The Pilgrims of Rayne

by D. J. MacHale

  “That’s it?” I asked the dado.

  “You are as good as healed,” he answered. “Tomorrow it will be completely gone.”

  “Is this a new thing?” I asked Patrick.

  “No,” he answered. “Medical science has come a long way since your day. I’m just not used to seeing robots administer it.”

  We left the doctor’s office without ever seeing the doctor. I guess that’s not a bad thing, considering my wound was miraculously healed, and we didn’t even have to pay for it. Patrick explained that medical care on Third Earth was paid for by the community as a whole. Nobody needed insurance or got hit with monster bills. Not bad.

  The three of us got back into Patrick’s vehicle and drove downtown to our final destination on Third Earth: the public library. Getting to this library was the main reason Courtney and I had come to Third Earth. I learned when I was there the first time with Gunny that the database in the library held most every bit of information concerning the history of Earth from the beginning of recorded time. If you’ve read my Journal #11, you’ll know what I’m talking about. The computers didn’t just contain the usual information you could get from newspapers or books. Not even close. Data was collected from billions of sources throughout time to make a repository that was pretty much the complete history of Earth. Sound incredible? It is. I knew the best way to begin piecing together what might have happened on Second Earth was to go to the future in order to see the past.

  “I don’t believe it!” Courtney exclaimed as we pulled up to the cement steps leading to the library. “It’s exactly the same as Second Earth!”

  She was almost right. The steps were the same steps that led to the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue, complete with the oversize stone lions guarding the door. Though the actual building was much smaller and more modern than the imposing library from Second Earth. In 5010 the people of Earth no longer used paper books that took up space. Sad, but true.

  As a teacher and a librarian, Patrick had full access to the library computers. He knew how to dig deep. This was Patrick’s world. He now had a mission and looked much more confident. He led us up the wide cement steps into the large, marble-floored lobby of the library. It was exactly as I remembered it, with several rows of chairs where people read from computer screens. A corridor led deeper into the building and the computer rooms. There was only one difference from the last time I was there—a small one, but disturbing.

  Courtney was the first to notice. “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” I asked.

  “The book. The display. You wrote that it was here in the lobby.”

  She was right. There had been a single, old-fashioned book on display in the lobby. It was an important relic of the past, encased in glass for all to view. That book was Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss. It wasn’t there. I stood on the spot where it had been and glanced around.

  “Did they move the display?” I asked Patrick.

  Patrick looked grim. “No,” he said. “It was here yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” Courtney added. “Before things changed.”

  “It might not mean anything,” I offered hopefully.

  Courtney added, “Or it might mean that not all the changes are for the better.”

  The three of us stood for a moment, trying not to think about how different the world might actually be once we started digging below the surface.

  “Let’s continue,” Patrick said, and strode quickly down the corridor.

  We followed right behind him. Most of the doors were closed, which meant other teachers were using the computers. The final room was open. That was good. I was too anxious to have to wait any longer. The room was much like the one I had been in on my last trip. Six black chairs were spaced around a raised silver platform that was about eight feet across.

  “How do you want to start?” Patrick asked.

  “Let’s go with what we already know,” I suggested. “Let’s see what history has to say about Mark Dimond.”

  Patrick nodded and sat down in one of the black chairs. Courtney and I each took a seat. On the armrest of Patrick’s chair was a white glowing button. Patrick pressed it and said clearly, “Computer, new search.”

  A voice from the computer answered him. It wasn’t the pleasant woman’s voice I remembered from the last time. It was a man’s voice. It was Mark’s voice. I saw Patrick start in surprise.

  The voice said, “Identify, please.”

  Patrick frowned. “It never asked for my code before.” He shook off his concern and said clearly, “Patrick Mac. Access code three-seventeen-ninety.”

  “Welcome, Patrick,” the voice said. “How can I help you?”

  Courtney leaned over to me and whispered, “This is awesome!”

  Patrick cleared his throat and said clearly, “Dimond, Mark.” He looked to me and asked, “Where was he born?”

  Courtney answered, “Stony Brook, Connecticut.”

  Patrick pushed the button again and said, “Born in Stony Brook, Connecticut.” Near the turn of the twenty-first century.”

  An image blinked to life on the platform in front of us. I knew it was only a hologram, but it still took me by surprise.

  “Mark!” Courtney shouted.

  I thought she was going to cry. I almost did too. We were looking at a life-size three-dimensional image of Mark. My best bud Mark. He looked to be about ten years old and had on the cap and gown we all wore when we graduated from the Glenville School. It hurt to see my friend standing there, even if it was just an image. It made me realize how much I missed him, and my old life.

  “Computer,” Patrick said, “last significant entry for Dimond, Mark.”

  Two more people appeared behind Mark in the hologram. Courtney gasped. They were Mark’s parents.

  The computer said, “History of Mark Dimond ends in his eighteenth year of life. Final entry occurs when both his parents were killed in the loss of a commercial airline flight.”

  “Did he die?” Patrick asked.

  “Unknown,” the computer answered.

  “Speculation?” Patrick asked while pressing the button.

  “Suicide,” the computer answered.

  The word jolted me. The thought of Mark committing suicide never entered my head. I looked at Courtney.

  “No way,” she declared. “Not a chance. Stupid computer. Ask it something else.”

  Patrick said, “Additional speculation?”

  The computer answered, “Potential runaway with peer.”

  “What?” Courtney shouted with surprise. “What peer?”

  “Name that peer,” Patrick ordered.

  I already knew the answer. The holograms of the Dimonds disappeared and were replaced by the image of a girl. She wore the field-hockey uniform of Davis Gregory High School. She stood looking all sorts of cocky, leaning on her field-hockey stick.

  “Oh,” Courtney gasped.

  The computer announced, “Chetwynde, Courtney. Last seen by her parents on the same day Mark Dimond was last seen.”

  Patrick and I didn’t know what to say. Courtney stared at her own image as if looking at a ghost of herself.

  “It’s the day we left to come here,” Courtney croaked. “It was only a few hours ago.”

  Patrick corrected, “It was three thousand years ago.”

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Courtney swallowed, but didn’t take her eyes off her image. “Better than okay,” she declared. “Look at me! I look great!”

  She was putting on a brave front, but her voice cracked. She was shaken. I’m guessing the reality of what she had done by leaving home hadn’t hit her until that moment. Only a few hours before she had been sitting at her kitchen table writing a good-bye note to her parents. That was by our own clocks. On Third Earth she had been missing for three thousand years. That’s enough to make anybody’s voice crack. Even Courtney’s.

  “Keep going,” Courtney ordered.

  Patrick hit the button an
d said, “Computer, clear and new search.”

  The image of Courtney disappeared. The image of Mark returned.

  “Computer, clear!” Patrick said impatiently.

  “Discrepancy,” the computer responded.

  I looked at Patrick. He shrugged.

  “Explain,” he demanded.

  “Searching,” the computer responded.

  “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.”

  JOURNAL #28

  FIRST EARTH

  Patrick 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.”