“He better be. He’s the Traveler of this trio.”
They quickly walked through the house to see that most of the shades were already drawn. They only needed to pull down a few on the second floor. Mark thought that was good. If somebody looked at the house the next day there wouldn’t be any obvious, suspicious changes. Mark went into his bedroom and stopped short when he saw a few touchstones from his former life. The anime posters, the stacks of books, the pictures of him and Bobby when they were younger. He felt a lump rise in his throat. He missed his old life. He missed being geeky Mark. He didn’t want to know about Travelers and Halla, and most of all, he didn’t want to know anything about Forge.
One thing caught his eye that was different. It was the computer screen on his desk. Mark had been using an old-fashioned tube monitor for the longest time. Now sitting on his desk, the desk he recognized so well, was a high-tech-looking flat screen like he had never seen before.
Courtney stepped into the room to see Mark staring at the alien computer.
“Strange, huh? When you brought computer technology back to First Earth, it jump-started the whole computer revolution by sixty years. No wonder you’re a legend.”
“How is it different?”
Mark had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when the computer screen blinked to life. A 3-D geometric pattern appeared, making Mark and Courtney take a step backward in surprise.
“Hello, Mark,” a pleasant, female voice said from the computer. “It is three fifteen in the morning. How may I help you?”
Mark and Courtney stared at the screen for several seconds. Finally Courtney uttered, “Well, there’s that.”
“It recognized my voice,” Mark said with dismay.
“Ask it something,” Courtney suggested.
Mark thought, then said, “Uh, what’s today’s date?”
The computer answered, “It is March the eleventh.”
“Bobby’s birthday,” Courtney said with a smile. “He’s eighteen today.”
Mark ran his finger across the top of the computer screen, wiping off a thin layer of dust. “Three months,” he said thoughtfully. “That means a whole lot of things.”
The computer said, “What exactly does that mean?”
Courtney shot a look at the screen and barked, “Hey, mind your own business.”
“Turn off,” Mark said to the computer.
“Good-bye,” the computer responded as the screen winked to black.
Mark looked at Courtney with surprise. “Wow, that was easy.”
Courtney plopped down onto Mark’s bed, thinking. “This is bad,” she said. “Being gone for so long, I mean. If the flume sent us back to when we’d left, like it did when we went to Eelong, we could just pick up like nothing happened. But now we’re going to have to answer questions. Everybody here still thinks your parents were killed when that plane crashed. You’d have to deal with that.”
“It’s true,” Mark said, rubbing his eyes. “My relatives would be all over me. They’d probably make me go live with my aunt in Maryland. I can’t go to Maryland.”
“And I can’t go home. What would I tell my parents?”
“And how do we explain Patrick?”
“As wrong as this sounds, we can’t go back to our regular lives,” Courtney concluded, glum.
“Agreed. It’ll prevent us from figuring out how things have changed and what Saint Dane is up to.”
The two fell silent. Then, “Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“How exactly are we going to do that?”
“I have no idea.”
They decided that whatever they were going to do, it wouldn’t be that night. They had to get their internal clocks set to local time. They each found a bed and settled in for a few hours of sleep. Mark was in his own bed, Patrick took the Dimonds’ room, and Courtney claimed the couch downstairs. All three of them lay awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to nod off.
Finally, at nearly six, Courtney poked her head into Mark’s bedroom and announced, “Stop pretending like you’re asleep. I’m hungry.”
When they hit the kitchen, they discovered that Patrick was already there, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the torn book cover he’d brought from Third Earth.
“Hey, you all right?” Courtney asked.
“I don’t know what I am anymore,” Patrick answered wearily.
Courtney gave Mark a nervous look.
Mark went for the refrigerator to find it mostly empty. “Cupboard’s bare,” he announced.
“Check the freezer,” Courtney suggested.
In the freezer Mark found orange juice and Eggo waffles. He tossed the frozen juice to Courtney and grabbed the box of waffles.
“Better than nothing,” he declared, and walked to the counter. There he stopped and looked around with confusion. “Uh, the toaster’s gone.”
“Put ’em in the oven,” Courtney suggested.
Mark opened the oven and put a layer of frozen waffles on the top rack, but when he tried to turn the oven on, he was lost.
“There aren’t any buttons,” he said with dismay. “This isn’t our oven.”
“Sure it is,” Courtney said patiently. “It’s just improved, remember? Try telling it what to do.”
“Yeah, right,” Mark scoffed. He looked at the oven and said, “Cook the waffles.”
Instantly, the oven light went on and the coil began to heat.
“Whoa” was all Mark could gasp.
Patrick asked, “That isn’t normal?”
“Uh, no,” Mark answered.
“But it is,” Courtney interjected. “At least the new normal after Mark brought Forge to First Earth. Mostly things look the same, but there are small differences with technology. Just be lucky you don’t have any pets. That would really make your head spin.”
Patrick added, “What about that house over the flume?”
Courtney frowned. “That’s different. No way somebody moved in and made all those changes so fast.”
“That means even more things have changed since we left,” Mark added. “Which means something else must have happened in the past besides Forge.”
“We’ve got to figure out what that was,” Courtney said.
Patrick lifted the torn book cover from the table and added, “And find out why people seem to know about this.”
Mark and Courtney looked at the cover.
“Ravinia,” Mark whispered, reading the cracked word on the cover.
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Courtney offered hopefully as she mixed the orange juice in a pitcher.
Patrick winced. “You wouldn’t think that if you saw what happened to Third Earth.”
“Oh. Right,” Courtney said, embarrassed. “That.”
“I think our first step is to look around and see what things are different,” Mark declared. “We might find something we can trace back to First Earth.”
“How?” Courtney asked.
Mark pointed to Patrick’s Traveler ring. “We’ve got a hotline to the past. If we find anything suspicious, we can send a message to Dodger.”
“You sure?” Courtney asked.
Mark grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something. “Put the ring on the table,” he said to Patrick as he folded the note in half.
Patrick took off his ring and placed it next to the pitcher of orange juice.
“Let’s give it a shot,” Mark said. He cleared his throat and spoke distinctly to the ring. “First Earth.”
The ring came alive. The relief in everyone’s face was obvious. They may not have been able to communicate with Bobby, but at least the rings still worked. The circle opened up, spewing light and music. When it reached its full size, Mark dropped the note into the hole, after which the ring immediately shrank back, ending the event.
Courtney picked up the ring and examined it. “Do you think we’re ever going to figure out how this works?”
“How do we know it worked?” Patrick asked.
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“Oh, it worked,” Courtney answered for Mark. “But did it go to Dodger, or Nevva?” Mark shot a surprised look at Courtney. “She has your ring, Mark. And if she’s still on First Earth…” She didn’t have to complete the thought.
“We’ll know in a couple of hours” was Mark’s answer. “When the bank opens.”
Patrick frowned and looked to Courtney. Courtney shrugged. Neither knew what Mark was talking about. Then it hit Courtney and she brightened.
“Hey, you asked them to put something in the safe-deposit box!” she declared.
“No,” Mark answered, pouring orange juice. “I want them to open an account and make a deposit at the bank. If we’re going to be here awhile, we’re going to need money. They’ve got the KEM money from Forge.”
“Will that work?” Patrick asked. “They can deposit money back on First Earth and it will be in the account today?”
“Should,” Mark answered. “I gave them the number of our safe-deposit box and told them to put the deposit slip inside.”
“Amazing,” Patrick gasped.
“It’s ironic,” Mark said thoughtfully. “We’re going to try to stop Saint Dane by using money from the company he got me to sell Forge to, and that we tried to stop from giving me that money in the first place, so they wouldn’t create the dados and change the future of Halla.”
“Excuse me?” Patrick said, totally lost.
Courtney laughed. “I actually understood that.”
“Then please explain it to me,” Patrick pleaded.
“No problem,” Courtney answered. “If you’re going to be part of this, you’re going to have to get up to speed fast.”
A voice called to them from across the room, saying, “Your waffles are ready.”
Everyone looked at the oven.
Mark said, “I’m not going to get used to this.”
The plan was for Courtney and Patrick to stay at the house while Mark went to the bank. Courtney’s job was to fill Patrick in on all that had happened with KEM and DADO and Forge, while searching the house for clothes that would help them blend in on Second Earth. Mark put on some of his own clothes. He chose jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of old running shoes. Mark never went running. He just liked the way they felt. He decided to leave his hair combed back in the style from First Earth in case anybody might recognize him. It helped that he wore a pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses he got on First Earth and put on a navy blue, short golf jacket of his father’s. That completed the transformation from Mark, to not-Mark. He looked in the mirror and barely recognized himself.
Courtney’s comment was, “You look like some old-dude banker from the ’burbs. Perfect.”
Mark was afraid that an “old-dude banker” would look odd riding a bike, so he chose to make his way to the bank on Stony Brook Avenue on foot. It was only a few miles, and he wanted to take the opportunity to observe any other changes that might have occurred on Second Earth.
Most of the walk was through suburban streets that didn’t look any different from what he remembered. The houses looked exactly the same. The lawns. The sidewalks. The cars. Pretty much everything. Though something did feel different to him, and it took him a mile of walking before he realized what it was. All the telephone poles were gone. Every last one. His neighborhood used to be full of overhead lines that carried power, telephone, and cable TV. Not anymore. He was surprised that he didn’t realize it right away, but figured he was looking for something new, not something that wasn’t there. Once it clicked, it was obvious. He wondered what had replaced them. Was everything underground? Or was it all sent through signals in the air? Since the main changes on Second Earth were about technology, he figured that anything was possible.
Though he did wonder where the birds were going to hang out.
Stony Brook Avenue looked pretty much the same as well. It was the closest thing that Stony Brook, Connecticut, had to a “main street.” It was lined with shops and restaurants. The cool kids used to hang out there, which was why Mark didn’t. He’d go to the Garden Poultry Deli, get his daily dose of fries and Mountain Dew, and eat as he walked home. He was never a “hanging around” kind of guy.
Mark was also pleased to see that his old friend Ms. Jane Jansen still worked at the bank. Every time he saw something that hadn’t changed about Second Earth, it gave him hope that things weren’t really as bad as he feared. He was a little nervous though that the woman might recognize him and start asking difficult questions about where he’d been so he made a point of going to another bank officer to get the key to his safe-deposit box.
The bank had just opened for business for the day and was next to empty. In no time Mark was in the vault, peering at the journals that he and Courtney had put there for safekeeping. There were two items of note that he hadn’t seen before. One was a journal from Bobby: #28. Courtney had placed it there on First Earth. He was tempted to read it right then and there, but was sure that Courtney had already filled him in on everything Bobby had written. The other item was what he had come for. It was a deposit slip. An old one. It had been sitting in the vault for so long, it had turned yellow. It didn’t matter. All Mark needed was the account number. His dad had deposited twenty thousand dollars. Back then it was a fortune. It wasn’t so bad on Second Earth either. It would be plenty.
Attached to the slip was a handwritten note. It said, “We love you. Good luck. Mom and Dad.” Mark smiled and slipped the note into his pocket. He closed up the box and walked back to the lobby to fill out a withdrawal slip. He didn’t want to raise suspicion, so he decided not to take out a big amount. He figured that four hundred dollars would be enough to start. He could always come back for more. Mark filled out the slip and went to a bank teller he didn’t know. He picked a pretty blond girl wearing a turtleneck. She looked as though she might go to Davis Gregory High, but Mark never hung out with pretty blond girls in turtlenecks, so he figured she wouldn’t recognize him.
“G’morning!” the girl greeted with a bright smile.
“Hi. Just making a withdrawal. Not a lot. Just four hundred. No biggie, right?” Mark realized he was jabbering.
“No problem,” the girl said. “Can I see your ID?”
Uh-oh. Mark had his wallet with his student ID. He’d taken it from his desk at the last second, but he didn’t want to have to flash it. He was the Mark Dimond that people must have been talking about. His parents were killed, and he disappeared three months earlier. Stony Brook was a small town. If she recognized him, it would be all over.
“Y-You sure you need it?” he asked.
The girl gave him an innocent smile. “Yeah, sorry. Policy.”
Mark fumbled through his wallet. “I’m n-not sure what I have.” Mark suddenly wished that the girl was not only cute, but more concerned with being cute and popular than watching news stories about local tragedies. The girl stared at him, the first hint of doubt creeping into her eyes. Mark realized he had to take the chance. He handed her the plastic ID and held his breath.
The girl looked at it and beamed. “Hey, you go to DG?”
“DG?”
“Davis Gregory! I just graduated. What year are you?”
“Uh, senior. I think. I haven’t been around much. I’ve been, uh, traveling.”
“Really? Where?”
Mark figured it was better not to lie. He wasn’t a good liar. “New York, mostly. But I was in England.” He left out the part about it being in 1937.
The girl looked at her computer and said clearly, “Mark Dimond.”
Mark didn’t get it. Why was she saying his name at the computer? He quickly realized it was the new technology. There was no keyboard. It was all about voice recognition. The girl looked at the screen and scowled. Something was wrong.
“Is there a problem?” Mark asked.
“No. But I have to clear this with my manager.” She looked up and called out, “Ms. Jansen?”
Uh-oh. Mark heard her before he saw her. The sharp sound of quick, clicki
ng heels on the marble floor meant the überefficient Ms. Jane Jansen was incoming. He put his hand up to his face in hopes that she wouldn’t get too good a look at him. He figured that surely she must have heard what happened to him and his family. Ms. Jane Jansen was the picture of perfection. She wore a dark, conservative suit, and her hair was tied back so tightly into a bun that Mark wondered how she moved her lips. She looked over her half-glasses at the computer screen and frowned.
“There hasn’t been activity on that account for quite some time,” she said with clipped perfection. “Is there a reason for that?”
“It was opened a long time ago,” Mark answered. “By my grandfather. It was kind of a legacy for his grandkids. I’m just starting to use it now.”
Mark had no idea where that semi-made-up story came from, but he was grateful for it, because it seemed to do the trick.
“Very well,” Ms. Jane Jansen said, then added in a loud voice to the computer, “Approved.”
Mark could breathe again. Apparently Ms. Jane Jansen didn’t follow the news either. Maybe, he figured, she never left her desk at the bank. Mark didn’t care. He was golden. Ms. Jane Jansen took Mark’s ID from the cute girl as the teller counted out Mark’s money. She eyed it quickly, then held it out for Mark. Mark reached for it, and froze. When Ms. Jane Jansen reached out with the ID, her jacket sleeve ran up her arm. There on her forearm, as plain as could be, was a green tattoo. It was the five-pointed star.
Mark stared at it without moving.
“Here you are, young man,” Ms. Jane Jansen chirped.
“What does that mean?” Mark asked without thinking. “That mark. What does it signify?”
Ms. Jane Jansen looked at Mark coldly. The cute girl seemed to shrink away. Whatever Mark said, it was definitely a faux pas.
“Answering personal questions at a place of business is not part of my job description,” she said coldly. “Good day.”
The woman spun away and clicked off. She was ticked. Or insulted. Or something. Mark didn’t know exactly what.
“Here you go,” the cute teller said, handing Mark the money. “I gave you twenties and fifties, is that okay?”
Mark was in a daze, still watching Ms. Jane Jansen. He had to snap himself back to reality.