FIRST EARTH
I had to get gone. The last thing I needed was for some panicky victim of the train wreck to stumble onto the gate, throw it open, and see me standing there out of breath, looking like an idiot. I cautiously opened the wooden door and peeked out. The last of the three subway cars was right there. Luckily the door to the car was already past the gate. People were starting to climb out, helping one another slip down the few feet to the track bed. Choking smoke was everywhere. That was okay by me. It was good cover. I slipped out of the gate, closed it behind me, and walked quickly to join the others. I hoped nobody would notice one more victim.
“Keep moving!” shouted a firefighter with a flashlight. “Everything’s okay! The platform’s not far. Keep moving!”
I put my head down and got in line behind an older guy who was having trouble making his way over the uneven surface. I took his arm to steady him and helped him the rest of the way. The guy needed a strong arm. I needed cover. Perfect. There wasn’t any panic. I think everyone was too dazed for that. I helped the older guy all the way to the cement stairs that led up to the station platform.
“Thank you, son,” he said gratefully. “I can take it from here.”
He was a little shaky, but okay. He climbed the stairs and disappeared into the mass of people on the platform.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” a policeman yelled. They were trying to herd people toward the exits. “It’s over! Nothing to see here!”
Actually, there was a lot to see, but I guess that was their standard line. I stood next to a white-tiled pillar to get away from the crowd of people who were moving toward the exit. Now that I was just another face in the crowd, my head was already on to the next challenge. Find Courtney. The station looked the same as I remembered it. This was 1937. People were dressed up. The men had on suits and hats. The women wore dresses. No jeans or sneakers anywhere. On the far side of the platform I saw a newsstand.
A newsstand! With newspapers. With dates! The big question was still out there—what was today’s date? The success or failure of our trip to find Mark would ride on when the flume had deposited us on First Earth. I pushed my way through the crowd, which wasn’t easy because nobody was going the same way I was. There wasn’t a whole lot of interest in buying newspapers just then. Finally I stepped up to the newsstand and grabbed a copy of the New York Times.
The date? November 1, 1937.
Was this good or bad? My mind flashed back to the library on Third Earth. History showed that the patent for Mark’s Forge thingy was filed in October. We were too late to stop that. But the computer also said that some kind of announcement was made between that KEM company and the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization in November. Mark disappeared right after that. According to the paper, today was November 1. Whatever happened to Mark probably hadn’t happened yet. We might have arrived in time to find out what exactly had happened. Or what was going to happen. Or…you get the idea. I wasn’t sure how to feel about the news. Yes, we had a shot at intervening in Mark’s history. Did that mean First Earth was about to have another turning point?
“Hey! You gonna buy that paper or what?” came a gruff voice.
I looked to see the exact same newsguy sitting behind the counter who chewed me out for the exact same thing the last time I was there. He was a porky little gnome wearing a red plaid shirt. He still chomped on the little stub of a cigar and still needed a shave.
But he wasn’t talking to me.
I heard a girl’s voice bark, “Oh, relax, Yoda. People are too busy running for their lives to buy your stupid newspapers!”
It was Courtney. She was standing a few yards away doing the same thing I was—checking the newspapers for today’s date.
“Yoda?” I called out with a smile.
Courtney lit up with a big, relieved smile. She ran over and gave me a hug like she thought she’d never see me again.
“Bobby! I never thought I’d see you again!”
See.
“What happened?” she asked frantically. “Are you all right? What happened with the dados? Did they cause the wreck of the—”
“O-kay!” I shouted, cutting her off. “Let’s talk outside.”
“Yeah,” the newsguy grumped. “Take it outside and stop getting fingerprints all over the goods.”
“It’s old news anyway,” Courtney sniffed. “In case you missed it, there was a train wreck.” She always had to get in the last shot.
We joined the crowd to get out of the subway station. The people were all pretty calm considering what they’d just been through. As we moved with the flow, I began to form a plan. I didn’t want to spring it on Courtney until I had the chance to think it through and set things up, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was the best thing for us to do. Maybe the only thing.
No matter how tough it was going to be.
We climbed the stairs into the bright, November sun. Luckily it was a warm day because Courtney didn’t have a sweater or anything. I’m not so sure she would have cared. She was too busy gawking at the new sights. Or should I say the old sights. The Bronx of 1937 was once again busy. Ancient black cars rolled bumper to bumper through the busy intersection. The sidewalks were packed with people. Strangely, the buildings didn’t seem all that alien since tall, cement-faced buildings like this still existed in our time. They just looked a little newer in 1937. The odd thing was what we didn’t see. There wasn’t a single modern-looking steel or glass structure anywhere.
The chemical smell was overwhelming, especially after being on Third Earth, where the air was so clean. I’m guessing it was a mixture of gas, dust, oil, manufacturing exhaust, and BO. Pretty much the normal smells of a crowded city. Giant billboards loomed overhead that advertised everything from soap to liniment. I didn’t even know what liniment was, but the advertisement made it look like I really needed it to “REDUCE PAIN AND CURE ILLS.” I had plenty of ills that needed curing—if I thought a bottle of some bizarre medicine could actually do that, I’d have bought a case. People moved quickly along the sidewalks, headed to wherever it was they were headed. Making the street that much more crowded were the fire trucks that were lined up near the subway entrance. Wailing sirens said there were more on the way. It was a busy day in the Bronx. Thanks to us.
I didn’t say anything to Courtney at first. I wanted her to soak it all up. I knew what it was like to arrive in a new territory. Part of the wonder was seeing a place that was so completely alien. The real brain freeze comes from realizing that you’re standing in the middle of it. There’s no way to get used to that, no matter how often you jump through time and space.
After doing a few slow turns, Courtney focused on me and summed it all up with one simple statement. “Hell of a day.”
I laughed. In the span of a few hours we had gone from Courtney’s house on Second Earth to three thousand years into the future, only to jump back fifty years before we were born. It was definitely a hell of a day. It wasn’t over.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her away from all the excitement. We crossed a few blocks to a wide avenue where traffic was moving faster than a crawl.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Someplace familiar,” I answered.
I hailed a yellow taxi that was headed downtown. Courtney was about to duck into the backseat when she popped back out and asked, “Do we have money for this?”
“Stop worrying,” I said, and gently pushed her into the car.
The cabbie was a jovial-looking guy with a checkered cap. “Where to?” he asked.
“The Manhattan Tower Hotel.”
The guy whistled in appreciation and said, “Well! Ain’t we the fancy ones!”
He stepped on the gas and we were on our way home. At least to my home on First Earth.
“So?” Courtney asked. “What’s the plan?”
I didn’t want to reveal that just yet. I had to make sure it was possible.
“I still have friends at the hotel” was my answer. “They’ll take care of us.”
“Perfect!” Courtney exclaimed. “Then we track down Mark.”
I put my finger to my lips in the “shhh” gesture, and pointed to the cabbie. “One step at a time.”
Courtney huffed and fell silent. The rest of the trip she spent looking out the window at another era. She didn’t say much. She was too busy marveling at the past. It wasn’t until we were almost at the hotel that she finally said, “It’s like watching an old movie, but it’s real, isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
“Fifty-ninth and Park!” the cabbie announced as he pulled the cab up to the curb. Instantly a bellhop ran up and opened the car door for us.
“Welcome to the Manhattan Tower!” he exclaimed with a big smile. “Checking in today, sir?”
I got out of the cab and looked at him. “Pay the cabbie for me, would you, Dodger?”
Dodger, the bellhop, looked at me blankly, as if I had just spoken Latvian. I looked at the confused guy, and smiled. I knew it would take a few seconds for him to catch up. A moment later his confused look turned to one of wonder.
“Pendragon?” he asked in awe. “Wha—”
“You know I’m good for it,” I said.
“Uh, yeah. Sure, sure,” Dodger said, scrambling to get his wits back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of coins. Tip money.
While he paid the cabbie, I leaned back into the car and smiled at Courtney. “Come on out and tell me if my description did this place justice.”
Courtney leaped out of the car and looked up at the imposing, pink building. By modern standards it wasn’t monstrous. It stood only thirty-two floors high. But in 1937 it was pretty impressive, complete with the three-foot-high letters near the roof that spelled out its name: THE MANHATTAN TOWER. At night those letters glowed a brilliant neon green and could be seen all over the city. The hotel took up a whole block, resting in a perfectly manicured garden that was like an oasis in the middle of the city. Being November, the leaves on the trees had turned brilliant colors of red, yellow, and orange. There were pumpkins placed everywhere, probably as Halloween decorations from the night before.
Courtney didn’t comment on how impressive it all was. Or on the beauty of the grounds. Or even on how well I had described it in my journals. Her comment was much more Courtney than that.
“Where did it happen?” she asked.
“Where did what happen?”
“Where did that gangster land that Saint Dane threw out the window?”
I gave her a sour look. That particular gruesome event was one I’d managed to forget about. Until then, thank you very much Courtney.
Dodger came running back to us, looking all wide-eyed. I’m guessing he was around nineteen years old, with slicked-back black hair. He was a feisty little guy who couldn’t have been more than five foot three. What he lacked in size he made up for in energy. He was constantly in motion, with eyes that were always looking around for what needed to be done next. On Second Earth you’d call him “hyper.”
“Hey, old pal! I thought you was gone for good!”
When Dodger wasn’t being a professional and speaking with hotel guests, he had a fast way of speaking that he called Brooklynese. To me he sounded like Bugs Bunny. He spoke quickly, changing subjects in midsentence, barely waiting for answers. If you weren’t up to his speed, he’d leave you in the dust. “Is Spader comin’ back too? Did you know Gunny disappeared? Nobody’s seen him since last spring.” He focused on Courtney, leaned in to me, and whispered, “Hey, who’s the skirt?”
“Skirt?” Courtney shouted.
Apparently Dodger’s whisper wasn’t quite low enough. He froze in surprise.
“That’s the sexist stereotype you reduce girls to? Skirts?” Courtney growled.
“Hey, no offense, doll—”
Uh-oh.
“Doll?” Courtney screamed even louder. “Oh, that’s much better.”
She stepped toward Dodger, ready to do battle. The little guy backed away in fear. I didn’t think he was used to a skirt, uh, a girl being so aggressive.
“What kind of name is Dodger, anyway? That’s a dog name.”
“It’s a nickname is all,” he stammered. “I like baseball.”
“Baseball? I’ll bet you’ve never even been to Los Angeles!”
“Los Angeles?” Dodger said, confused. “Who said anything about—”
I quickly stepped between them and glared at Courtney. “Dodger’s real name is Douglas. He calls himself Dodger because he likes the Dodgers. The Brooklyn Dodgers.”
That stopped Courtney. She had forgotten about the whole time-travel thing. The Brooklyn Dodgers wouldn’t move to Los Angeles for another twenty years. I looked to Dodger and said, “This is my sister, Dodge. Her name’s Courtney. We’re going to stay in Gunny’s apartment for a while. Okay?”
I figured it would be better to tell everybody Courtney was my sister so nobody would get freaked out about us being together.
“Hey, fine with me,” Dodger said. “You’re lucky Caplesmith didn’t clean the place out. He thinks Gunny’s coming back. Is he?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. Of course I couldn’t tell him that Gunny and Spader were trapped on a territory called Eelong that was full of talking cats and carnivorous dinosaurs. I was just happy to hear that the hotel manager, Mr. Caplesmith, had kept the apartment. Gunny was the bell captain at the hotel. He’d worked there most of his life and pretty much ran the place. I’d bet that Mr. Caplesmith would hold his apartment forever on the remote chance that Gunny would be back. That’s how great a guy Gunny was. It was lucky for us. It meant we had a place to stay.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I hope he’s coming back.”
Man, I missed Gunny. Spader too. But I couldn’t let myself go there. Self-pity didn’t help things.
“No luggage?” Dodger asked. He kept stealing nervous looks at Courtney, as if waiting for her to tee off on him again. Courtney just glared.
“We’re traveling light,” I said.
“Is that a problem?” Courtney asked aggressively.
“Not for me,” Dodger said. “If you don’t need a change of undies, that’s your business, sister.”
“I’m not your sister,” Courtney shot back, then looked at me and smiled. “I guess I’m his sister.”
“Let’s just go inside,” I suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.
Dodger went ahead of us, leading us up the wide front stairs into the hotel.
“Be cool,” I said softly to Courtney. “Dodger’s okay.”
“He’s overcompensating because he’s short,” Courtney sniffed.
“Whatever. We need him.”
“Okay, I’ll be good…little bro.” She smiled as she said this. It was weird pretending that we were brother and sister.
The hotel was just as I remembered. It was the height of luxury, 1937-style. The lobby had a high, stained-glass ceiling. There were huge, dark oriental carpets everywhere and lots of soft, leather furniture. It was a place that catered to the highfalutin, so all the guests were dressed impeccably. The bellhops looked neat and crisp in their burgundy uniforms with gold trim. They were the same uniforms that Spader and I had worn when we lived and worked there. I actually had lots of happy memories of the place.
Some lousy ones too.
“You hear the big news?” Dodger asked as he strutted through the lobby.
Courtney said, “Heard it? We were there!”
Dodger frowned. “You were in Hollywood last night?”
Courtney and I shared a look.
“You’re not talking about the subway wreck?” I asked.
“Nah, I’m talking about Dewey Todd.”
“The elevator operator?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah,” Dodger said. “He went out to Hollywood to work in his old man’s new hotel. Last night there was some kind of strange accident. He was running the elevator and it got hit by lightning.”
“Is he okay?” I asked, horrified.
“That’s the strange part. Nobody knows. Everybody on the elevator disappeared. Halloween night. Spooky, aye? Poor sap. I liked the little guy.”
“Littler than you?” Courtney asked.
Dodger gave her a quick look, but let it go.
Poor Dewey. He was clueless, but a nice guy. I hated to hear that something might have happened to him. It seemed like a real mystery, but I couldn’t worry about it. I had enough mysteries of my own to deal with.
Dodger led us to the elevator.
“We’ll take the stairs,” I told him.
“What’sa matter? Afraid lightning might hit?” he asked, snickering.
Neither of us laughed. Dodger stopped chuckling quickly. “Okay, bad joke. You got a key?”
“I know where Gunny keeps it.”
“Okay, if you need anything, you know where to find me.” He started to leave, then turned back to me, as if wanting to say something.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t take this wrong, Pendragon. But you look different. I mean, you’ve been gone for what? Four months?”
It was true. By my clock I had left First Earth a couple of years before. But the flume put us back there not much later than when I had left. It was just another example of how the flumes were guided by some knowing force.
“How come you look so different?” Dodger asked.
“Growth spurt,” Courtney said flatly.
“It’s been a rough four months” was all I could think of saying.
Dodger looked at me quizzically, then shrugged, and walked off. “If you say so.”
“I’ll get you the cash for the cab ride,” I called after him.
“It’s on me,” he said. “Consider it an apology for getting off on the wrong foot with your sister.”
He looked at Courtney, and gave her a genuine, apologetic smile.
“Thanks, peewee,” she said.
Dodger winked at her and took off. We watched him as he strutted back into the lobby.
“He winked at me,” Courtney said, disgusted. “What is up with that?”
“He can’t help it if he was born in a different era.”
“I’ll let him get away with the skirt comment, but if he calls me a dame, he’s done.”
I laughed and said, “Let it go, all right?”
“And I don’t care where they play, Dodger is still a dog name.”
Gunny had a small apartment on the first basement level of the hotel. It sounds worse than it was. I led Courtney down the stairs and along the corridor, passing the hotel laundry, the vault, and the baggage checkroom. Gunny’s apartment was at the very end. I reached up to an exposed, overhead pipe where, sure enough, Gunny’s key was waiting.
“Not exactly high-tech security,” Courtney scoffed.
“Not needed.” I reached for the door and turned the knob. The door was already unlocked. “Half the time Gunny never even locked it.”
The apartment was dark, as you might imagine a basement apartment would be. There were a few narrow windows near the ceiling that were just above ground level. They didn’t let in much light, but it was enough to make the place a little less claustrophobic. I flicked on a lamp to see that the apartment was exactly as Gunny had left it. There was a small living room with a sofa and two easy chairs positioned around a big-old radio in a wooden cabinet made by some company called Philco. There were no TVs in 1937. The radio was the center of home entertainment. One wall of the living room was actually the kitchen, with a small sink and stove next to a tiny refrigerator. Beyond the living room was Gunny’s bedroom. Off that room was his bathroom. That was it. Gunny didn’t need much to be comfortable.
There weren’t a lot of knickknacks or personal touches, other than one painting that hung on the wall above the radio. It was an oil painting of a U.S. Civil War battle where the union soldiers were all members of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry Regiment, one of the first black army units in the Civil War. Gunny was really proud of that.
Standing in that room, I expected to see Gunny walk out of his bedroom with a big smile and a greeting of “Hey there, shorty!” That wasn’t going to happen. The thin coating of dust on everything was a sad reminder that nobody had lived here in a while.
“Are we ever going to see him again?” Courtney asked somberly, reading my thoughts.
“I think so,” I answered optimistically. “When this is all over.”
“So let’s make that happen,” she said, getting down to business. “Can we make this our base while we’re looking for Mark?”
“That’s the plan,” I said. I walked to Gunny’s tiny kitchen and opened the oven. Inside was a metal cookie tin that looked like a log cabin.
“Stale cookies?” Courtney said.
“These cookies don’t get stale, and they are very sweet.” I opened the tin and pulled out a roll of money that was held together by a rubber band.
Courtney whistled in awe. “Yikes! Didn’t he ever hear of a bank?”
“He kept this in case of an emergency. I think this qualifies.” I tossed the roll of bills to her. “For food and more clothes and anything else that comes up.”
Courtney stared at the huge roll of cash nervously. “I think I’d rather have you in charge of this. My palms are already sweating.”
It was time to tell Courtney of my plan. From what I’d seen, everything was working out the way it had to. Gunny’s apartment was still here and available; money wasn’t a problem; and the people at the hotel remembered me. The hunt for Mark could happen from here. That was the easy part. I led Courtney over to the couch. We sat, facing each other while I scrambled to think of the right words.
“This looks serious,” she said. “I’d say you’re breaking up with me, but since we’re not even going out I don’t think—”
“I can’t stay on First Earth,” I said.
Courtney stared at me, not sure how to react. She laughed. Stopped herself. Gave me a curious look. Laughed again and finally shook her head.
“We just got here. We have to find Mark.”
“I know. You need to do it alone.”
“What?” Courtney jumped up. “No way! Just…no way!”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry,” she shot back. “Be serious.”
I took a breath to try and keep my voice calm. It was killing me to do this but I couldn’t see any other way.
“I am being serious. I can’t stay here because Saint Dane went to Ibara. That’s where I need to be.”
Courtney paced. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or frightened. Probably both.
“He wants to beat me, Courtney. He has to beat me. I think that’s just as important to him as taking control of Halla.”
“Then don’t let him!” Courtney screamed. “He’s luring you there, Bobby, don’t you see that? He wants you to follow him so he can beat you.”
“You’re right. That’s exactly why I have to go. I don’t think he can control Halla until he beats me, once and for all. But it works both way. If we want to stop him, I mean really stop him, forever, I’m going to have to beat him straight up. That’s the only way this can all end.”
“That’s pretty arrogant, don’t you think?” she sniffed. “I mean, thinking that the future of all existence is only about the two of you.”
“It’s not,” I countered. “It’s about how we influence events, and the people of the territories and the choices they make.”
Courtney shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“This has been torturing me from the beginning,” I answered. “On every territory, with every conflict, Saint Dane has challenged me. You’ve read about it all. He always gets me to follow him to his next target. The Travelers have ruined his plans more often than not. The guy is a lot of things, but he’s not an idiot. He could have won every single territory if the Travelers hadn’t stopped him, but we never would have gotten the chance if we didn’t always know where he was going. But he always tells me. Don’t you wonder about that?”
Courtney plopped down in one of the cushy easy chairs, shooting out a small cloud of dust. “Yeah,” she said, resigned. “I have. Are you saying he really wants to be beaten?”
“No!” I said quickly. “He wants to win, all right, but winning for him isn’t just about toppling a territory. It’s about beating the Travelers. Beating me. I think the battle here is more complicated than we even realize. It isn’t just about wars or destruction or us trying to make sure the people of a territory have a peaceful way of life. I think it’s more about the way it happens. The decisions people make. The paths they choose.”
“You’re getting a little cosmic on me,” Courtney said.
“I know, I’m on shaky ground here, but the more I learn about Saint Dane and the way he thinks, the more I realize he’s trying to prove some kind of point. He talks about the people of the territories being greedy and arrogant and shortsighted. He thinks that whatever horror happens to the territories, the people deserve it.”
“Because he’s a monster,” Courtney added.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t see it that way. He thinks he’s giving the people what they want.”
“Death and destruction and misery?” Courtney asked.
“I know, it doesn’t really follow. But the point is, he thinks he’s serving a grander purpose. I don’t think it’s as simple as him being some kind of megalomaniac James Bond–type villain who wants to rule the universe, muhahahahaha! In some twisted way, he thinks he’s doing the right thing.”
“But that’s just it,” Courtney pleaded. “He thinks the right thing is to steer the people of the territories into disaster. How can that possibly be right?”
“I’m not saying it is. I’m saying that’s how he thinks.”
Courtney looked around the room, letting my confused logic sink in. “So if Saint Dane is on a quest to prove that his way of running the territories is the right way, and the only way he feels he can do that is by beating the Travelers, then by his way of thinking, the Travelers are the bad guys.”
Those words hit me hard. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but if my theory was true, then Courtney was right. If Saint Dane thinks he’s trying to save the territories, in his mind the bad guys who must be defeated are the Travelers.
“That’s not all, Bobby,” Courtney added. “If Saint Dane is trying to prove something, who exactly is he trying to prove it to?”
I sat forward and rubbed my eyes. I was feeling very tired. “That’s the biggest question of all,” I said softly.
“It’s coming to an end, Bobby,” Courtney said. “Whatever the Convergence is, it sounds like it’s what this has all been leading up to. I think what Saint Dane did as Andy Mitchell, what he got Mark to do, has broken down the walls between the territories for good. There are dados on Second Earth. There are dados on Third Earth and Quillan.”
“Dados tried to get onto First Earth,” I reminded her. “For all I know, more are showing up right now.”
“The destinies of four territories have been altered. It’s sounding like those dominos are being lined up.”
“I agree,” I said. “That’s why I’ve got to go to Ibara. I hate to say this, but I’m afraid it’s too late to undo what Mark has done. Too many events have been set in motion. A Traveler has joined Saint Dane, remember? Nevva Winter is on his side. She told me on Quillan that she was thinking of taking the place of the Traveler from Ibara. All signs point to Ibara being that first domino that’s going to be tipped.”
Courtney looked at the floor.
I continued, “I don’t think we can change the future by trying to re-alter the past. We’re too far down the road for that. I’ve got to look forward.”
“So you want to give up on Mark?” she asked.
“No!” I shouted. “It may be too late to undo the damage he’s done, but we still don’t know why he did it. That’s not about Halla. Or dados. It’s about our friend. According to Patrick’s computer, Mark Dimond disappeared sometime in November 1937. Disappearing is bad. Mark is an innocent victim in all this. If something bad is about to happen to him, we’ve got to try and stop it.”
Courtney walked over to the couch and sat down next to me. She held my hand and said, “No, I’ve got to try and stop it. You’ve got to go to Ibara.”
I’m finishing this journal while Courtney is sleeping in Gunny’s bed. I’m lying on his couch, writing. I can’t sleep. My mind is going in too many directions. My plan is to finish this journal and leave it with Courtney. She’ll find a safe place to keep it. From now on, I’ll send my journals to her through the rings.
Courtney is going to stay on First Earth to track down Mark. If anybody can do it, she can. She’s as much a part of this now as I am. She’s been together with Mark from the beginning. They are a team. Or, they were a team. Though I’m worried about both my friends, this feels right. I’ve made loads of sacrifices since becoming a Traveler in the name of saving Halla from Saint Dane. Now I’m abandoning my two best friends. It’s a hollow, dark feeling. But what else can I do? I honestly believe that there’s nothing we can do about the dados. The real concern here is Mark. Where is he? What happened that he knowingly changed the course of history? Is he okay? I believe that Courtney’s mission here on First Earth is not to try and realign Halla. It’s to save Mark’s life. Knowing that I won’t be here to help is killing me, but it’s a sacrifice I have to make. While Courtney tries to save Mark, I’ve got to try and save Halla. I’ve got to face Saint Dane on Ibara. It’s about him and me. It’s about proving the Travelers aren’t the bad guys.
I’ve got the same queasy feeling I always have when I’m about to go to a new territory. What will I find? What kind of culture will they have? Will it be modern? Ancient? Civilized? Primitive? Or will I land square in the middle of a society run by robots?
Anything is possible. There’s only one thing I know for sure.
Saint Dane is there waiting for me.
END OF JOURNAL #28