He thought of letting go of the string, leaving the blinds closed, and contacting Pendragon to find out what had happened in the past. Yes. Good idea. It might help him prepare for what was out there. He looked at his hand as he was about to let go of the string. On his finger was his Traveler ring. He heard all the stories of what Pendragon had been through in the battle against Saint Dane. He knew the sacrifices the Travelers had to make. Many had died trying to stop the demon from controlling Halla. He knew that he had had a relatively easy time of it. He suddenly felt guilty and a little ashamed for being so uncertain. For being afraid. It was his turn now. It was time.
He pulled the string.
The blinds twisted open, revealing a sight that made Patrick stumble backward, as if being repulsed by the impossible vision before him. He screamed. He couldn’t help it. It just came out.
Staring back at him was an eye. A giant sideways eye. His brain couldn’t compute what he was seeing. Did giants now roam Earth? Or did he somehow pull an “Alice in Wonderland” and shrink to action-figure size? He couldn’t catch his breath. His heart raced. What was this giant going to do? Eat him? How did it get underground in the first place?
The eye didn’t move. It stared in at Patrick, unblinking. Patrick had to force himself to look back. His terror slowly gave way to confusion. The eye was green. Completely green. The white, the pupil, even the skin around it was the same dull green color. It took Patrick a few seconds to realize that it wasn’t a living creature and never had been. It was a sculpture. It was so immense that he couldn’t see it all, but it seemed to be a statue of a head lying on its side, staring in at him.
Patrick stood on shaky legs. Though he no longer feared being eaten by a gargantuan one-eyed monster, he was still left breathless at the idea that such an immense sculpture could be right outside his window in the atrium of Chelsea.
Unless…
A sickening thought hit. His mind had trouble accepting the idea, but it seemed like the only logical explanation. He knew how to find out for sure. He had to go outside. He had to face the face. It didn’t matter that he was still in bare feet and pajamas. He had to go outside because he couldn’t see it all through the windows. Patrick moved toward the front door. It was the portal that led out onto the balcony on the fifteenth level of the underground village of Chelsea beneath New York City in the year 5014. With every bit of courage he could conjure, Patrick reached for the doorknob and pulled. The white noise grew louder. The strange odor grew stronger. Being inside the apartment had kept the worst of it away. Patrick now understood why. He didn’t need his eyes to tell him what his nose and ears already understood.
He no longer lived underground. He was hearing sounds that he had only experienced before through the holographic images stored in the data drives of the computers in the library. He was smelling the smells of a city above the ground. A city that hadn’t solved the problems of pollution. Of housing. Of overpopulation. The scientific advances that the people of Earth had made in order to save their planet never happened. Patrick stood there stunned. This was the new Earth of 5014. He had only caught a small glimpse, but he knew what he would find. No, he feared what he would find. He would have to explore this city. He would have to try and figure out what went wrong. What had changed. What Saint Dane had done to win Third Earth without ever having set foot on the territory.
Afoul wind blew down the street, ruffling his hair and kicking up a cloud of filthy papers that swirled around him. He was standing on a fourth-floor balcony on the surface of a city that had been transformed. He understood that the foul odor wasn’t anything unusual in this new environment. It was simply what the city smelled like. Same with the white noise-this was the new, normal sound of the city. The tranquility was gone. The faint citrus aroma was gone. The grassy meadows were gone. The sky was gray. Was it cloudy? Or something more sinister? Maybe that looming gray ceiling was what he was sucking into his lungs as it tickled the back of his throat.
Almost nothing was familiar. Almost. Patrick could have convinced himself that he had been transported to an alien city anywhere in Halla, except for an undeniable reality that was staring him right in the face. It was the green sculpture. Now that he was outside he saw it for what it really was. He saw that he’d been right-the eye was actually sideways and the face was on its side. The sculpture was so huge that the uppermost eye was on the level of his fourth-floor balcony. The rest of the statue stretched down the cracked pavement of the wide street in front of his new home. He was almost close enough to reach out and touch its nose. He saw through the dull green patina that there were signs of rust and corrosion spread over its surface. This sculpture was made of metal.
Patrick was in shock. Maybe that was a good thing. If not, he surely would have crumbled under the weight of the reality he was faced with. Literally. He was having trouble breathing. He wasn’t sure if that was due to the foul air, or because the sight in front of him had taken his breath away. He felt weak. He had to lean against the building or he would have fallen down.
He tried to swallow. He couldn’t. His mouth was too dry.
“So?” he croaked hoarsely at the lifeless statue. “What happened?”
The statue didn’t answer, of course. It wasn’t alive. It had never been alive, though it could not have looked more dead. As much as Patrick wanted to deny it, he was definitely in a new New York City, staring into the eye of the Statue of Liberty.
FIRST EARTH
“You must realize this enterprise will makeyou and your partner quite wealthy,” the tall man with the large teeth said with a knowing smile.
“Andy Mitchell is nor my partner,” Mark Dimond shot back quickly. He wanted to leap out of the cushy leather chair and shake the guy to emphasize the point. He actually leaned forward, ready to pounce, but a strong hand held him back.
“Easy there, big fella,” Courtney Chetwynde said soothingly. For a change Courtney was the voice of reason, while Mark was the voice of butt kicking. “He gets it.”
“I am afraid I do not ‘get it’ at all,” the man corrected, lifting the corner of one lip. Mark wasn’t sure if it was a half smile, or a full sneer, or if he had just smelled something foul. The man held up a piece of paper that, unfortunately, Mark recognized. “This is your signature, is it not?”
Mark dropped back in his chair. Beaten.
“Yeah.”
“Then whatever unpleasantness has transpired between you and Mr. Mitchell is immaterial. You both signed this contract, therefore you are forever joined together as principals in the…” He looked at the paper through half-glasses. “What is it you call yourselves? Ah yes, the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization.” He looked up at Mark over the paper and continued, “I have no idea what that signifies, nor do I care. What I do know is that between having signed this letter of intent and receiving our advance payment, your company has given Keaton Electrical Marvels the sole right to develop the technology you have created and named ‘Forge.’”
Mark wanted to scream, but he knew it wouldn’t do anything more than make him look silly. He and Courtney were in the large London office of Mr. lain Paterson, president of KEM Limited. The company that was going to bring about the ruin of Halla. Of course, Mr. Paterson had no idea of that. As far as he knew, all he had done was license an impossible new technology from two teenage American kids that he hoped would revolutionize the electronics industry. He had no way of knowing that one of those kids was actually a demon who had manipulated Mark into igniting an explosion of technology that would change the future of Earth, Quillan, and Ibara. It was not the way things were meant to be. But Mr. Paterson couldn’t know that. Mark wished that somehow he could explain it to him. Maybe then he’d destroy Forge. More likely, Mark thought, he’d have him sent to an asylum for the impossibly strange.
“I must admit, I do not understand your position,” Paterson continued. Mark thought the guy was pretty arrogant. He wore a dark tweed suit with a vest that had a gold watch chain d
angling from the right pocket. He held his head high and pointed his chin at whoever he was speaking to. “Why the sudden reluctance? Don’t you relish the opportunity to change the future of the world?”
Mark shot Courtney a glance. Paterson had no idea how true those words were.
“Or four worlds,” Mark muttered.
“Pardon me?”
“Look…lain…pal,” Courtney interjected. Paterson visibly stiffened. He wasn’t used to having a young girl treat him so informally. “If you develop Mark’s technology, he’ll sue you. Simple as that. Do you really want to go through all that? Hmm?”
Paterson snickered. It was Courtney’s turn to stiffen. Snickering irked Courtney, especially if it was at her expense.
“It is most unfortunate that Mr. Dimond feels that way, but rest assured we are confidant in our legal position. A letter of intent was signed. Monies have changed hands.”
“We’ll give you back the money!” Mark exclaimed.
Paterson snickered. Again. Courtney stiffened. Again.
“We don’t want your money,” he said flatly. “We want Forge.”
Mark took a desperate gamble and said, “Well, too bad. You have the plans, but I’m the one who made it. I destroyed the prototype, and I don’t think you can duplicate it. You don’t have the know-how.” Mark looked at Courtney with renewed hope. “It’s true,” he exclaimed to her. “They won’t figure out how to build it!”
Another snicker from Paterson.
“Stop that!” Courtney demanded.
“Please, come with me,” Paterson commanded as he got up from behind his immense mahogany desk. He strode quickly across the stuffy office, opened the heavy wooden door, and gestured for Mark and Courtney to follow.
Courtney whispered to Mark, “Why do I think we’re not going to like this?”
They both got up and followed Paterson along the wide hallway of the headquarters of KEM Limited. Along either side of the corridor were glass cases filled with odd-looking devices that were on display as if in a museum.
“These are some of the projects we’re developing here at KEM,” Paterson explained.
One case held a series of six colorful cups.
“Plastic,” Paterson explained. “Durable, lightweight, inexpensive. Someday the majority of simple, everyday items will be molded out of plastic. Incredible, no?”
Mark and Courtney exchanged looks. They continued on until they saw a case that contained a round glass screen that looked like an ancient TV set. On the screen was an animated character that looked to Mark like a black-and-white version of Bugs Bunny.
Paterson commented, “Someday moving images will be broadcast into homes the way radio is today.”
Courtney sniffed. “Not exactly plasma quality.”
“Plasma?” Paterson asked, intrigued.
Mark winced. He feared that Courtney had just given Paterson another idea that was way ahead of 1937. He changed the subject by asking, “What’s that?”
In the next case was a small machine that looked like a tiny, old-fashioned record player complete with a small black three-inch vinyl record.
Paterson explained, “We feel that miniaturization will be key in developing future technologies. This small phonograph can be easily packed into a suitcase and transported anywhere. In the future, entertainment will no longer be restricted to the home or theater.”
Courtney laughed. “Nice. Put that thing on a chain around your neck, and you could run with it.”
“Why on earth would anyone want to listen to music while running?” Paterson asked, again intrigued.
“What do you want to show us?” Mark interrupted, changing the subject again.
“You have theorized that we would be unable to read your schematics and duplicate your work. Observe.”
Paterson pointed to the next case in line. What Mark and Courtney saw inside made them deflate. Lined up on a purple velvet pillow were six small items that looked like identical blue eggs.
“Are those what I think they are?” Mark asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew.
“Try it for yourself,” Paterson answered.
Mark called out in a clear voice, “Square.”
Instantly all six “eggs” writhed and morphed into six perfect squares. There was no mistake. It was Forge. Six times over. The people at KEM had succeeded in re-creating Mark’s prototype, proving they had the know-how.
The early dados had been born.
“You see, young sir,” Paterson said, proud of himself, “we are quite capable of reading and duplicating your plans. My suggestion to you is sit back and enjoy the spoils of your incredible invention. You are the father of a technology that will revolutionize our lives. You should be proud.”
Mark felt a lot of things. Fear, anger, embarrassment, frustration, confusion, and above all, nausea. There was a lot of nausea going on. Nowhere on that list was the feeling of pride.
Mark and Courtney left Mr. Paterson and took “the lift” (as they called the elevators in London) down to the lobby of the small office building. Waiting for them when they stepped off were Mark’s parents and Douglas “Dodger” Curtis, the feisty bellhop from the Manhattan Tower Hotel in New York City who had helped Courtney track down Mark. Dodger had become their guide to the territory, helping the aliens from Second Earth maneuver through the strange world of 1937.
“Well?” Dodger asked enthusiastically as soon as he saw Mark and Courtney.
The look on Mark’s and Courtney’s faces was all the answer they needed.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Mark said, defeated. “We knew destroying the prototype didn’t change anything. It was dumb to think we could have talked them out of developing Forge. I’ve been doing a lot of dumb things lately.”
“Stop,” Mrs. Dimond said. “You couldn’t have known any of this would happen.”
“I got played, Mom,” Mark shot back. “I did everything Saint Dane wanted.”
“And it backfired on him,” Mr. Dimond added. “The Travelers beat his army on Ibara, and now he’s trapped there.”
“Yeah,” Mark said, sounding even more depressed. “Along with Bobby.”
The group fell silent.
“So what do we do now?” Courtney asked.
Nobody was sure of what to say, until Mark finally spoke. “I think we go home. Back to New York. That’s where the flume is.”
Dodger offered, “The Queen Mary sails back in a couple days. I can book us return passage if I get a move on.”
“Can’t we just fly?” Courtney asked.
“How?” Dodger countered. “You got wings?”
Mr. Dimond observed, “I don’t think there’s regular air service across the Atlantic in 1937.”
“You mean people fly across the ocean on Second Earth?” Dodger asked. “Like taking the train?”
“Yeah,” Courtney said. “You get free pretzels, too.”
Dodger whistled. Courtney wasn’t sure if he was impressed by the idea of regular air service or free snacks.
“Do it,” Mark said confidently. “We should get back.”
“I’m on it,” Dodger declared, headed for the door. “Meet you all back at the hotel.” The little bellhop tipped his hat and was gone.
“We’re all tired,” Mrs. Dimond declared, always the mother hen. “We should get some rest.”
“You guys go,” Mark said. “I want to walk a little.”
“I’m coming with you,” Courtney declared.
A few minutes later Mark and Courtney were strolling along the southern border of Hyde Park, the massive expanse of green grass in central London. They looked like any other couple from 1937. Mark wore a dark gray suit with a fedora cap and a wool overcoat to ward off the November chill. Courtney wore a dress and a cream-colored overcoat. She even wore high heels and stockings. To her it was a costume for their meeting with Paterson. She didn’t think a stiff British businessman would take her seriously if she wore the pants and floppy wool hat she’
d bought at Macy’s in New York. Turned out it didn’t matter.
The two had grown up since their adventure began when Bobby Pendragon left home to travel through the territories. They were now both seventeen…and felt around a hundred. They walked together along the sidewalk, their minds a million miles away from their bodies. For the longest time neither said a word. They walked past Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and on to the Houses of Parliament, where the famous Clock Tower with the bell known as Big Ben rose into the sky. Both stopped to look up at the immense tower in awe.
“Wow,” Courtney declared. “I had no idea. They should call it ‘Really Big Ben.’”
They continued along the river Thames until they reached Westminster Bridge. But their walk wasn’t about sightseeing-it was about taking time to think. Finally, on their way back toward Hyde Park, Courtney broke the ice.
“You know, maybe it’s a good thing we couldn’t stop KEM,” she offered. “At least now we know how things are going to play out. Technology on Earth is going to change. The dados are going to be created, but Bobby is going to beat them on Ibara. That’s all good, right? Who knows what might have happened if we’d stopped Paterson and his KEM geeks? We might have started a whole nother chain of events and Saint Dane might still be in business.”
“And Bobby might not be trapped on Ibara with him,” Mark muttered.
“Yeah, that,” Courtney whispered softly. “But it was his choice, Mark. He ended the war. Halla is safe from Saint Dane. Who knows? Maybe that’s the way it was supposed to be.”
“This is my fault,” Mark said.
“Stop!” Courtney shouted quickly. “You had no idea you were being manipulated. It’s not like you set out to invent something that was going to change the course of Halla. Come on!”
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