“It’s time,” I said.
“For what?” was his quick response.
“Cloral is safe. Uncle Press is gone. And I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to go after Saint Dane.”
Spader gave me a devilish smile. “Now you’re talking, mate! I’ve been waiting to hear those words for weeks! What if the trail’s gone cold?”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” I answered. “Uncle Press always said that time between territories isn’t relative.”
Spader frowned. “You lost me.”
I had to laugh. This didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me either, but I had to trust Uncle Press.
“Look at it this way,” I explained. “Saint Dane flumed to Veelox a few weeks ago, but since then he may have spent five years there. Or a minute.”
“Now I’m totally lost,” Spader said in frustration.
“Bottom line is, we’re not too late,” I said. “It doesn’t matter when we go after him, because the flume will put us where we need to be, when we need to be there.”
“O-kay,” said Spader tentatively. “I’ll trust you on that.”
I’d already said good-bye to our friends on Grallion, and I’d sent my last journal to you. I had explained the importance of journals to Spader and he had already started his own. The person he chose to send them to on Cloral for safekeeping was Wu Yenza. She was the chief aquaneer and Spader’s boss. He couldn’t have picked a better person.
I took a last look around my apartment. Then we went down to the docks, loaded our air globes and water sleds onto a skimmer boat, and left Grallion for the flume. Spader was the expert, so he drove. As we shot across the water I looked back at the giant, floating farm habitat of Grallion, wondering if I’d ever see it again. I liked Cloral. There were times when I actually had fun on that territory. It gave me hope that being a Traveler didn’t mean I always had to live in a state of fear and confusion.
Now the question was, what lay ahead of us? Pretty much a state of fear and confusion. Great. Here we go again.
The trip to the flume was cake. We anchored the skimmer near the reef, popped on the air globes that allowed us to breathe underwater, triggered the water sleds, and quickly sank below the surface. We didn’t run into any shark quigs either. I think that once Saint Dane is finished with a territory, the quigs no longer patrol the gates. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. As we sped through the water being pulled by the sleds, I kept glancing back to make sure nothing nasty was sneaking up on us to try and get a nibble.
I didn’t relax until we shot under the shelf of rock that led to the gate. Following the glow from my ring, we quickly found the wide circle of light that led up and into the cavern that held the flume. Moments later we were standing together in the cavern, staring up at the dark flume tunnel that was cut into the rock wall high over our heads.
This was it. The last few seconds of calm.
Spader looked at me and smiled. “My heart’s thumpin’.”
So was mine. We were standing at the starting line and the gun was about to go off. Spader loved adventure. Me? I’d just as soon be home watching toons. Knowing Spader was nervous made me feel like I wasn’t such a weenie after all.
He added, “We’re in for another natty-do, aren’t we, mate?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “Pretty much.”
“No use in wasting time here then,” he said, sounding a lot braver than I felt.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re on the wrong territory.”
I stood straight, looked up to the dark hole of the flume, and shouted, “Veelox!”
The tunnel sprang to life. Shafts of bright light shot from deep inside. The familiar jumble of musical notes could be heard faintly at first, but quickly grew louder. They were coming to get us.
Spader turned to me and smiled. “Hobey-ho, Pendragon.”
“Hobey-ho, Spader,” I answered. “Let’s go get him.”
A second later we were swept up by the light and sound and pulled into the flume.
Next stop…Veelox.
SECOND EARTH
Mark Dimond and Courtney Chetwynde huddled together in the vault of the National Bank of Stony Brook, reading Bobby’s journal from First Earth. It was a journal unlike any of the others Bobby had sent.
First off, the pages weren’t loose. They were bound nicely into a book with a deep red cover. And the pages weren’t handwritten. They were typed…on an old-fashioned typewriter. They knew it was a typewriter because the letters weren’t all perfectly lined up and there were a ton of mistakes. Besides, they didn’t have computers or printers back in 1937. This new journal was definitely a far cry from the pieces of rolled up parchment paper Bobby had written his first journals on.
The other difference was that Bobby usually sent only one journal at a time. When he finished writing one he’d send it, through his Traveler ring, to Mark’s ring. But this time, sitting in front of Mark and Courtney were four journals. After reading what happened with the gangsters on First Earth, Mark and Courtney knew why.
Bobby’s ring had been stolen.
The mysterious manner in which the journals arrived was further proof of that. Earlier that day, Mark had gotten a strange phone call from a lady at the National Bank of Stony Brook. She asked for Mark and Courtney to meet her at the bank to discuss something about a Mr. Robert Pendragon. That was all Mark needed to hear. He and Courtney were at that bank in half an hour.
When they arrived, they discovered that Bobby had rented a safe-deposit box at the bank in 1937. Bobby had left explicit instructions that the bank should contact Mark Dimond on this very date—August 21, Mark’s fifteenth birthday.
When Mark and Courtney opened up the safe-deposit box, they found the four journals. They had been lying in that box for over sixty years.
This whole episode was another bizarre twist in an already incredible situation. Bobby Pendragon had mysteriously left their hometown of Stony Brook, Connecticut, with his Uncle Press almost nine months before. Since then his family had disappeared, and the journals began showing up. The only people who knew the truth were his best friends, Mark and Courtney. Bobby trusted them to take care of his journals in case he might need them again someday.
But more important, it seemed to both Mark and Courtney that writing these journals helped keep Bobby sane. He was now smack in the middle of an incredible adventure that had nothing less than the future of everything at stake. Writing the journals seemed like a perfect way for Bobby to help keep his head on straight, while everything around him was so twisted. Both knew that one day Bobby’s adventure would take him home. But until then, the only thing they could do to help him on his quest was to read his journals, try to understand what he was going through, and keep them safe.
“We’re closing,” snapped Ms. Jane Jansen, the bank manager, making Mark and Courtney jump.
Ms. Jane Jansen had only just met the two, but she didn’t seem to like them. She didn’t seem to like much of anything. Her face was in a permanent state of pucker, like she had a lemon in her pocket that she was constantly sucking on.
“Oh, sorry,” said Mark, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. “We were reading. Can we come back tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” snapped Ms. Jane Jansen. “And this isn’t a library. You children have spent far too much time here already.”
Courtney didn’t like Ms. Jane Jansen’s attitude. And she definitely didn’t like being called a child, especially by such a prune.
“So if we can’t read here, what are we supposed to do?” asked Courtney politely, trying not to let her distaste for the woman show through.
“The content of that box belongs to you,” Ms. Jane Jansen said. “Do whatever you want with it.”
“You mean, we can take it all home?” asked Mark.
“I said, whatever you want,” said Ms. Jane Jansen impatiently.
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” asked Courtney. “Or do you always provi
de such lousy service?”
Mark winced. He hated it when Courtney clicked into wiseass mode.
Ms. Jane Jansen’s eyes popped open wide. “Miss Chetwynde, I have been an employee of the National Bank of Stony Brook for over twenty years and I have always provided thorough and professional service.”
“I’ll be sure to include that in our report to your president,” Courtney said. “That’s what this is all about, you know. To test how bank employees deal with unusual situations. So far, you haven’t exactly rolled with the punches, now have you, Ms. Jane Jansen?”
Ms. Jane Jansen’s eyes grew wide. She suddenly turned all friendly and polite. “Well, uh, if you have any complaints I’d be more than happy to personally ensure your complete satisfaction.”
“There is something,” Courtney said. “If you’d be so kind, would you return the empty drawer to our safe-deposit box? We’ll be taking the contents with us.”
Ms. Jane Jansen clenched her teeth. It wasn’t her job to clean up after people. But she sucked it up.
“Of course,” she said with a big, phony smile. “I’d be happy to.”
Mark quickly scooped up the four journals and stashed them in his backpack. He wanted to get out of there before Courtney got them into trouble.
“Th-Thanks,” he said with sincere courtesy. “We’ll get out of your hair now.” He went for the door, pulling Courtney along with him.
“Thanks for all your help, ma’am,” said Courtney sweetly. “You really put the ass in ass-istance.”
Mark yanked Courtney out of the vault, leaving Ms. Jane Jansen with a twisted smile that actually looked painful. A minute later they rushed out of the gray bank building onto Stony Brook Avenue. Courtney was all smiles. Mark was angry.
“Are you crazy?” he yelled. “What if she threw us out of there? We could have lost the journals!”
“No way,” assured Courtney. “You heard her. They belong to us. Besides, she deserved it. She treated us like a couple of turds.”
“Yeah, well, some things are more important than your bruised ego,” Mark muttered.
“You’re right, Mark,” Courtney said sincerely. “I’m sorry.”
Mark nodded, then looked at Courtney and smiled. “She did deserve it.”
The two burst out laughing. Now that their bank adventure was behind them, their thoughts turned to the important issue. After waiting for months, they had another journal from Bobby! Better, they had four journals. In Mark’s pack was an entire new adventure. They wouldn’t have to wait impatiently for new journals to show up. They had a full story in their hands.
“I don’t know about you,” said Mark, “but once I start reading again, I’m not going to want to stop.”
“Agreed,” said Courtney.
“Here’s what I’m thinking. It’s getting late. How about if we wait till tomorrow?”
“You’re kidding!” protested Courtney.
“I’m serious. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ll come over to your house real early, like eight A.M. We’ll go down to your father’s workshop and won’t come out until we’re finished.”
Courtney gave this some thought. “You promise not to read anything tonight?” she asked.
“Promise,” Mark said, crossing his heart.
“Okay, cool,” she said. “I’ll make some sandwiches. You bring chips. We’ll make it a marathon.”
“Excellent. I’ll bring the Dew, too,” Mark said with excitement.
“Whatever.” Courtney didn’t do the Dew.
“This is gonna be great!” Mark shouted.
The next day at 8 A.M. sharp, Courtney’s doorbell rang. Courtney’s dad opened the door to see Mark standing there with a loaded grocery bag.
“Morning, Mark,” he said through sleepy eyes. “Going on a picnic?”
“Uh…no,” answered Mark. “Courtney and I are working on a school project in your basement. It’s gonna take all day so we need provisions.”
“Really?” said Mr. Chetwynde. “It’s August.”
“Right,” said Mark, thinking fast. “Summer school.”
“Courtney doesn’t go to summer school.”
“I know,” Mark said, mentally kicking himself for being such a lousy, uncreative liar. “I do.”
Mr. Chetwynde looked at Mark. Mark smiled innocently.
Mr. Chetwynde shrugged and yawned. “Whatever, c’mon in.” He stepped aside and Mark rushed in.
Mark knew exactly where to go. He and Courtney had used Mr. Chetwynde’s basement workshop as a private place to read Bobby’s journals many times before. Mr. Chetwynde had set up an entire workshop down there and never used it. He was a lousy do-it-yourself type guy. Mark and Courtney could be there all day, even on a Sunday, and never worry about anybody coming down.
Mark settled into the big, dusty couch as Courtney ran down the stairs. “Sandwiches are in the fridge,” she announced. “Ready when we need ’em.”
She sat next to Mark on the couch as he pulled the four red-leather journals from his backpack. He put them down reverently on the low table in front of them. The two sat there, staring at the precious stack. Neither made a move to pick one up.
“This is kind of weird,” Mark finally said.
“Really,” agreed Courtney. “I’m excited and afraid at the same time. I’m dying to know what happened to Bobby, but what if it’s bad?”
The two fell silent, staring at the books.
“There’s something else,” added Mark thoughtfully. “This whole First Earth thing makes me nervous.”
“Why?” Courtney asked.
“It’s like Saint Dane is coming closer. To us.”
“You don’t know that,” Courtney said quickly.
“No, but Second Earth is a territory like all the others. One day Saint Dane is going to come here, too. And when he does, we’re going to be doing more than just reading about it.”
“Unless Bobby and the Travelers stop him first, right?” Courtney asked hopefully.
Mark didn’t answer. He looked at the journals thoughtfully, then reached for the top one. “Let’s just read, okay?”
Courtney took a breath to calm down, then said, “Let’s try something different this time. We’ll read out loud to each other.”
Mark was secretly relieved. He was a faster reader than Courtney and always had to wait for her to catch up. This was the perfect solution.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” he said, and handed her the journal. “You first.”
Courtney took the journal and cracked open the cover. “We left off where Bobby and Spader flumed to Veelox, right?” she asked.
“Right,” answered Mark. He sank back into the couch, put a hand behind his head, got comfortable and said, “Go for it.”
Courtney turned to the page where they had left off the day before, and began to read out loud.
“A second later we were swept up by the light and sound and pulled into the flume. Next stop…Veelox.”
JOURNAL #9
FIRST EARTH
Flying through an interstellar tunnel across time and space was never a normal experience, but making the trip with somebody along for the ride kicked it a couple of notches higher on the strange meter.
“I could get used to this!” declared Spader as he did somersaults and flips, looking like an astronaut pulling zero g’s.
I had to hand it to the guy—he knew how to have fun. Me? I was more interested in kicking back and looking out at the stars beyond the crystal walls. Whatever. To each his own.
We had only been sailing for a few minutes when the flume dumped us off again. Spader had been flying headfirst and barely had time to spin around and land on his feet. Once the light from the flume was sucked back into the tunnel and the musical notes left us, we found ourselves standing in…
Nothing. Seriously. It was pitch-black. I couldn’t see an inch in front of my face.
“Whoa, Veelox is dark,” Spader declared.
“Yeah, no kidding. Let’s wait a second
for our eyes to adjust.”
They didn’t. We stood there for two minutes, but the place stayed just as inky black as when we landed.
“Get behind me,” Spader ordered protectively. “I’ll walk with my hand out until I hit—”
“Stop right there!” a voice boomed at us.
Uh-oh. We weren’t alone. This had never happened before. Was it Saint Dane? Could the quigs on Veelox talk? Was unseen danger hurtling toward us at this very second?
“Back up,” I said softly to Spader.
I took hold of his arm and was about to pull him back into the flume and get the hell out of there, when a light suddenly appeared, hovering in the air over our heads.
“You seeing this, mate?” Spader asked, his voice sounding shaky.
“Yeah,” I answered, just as shaky.
The light grew larger. It was all soft and watery at first, but then suddenly snapped into sharp focus to reveal…
A girl. Actually, not a full girl. A girl’s head. No kidding. Just a head. It was big, too. It floated over us like a huge Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon.
“Who are you?” the head demanded.
Her voice was loud, as though amplified. The girl-head looked normal enough. She had long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were blue, and she wore small, wire-rimmed glasses with yellow-tinted lenses. I’d even say she was cute, for a monster head, that is. She didn’t look dangerous, but then again, a giant floating head didn’t exactly look normal, either.
“I’m Bobby Pendragon,” I said to the head, trying to sound head-friendly.
“And my name’s Vo Spader,” Spader added. “Who are you?”
“I’ll ask the questions!” boomed the head.
I felt like I was standing before the great and powerful Wizard of Oz. With any luck, there’d be some befuddled old man hiding behind a curtain pulling on levers to control the big thing.
“Where do you come from?” demanded the head.
“I’m from Cloral,” answered Spader. “My mate here is from Second Earth. Do you have a body to go with that head?”