kid at a very grown-up party, which is pretty much exactly what she was. Worse, she had crashed the party. She decided the best thing to do was not worry about anything except finding Mark. She thought that if she skulked around looking guilty, somebody was sure to spot her and turn her in. She covered lots of ground quickly and methodically. She first traversed the entire enclosed Promenade Deck, until she ended up back where she’d started. Along the way she kept peering at the men, getting in their faces, hoping one might be Mark. All she got in return was a bunch of strange looks.

Her next step was to climb up to the Sun Deck, which was named because it had no ceiling and only a handrail along the side. Walking along this deck felt much more like being on a ship. She could feel the sun and the wind and the sea spray. Lifeboats hung high movie Titanic. She shook that image out of her head fast. There was enough to worry about without dwelling on ocean disasters.

The late afternoon sun was setting, casting warm light on the water. Courtney wished she could have stopped to enjoy it, like so many of the other passengers who leaned out over the rails. That wasn’t going to happen. She was on a mission. She passed a few people she could have sworn were stars she’d seen in ancient movies. What were their names? Clark Gable? Cary Grant? Cary Gable? She saw a chubby guy who looked like an old-time movie comedian, though she wasn’t sure if it was Laurel or Hardy. Or neither. She made a mental note of trying not to think of these people as being from the past, because on First Earth they were very much in the present. She saw hundreds of people, but no Mark.

Courtney felt much more at ease on the Sports Deck. Here passengers were playing shuffleboard and tennis. Eager sports-minded passengers were out playing in the dying sunlight. Courtney was happy to see that these players didn’t wear dresses and suits. The men wore long pants and sweaters, and the women wore loose skirts. She wanted to hang out on this deck a little more, if only because she didn’t stand out so much in the clothes she had on. It was also kind of unique to watch people playing on the deck of a moving ship at the base of the three massive orange-and-black smokestacks. It might actually have been kind of fun, if it weren’t keeping her from trying to save all of humanity.

After searching unsuccessfully for nearly an hour, it was time to head toward the bow and her rendezvous with Dodger. She realized with frustration how difficult a task finding Mark was going to be. Finding him would take a huge amount of luck. She hoped that Dodger had been able to find out where his cabin was, because running into Mark by accident seemed impossible.

The ship was way too big. As she walked toward the bow, she tried to think like Mark. Where would he go? What would he do? The obvious answer was that he’d spend most of the time in his cabin, reading. That was Mark. But Mark was curious, too. He’d never been on a ship before. He’d want to know how it worked. He’d explore. What would be one of his first things to do? She didn’t think he’d spend the whole time reading.

Reading. The realization was as simple as could be. The library. That’s where he’d go. Was there a library on this big ship? There had to be. They had everything else. Without the least bit of concern that they’d ask her who she was and if she had paid for the voyage, she marched right up to one of the stewards, who was serving drinks to a couple tucked snugly into deck chairs.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where the library is?” she asked politely.

“Certainly, miss. “It’s in Regent Street. Take the-“

“Got it, thanks,” Courtney said, and jogged off. She didn’t even look back to see what she knew would be curious stares at the bold girl in pants. She knew exactly where Regent Street was and how to get there. After being on the Queen Mary for only a few hours, she was beginning to know her way around. She quickly ran down several flights of narrow, wooden stairs that brought her back to the Promenade Deck. She entered the Regent Street shopping mall and moved quickly past the fancy shops. All she wanted was the library. She found it on the far end. She burst through the door, startling a woman behind a desk, who Courtney figured was the librarian.

“Oh!” the woman exclaimed.

“Sorry,” Courtney apologized. She scanned the small room that was ringed with shelves full of leather-bound books. Plenty of books, no people.

“Can I help you, miss?” the older woman asked pleasantly, having regained her composure.

“No, thanks,” Courtney said quickly, then got an idea and approached the desk. “Maybe you can. A friend of mine said he was going to reserve some books and wanted me to pick them up. Could you check for me?”

“Certainly,” the woman said with a slight British accent. “What would his name be?”

“Dimond. Mark Dimond.”

Courtney knew it was a total stab in the dark, but figured it might lead to some information.

“Mark Dimond?” the woman exclaimed. “Sure enough, you just missed him, dear. He picked up his books not five minutes ago.”

Courtney felt as if she’d been hit with a hammer.

“He-He did?” she stuttered. “You’re sure his name was Mark Dimond?”

“Sure as can be,” she said sweetly, looking through a stack of cards. “I spelled his name incorrectly, and he was quick to point out there was no ‘a’ in Dimond. Sweet young lad.”

Courtney was still reeling. “Dark hair? Bad skin? Glasses?”

“Yes, dear, that’s him. Is there a problem?”

“No,” Courtney blurted out. “No problem. What’s his cabin number?”

The woman held the cards close to her chest. Courtney sensed a sudden air of suspicion. “Forgive me,” she said curtly. “I’m not at liberty to give out that information. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” Courtney said as she backed toward the door. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Indeed he did. He planned on watching the sunset on the stern with his friend. It’s a wonderful sight.”

“Thank you,” Courtney said. “Thank you very much.” She turned for the door, stopped short, and looked back to the librarian. “His friend?”

“Yes. Quite the pretty girl, I must say. That Mr. Dimond must be a catch if he’s got two such lovely ladies chasing after him.”

Courtney blasted out of the library and hurried for the Promenade Deck. She nearly knocked over a steward as she launched out of Regent Street and sprinted along the wooden deck toward the stern of the ship. She didn’t care who gave her a second look. Mark was on the ship. She’d just missed him. Her heart raced, and it wasn’t because she was running.

The deck wasn’t crowded anymore. Courtney figured everyone was getting settled in and ready for their fancy dinners. That was good. Less people to dodge. She made it to the end of the enclosed portion of the Promenade Deck and ran outside to face a big, orange November sun that was setting over the coast of the United States. The passengers outside were silhouetted against the orange ball, so it was difficult to make out details. She ran to the aft railing of the Promenade Deck and looked to the decks below.

Many people were outside to enjoy the sunset. All eyes were to the west. Nobody was looking back at her. Her frustration grew. It was impossible to make anybody out. She was about to start sprinting along each deck to get a closer look at the people when her eye caught something two decks below. There was a couple standing close to each other. They wore long, dark gray woolen coats to keep the sea chill away. The man wore one of those fedora hats. The woman was a few inches taller than he was. Her hair was dark brown, cut just above her shoulders. It was parted on the side and perfectly combed under a small, gray hat. Though there was a sea breeze, not one hair looked out of place. Her back was to the sun as she spoke to the man, which meant she faced Courtney. Even from where she was, Courtney could tell the woman was pretty. But none of those details mattered as much as the fact that the man clutched two leather books under his arm. The guy might have just come from the library.

He turned to face the woman, and Courtney saw his profile. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. A slight curl of black hair could be seen creeping from under his hat.

Courtney stopped breathing.

“Ma-,” she began to yell, but was rudely yanked away from the railing and shoved against an outside wall. She hit the steel hard.

“Ahoy, Chetwynde,” came a familiar voice.

Courtney focused on the man who had attacked her. He wore a long dark coat and peered at her from underneath the brim of a gray hat.

“Nothing like a little sea air to get the blood moving, is there?” the guy said, after which he snorted and spit out a loogie onto the deck.

“Mitchell,” Courtney gasped.

“Welcome aboard,” Andy Mitchell said with a sneer.

Saint Dane was back in play.

(CONTINUED)

“How come you didn’t die in that cab?” Mitchell asked obnoxiously.

“Don’t give me that,” Courtney spat back. “If you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. You knew we’d get out of there.”

Mitchell snickered. “Still sure of yourself, Chetwynde. Right to the end.”

He wore the same kind of suit and long coat as many of the passengers, making him look a lot older than seventeen years. His normally long, greasy blond hair was cut short, adding even more years to his look. Of course, Courtney knew he wasn’t really seventeen anyway.

Courtney kept her back to the wall, like a trapped animal. She couldn’t yell for help. Saint Dane hadn’t done anything wrong. The only thing yelling would do was bring the crew down on her.

“I don’t know what you did to get Mark to come to First Earth,” Courtney said. “But I’m going to stop him from springing Forge on this territory. I got here in time for that.”

Mitchell laughed a laugh that turned into a smoker’s hack. Courtney cringed.

“In time?” he croaked. “You think you’re to stop this territory from learning about Forge? Time is the last thing on your side! Where do you think I got that plastic stuff from? Third Earth. That’s over three thousand years from now.”

“I knew you didn’t invent that,” Courtney snarled. “The heart of Forge is Mark’s computer skeleton, not the plastic skin. All you did was mix technology from different territories. Again.”

“Exactly!” Mitchell said. “Tripping through time is a wonderful thing. By Earth years, Lifelight won’t be invented for another five centuries after Third Earth. The dados on Quiilan were built a century after that and brought to the ruins of Rubic City two hundred years later. Do you really think time is a problem for me? I have all the time in Halla!”

Courtney’s mind reeled at the possibilities. The impossibilities.

“C’mon, Chetwynde!” Mitchell scoffed. “Do you really think you’ve made it here in the nick of time? Why’s that so important? You trying to stop the Flighters from destroying Ibara? Is that it? You trying to help Pendragon? That’s a joke. That battle ain’t gonna happen for thousands of years!”

“No,” Courtney said, stalking forward. She was angry enough to think she could bully him the way she used to. Before she knew he was Saint Dane. “It’s about Mark, and his invention. It’s not about time. It’s about tricking the people of the territories into hurting themselves. That’s what’s important to you. You somehow got Mark to do the wrong thing. I’m going to change that.” She got right into Mitchell’s face and added with venom, “And you can’t stop me.”

Andy Mitchell’s eyes flashed blue, jolting Courtney back to reality. This wasn’t Andy Mitchell, world-class loser. This was Saint Dane, Halla-class demon. She took a few involuntary steps backward and hit the wall.

“Don’t forget who you’re dealing with,” Mitchell snarled. “Andy Mitchell ain’t real.”

“No, but Mark Is,” Courtney said, fighting to regain her composure. “And I’m going to save him.” She ran to the railing. “Mark!” she called out.

But Mark was gone. She looked around quickly, hoping to see the couple strolling away. She was too late. The sun dipped below the horizon. The ship’s lights were taking over the job of lighting the decks.

“I’m going to find him,” she said as she spun back. “And I’m going to-“

Mitchell was no longer alone. Standing next to him were two ship’s officers, both looking very military with their dark blue uniforms.

“I ain’t no snitch,” Mitchell said to the officers politely. “But she’s been running around here bothering a lot of people. I think she might be a stowaway.”

There was a frozen moment. The two officers looked at Courtney with grim expressions. Andy Mitchell stood between the two wearing a smug grin. He lifted up his hand and gave her a small, obnoxious wave that only she could see.

“Come with us, miss,” said one of the officers as they both took a step toward her. “No trouble now, if you please.”

Courtney made a snap decision. She ran. She didn’t know where she was going, but she ran. She had to find Mark. She had to find Dodger. Most of all she had to keep from getting taken into custody by the ship’s crew, because if that happened, she’d be done. Mark would be done. Halla would be done. She ran down a flight of stairs to the deck below and sprinted back into the structure of the ship. If there was one thing Courtney could do, it was run. She knew that in a flat-out race, she’d beat anybody. It was time for her to kick on the afterburners. She casually along. She knew she had an advantage. She might not know the ship, but her pursuers didn’t know which way she would go. It was like soccer, she thought. Defense was much tougher than offense because the person with the ball was in charge. Courtney was in charge.

She ran until she hit an inside stairway and took it back up to the Promenade Deck. Her plan was to take as winding a route as possible to try and lose them. She climbed the stairs and took off back toward the stern. Bad move. One of the officers had stayed on that deck and was coming toward her. Oops. He hadn’t spotted her yet, so Courtney ducked into the first door she saw.

She found herself in an immense, elegant dining room. The ceiling soared impossibly high overhead, where several rectangular lights cast a warm glow over the room. Polished wooden pillars stood along either side of the space, making the room look as much like an ancient temple as a modern ballroom. On one end of the room was a stage, where a swing orchestra played soft (boring) music. Hundreds of tables were set with fine, white linen and elegant china. People were beginning to arrive for dinner. The men wore tuxedos, the women lavish gowns. Courtney was stunned to think that such an elaborate room could be aboard a floating ship. But there wasn’t time to hang out and admire the place. She ran down the center of the room, headed toward the orchestra. To the left of the stage was a swinging door, where she saw waiters entering and exiting. Her plan was to head that way and escape through the kitchen.

The plan changed when one of the ship’s officers entered through that door. Courtney made a flash decision. Without breaking stride, she hurdled up onto the stage, past the orchestra leader, and dodged her way through the surprised musicians. None of them missed a note. Courtney found her way backstage and through a narrow corridor. Where to now? At this point she was operating more out of instinct than with any plan. She wanted to lose her pursuers long enough to stop and think about her next move.

The corridor led her through the back side of the busy kitchen, where dozens of chefs prepared the elaborate feast. They paid Courtney no attention as she slid past them and out the far side. She found herself in a service stairwell. It was fifty-fifty. Up or down? She chose down. Lower and lower into the bowels of the ship she went, figuring she’d lose them in the labyrinth of corridors and cabins. She stopped on D Deck, choosing that one to continue her flight.

She knew where she had to go. Dodger would be waiting for her at the bow of the ship. She needed to get there and tell him what had happened. She was a fugitive. It was only a matter of time before her luck ran out. The responsibility of getting to Mark was now on his shoulders. Hopefully, she thought, the crew didn’t know there were two stowaways. It was a slight hope, but it was hope.

She continued running forward. She passed through a foyer, hoping to find a corridor where she could open up and sprint. Opening the door on the far side, she got hit with a blast of hot, steamy air. She thought for sure she had found an engine room. Instead she was on a long balcony that looked down on a swimming pool. The sight threw her, since she knew she was so deep in the bowels of the ship. It looked to Courtney like something out of a European estate with its wall carvings and fine tile work. Nobody was swimming, which made it all feel kind of eerie. She wondered why people would take an ocean cruise, only to go swimming in the deep recesses of a ship. There was nothing about 1937 that Courtney understood, or liked very much.

She sprinted along the balcony and left the pool on the far side to find herself in another restaurant. It was elegant ballroom off the Promenade Deck. This one had a low ceiling and was crowded with tables and people. It was already filled up for the evening meal. Nobody wore tuxedos or gowns. She figured it was probably for the third-class passengers. She wondered if these people ever got the chance to look at what they were missing up above. Probably not. There’d be a mutiny. She moved quickly through, trying not to attract attention. She left the restaurant on the far end and discovered another stairwell. She figured she had to be nearing the bow so she climbed. And climbed. And climbed up from the depths of the grand ship.

When she finally felt the chill of evening air, she found herself in what looked like a fancy nightclub. There was a curved bar, where people sat drinking and chatting. It was a festive atmosphere. Many people were listening to a woman singer who stood near a white, grand piano, singing a song Courtney vaguely remembered hearing in an old movie. She realized she had left the lower-class sections of the ship, because everyone was back in tuxedos or gowns. She was scanning the room, looking for her next move, when she realized that one whole wall of the bar was a curved window that looked out over the enormous bow of the ship. She had made it! Almost. She ducked out the door into the chilly night air and followed around a walkway that crossed in front of the curved window.

The forward decks of the ship spread out before her in layers, coming to a point at the bow. The sea was black, but the decks were brightly lit by flood lamps. High above, built into a heavy mast, was the crow’s nest, where she knew sailors would be looking out over the ocean for trouble. She hoped they wouldn’t also look down for trouble, because she had plenty already. Unlike the stern decks, the forward decks weren’t protected from the elements by the ship’s superstructure. It was chilly. The wind came off the ocean with no obstruction and whistled through the rails. That was good. It meant there wouldn’t be many people out, and she’d have a better chance of finding Dodger quickly. She held her hand up to block the floodlight from blinding her. The bow itself looked to be another hundred yards forward from where she stood. She squinted, and saw a figure standing alone, very close to the bow itself. She knew it had to be Dodger.

Courtney wanted to shout for him, but he was too far away and the sea wind was too loud. She would have to go to him. The design of the ship didn’t make that easy. She had to climb down stairs to go from the Promenade Deck to the Main Deck, climb down another flight to A Deck, sprint across thirty yards of that deck, and then climb up another set of stairs to get back to the Main Deck level. From there it was another twenty yards to the bow, and Dodger.

She ran, hoping that none of the crew members chasing her would wander into the nightclub and look out the big window to see a tired stowaway scrambling across the decks. It wasn’t until she climbed up the final stairs to get back to the Main Deck that Dodger spotted her.

“Hey!” he shouted. “I’m freezing my butt off out here! Where you been?”

“Don’t talk. Listen.” She grabbed Dodger’s arm and pulled him back the way she had come.

“He’s here, Courtney,” Dodger said. “I found out he’s on board.”

“I said don’t talk. I saw Mark. Saint Dane, too.” “What?” shouted Dodger, stunned. They kept moving down the stairs to A Deck. “I tracked Mark through the library. He’s on board with a woman.”

“Yeah,” Dodger agreed. “KEM Limited bought tickets for three people. I got that much, but I couldn’t get their cabins.”

“Listen to me!” Courtney barked. “They know I’m a stowaway. I’ve been running from the crew for half an hour.”

“Oh,” Dodger said flatly. “Not good.”

“I don’t know if they know about you. Saint Dane might not even know you’re here. But they’re going to get me sooner or later, so it’s up to you. You’ve got to find Mark. Do you still have his picture?”

Dodger jammed his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the old photo of Mark and his parents.

“He doesn’t look much like that anymore,” Courtney said. “His hair is cut short. He’s wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a suit that makes him look like he’s grown up. But he isn’t. He’s just… Mark.”

They made it across A Deck and climbed back up to the Main Deck.

“Saint Dane is in the form of Andy Mitchell,” Courtney continued, breathless. “Remember the cab driver who nearly drowned us?” “Like I could forget?”

“That’s him. I don’t know who the woman is. I’ve never seen her before.”

“I’m thinking she’s some kind of actress,” Dodger declared. “You know, a Hollywood-type dame.” “Why?”

“‘Cause she’s using a made-up name.” “You found her name?”

“I told you, I got three names from the passenger list. Mark Dimond, Andy Mitchell, and a lady. At least, I think it was a lady. I never heard of a name like that.”

“What is it?”

Dodger reached for the door that would lead them back into the enclosed section of the Main Deck. “It’s Nevva Winter,” he said. “Who ever heard of a crazy name like that?” Courtney froze.

The door opened before Dodger could grab it. He was pushed behind the open door as two ship’s officers stepped out. If Courtney’s brain hadn’t locked at the sound of that name, she probably would have turned and run. She didn’t get the chance. The two officers jumped her and firmly grabbed her arms.

“That’s enough gallivanting around for one night, missy,” one officer said.

They led her back inside. The door closed behind them. They never saw Dodger.

A few hours later, after being interrogated by the ship’s security officer (to whom she said nothing), and officially identified as a stowaway, Courtney found herself alone in a hospital-like room toward the stern of the ship. It was called the “isolation ward.” It was where they put people with contagious diseases, to keep them away from the rest of the passengers. There was nothing Courtney liked about that. The room had four white bunk beds with clean sheets, and a sink. It was comfortable enough, and thankfully, there were no other occupants. The metal door closed with a loud clang and was locked securely from the outside. A single round window in the door allowed outsiders to check on the occupants of the ward without having to actually breathe the same air. It may have looked like a hospital, but Courtney knew what it really was. A jail cell. She was sentenced to spend the rest of her voyage locked up.

The job of finding Mark and stopping him was officially Dodger’s.

(CONTINUED)

Courtney paced the small hospital room, trying to come up with a plan. Any plan. Everything she thought of started with her getting out of that lockup, which was impossible. Time was running out. Mark was in danger. If events followed the history she’d seen on Third Earth, someone was going to shoot him and dump his body overboard. Soon. There was nothing she could do but hope that Dodger would somehow get to him before the killer.

Courtney tried the door handle for the fiftieth time. It was just as locked as the previous forty-nine times. The face of her guard appeared in the round window in the door. He was a friendly enough guy who introduced himself as Sixth Officer Taylor Hantin. It was his job to watch over Courtney and make sure she stayed put, though Courtney didn’t think he had to bother. There was no way she was getting out of that steel dungeon. She was about to try the door handle for the fifty-first time, when an idea struck her that was so simple, she kicked herself for not thinking of it before. Now that the crew knew she was on board, there was no longer any need for secrecy. couldn’t get to Mark, Mark might come to her. She leaped at the door and knocked on the round glass. “Excuse me!” she called politely.

Sixth Officer Hantin appeared at the window. Courtney thought he was probably in his twenties. He was young to be an officer, but then again he was a sixth officer. Not exactly high up in the officer pecking order.

“Yes, miss?” he replied politely.

Courtney was happy she wasn’t being treated like a dangerous criminal. The British crew was polite. Or at least, as polite as you can be while locking you into a tin can and watching you with a loaded gun on your hip.

“I know I don’t deserve any special consideration, but it’s very important that I see one of the passengers,” Courtney said. She tried to sound as innocent and helpless as possible.

“I’m afraid that’s against regulations, miss,” he replied, but with sympathy.

“I know,” Courtney pouted. “But I’m in a lot of trouble here, and I’ve got nobody to turn to except for my friend. He doesn’t even know I’m here, but he’d want to.”

Every word she spoke was deliberately vague, but the absolute truth.

“I don’t know…”

Courtney sensed he was weakening.

“Could you at least tell him that I’m here?” she begged.

Sixth Officer Hantin looked at Courtney through the glass window. Courtney tried to look as needy as possible. Finally the officer smiled.

“What’s his name?”

“Mark Dimond,” Courtney answered quickly. “Thank you so much, Officer. You don’t know what a wonderful thing you’re doing.”

“It’s ‘Sixth Officer’ and let’s hope I don’t get thrown in the brig the same as you,” he said, and walked off.

Courtney punched the air in victory. She absolutely knew that when Mark found out she was on board, he’d come to see her. She realized that getting caught by the crew might have been the best possible thing to have happened. Saint Dane had turned her in, and it was about to backfire on him.

Courtney went from trying to puzzle her way out of the prison, to fretting over what she would say to Mark. There was so much he needed to know. Mark hadn’t read any of Bobby’s journals from Quillan. He didn’t know that the woman he was with, Nevva Winter, was the Traveler from Quillan and a traitor who’d joined Saint Dane. Without Nevva Winter, Quillan would not have fallen. She betrayed her own people, and the Travelers.

Courtney tried to prepare a speech, but didn’t know where Mark’s head would be. Was he forced into coming to First Earth? Had he been tricked? Or had the unthinkable happened? Had he joined Saint Dane the same as Nevva? She discounted that last option as impossible. No matter what, she knew she had to do two things: stop him from introducing his Forge technology to First Earth, and warn him that somebody on board was going to shoot him. If she could do those two things, dealing with Saint Dane and Nevva Winter would be the least of their problems.

An hour passed. Mark didn’t show. Neither did Sixth Officer Hantin. Courtney started to worry. The ship was big, but not that big. It wouldn’t take Hantin that long to find Mark. Or maybe he’d changed his mind. Or maybe he’d got to Mark and Mark didn’t want to see her. Or could the worst thing have happened already? Could Mark already have been shot? All those possibilities raced through Courtney’s head, making her pace again. With each passing minute she grew more anxious. She was about to bang on the door again and demand to see a ship’s officer, when she heard a squeak. The door was being unlocked.

Courtney froze. There was a lump in her throat. Her heart raced even faster. She was about to be reunited with Mark. The door opened and Sixth Officer Hantin poked his head in. He spotted Courtney and said, “No funny business now, miss.”

Courtney nodded silently. Sixth Officer Hantin stepped back into the corridor, and Courtney heard him say, “You sure you’ll be all right?”

There was no answer. The door opened a few inches farther and someone stepped inside. Nevva Winter.

The fallen Traveler stood there facing Courtney, looking every bit like an older woman from 1937. She wore a beautiful evening gown that sparkled with light cast from the single bulb in Courtney’s cell. Over the dress she had on a short fur wrap to guard against the night air. Her hair and makeup were perfect. She looked to Courtney like a glamorous movie star from the golden age of Hollywood.

She also looked like a traitor. Courtney wanted to rip her throat out.

“Do you know who I am?” Nevva asked.

“Where is he?” Courtney asked coldly.

“I’m not a villain, Courtney,” Nevva said calmly. “Neither is Saint Dane.”

Courtney wasn’t sure if she should laugh or scream.

“No, he’s a great guy,” Courtney said sarcastically. “Sure, he’s destroyed a couple of civilizations, but who hasn’t?”

“This is a revolution,” Nevva said, maintaining her composure. “There are casualties in every revolution. It’s unfortunate, but inevitable. The future of all humanity is at stake.

When you think of it that way, no price is too high.”

“Do you really believe that?” Courtney asked, her anger rising. “I mean seriously? The guy is a coldblooded killer. No, I take that back. There’s nothing cold about it. He enjoys it. How could you think whatever it is he has planned for Halla could be justified by the misery he’s caused?”

“Because I know what that vision is,” Nevva answered.

“Then please, share!” Courtney demanded. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me Bobby and the Travelers are wrong. Tell me the thousands-no, millions-of people whose lives he’s destroyed are all going to be better off because of his evil. I’d love to hear all that.”

Courtney walked closer to Nevva. With each step her anger grew. Nevva didn’t move. Courtney was a moment away from taking a swing at her when she saw something that made her stop. Someone else had entered the room. Standing in front of the open door, sheepishly, was Mark Dimond. Courtney saw him and nearly burst into tears. Suddenly Nevva meant nothing.

“Hi, Courtney” was all he said.

Courtney’s first thought was that in spite of the incredibly tense situation, Mark didn’t stutter. The second thing she realized was that Mark looked grown up. His curly black hair was cut short and, for a change, was combed. The wire-rimmed glasses made him look ten years older than he was. The bizarre image was completed by his tuxedo. He was no longer the nerdy kid from Stony Brook. Mark looked like a man. Courtney could barely breathe, let alone talk.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Nevva said, and quietly backed out of the room. Before leaving, she looked at Mark and said, “I’ll be right outside.”

She left. Mark and Courtney stood facing each other for the first time since the afternoon Bobby’s Journal #25 from Quiilan had arrived on Second Earth. It was later that night that Mark’s parents were killed when their flight disappeared over the Atlantic. It was the beginning of the odyssey that led them to be staring at each other awkwardly in a prison cell on an ocean liner on First Earth. Neither knew what to say. It was Courtney who finally took the leap.

“So, how ‘bout them Yankees?” she asked lightly.

Mark chuckled. Courtney did too. The ice had been broken. Sort of.

“What do you think of my stateroom?” Courtney asked with false cheer. “Sweet, huh? You want me to order you something from the kitchen?”

“You shouldn’t be here, Courtney,” Mark said softly.

Courtney could have sworn his voice was deeper. It was definitely more assured.

“Yes, I should,” she said quickly. “It’s you who shouldn’t be here. But you are.”

“You don’t know what’s happening-“

“Yeah, I do,” Courtney snapped. “I know everything.” She took a breath, realizing she was getting too emotional. “There’s so much I have to tell you, Mark, but I want to hear it from you first. Why did you come here? What happened that night when…” She didn’t finish her sentence.

Mark finished it for her, saying, “When my parents were killed?”

Courtney nodded. Mark sat down on a wooden chair. Courtney leaned against the bunk. Now that she was about to hear the words she had been waiting to hear for so long, she wasn’t so sure she wanted Mark to say them. She feared what she was about to learn.

Mark fidgeted. This was difficult for him. For a moment Courtney thought he was reverting to his old form, the insecure geek. He wasn’t. When he spoke, it was with authority and without a stutter.

“That night Andy Mitchell and I went to clean up his uncle’s florist shop. The sprinkler had broken. It was a mess. If we didn’t salvage all those Christmas flowers, his uncle would lose his business. That’s why we stayed and my parents took the flight to Florida without us.”

“I remember all that,” Courtney said.

“Then you know what happened,” Mark said solemnly. “Their plane went down over the Atlantic. Everyone was lost.”

Courtney nodded and said, “I’m sorry, Mark.”

“I didn’t find out about it until nearly midnight,” Mark continued. “We’d been working in the store the whole time. The airline tracked down my cell-phone number. At first I thought it was a joke. Things like that don’t happen in real life, you know? All it took was one look at CNN to see it was true.” Mark hesitated. The memory was tough to relive. “I tried to call you.”

“I know,” Courtney choked out. “I’d turned off my phone. I didn’t get the message until the next morning. If only I had-“

“It’s okay. There was nothing you could have done. But somebody showed up who could.”

“Who?” Courtney asked, suddenly back on alert.

“Nevva Winter. The Traveler from Quillan. You know that Saint Dane won Quillan, right?”

“Yeah, I heard something about that,” Courtney said dismissively. “Nevva Winter came to Second Earth?”

“She escaped from Quillan before the fall,” Mark said. “She told me that Saint Dane was breaking down the borders between the territories and Bobby needed my help.”

“Oh, did she?” Courtney said sarcastically. “Did our friend Andy Mitchell hear all this?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, hanging his head as if ashamed. “He shouldn’t have, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I mean, I’d just heard my parents were killed. Still, I tried to talk to Nevva in private, but she said she needed Andy’s help too.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet she did,” Courtney said with even more sarcasm.

“Andy wasn’t as surprised as you’d think,” Mark continued. “Sure, he was a little freaked, but remember, he’d read Bobby’s first journals, so it wasn’t totally out of the blue. I admitted to him that we didn’t write them after all. I didn’t know what else to do. Mitchell knows about the Travelers now. He knows everything.”

Courtney realized that Mark still didn’t know Andy Mitchell was Saint Dane. She was all sorts of anxious to tell him, but wanted to hear the whole story first.

Mark continued, “Nevva told us that after losing Quillan, Bobby realized the only way to beat Saint Dane was to use his own tactics against him. Any hope of keeping the territories separate was gone, and the demon’s next target was Second Earth. It’s what we always feared, Courtney. We knew it would happen someday, and that day had finally arrived. But Nevva had a way to stop him.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” Courtney quipped.

“She said that by changing the past, we could create a new future that Saint Dane wasn’t expecting. That’s why we came to First Earth.”

That was it. Courtney nodded in understanding. It was all about Nevva, just like on Quillan. “Let me understand,” Courtney said. “Nevva told you and Mitchell to bring your Forge technology to First Earth and said it would change the course of history so Saint Dane would fail on Second Earth?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed her?” Courtney screamed. “It was more than that.”

“I hope so,” Courtney shot back. She was getting angrier by the second. “Mark, I love you to death, but I can’t believe you’d do something so huge on the word of somebody you didn’t even know!”

“There was more,” Mark said softly. “Nevva said if we changed the course of events, my parents would survive.”

Courtney was about to yell again, but stopped. It was all making sense. Nevva and Saint Dane had fooled Mark into believing he was not only helping to protect Second Earth, but saving his parents as well. Saint Dane knew exactly how to get to Mark. Poor, innocent Mark. Courtney had always feared the demon. Now she hated him. She was going to have to tell Mark the truth. Nothing would bring his parents back. The thought was painful. Mark thought he was doing the right thing. Instead, he gave Saint Dane the tools to bring Halla crashing down.

As horrible as she felt, Courtney also felt a glimmer of hope. Mark was not a villain. He had not put in with Saint Dane. What he had done was for a noble purpose. Mark was still Mark. Better still, he had not yet introduced Forge to the territory. The flume had sent her where she needed to be, when she needed to be there. There was still time to stop him. But to do that, she was going to have to present him with some horrible truths. She knelt down by Mark and took his hands.

“Listen to me, Mark,” Courtney began. “I understand why you’re doing this. I can’t imagine where my head would be if I suddenly lost my parents. I wouldn’t be thinking straight either. If somebody threw me a lifeline and said they’d make it all better, man, I’d grab it. This isn’t your fault.”

“Fault?” Mark said with surprise. “I don’t understand.”

Courtney took a breath and continued. “You’ve been lied to. Big-time. Like all good lies, there’s just enough truth to make it seem plausible. Yes, the Travelers lost Quillan. Yes, your parent died in that crash. And yes, by bringing Forge technology to First Earth, you can change the future of Second Earth. But that’s where the truth takes a very different course than what you were told.”

Mark stared right into Courtney’s eyes, hanging on her every word.

“I don’t know how I’m going to tell you this,” she said nervously. “Just tell me.”

“Mark, Andy Mitchell is Saint Dane. He has been ever since we’ve known him. He worked his way into your life and became your friend so the two of you could create Forge and do exactly what you’re doing with it. But it won’t save Second Earth, Mark. Forge technology is going to start a chain of events that will lead to the creation of a force that Saint Dane will use to crush Halla. It was his plan from the beginning, Mark. Nevva Winter isn’t your friend. She’s a Traveler, but she helped Saint Dane win Quillan. I wish I had Bobby’s journals here to show you. Nevva Winter is a traitor. The two of them have fooled you into believing that what you’re doing is right, but it couldn’t be more wrong.”

Mark looked at the ground. Courtney couldn’t imagine what he was going through. She hated to have to tell him that way.

“Why are you saying all this?” he finally asked.

“Because you have to know. I’m sorry.”

“But you’re wrong.” Mark jumped up and paced to the far side of the room.

“I’m not!” Courtney countered. “I know this is hard to take, but it’s the truth. The day after your parents died, I did what you asked me and went to the flume, remember? Something happened while I was there. Mark, I know how Forge is going to change Second Earth. I’ve seen it. You accelerated the evolution of technology. Things aren’t the same. But there’s one thing that didn’t change.”

“What’s that?” Mark asked.

Courtney hesitated. She wanted to say it gently, but realized Mark needed convincing, so she didn’t pull her punches. “Your parents were still dead, Mark. What you did here on First Earth, what you’re about Xo do on First Earth didn’t change that. They’re gone.”

Mark kept staring at the deck.

“That’s your proof that Nevva lied to you,” Courtney continued. “Your parents will not be saved. They tricked you the way Saint Dane has tricked so many others. They tempted you with the promise of saving Second Earth. Of helping Bobby. Of protecting Halla, and of bringing your parents back from the dead. None of that will happen.”

Mark shifted. Courtney thought he was starting to sweat.

“But it’s not too late!” she exclaimed encouragingly. “That’s why I’m here. Now that you know the truth, you can stop it. You can put Halla back on its natural course. Right here. Right now.”

Mark wiped his eyes. Courtney thought he was containing his emotions pretty well, considering what she had just laid on him.

“I don’t understand,” he said in a very small voice.

“Ask me,” Courtney implored. “Anything. I know it all.”

Mark looked at her with red eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re lying to me.”

Courtney was rocked. Her mouth hung open. “I–I’m not,” she stammered. “Why would you believe Nevva Winter over me?”

“Mark?” came a woman’s voice from outside the door.

Courtney recognized the voice, but couldn’t place it.

“Come on in,” Mark called.

Two people stepped into the ward. When she saw them, Courtney nearly fainted. Her head actually went light. She didn’t understand what she was seeing. It made no sense. Her legs buckled and she sat down on the edge of the bunk.

“I was just leaving,” Mark told the new visitors.

Courtney looked up at the man and the woman who stood beside Mark. The man wore a tuxedo, the woman was dressed in an evening gown. They looked totally normal, and absolutely impossible.

“We know, Courtney,” the woman said kindly, sensing her confusion. “We know everything. Mark explained it all. The Travelers, the territories, and what happened to Bobby Pendragon.”

The man added, “We’re proud of you, Courtney. We know you’ve been under a lot of stress with the accident and all. When we get to London, we’ll make sure that all the charges are dropped, and we’ll pay for your passage. All we want is for you and Mark to finish what you started, and help Bobby stop Saint Dane.”

The woman added, “Bobby needs you. Halla needs you. Try to get some rest.”

Courtney was speechless. Her brain was doing its best to reject the fact that standing before her were Mr. and Mrs. Dimond. Mark’s parents. Alive. On First Earth.

“We’ll check on you tomorrow morning,” said Mrs. Dimond.

“Good night,” Mr. Dimond added.

They left, leaving Mark alone with Courtney. Mark looked at her like a disapproving parent. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll explain to me what’s really going on.”

He left and closed the door behind him. The screeching sound of the lock being thrown echoed through the spartan infirmary. Courtney didn’t move. Everything she believed to be true had just been turned inside out. She probably would have sat that way all night, if she hadn’t been nudged back to life by a twitching on her finger.

Her ring was activating.

Bobby’s next journal was about to arrive.