The Quillan Games

QUILLAN

The journey to Mr. Pop was a long and complicated one. It probably felt even longer than it was because both Nevva and I had to wear blindfolds. We were told that it was all about security. The more people who knew Mr. Pop and where he was hiding out, the more chance there was of Blok finding hint Tylee explained how devastating that would be. She said that the revival had faced many setbacks and managed to survive. She feared that if the trustees of Blok learned for certain that Mr. Pop was real, and discovered his whereabouts, he would be killed and the revival crushed.

People spoke about him as if he were some kind of mythical being, yet they were cautious not to mention his name too loudly, for fear of making him seem too real. The challengers offered toasts to him. The revivers said he represented the future of Quillan. I couldn’t imagine how a single guy could be so powerful and represent so much. Was he a former king? A president? Maybe he was a poet who wrote about freedom, or a visionary leader who knew how to build a new Quillan. Whenever I asked about him, I only got vague, unsatisfying answers. Nothing concrete like, “He’s a great military tactician who knows how to destroy the security dados.” Or, “He is a wise leader with a vision for a new government.” It was always something vague like, “He is our future.” Or, “He will be our inspiration and we will follow.” It was all very touchy-feely and not very satisfying. I was dying to know how this guy planned to bring Quillan back from the brink.

Nevva was pretty excited too. Or maybe it was nerves. Whatever it was, she didn’t say a word for the whole trip. That wasn’t like her at all. I figured she was overwhelmed by the concept of finally getting the chance to meet the big guy. The only clue that Tylee gave us about where we were going was that we were leaving the city. She said that in generations past, many people lived outside the city and traveled in and out on trains. She didn’t have to explain it any further than that. I knew all about living in the suburbs and taking a train into the city. You guys know how many times we’ve taken the train from Stony Brook into Manhattan. It seemed as if Mr. Pop was a suburban kind of guy. That was cool. I was too.

We were blindfolded as soon as we left the theater in the mall. They first put us back on those electric carts, where we sped underground for several minutes. Though I couldn’t see, I could sense that security was tight. I heard several voices I didn’t recognize and they kept changing, as if we were being handed off from team to team. Tylee explained that it was another security measure. The fewer people who knew where we were going, the better. It was all to keep the location of Mr. Pop a secret, even to most of the people of the revival. Once off the electric vehicles, we were put into the backseat of a car. We drove for several minutes, then changed vehicles. For all I knew we were doubling back, and zigzagging, and doing whatever it took to hide our trail. I figured people didn’t visit Mr. Pop too often. It took too long.

“You okay?” I finally asked Nevva. I wasn’t used to her being so quiet.

“Yes,” she said quickly. Short and sweet.

“You don’t sound okay,” I pressed.

“To be honest, I’m a little scared,” she admitted. “This all feels a little like a dream.”

I knew what she meant. If I were back home and being taken to meet the president or the pope or somebody big like that, I’d be tense too. Actually, this was bigger than that. We weren’t going to see just any old important person. We were going to meet some mythical character that Nevva had only heard stories about. I guess the better analogy would be it was like being taken to meet Santa Claus. Yeah, that would make me kind of nervous.

It felt like we had been traveling for at least a couple of hours when Tylee finally said, “We’re here.”

I felt Nevva tense up next to me. I probably did the same. We were led out of the car by strong hands and walked for several hundred yards in sunlight. Though I couldn’t see, I knew we weren’t in the city anymore. The sounds were different. Wherever we were, it was far away from civilization. The only sounds I heard were the crunching of our footsteps on gravel, and birds. Yes, they had birds on Quillan. Hearing them actually raised my spirits. There was life outside the dead city.

Tylee explained, “We are now in what was once an industrial complex, but it has long been abandoned. There are thousands of structures like this spread out beyond the borders of the city. It is the perfect place to go if you want to get lost.”

“The dados don’t come out here?” I asked.

“There’s no need to,” Tylee answered. “Blok shut down all the outlying industry. The trains no longer run. With no jobs, people had to move into the city. That’s why Rune is so crowded.”

Nevva added, “It’s another way the company controls people’s lives. All over Quillan they’ve herded the population into cities, where they can monitor our every move.”

We stopped, and I heard a heavy metal door being opened. Wherever we were going, it was secure.

“So Mr. Pop lives out here in the middle of nowhere?” I asked.

Nobody answered. I figured I’d be able to ask him myself. We walked inside the building for several minutes. The quick echo of our footsteps made it sound like we were walking down a corridor. Finally the long, mysterious journey came to an end when Tylee announced, “You can remove your blindfolds now.”

When I pulled off the cloth, I saw that we were in front of silver steel doors. It was an elevator. Nevva bit her Up. Her eyes darted around nervously.

“It’s okay,” I said. “This is a good thing.”

She nodded, but she was definitely on edge. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. We entered, and had only descended for a short time when the elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors remained closed.

Tylee faced us and said, “Pendragon, Nevva, you two are about to experience something that very few others have. And that’s a shame. Hopefully that will soon change. There is a group among the revivers called guardians. I’m one of them. We have been given the single most important task ever conceived of in the history of Quillan. For generations we have been entrusted with the care and protection of Mr. Pop. Guardians have died rather than give up his secrets. I’m not ashamed to admit that some have threatened to reveal his truths and were executed without hesitation. That’s the level of importance we give to our task.” “Strong words,” I said.

Tylee said, “Once you step through these doors, you’ll understand.”

“Wait,” I said. “You guardians have been protecting Mr. Pop for generations? How old is this guy?”

Tylee smiled and said, “As old as Quillan.”

Nevva and I exchanged confused looks.

“Would you like to meet him?” Tylee asked.

We nodded dumbly. Suddenly I was nervous too. Tylee stepped aside and pressed a button on the control panel. The silvdr doors slid open quietly.

“Nevva, Pendragon,” Tylee said, “this is Mr. Pop.”

We stepped out of that elevator and into another world. It was a vast underground warehouse. The structure seemed even bigger than the warehouse full of wooden crates that led to the gate and the flume. We’re talking immense. But it wasn’t the room itself that took my breath away, it was what it contained. The instant the doors opened, I understood everything. I knew why security was so tight. I knew why Mr. Pop was spoken about in hushed tones. I knew how he would guide the people of Quillan into the future. I knew why they didn’t want Blok to know he existed. I knew why people died to guard his secrets. I knew why Tylee said protecting him was the single most important job ever conceived of in the history of Quillan, because what we saw in that room was the history of Quillan.

Mr. Pop wasn’t a person, he was civilization.

I looked to Nevva. Her wide eyes told me she was just as surprised as I was.

“Did you know?” I asked.

All she could do was shake her head. She had no idea.

This huge, impossible vault held the artifacts that defined the history of a territory. Everything that had been wiped out by the juggernaut that was Blok, was here. I’m not sure where to begin telling you about it. I’ll just dive in and describe it as it comes to me: There was artwork. Beautiful artwork of all styles-realistic, impressionistic, modern. Paintings and murals and sketches were displayed in one giant section. Next to it was a library. There were many thousands of volumes on shelves stacked nearly to the ceiling. These were the writings and thoughts of the people of Quillan. This is what Blok destroyed-or tried to.

Nevva and I didn’t speak; we simply followed Tylee as she led us on a slow stroll through this amazing archive. Music came from one section. It sounded kind of like classical music from Second Earth. There were multiple bins of small disks that contained every piece of music ever composed and recorded on the territory. It was all there.

Another section had hundreds of mannequins, though this wasn’t scary and sad like that empty store at the mall. These mannequins wore clothing from all different periods in Quillan’s history. There were vibrant colors and colorful patterns and some daring styles that would even turn some heads on Second Earth. There wasn’t a single gray, plain suit to be seen anywhere.

I felt as if I were floating through an impossible museum. I can’t begin to imagine how Nevva felt. This was her history, a history she never knew. It was Quillan. We passed cars from different eras, models of homes of every sort, examples of furniture and kitchens. There were even artifacts from ancient Quillan cultures. I saw dugout canoes and rudimentary tools. We passed one section that was ringed with hundreds of portraits. Tylee explained how each of these people had been notable in their time. Beneath each portrait was a detailed history of the person’s life and his or her contribution to the history of Quillan. There were artists and athletes, politicians and kings, outlaws and scientists. No aspect of Quillan’s history had been overlooked, whether it was good or bad. The infamous criminals were given the same treatment as the noted scholars.

Every so often we’d pass someone who was quietly going about the business of caring for the displays. The people all wore dark green smocks that made them look kind of like doctors. Or scientists. Tylee explained that these guardians maintained and cared for everything within these walls. I saw one | guy touching up an ancient oil portrait that was starting to fade. Another woman mended a gown that was frayed at the shoulder. Two guys worked on a car. They kicked over the engine and it sputtered to life. The two guys hugged each other as if they had just performed a miracle. I guess in some ways, they had.

We passed sculptures of every kind. Some were realistic depictions of people, others were modern-looking pieces with fascinating shapes and textures. One marble sculpture reached as high as the ceiling. It was a massive, muscular hand, holding a wispy feather. As big as it was, it looked incredibly delicate. We saw vases and hats and flowers and jewelry and poetry and toys and, and, and-I could keep going forever. We toured for an hour and only scratched the surface. It was clear why Tylee brought us here. She wanted us to see what Quillan once was. She wanted me to see what Quillan once was.

“So Mr. Pop isn’t a person,” I finally said.

“We created a name,” Tylee answered. “It was a simple way to refer to this collection without raising suspicions as to its true nature.”

“The people need to see this,” I said.

“Of course they do,” Tylee replied. “What you’re seeing here isn’t just our history, it’s our essence. Our very being. This room is filled with tragedy and triumph. There’s a library of data where you can look up most every event of note. But this isn’t just about grand events. It’s about the little things that make up a life. There’s creativity in here. There’s individuality in here. It’s everything we ever were, and lost. No, that’s not right. We didn’t lose it-it was taken away. You’re right, the people desperately need to see this. They need to learn from it. They need to remember what we were and what we can be again. Our goal in preserving this is to have it ready for the time when the people are ready to take back their lives. It will be our guide to help us into the future. Hopefully, we can pick up where we left off, and not make the same mistakes.”

“But most people don’t know it exists?” I asked, amazed.

“Only in theory,” Tylee answered. “People have heard of Mr. Pop and how he will help show us the way. He’s a symbol in the form of a man. It gives people hope that there is more out there than the grim future that Blok has created. When the revival begins, and we can be sure that this collection is safe, these items will once again be shared with all the people of Quillan.”

Nevva was crying. It must have been pretty emotional to see what your life could have been. I didn’t blame her one bit. But I think she was embarrassed by showing such emotion in front of us.

“I need some time,” she said, and left Tylee and me alone.

Tylee said, “Nevva has helped the revival in so many ways. She knows that before we can recapture Quillan, we must recapture the minds and the imagination of the people. I truly believe in her idea of creating a hero of the people, who will triumph in the Grand X. It’s a brilliant way to charge people’s emotions. You’ve seen what’s at stake. But I understand your reluctance. Whatever choice you make, I’ll respect it. Now, I’ll leave you to explore, and think.”

She left me alone. I have to admit, I was rocked. Up until that point, all I had seen was the horror of Quillan. But here, within these walls, I saw hope. Thinking of those masses of zombies walking along the city streets, I couldn’t help but wonder what any of those brain-dead people would think if they saw Mr. Pop. It would be like a caveman seeing fire for the first time. I had to believe that learning the truth would change the course of Quillan. As I stood alone in that archive, I truly didn’t know what to do.

“Is there something in particular you need?” came a pleasant voice.

It was an elderly woman with long gray hair and warm brown eyes. She wore the same green smock as all the other workers.

“Sure,” I answered. “Inspiration.”

The old woman looked deep into my eyes for a moment, then said, “Come with me.”

I followed her on a winding route through the history of Quillan.

“Is this your first visit to Mr. Pop?” she asked.

I nodded and said, “It’s stunning.” It was the only word I could think of to describe it.

“The only thing stunning is that it needs to exist at all,” she replied.

She led me into another area of portraits that was similar to the first display we’d seen. Only the portraits in this gallery were all of children.

“Who were they?” I asked.

“Ordinary children who faced the same fears we all do,” she said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

She gave me a warm smile and left me alone. I walked into the gallery and stared at the faces in these portraits. There were kids of all ages, from toddlers up to young teens. I quickly scanned the histories that were printed below. These were regular kids who had each done something remarkable. One guy overcame blindness to graduate at the top of his school class. There was a girl who looked about twelve who was a champion swimmer, and a little guy who wrote poetry that was widely published. Some stories were dramatic, like the girl who survived for an impossibly long time in the wilderness. Others were simple, like the guy who raised puppies to be trained for use by the handicapped. One kid designed a simple toy that became very popular; another kid helped his single mother raise his younger brothers and sisters. Most of the stories weren’t territory-changing, but they all had one thing in common: They were kids who weren’t afraid to try.

I left the gallery in tears, knowing that Quillan didn’t have kids like this anymore. Worse, parents gambled away their children in the hopes of finding a better life. It didn’t get any worse than that.

I found Nevva and Tylee waiting for me at the elevator. They looked at me as if expecting an answer. I didn’t have one. I truly didn’t know what to do.

“We should get back” was all I said. I sensed their disappointment, but they didn’t say anything.

Tylee had us put our blindfolds back on. As best as I could tell, we retraced the exact same route back to the car and back to Rune. Nobody said a word the whole trip. That was fine by me. I needed to think. I had too many conflicting emotions and concerns. The blindfolds weren’t removed until we were back in the center of the city. When we were allowed to see again, we were on a side street somewhere in the heart of the city.

Tylee said, “I know this decision cannot be easy for you, Pendragon. When you have decided what you want to do, Nevva will contact us, and we will go from there.”

Tylee nodded to Nevva and left. I wanted more time to think, though I wasn’t sure what more thinking would do. The facts weren’t changing. It was entirely up to me. Nevva reached for my arm, and was about to lead me away when we heard music boom through the streets. The overhead screens had come to life. We walked out to the corner and gazed up at the nearest screen. All around us the people of Rune did the same.

Loud electronic music blared from the screens, getting everjyone’s attention. The geometric shapes danced and bobbed on the screen.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Is it another game?”

“No,” Nevva answered with certainty. “Unless they’ve changed the schedule.”

The next image we saw on-screen was a familiar one. It was Veego and LaBerge. Veego looked like her normal, intense self, while LaBerge looked like his normal, annoying self. He couldn’t keep still as he sang, “Hiding hiding, running scared, maybe under a bed. Your name will bear the mark of shame, the coward Challenger Red!”

Nevva shot me a look. I kept my eyes on the screen. The image changed and was replaced by another familiar face. It was Challenger Green. The crowd cheered. The big guy seemed to be looking right at me as he said, “Stay away, you frightened little boy. Is it because you know you can’t beat me? Is that why you ran away? We’re laughing at you. Challenger Red. We’re all laughing at you. What made you think you could challenge me in the Grand X? I am the greatest champion Blok has ever known. You were nothing before, and you have returned to nothing. Thank you for not wasting my time. Is there anyone else there brave enough to challenge me? The Grand X is nearly here. Who is brave enough to face me? Or maybe I should say, who is stupid enough?” Challenger Green laughed, the crowd roared its approval, and the screen went dark.

I turned to Nevva and said, “I’ll do it.”

That’s where I’m ending this journal. I’m going to enter the Grand X. I know it sounds crazy. I’m doing exactly what Saint Dane wants. But how can I turn my back on these people? Seeing that library they call Mr. Pop was what did it. Quillan had life once. If the revivers are successful, I think the territory can be turned around. Nevva was right, this definitely feels like the turning point for Quillan. I think Saint Dane was lying. Quillan isn’t lost. Not yet. There seems to be a moment here where things can turn for the better. It’s all about the revivers, and if they think my competing in the Grand X will help them, then I’ve got to do it. It’s what I’m supposed to do. Yes, I think it’s the way it was meant to be.

I can’t say I’m not nervous about it. I am. But I’m confident, too. I can beat that guy. I know I can. Of course anything can happen, but all things being equal, I know I can take him. Whatever positive effect that will have on the revival is the main reason I want to take him on. But there’s another. This guy killed a Traveler. I don’t care if it was during a game. He killed a Traveler. I’m tired of being cautious. I’m going to take him apart.

And I haven’t forgotten Saint Dane’s offer. He told me if I competed in the Grand X, he’d reveal the origin of the Travelers. Do I believe him? Not really. But when I win, I’m going to do all I can to hold him to that. I’m beginning to understand that guy. As much as he’s jerked me around, I’ve been able to get to him, too. If I compete and he doesn’t live up to his end of the bargain, I can turn it around on him as proof of his own weakness. He hates that. He wants to beat me. No, he needs to beat me. He won’t.

That’s why I think this can be the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning of my life as a Traveler. When I win the Grand X, I’m not only going to be helping the revivers save Quillan, I’ll be taking another step toward stopping Saint Dane for good.

But first I’ve got to stop Challenger Green.

Bring it on.

END JOURNAL #26

Courtney read the entire journal at the Sherwood house.

She couldn’t wait. She took the envelope upstairs to the empty living room of the old mansion, sat on the hard floor, and read. Her heart raced the entire time. With each new turn in Bobby’s story, she grew more upset. Bobby had announced that he was going to enter the Grand X. She wanted to cry. Bobby was changing. She feared he was becoming too aggressive, too cocky. It scared her to death.

She needed Mark. She really needed Mark. But Mark was gone. He had jumped into the flume and traveled to territories unknown. The only people who knew where he went and why were Mark… and Saint Dane. Saint Dane. Andy Mitchell was Saint Dane. He had been Saint Dane from the very beginning, which meant back in grade school. Courtney zipped through her memories of the creepy kid with the greasy hair who loved to torment others. The thought was impossible, yet strangely, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. It didn’t make her feel any better, but it made sense.

Courtney put Bobby’s pages back into the envelope, hugged her knees, and put her head down to think. Andy Mitchell had tormented Mark all his life, then suddenly became his best friend. What was the point? To get Mark to like him? Courtney didn’t know much about psychology, but she thought about how quickly Mark had accepted Andy as a changed guy. As a friend. Was Mark somehow drawn to Andy Mitchell because the former bully suddenly showed a different, better side? Did that make him more appealing as a friend? Now that she thought about it, the whole thing was so obvious. Mitchell had magically become a science geek. Saint Dane knew that’s what Mark would respond to, so that’s what he became. Was Saint Dane that smart? Of course he was, she thought. Saint Dane had tricked entire governments into trusting him. He worked his way into the confidences of princes and queens, of bandits and scientists. Saint Dane knew which buttons to push, all right. Mark didn’t stand a chance.

Another thought hit Courtney. Saint Dane was Whitney Wilcox. Saint Dane was Andy Mitchell. Whitney Wilcox tried to kill her, but Andy Mitchell helped Mark save her. Why would Saint Dane try to kill her, only to then save her?

“Oh, my God,” Courtney said as the truth rushed at her.

Her accident was a setup. A devious, diabolical setup. By helping Mark save her, Andy Mitchell had cemented their relationship. It created a bond. They had saved Courtney. Courtney realized in horror that she’d been a pawn. It was about Mark all along. There was no doubt in her mind, Saint Dane had gone to great lengths to get Mark to trust him. Now Mark’s parents were dead. If there was ever a time that Mark needed support from a friend, it was then. And who was there to give it to him? Saint Dane. Courtney wanted to scream. Whatever Saint Dane wanted with Mark, it had to have something to do with his plans for Second Earth. Why else would he bother? She squeezed her hands into fists. They’d been worried for years about what Saint Dane might do on Second Earth, without realizing he was laying the groundwork right under their noses. Worse, they were part of it!

Courtney wanted Bobby home. He needed to know what was going on. They had to find Mark not only to save him, but to stop Saint Dane from using their friend for whatever his plans were for Second Earth. Courtney was faced with a decision. Should she go to Quillan to find Bobby? She felt certain it was wrong for him to enter the Grand X. It was way too risky. And now that Mark needed help, it was all the more reason that he had to come home. For Mark, for Second Earth, and for himself.

Courtney jumped to her feet. She had made up her mind. It was worth the risk of damaging the flume. She grabbed her pack and took a step toward the stairs to the basement… when she heard the growl.

Courtney froze. It was coming from the foyer of the mansion. She cautiously slid her hand into her jacket pocket and grasped the canister of pepper spray.

Grrrrr…

She knew that growl. There was no mistaking it. Quigs. She glanced over her shoulder to see if there was another way out of this room. A window, a back hallway, anything.

There wasn’t. It was too late anyway. The quig sprang.

It was a huge muscled black dog with rows of sharp teeth that were too big for its jaw. It rounded the corner from the foyer and charged her at full speed, its yellow quig eyes focused, its teeth gnashing.

Courtney pulled out the pepper spray, aimed, and waited. She didn’t want to miss. It meant she had to let it get dangerously close. The quig charged; Courtney steeled herself. She waited… waited… waited… and pulled the trigger.

Fum!

A burst of knocking it backward. It hit the ground, rolled, and lay there unconscious.

“Ahhh!” Courtney screamed and dropped the bottle. It was an unconscious act. Whatever had just shot out of the bottle, it wasn’t pepper spray. Pepper spray didn’t knock out a charging quig. Or anything else for that matter. Yet the demon-dog was out cold. Courtney slowly knelt down and retrieved the canister. She looked at it as if it were something alien, because it was. Looking closely, she realized that it wasn’t her pepper spray. It was the same size and weight, but the canister was metallic silver with no markings. Her pepper spray was plastic with writing that said very clearly, pepper spray. This wasn’t it. Courtney reached into her left pocket to check the other canister of spray. It was the exact same as the first. It wasn’t hers. She had no idea when or how they were changed.

Courtney didn’t want to be there anymore. She abandoned the idea of jumping into the flume, at least for the time being. She jammed the silver canisters into her pockets, picked up the envelope holding Bobby’s journal pages, put it into her backpack, and ran out of the Sherwood house. All she wanted was to get home. Too much was happening and none of it was good. She made it back over the wall surrounding the Sherwood property with no problem, and down the tree to the sidewalk. With her head down, she walked quickly along, wanting more than anything else to be someplace safe and sane.

A car horn sounded behind her, making her jump and scream, “Ahhh!”

She turned to see her father pulling up behind her in their Volvo wagon.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

Courtney tried to catch her breath.

“You want to tell me why you’re not in school?” Mr. Chetwynde asked.

Oh. Right. School.

“I couldn’t,” she said, truthfully. 1 wanted to go, but there’s just too much to deal with. I can’t stop thinking about the Dimonds. I want to go home.”

“I don’t blame you,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “Hop in.”

Courtney wanted to kiss her dad. He always made things better. She wished she could confide in him all that was happening. It was tough not being able to turn to him when she needed him most. She clutched her backpack to her chest and slipped into the passenger seat.

“Any more news on the plane?” she asked, wiping away the tears.

“No,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “But no news is bad news. They’re analyzing radar data but there isn’t much hope. They’re looking for survivors now. Man, what a tragedy. You see stuff like that on the news all the time, but you never think it’ll happen to somebody you know.”

Courtney loved her father. He was her protector. Her champion. He always seemed to know how to make things better. It bothered her to know that she knew so much more about the true perils of the world, and of Halla, than he did.

Mr. Chetwynde added, “They officially released the passenger list.”

“And?”

Mr. Chetwynde gently shook his head and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Dimond were on board.”

Hearing those words made Courtney wince, though it didn’t come as any real surprise. She knew they were gone. It fit too perfectly into Saint Dane’s plans to get close to Mark. Courtney didn’t want to talk any more about airplanes or tragedies. She closed her eyes and settled into the seat for the short ride home. She had grown to hate riding in that old car. The long, painful drive home from the vivid memory. She was glad that their house was only a few blocks away. There wasn’t enough time for her to get sore from the old seat. But no sooner did she close her eyes than she felt a strange sensation. She didn’t understand what it was at first. She looked at her ring. It wasn’t activating. Still, something felt odd. It took a few moments for her to realize what it might be.

“Did you get new car seats?” she asked.

“No, why?”

“This seat is really comfortable all of a sudden. I mean, really comfortable, like an easy chair.”

Mr. Chetwynde chuckled. “That’s an odd thing to think of at a time like this!”

Courtney wiggled her back into the seat. The seat moved in response!

Courtney looked to her dad and said, “C’mon! I rode in this seat for three hours when I got out of the hospital, remember? I felt every bump in the road between here and Derby Falls. This is definitely not the same seat.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Mr. Chetwynde said. “Maybe it’s because you’re feeling better.”

Courtney shifted her butt again. The seat seemed to take on a subtly new shape, giving her perfect support. Whichever way she moved, the seat compensated and cradled her like a down cushion. Courtney figured her dad was either hiding the fact that he spent a bunch of money on fancy new seats and didn’t want her mom to know, or she was imagining things. She was about to challenge him again when they arrived at their house. Mr. Chetwynde stopped at the curb, kissed his daughter good-bye, and continued on toward work. As she walked up the path to the house, Courtney had a vague sense of unease. Something felt off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Mom? Mom!” she yelled when she got into the house.

There was no answer. Courtney realized it was already past nine. Her mother always left for work by eight.

“Dinner’s ready for defrosting, sweetheart,” came her mother’s voice from the living room.

“You’re still home?” Courtney yelled back with surprise.

Courtney’s mom called, “Throw it in the microwave for me?”

“Now?” Courtney yelled back. “It’s too early!”

Courtney’s mom called out again, “I’ll be working late tonight, so don’t wait for me, okay?”

Huh? Courtney walked into the living room saying, “What are you talking about?”

When she entered the room, she looked around for her mom… and froze. There was something on the desk that wasn’t there when she’d left earlier. It was the desk where they normally kept their ancient computer. The computer was still there, but it wasn’t ancient. It was a wide high-tech screen showing the image of Courtney’s mother.

The image said, “When I got to work, I saw there was a late meeting scheduled. Sorry. Let me know as soon as you get this message. I hope school wasn’t too rough. Such a tragedy about the Dimonds. I love you.”

The screen went blank.

Courtney didn’t move. She knew that computer screen was not there when she left a few hours before. Even if it were, how was her mother able to leave a video message? From work! That was impossible. Stranger still, how did it know enough to play itself when she came into the house? Courtney wouldn’t normally be home until after three. What was going on?

Courtney felt her cat, Winston, rub against her legs. Courtney looked down… and screamed. It was a cat all right, but it wasn’t Winston. Winston was a short-haired tortoiseshell. This cat was black, with yellow eyes and a little tuft of white on its chest. Courtney dove onto the couch. Instantly the image of her mother appeared again, as if Courtney’s scream had triggered it.

“Dinner’s ready for defrosting, sweetheart. Throw it in the microwave for me?”

Courtney looked at the strange cat who was sitting on the floor staring at her.

“How did you get in here?” she yelled at the animal.

The cat purred and said in a strangely metallic voice, “I live here!”

Courtney screamed.

“Dinner’s ready for defrosting, sweetheart. Throw it in the microwave for me?”

Courtney jumped up and ran out of the room, headed for the stairs and the safety of her bedroom. She’d only made it up halfway when the ring on her finger came to life.

“No!” she shouted, as if it would make a difference.

She yanked the ring off and threw it on the floor near the front door. She plunked down on the stairs, hugging herself, watching the ring grow, the lights flash, and the music play. Compared to everything else that had happened that day, this magical event was run of the mill. Courtney closed her eyes for the final, bright moment. When the lights were gone, she looked to see that Bobby’s next journal had arrived. This one looked like the last few. It was a brown envelope that she knew would contain the small gray pages with Bobby’s handwriting.

Courtney dragged herself down the stairs and approached the journal slowly. She wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to read it. She didn’t think she could take any more. But she had to. It was her job. She was an acolyte. She took a breath, bent down, picked up the envelope, and…

The doorbell rang.

Courtney jumped and yelped. She had no idea if somebody could get a heart attack from being surprised too often, but if it was possible, she figured she was due. She quickly picked up her ring and hid the envelope in her backpack with Bobby’s previous journal. The doorbell rang again. She looked out the window next to the door to see who it was and saw a young guy she didn’t recognize. He looked about her age, with longish, unkempt brown hair and a yellow sweatshirt that looked too small for him. It wasn’t because he was fat, either. If anything, he looked pretty built. She wondered why he would wear a sweatshirt that was so ugly and way too small. She went to the door and called, “Can I help you?”

“Is Courtney home?” the guy asked.

“Who wants to know?” Courtney asked.

“She’s expecting me,” the guy answered.

“I am?” Courtney said, and opened the door.

The first thing that hit her was how handsome the guy was, in a rugged kind of way. The next thing that hit her was that the ugly yellow sweatshirt had the words cool dude printed on the front in red seventies-looking cheesy lettering. She knew that sweatshirt! It was the shirt Mark always kept at the flume in case a Traveler came to Second Earth. That meant this handsome guy was a Traveler, but who could it-

She looked more closely at the guy. She hadn’t seen him in over a year. He had changed. He had grown up. He wasn’t a little kid anymore.

“What’s with the stunned face?” the guy said. “I told you I was coming home.”

“Bobby!” Courtney shouted and threw herself into his arms.

The two stood there, holding on to each other. Courtney cried. They were tears of joy and pain and loss and love and pure emotional release. Bobby was home. Things would be better.

“Don’t want the neighbors talking,” Bobby said as he maneuvered Courtney back into the house. “I hope your parents are at work.”

“They are,” Courtney said, tearing herself away from him and wiping her eyes. “You’ve changed,” she said.

“In a good way or a bad way?” he asked.

“Oh, good,” she said. “Mostly. But you look tired.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it,” Bobby said.

“What happened on Quillan?” Courtney asked. “With the Grand X?”

Bobby frowned. “Didn’t you guys read my last journal?”

Courtney grabbed her backpack and pulled out the envelope. “I just got it like five seconds ago!” she said.

Bobby shook his head in wonder. “Amazing. I sent it ages ago.”

“I don’t get the whole relative time thing between territories,” Courtney said.

“Join the club,” Bobby said. “So what happened?”

The expression on Bobby’s face turned dark. “It’s all coming apart, Courtney. Everything. I want you to read the pages, then well talk.”

“I will,” she said. “Come in, sit down.”

She pulled Bobby into the living room. The two sat on the couch, facing each other. Bobby looked around the room and smiled. “This house is exactly like I remember it. It’s good to know some things don’t change.” He pointed to the big computer screen and said, “Other than that bad boy. That’s a little high-tech for your dad, isn’t it?”

Courtney didn’t know how to answer. She was as clueless as Bobby.

Bobby spotted something else and said, “Hey! Who’s that? What happened to Winston?”

Sitting in the doorway was the cute black cat, staring at them. It stood up and said, “My name is Doogie.” With a flick of its tail, it turned and strutted off.

Bobby and Courtney sat staring at the animal for a good thirty seconds before Bobby said, “Now that’s something you don’t see every day.”

“Something’s happened, Bobby,” Courtney said nervously. “Something odd. I don’t even know how to explain it. That’s not our cat.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “And it talked. That’s like…not right.”

“That’s not the half of it,” Courtney said. “There’s so much to tell you I don’t know where to begin!”

“Where’s Mark?” Bobby asked. “Doesn’t he usually have the ring?”

Courtney wanted to cry, but didn’t want to show weakness in front of Bobby. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to get a grip.

“I guess that would be the other half of it,” she answered. “I don’t know where he is.”

Bobby looked at Courtney for a good long time. He finally said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you’ve been through some stuff.”

Courtney chuckled at the understatement.

“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” she said calmly. “About Mark. About me. But first I want to know what happened on Quillan.”

Bobby nodded and said, “Read the pages. I don’t have the energy to explain it all. After that, we’ll talk.”

Courtney reached for the backpack and pulled out the envelope that had just arrived.

Bobby stood up and said, “Can I raid your fridge? Right now I’m dying for anything Second Earth.”

“Go for it,” Courtney said.

Bobby headed for the kitchen. Courtney watched him go. She was amazed at how powerful he looked. He wasn’t a huge guy or anything. He might have stood just under six feet, but all the training he had done had put a layer of muscle on him that couldn’t be missed.

“Bobby?” she called.

Bobby stopped and turned back to her.

“It’s a good thing you’re here,” she said.

Bobby nodded and continued on to the kitchen. Courtney curled her feet up under her on the couch, and read.