The Never War

THIRD EARTH

ThiswaslikenolibraryIhadeverseenbecause, well, there were no books. Actually, I take that back. There was one book, but it was in the lobby of the building, encased in a heavy glass box like a museum exhibit. I figured this was a book that was here to remind people of the past and the way things used to be. As I walked over to it, I wondered what would be the one book chosen to take this place of honor. Was it a dictionary? A Bible? Maybe the complete works of Shakespeare or some famous poet.

“Green Eggs and Ham?”Gunny said with surprise. “What kind of doctor writes about green eggs and ham?”

“Dr. Seuss,” I answered with a big smile on my face. “It’s my favorite book of all time.”

Patrick joined us and said, “We took a vote. It was pretty mucheverybody’sfavorite. Landslide victory. I’m partial toHorton Hears a Who, but this is okay too.”

The people of Third Earth still had a sense of humor.

Patrick led us through the large, marble-floored lobby where several people sat in comfortable chairs, reading from flat computer screens. Since space was a problem, this was a good way to go. Still, I loved to read and couldn’t imagine not being able to hold a book and turn the pages.

There were several long corridors leading off from the lobby. Patrick led us down one that was lined with doors on either side. Some were open and I could see people inside. I glanced into one room and saw something that made me stop short. Three people were seated around a silver platform that was raised about a foot in the air. Standing in the center of the platform, speaking to them, was Abraham Lincoln! I swear. He was right there. Honest Abe.

“… and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth,” Abe declared.

“Th-That’s Abraham Lincoln!” I said to nobody in particular.

“Yup, Gettysburg Address. Want to listen in?” Patrick asked.

“That’s some guy dressed up like Abe, right?”

At that instant Abraham Lincoln disappeared. Zap. Just like that, he faded out and the platform was empty. I shot a quick, questioning look to Patrick. He put an arm around my shoulder and led me farther down the hall.

“Think of how the caveman felt the first time he saw fire,” he chuckled. “It probably wasn’t much different than you’re feeling right now.”

“That was no fire, and I’m no caveman,” I said in shock. “Whatwasthat?”

“I’ll show you,” Patrick said, and led us into one of the rooms off the corridor. This room was pretty much like the one with Abe Lincoln’s ghost, but bigger. There were six simple chairs circling a silver platform that was about eight feet across.

“I’m a teacher,” Patrick explained. “So I have access to this super deluxe room.” I looked at Gunny. “Have you seen this before?”

“Yeah,” Gunny said with a smile. “Like I said, it’s magic.”

“Take a seat,” Patrick said. We did and he closed the door behind us so we had privacy. “The concept is simple. Every bit of information that exists has been stored in the data banks. It’s not much different from the computers you have on Second Earth, but about twelve billion times more powerful.” He took the center seat, pressed a glowing white button on the armrest, and said in a loud, clear voice: “Computer. New search.”

A pleasant woman’s voice spoke back to him, saying, “Welcome. How can I help you?”

Whoa. Star Trekor what? The lights dimmed automatically, and our attention was shifted to the round stage in front of us.

Patrick touched the button on his armrest and said, “Computer. Lincoln, Abraham. United States president.” Instantly the image of Abraham Lincoln appeared on the platform in front of us. But it wasn’t just an image, it looked like he was actually standing there in the flesh.

“Oh, man!” I said. “It’s a hologram.”

“Exactly,” said Patrick. He then touched the button again and said, “Gettysburg Address.”

Instantly Abe began to speak. “Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth-“

“Clear,” Patrick said, and Abe disappeared.

“How cool isthat!”I exclaimed. It reminded me of the holograms that Aja Killian showed us on Veelox.

“That was an easy one,” Patrick said. “Abraham Lincoln is a common entry.”

“Then let’s get a little uncommon,” Gunny said. “We’re here to learn about theHindenburg. Ever hear of it?” ”Are you kidding?” Patrick said, scoffing. “I thought this was going to be tough.” He hit the button and said,”Hindenburg, zeppelin, early twentieth century.”

Before us, floating over the platform, was a familiar sight. The silver airship appeared and hovered in the air, in miniature form, of course.

“Interior views,” Patrick commanded.

The full zeppelin disappeared and we were shown a bunch of different views of the passenger cabin of theHindenburg. I can’t tell you how cool this was. It was like tearing open a seam in time and peeking back into another era. TheHindenburgwas a fancy airship. I guess they designed it like an ocean liner. There were staterooms and a dining room, and a long deck where you could stroll around and look down on the world from behind the safety and comfort of glass.

“It was a luxury liner,” Patrick said. “Designed to ferry people across Europe and over the ocean in style.”

“We’re interested in the crash,” Gunny said quietly.

“I figured that,” Patrick said. He then pressed the white button and said, “Computer. Hindenburgdisaster.”

The full blimp reappeared. Then a second later fire flashed on its right side, near the tail. The fire spread so quickly it was like watching a movie that had been sped up. The tail dipped as flames spread over the silver skin of the balloon. The image was so realistic, I expected to feel the heat. The zeppelin hit the ground, tail first. Then the nose started coming down. I could even see people scrambling out of the gondola underneath and running for safety. It was horrifying, and fascinating.

Finally the entire balloon was engulfed in flames. The skeleton of the structure was revealed as the outer skin burned away. Then, horribly, the frame collapsed into a pile of burning metal. The image stopped moving, like a freeze-frame in a movie.

The computer voice then said, “Zeppelin LZ-one-two-nine. Hindenburg. Crashed on first transatlantic flight of 1937. Origin of flight: Frankfurt, Germany. Destination: Lakehurst Naval Air Station, New Jersey, USA. Date of incident: May sixth. Time of incident: 7:25p.m. Duration of incident: thirty-seven seconds. Passengers and crew aboard: ninety-seven. Dead: thirty-six.”

“Thirty-six people died,” I said in awe. “And it only took thirty-seven seconds. Unbelievable.”

Maybe not so unbelievable. I remembered how quickly the flames spread in that slaughterhouse when Winn Farrow’s rocket exploded.

“It landed at 7:25p.m.?”asked Gunny. “I thought it was supposed to come in the morning?”

Patrick said, “Computer. Reason for delayed arrival.”

The computer said, “High winds. Storms. Hindenburgdelayed until storm subsided.”

“Spader will be happy to hear that,” Gunny said. “We’ve got twelve more hours to work with.”

Patrick turned to Gunny and asked, “What are you looking for?”

“We want to know what caused the crash,” Gunny said. He glanced at me. We thought we knew the answer to that, but it was as good a place to start as any.

Patrick hit the button and said, “Computer. Cause ofHindenburgcrash.”

The pleasant computer voice said, “Several theories. One: Zeppelin filled with flammable hydrogen gas. Possible cause of ignition, residual static electricity from earlier thunderstorm. Two: Shell of balloon covered with volatile aluminum powder. Potential ignition cause, same static electricity. Three: Lightning strike. Final theory: Sabotage.”

“Sabotage?” I asked.

Patrick said, “Computer. More on sabotage.”

The computer said, “Potential for explosive device having been placed on board by crew member. Never proven.”

“State most likely scenario,” Patrick ordered the computer.

The computer answered, “No likely scenario. Cause of disaster unproven.”

The still frame of the burned zeppelin then disappeared.

“It’s one of the great mysteries of all time,” Patrick said. “Why did theHindenburgburn? Even with all our technology, we don’t know for sure.”

Gunny and I glanced at each other. We knew.

“So this computer has information stored on all people?” I asked. “Not just famous presidents?”

“Every single bit of information that exists is at your disposal.”

I thought for a second, an idea slowly forming. “Can I try?” I asked.

Patrick stood up and gave me the chair. “Have fun,” he said.

I sat down in the chair, feeling like I had a whole bunch of power at my fingertips. I touched the button and said, “Computer. Rose, Maximilian.”

The computer answered, “Over eight hundred thousand entries. More specifics, please.”

Patrick chuckled. “The computer cross-references everything in its databases. Give it more to go on.”

Okay. I hit the button again and said, “Computer. Rose, Maximilian. United States. 1937. Manhattan Tower Hotel. Criminal.” Bingo. Who should appear on the platform in front of us but Max Rose. He was even wearing one of his familiar silk bathrobes.

“Friend of yours?” Patrick asked.

“Sort of,” I answered, then hit the button again. “Computer. Rose, Maximilian. May sixth, 1937.”

The computer said, “Maximilian Rose, killed in automobile accident on May sixth, 1937.”

Huh? I shot a look to Gunny. Gunny sat up straight. Things were getting interesting. I then said, “Computer. When and where?”

The computer answered, “Six fiftyp.m. Intersection of Toms River Road and Route five-twenty-seven, Lakehurst, New Jersey, USA.”

“He must have been on his way to meet theHindenburg,”Gunny said.

I hit the button again and said, “New Search.” The image of Max Rose disappeared.

“Computer. Farrow, Winn. New York. 1937. Criminal.”

Bang. There he was. Winn Farrow, right in front of us. I was beginning to think this computer was as good as Patrick said.

“Computer. Farrow, Winn. May sixth, 1937,” I said.

The computer answered, “Received speeding ticket from New Jersey State Police. Four twenty-fivep.m.”

“That’s it for May sixth?” I asked.

The computer answered, “He was driving twelve miles over the speed limit.”

“There’s gotta be more than that,” I said in frustration. “Let me try something.” I hit the button again and said, “Computer. Amaden, Esther. New York. 1937.”

The image of Winn Farrow disappeared. There was a second of silence. Nothing appeared on the platform.

The computer said, “No data.”

That was weird. I gave it more to go on. “Computer. Add nickname, Harlow. Manhattan Tower Hotel. Singer. Friend of Rose, Maximilian.”

A moment, and then, “No data.”

“Does this machine ever make mistakes?” asked Gunny.

Patrick answered, “Well, no. Someone named Esther Amaden never existed or the computer would have a record of her.”

“What if she changed her name?” Gunny asked.

“The computer would know that. Guaranteed. Who was she?”

Uh-oh. A bad thought hit me and I started getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Computer,” I said weakly. “Van Dyke, Vincent. Nickname, Gunny. Manhattan Tower Hotel. New York. 1937.”

There was a pause, and then the computer answered, “No data.”

Now I started to sweat. Things were happening fast. “Computer. Tilton, Press. Stony Brook, Connecticut. Early twenty-first century. Uncle to Pendragon, Robert. Sister to Pendragon, Kathleen.”

A pause, and then, “No data.”

Patrick said, “We’re Travelers, Pendragon. There wouldn’t be any records.”

This was getting more horrifying by the second. I was learning something new about being a Traveler. As far as the world was concerned, we didn’t exist. That’s why my house on Second Earth was gone. That’s why my family disappeared.

“Computer! Pendragon, Robert. Nickname, Bobby. Stony Brook, Connecticut.” There was another pause, and then, “No data.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Bobby,” Gunny said softly.

I was freaking out, but not for the reason Gunny thought. In some ways, I think I knew something like this had to be true. Yeah, it was horrifying to know we had no history. But as frightening as that was, it wasn’t what was making my brain explode.

I couldn’t sit down anymore. My heart raced. I jumped up, hit the button again and shouted, “Computer! Amaden, Esther. Nickname, Harlow. Girlfriend to Rose, Maximilian. New York. 1937.”

The computer paused for several seconds and then said calmly, “No data.”

“Uh-oh,” Gunny said. He now realized where I was going with this.

“Yeah, uh-oh,” I shot back. “Travelers don’t have records because Travelers don’t have histories. AllTravelers, not just the good ones.”

“Do you think-“

“Yeah, I do. Esther Amaden is Saint Dane. He’s been playing the game from both sides from the very beginning.”