“Stay with me,” he said. “Now imagine a really complex mathematical equation with thousands or even millions of numbers. Same thing. If you change even one number, the whole equation changes, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “But what’s that got to do with predicting the future?”
“Okay,” Patrick continued. “Think of all the events that ever happened in the past as numbers in an equation. If you changed even one of those events, it would change all the events that followed. The whole equation would have to be recalculated.”
“But numbers are real,” I said.
“So is the past,” Patrick countered. “As real as any number. I can’t predict what will happen tomorrow, but I can definitely predict how changes in the past would play out in the past.”
“That’s impossible!” I shouted. “That computer would have to know everything about everybody and everything they ever did to make that kind of prediction.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you!” Patrick said with excitement. “That’s exactly the kind of data we’ve got. We can take events from the past and change one of the factors. The computer will cross-reference billions of other factors and calculate the likely new scenario, just like a math equation. It’s called variable technology.”
He was losing me. And if he was losing me, I knew Gunny was long gone.
“Okay, here’s an example of a simple one I did. 1969. Super Bowl Three. The New York Jets beat the Baltimore Colts, sixteen to seven. I brought up all the information I had about that game, the players, the weather conditions, the coaches, everything. I even knew what each of the players had for breakfast. Then I changed one thing. I input that Joe Namath, the Jets’ star quarterback, went down with an injury in the first quarter. The final score the computer predicted was very different from sixteen-seven Jets.”
“What happened?” I asked. “The Colts kicked butt, right?”
“Well, no,” Patrick said. “The Jets actually won the game twenty-four-zip. Weird, no?”
“Predicting a football game is one thing,” I said. “Figuring out the course of history is a slightly bigger deal.”
“Trust me, Pendragon,” Patrick said. “Think of all the things you’ve seen on Third Earth. If I told you about all this three thousand years ago, would you believe it could happen?”
“Well, yeah, maybe,” I said.
“Then believe this too,” he said with total confidence. “A big event like the crash of the Hindenburg is bound to change things. I can’t guarantee that I can predict exactly what will happen if it doesn’t crash, but I know I can come up with the big picture.”
I looked to Gunny. He was a guy who couldn’t even imagine Nintendo, let alone the kinds of things Patrick was talking about. Still, I needed another opinion.
“What do you think?” I asked.
Gunny gave a very wise answer. “As far as I’m concerned, most everything here is impossible. Yet here it is, real as can be. I’m inclined to give Patrick the benefit of the doubt. If he says he can do this, who are we to say he can’t?”
That was a pretty good argument. Besides, if Patrick really could do this, we’d have the answers we so desperately needed.
“Okay,” I said. “Give it a shot.”
Patrick let out a big smile. He was psyched for the challenge. He ran to a cabinet where he pulled out two pads of blue paper and two pens. “I need you two to write down everything you can think of that has to do with the situation. Names, dates, events, locations…I mean everything. No bit of information is too small.”
“I thought the computer does that?” I asked.
“We need to give it as many cross-references as possible,” Patrick answered. “The more guidance we give it, the more accurate the result will be.”
I looked at the pen he handed me, and chuckled, “You guys still use pens and paper?”
“Not usually,” answered Patrick. “But it would take too long to show you how to interface with the computer.”
Good point. For the next half hour, we wrote down everything we could think of about the mystery. I made sure to get everything down that I knew about Max Rose and Winn Farrow. They were the key figures here. It was because of their relationship that the Hindenburg was in danger. When we finished, we each presented Patrick with many pages of data.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Go outside and relax. It’ll take me a while to input all this and start the process. I’ll find you as soon as I come up with something.”
That was that. Gunny and I left Patrick alone to do his thing. We walked back out to the lobby, where I was hit with the smell of food. I hadn’t realized it until that moment, but I was starving. I really hoped there was a cafeteria around and this wasn’t some virtual smell coming from somebody using the computer to look up “pizza.”
We found a small counter selling simple foods like cookies and drinks. It didn’t matter to me. They could have been selling brussel sprouts and I would have bought a bundle. That’s how starved I was. Gunny was too. We each picked out a handful of cookies and some juice.
“Uh-oh,” Gunny said. “All I’ve got is First Earth money.”
I shrugged and said, “Give it a shot.”
Gunny handed the counter guy a First Earth twenty-dollar bill. He looked at it strangely and said, “I’m not really sure what that is, but you don’t have to pay for food when you’re using the library.”
Wow. Free food. That surprised me almost as much as seeing the underground city. Life here on Third Earth was pretty sweet.
Gunny and I took our food outside to the front steps of the library and sat down to eat. We didn’t say much at first. We were too busy enjoying the taste of fifty-first century chocolate chip cookies. They tasted the same as the twenty-first century variety. Luckily time hadn’t changed everything.
While we ate, I had a chance to think. I wrote before that I had a nervous feeling, but didn’t know why. It wasn’t until now, as we sat on the steps of the library, that the reason became clear. It had been staring me in the face since we arrived on Third Earth, but I couldn’t bring it into focus. Now, as we sat there on that beautiful warm day, I finally got my mind around it. It was totally obvious, too. Maybe that’s why I didn’t get it at first. It was too simple. But the more I reasoned it through, the more sense it made.
And I didn’t like it. My appetite was suddenly gone. I put the last cookie down uneaten.
“What’s the trouble, shorty?” Gunny asked.
“It doesn’t matter what Patrick comes up with,” I said.
“Excuse me?” Gunny replied. “I think it matters a whole lot.”
“But it doesn’t. I already know what we have to do.”
“Really?”
“You know it too, Gunny,” I said. “I think we’re both hoping that Patrick comes up with something that tells us we’re wrong, but he won’t.”
Gunny stopped eating his cookie and looked out over the scene in front of us. What had once been a busy, congested city was now beautiful countryside. We could see a few modern housing units scattered around, but mostly it was clean, green country full of people enjoying a beautiful, sunny day. In the distance I could see the unpolluted East River. The air smelled fresh. There was no violence. It was perfect. From what Patrick told us, the rest of Third Earth was the same way.
Perfect.
I looked into Gunny’s eyes. He was troubled. We were on the same page.
“Doesn’t look like a territory that Saint Dane pushed into chaos, does it?” Gunny said.
Exactly. The wreck of the Hindenburg was a horrible disaster and classic Saint Dane. We even hoped that by saving it, we might be able to stop World War II. But the truth was, Earth had evolved into a truly wonderful place in spite of the fact that the Hindenburg blew up.
“We won’t make things better by changing history, will we?” Gunny said.
“No.”
Reality was closing in fast. Our mission was about to
be turned upside down. If we wanted Earth to evolve into the wonderful territory we were now looking at, we had to make sure history played out the way it was supposed to.
That meant only one thing. Winn Farrow had to succeed. The Hindenburg had to go down.
“Saint Dane wants us to change history,” I said with finality. “That’s what this has been about. That’s the turning point. If we change history, this is a world that may never be.”
Suddenly the whole challenge seemed too huge. I’m embarrassed to say this, but I snapped.
“I hate this!” I screamed, jumping up.
“What’s the trouble?” Gunny asked with sympathy.
“The trouble is I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s not fair. Why are we the ones responsible for saving the territories?”
“Because we’re Travelers,” Gunny answered.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be a Traveler. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t volunteer. How did I get chosen? How did you get chosen? Don’t you wonder about that?”
Gunny said softly, “Everyday.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
Gunny took some time to think about this. “To be honest, I think that if I had the choice, I’d still be sitting here with you right now. But it’s different for me. I lived a long life before finding out my true calling. I can understand why you’re troubled.”
“Yeah, you got that right!” I said. “I’m fifteen years old. I had to leave home when I was fourteen. Nobody my age should see the things I’ve seen. I’m supposed to be playing ball and sweating over tests and zits and hoping girls like me—not making sure thirty-six people die in a horrible accident. I don’t want that responsibility!”
The stakes had suddenly gotten very big, very fast, and it scared me to death. I knew I wasn’t smart enough, or strong enough to have that kind of responsibility. I wanted somebody else to do the job. I wanted Uncle Press to be there. Or Osa, or even Loor. I didn’t want to have to make these kinds of decisions. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my mom and dad again.
I wanted my old life back.
I was half a second away from going back to the flume and launching myself home to Second Earth for good, when I heard a voice call to us.
“I’m finished.”
It was Patrick. He walked down the last few steps to join us. I hope I can do a good job of describing the way he looked. He was shaken. I swear, it was like all the color had left his face. I know this sounds weird, but he looked ten years older than when we last saw him. He didn’t even stand up tall, he was kind of hunched over, like there was a tremendous weight on his shoulders.
“Come inside and see what I found,” he said softly.
“What is it?” Gunny asked while standing up.
“You’re going to have to see for yourself, because you won’t believe me otherwise.”
“I’m guessing you don’t have good news,” I said.
Patrick managed a sad smile. “No, no good news, except to say you were right. You found the turning point on First Earth, all right. It’s the Hindenburg. And you hit the mother lode. It’s not just the turning point for First Earth. What happens on May sixth, 1937, is going to affect First, Second, and Third Earth as well.”
“Is it as bad as all that?” Gunny asked.
Patrick’s only answer was an ironic chuckle. He then turned and walked up the stairs back to the library.
Gunny and I stood there, stunned. I wanted to run home now more than ever. I felt sure that whatever was waiting for us in that library, it would be gruesome. I was truly at a crossroads. I knew how important this was, but I had to convince myself not to run for my life.
“You want to know why we’re the ones responsible?” Gunny asked.
I looked up into a pair of wise eyes that had seen far more than mine.
“Because there’s nobody else,” he said. With that, he slowly walked up the stairs after Patrick.
I stood alone, trying to keep from crying. What Gunny had said was simple, and it was the truth.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and ran up the stairs after them.
JOURNAL #11
THIRD EARTH
“You’ve got to get back to make sure the Hindenburg is destroyed,” Patrick said. Though his voice was quivering with fear, he couldn’t have been any more clear. “If you don’t, everything is going to change.”
“I’m guessing it won’t be for the better,” Gunny said.
“Not even close,” Patrick answered.
“Do we want to see this?” I asked.
“No,” was Patrick’s answer. “But you have to.”
We were back in the small library room. Patrick motioned for us to take seats. Gunny sat, but I was too nervous. When I get anxious like that, it’s hard for me to sit still.
“Here’s the deal,” Patrick began. “Remember I talked about mathematical equations and if you changed one number, the whole equation would be altered?”
“Yeah,” I answered tentatively.
“Well, it’s true, but it also depends on what number you decide to change,” Patrick explained. “You might change one number and the overall difference would be small. Or you might change a number that has a much bigger impact.”
“What about the Hindenburg?” Gunny asked. “How big a change could that make?”
Patrick had to sit down. It was like the weight of what he was about to say was making it hard for him to stay on his feet.
“Saint Dane hit the jackpot,” he said. “He found a single event in history that if changed, would turn the future inside out. If he succeeds, he’ll push all three territories into chaos.”
That was exactly what I didn’t want to hear. “How can one change do so much?” I asked.
“That’s what I’ve got to show you,” Patrick answered. He hit the white button on his chair and called out, “Computer. Hindenburg Variation. Item number one.”
Instantly the image of Max Rose appeared before us.
“It’s all about this guy Maximilian Rose,” Patrick began. “He started doing business with the Nazis in 1935.”
“We know that,” I said. “He said he was shipping them tools and scrap metal.”
“That’s not all he was shipping them,” Patrick said. “Computer. Item number two.”
Appearing before us was a group of men. None of them looked familiar. They were all white guys with short haircuts and wearing suits. They looked like a bunch of dorks.
“Who are they?” Gunny asked.
“Spies,” Patrick answered quickly.
“Spies?” I asked. “You mean like James Bond?”
“Industrial spies,” said Patrick. “The kind of guys who sell secrets about companies and manufacturing plans and designs. These are all Americans who worked for Max Rose. Some of them did it for the money, others were forced into it by Rose’s thugs. Every one of them had valuable secrets the Nazis would have loved to get hold of.”
“And Max Rose was selling them these secrets?” Gunny asked.
“Yes. That is, until May sixth, 1937. Computer. Item three.”
The gang of spies disappeared and was replaced by an image of a wrecked car. Whatever had happened to this vehicle, it was ugly, because it was a step above scrap metal. I guarantee, nobody could walk away from a wreck like that.
“May sixth, six fifty P.M.,” Patrick explained. “Intersection of Toms River Road and Route five-twenty-seven…Max Rose is killed in a collision with a state trooper. But that alone wouldn’t have stopped his spy business. He had lieutenants who would have picked up right where he left off. Except for one thing. Item four.”
The car wreck disappeared and we then saw the familiar image of the Hindenburg on fire.
“When the Hindenburg went down,” Patrick explained, “a huge payment from the Nazis to Max Rose went down with it. Records show there was a shipment on board with four million American dollars, bonds, jewels, and artwork. All gone in thirty-seven seconds.”
&
nbsp; “Bad for Rose,” Gunny said.
“Worse than bad. Losing that money destroyed Rose’s organization,” Patrick said. “Payments couldn’t be made. Ties were severed. Some of the spies sank back into deep cover, never to be heard from again. Others got arrested. Bottom line is the crash of the Hindenburg put Rose’s spies out of business.”
“Okay,” I said. “Now we know what happened. What did your computer figure out would happen if the Hindenburg didn’t crash?”
Patrick hesitated, then stood up and paced.
“I input one single change,” he finally said. “I input the variable that the Hindenburg arrived safely.” Patrick took a deep breath, then continued. “It took the computer twenty minutes to calculate all the changes. Pendragon, that’s like saying a computer from Second Earth took a lifetime to calculate pi. That’s how extensive the changes were. Every resource, every data bank, every bit of memory was called into play. It knocked everybody else in the library offline. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“So? Show us,” I said.
Patrick sat back down in his chair. He hit the button and said weakly, “Item five.”
A man appeared. A lone man with salt-and-pepper-colored hair. He was short, with wire-rimmed glasses and a gray suit. He didn’t look familiar at all.
“This is Dani Schmidt,” Patrick said nervously, “a physicist working for the Nazis. He never played a big part in history, because he was a failure. The project he devoted the final years of his life to was never finished. He was executed by the Nazis in 1944. His only crime was failure. But that was under the old scenario. If the Hindenburg had survived, his life would have taken a different turn. Item six.”
The image of Dani Schmidt disappeared, and was replaced by a large, gray piece of equipment that looked like a fat torpedo.
“When the Hindenburg arrived safely, the payment was made to keep Max Rose’s spy operation in business. More information was stolen from the U.S. and fed to the Nazis. They in turn gave it to Dani Schmidt. It was scientific data they never would have gotten if the Hindenburg had crashed.”
“So what is that thing?” I asked, pointing to the gray torpedo.