All the dados seemed to be men, though with a robot there’s no such thing as sex. At least I don’t think there is. Let’s not go there. They all had the exact same perfect haircut: short and dark, parted in the middle. They were exactly the same size, too. I’m guessing about six feet tall with medium builds. The odd part was they all had the same face. I mean, exactly the same face. It wasn’t the same face as the dados on Quillan, but they were definitely all the same.
“Why would they make them all look alike?” Courtney asked.
“I’m thinking if they didn’t, you’d never be able to tell them apart from real humans.”
Courtney did a quick look around at the dados and nodded. “Really. Put a mustache on one of those dudes and he’d disappear into a crowd. How creepy is that?”
“Creepy” was the word. I didn’t get it right away, but there was something about these dados that gave me the heebies. I mean, beyond the fact that they were even there. There was something about them that felt a little off. I kept staring, trying to focus on what it might be. It was right there, but I couldn’t grab on to it. They looked way more like real people than the robots of Quillan. When you watched those robots closely, you could tell their movements were stiff and almost too perfect. That was the difference. The dados of Quillan moved too perfectly. Real people don’t move perfectly. The dados of Third Earth didn’t move perfectly either. They seemed every bit as human as Courtney and I. If I had seen only one, I never would have guessed it was a dado. But seeing hundreds of exact replicas, well, that pretty much screamed robot to me. Was that it? Was I bugged because these dados looked so much like real people?
Nope.
Courtney realized it first. “Look at them, they’re all the same,” she gasped.
“Yeah, I get that.”
“No!” She swallowed hard and looked at me, pained. “Look closer.” Her voice cracked as she said, “They all look like…Mark.”
I snapped a look to the nearest dado. They were taller, their hair was short, and there wasn’t a zit in sight, but there was no mistake—these robots looked exactly like Mark Dimond. Every last one of them. We were seeing hundreds of clones of my best friend.
“I want to cry,” Courtney whimpered.
“It’s okay,” I assured her, though I didn’t feel even close to okay. “It just means we’re on the right track.”
“Mark really did have something to do with this,” Courtney said, shaking her head.
We were interrupted by a quick beep from a car horn. We both jumped and turned to see a small, silver car speed up and stop next to us. It was easy to see the driver since there was no roof.
“Pendragon!” Patrick yelled.
Patrick was the Traveler from Third Earth. I’m guessing he was in his twenties. He was about my size with longish brown hair. He wore the same type of clothes as the last time I’d been there, jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. He looked more like a preppy from Second Earth than a teacher and librarian from the year 5010. Then again, I’m not really sure what a teacher and librarian from the year 5010 should look like. The thing I remembered most about Patrick was that he had a calm, confident way about him.
Not anymore. That was another thing that had changed about Third Earth.
Patrick drove up and slammed on the brakes, looking anything but calm. Frantic, scared, nervous…those were all better words to describe him. I’d only met him once, but he seemed to be a guy who was in perfect control. He was an intellectual. A guy who lived to study and teach. Now he looked like a crazed guy who lived to rant and drool. He leaped out of the car without opening the door, ran to me, and grabbed both my arms. His eyes were wild. His hair was tangled. He hadn’t shaved. He was a mess.
“What happened?” he demanded. “What’s going on?”
I looked to Courtney. She shrugged.
“Uh, not following you, Patrick,” I said.
Patrick looked as if his head was about to explode. He looked at Courtney. “Who’s that?” He ran to her and grabbed her arms. “What territory are you the Traveler from? Do you know what happened?”
Courtney froze. “N-No. I’m not a Traveler—I—”
“Not a Traveler!” Patrick screamed, backing away from her, stepping closer to the edge of panic. “Pendragon, you can’t bring a non-Traveler here! What are you thinking? Things are all wrong!”
I gently put my hand on his arm to try and calm him.
“Relax, okay?” I said. “We’re here to help figure things out.”
I felt him relax. A little. His eyes darted around as if unseen ghosts were closing in on us. He was coming back to Earth. Or Third Earth.
“I’m going out of my mind, Pendragon,” he said, gulping air.
Yeah, no kidding.
“You’re used to jumping around between territories and dealing with this insanity. I’m just a teacher. I never thought something like this could happen here.”
I glanced around to see if there was a place we could talk that was more private. We were still outside the kiosk leading to the subway, and lots of people were passing by. Lots of Mark-looking robots, too. The creepy factor was still very high.
“Let’s drive somewhere, okay?” I suggested.
Patrick focused on my injured arm. “You’re hurt.”
“Quigs,” I answered. “Down at the gate.”
Patrick’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Quigs!” he shouted, ramping up again. So much for calming down. “You know what that means? Saint Dane is here! Here! It’s starting, isn’t it? That’s why you came, right?”
It was Courtney’s turn to try and calm him down. She put her arm around his shoulder and started out softly, saying, “It’s okay. We’re here to help.” Her calm, reassuring voice quickly amped up into a tirade. “But we can’t do anything unless you get a grip! All right! Now calm down!”
Good old Courtney. Patience wasn’t her strength.
“Nice,” I said sarcastically, pulling Patrick away from her. “Let’s take a breath and go someplace quiet.”
“I’ll take you to a doctor,” Patrick said. “You need to get that treated.”
“Fine, whatever. Let’s just go.” My first thought wasn’t about the slash on my arm, but if letting Patrick focus on getting me help would put him back under control, I wasn’t going to stop him. He jumped behind the wheel of the tiny car.
“You sure you can drive?” Courtney asked. She wasn’t thrilled about riding in a car being driven by a maniac. To be honest, neither was I.
“I’m okay,” Patrick said, taking a deep breath. He was definitely calming down.
We all got in, with Courtney in the back and me next to Patrick. I could feel Courtney’s tension radiate from the backseat.
“My doctor is in Manhattan,” Patrick explained. “He’ll take care of you.”
“Good,” I said. “No hurry.”
“Yeah, no hurry,” Courtney echoed. “Safe and boring. That’s the ticket. Let’s get there in one piece.”
Patrick looked at her, then at me. “She’s not a Traveler?” he said, as if I had just brought a martian into his life.
“It’s cool. She’s as much a part of this as we are.”
“But she’s not a Traveler,” Patrick argued.
“That’s the least of our problems,” Courtney said sharply.
I hoped she was right.
Patrick gave me a worried look, then turned over the ignition. The engine made no sound. Moments later we were rolling along the peaceful road, headed toward Manhattan. The trip was exactly as I remembered it, except for the dados. I didn’t say anything to Patrick about them at first. I wanted to make sure he was completely calm. I also wanted to make sure his mind was on his driving. Crashing into a tree wouldn’t have helped matters. I noticed that his eyes were darting everywhere. It seemed like every time we rounded another bend, he’d see something so shocking that the sight actually made him tense up and give out a little gasp—as if he were seeing ghosts or something. The guy was a raw
nerve. It finally clicked that it happened whenever he saw another group of dados.
I couldn’t take it anymore and said, “Okay, tell me why you’re so freaked.”
Patrick answered, “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Uhh,” I answered dumbly. “We just got here. You’re the one acting all mental.”
Patrick thought a second. “You’d be a little crazy too if you woke up to find your territory wasn’t the same as when you’d gone to sleep.”
I shot a look back to Courtney. She raised an interested eyebrow.
“Explain that,” I demanded.
Patrick took a shaky breath. “When I went to bed last night, everything was normal. Do you know how I woke up this morning?”
“No,” I said patiently.
“A stranger was shaking me, saying it was time to get up to go to work.”
“Who was it?” Courtney asked.
Patrick laughed, but it wasn’t because he thought it was funny.
“Not ‘who,’ what!” he shouted. “It was a mechanical man! I jumped up screaming and demanded to know who he was, but he just gave me this confused look and said he’d been my domestic da…da…”
“Dado?” I asked.
“Yes, dado! He said he’d been working for me for five years and didn’t understand what game I was playing. I thought somebody was playing a practical joke. I ran out of the house to get away, but there were mechanical men everywhere! Pendragon, they weren’t here when I went to sleep. Now there are more robots than people and nobody seems surprised but me! Am I crazy?”
“Unfortunately, no,” I answered.
Patrick continued, “I drove around in a daze, not believing what I was seeing. That’s when my communicator activated, saying you were at the gate. I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence.” He pulled the silver card out of his pocket. “But this isn’t my communicator! It’s changed! How can that be?”
The communicator looked exactly like the one at the flume.
Patrick added, “You can explain all this, right?”
I looked at Courtney. She shrugged and said, “Go for it.”
“I only have theories. We’re here to find the real answers.”
“But I don’t have any!” Patrick cried.
“History might,” I shot back quickly. “The same thing happened on Second Earth. One minute all was normal, the next minute technology changed. It’s your computer archives that we’re hoping will tell us why.”
“You’re saying this all happened in the past?”
“I think so,” I answered. “I think the reason nobody is reacting to the change is because it happened long before they were born. These robots are now a normal part of Third Earth.”
“But if something happened in the past, I shouldn’t have noticed a change,” Patrick argued. “I mean, this should all seem normal to me, too, right?”
“Except you’re a Traveler,” I said. “This gets into a whole nother thing, but from what I’m learning, Travelers aren’t like normal people. According to Saint Dane, we’re illusions.”
Patrick gave me a blank look. The car started to drift off the road.
“Hey!” Courtney barked. “Eyes on the road, Professor!”
Patrick quickly snapped the car back onto the road. “You’re not making things better, Pendragon.”
“I know,” I said with sympathy. “Let’s get me patched up, then go to the library. The answers we’re looking for are going to be found in the past, and you’re the only one I know who can find them.”
Patrick smiled. “That’s the first thing I’ve heard all day that makes sense.”
“You’re the man, Patrick. If anybody can solve this, it’s you.”
“And I will,” he said with confidence. “I will.”
Patrick was back in control. I knew he’d find the answers. What worried me now was what those answers might be.
JOURNAL #28
FIRST EARTH
Our first stop was at Patrick’s doctor. Though we Travelers seem to heal incredibly fast (for some reason I haven’t yet figured out), I didn’t need to be slowed down by an injury, even for a little while. We rolled over a bridge to Manhattan and Courtney’s first look at the future of New York City. The island of Manhattan was much more citylike than the Bronx, but there was still more green grass than cement. Tall buildings were few and far between, though the roads now straightened out into a grid pattern. Shortly after crossing the river, Patrick parked next to a green kiosk where we stepped onto an escalator that brought us down to another vast, underground part of the city. After descending a few levels, we ended up on a floor that was ringed by silver doors. Each was marked with a five-digit number. Patrick led us to one, and we entered an office that wasn’t much different from my doctor’s office on Second Earth.
Except the receptionist was a dado.
Patrick stiffened and approached the desk cautiously. “Where’s the receptionist?” he asked suspiciously.
The dado looked exactly like all the other robots, except that he wore a white medical jacket. I now knew what Mark would look like if he were a medical professional. And a robot. The dado smiled pleasantly and said in a calm, soothing voice, “I am the regular receptionist, Mr. Mac.”
Mr. Mac. I’d never heard Patrick’s last name before. I’d also never heard a robot speak in Mark’s voice. Yes, the dado even sounded like Mark. I wondered if they’d programmed in the little stutter Mark had when he got nervous. Probably not. I didn’t think robots got nervous.
“You know me?” Patrick asked, his voice shaking.
The dado smiled kindly. “Of course,” answered the Mark robot. “You’ve been a patient of Dr. Shaw’s for nine years and four months. Your last examination was over two years ago. You are overdue.”
Whoa. This robot had the ability to instantly recall information based solely on a visual of Patrick. These dados were definitely more advanced than those goons on Quillan.
Patrick swallowed hard. “My friend is hurt. Is Dr. Shaw available to treat him?”
The dado looked at his computer screen, input something and looked back to Patrick. “Step right inside,” he answered cheerily.
Whoa. Again. That was easy. Every time I’d gotten banged up and had to go to the emergency room at home, we had to wait hours before a doctor could see us. This was another example of how things were better in Earth’s future. Mark-looking robots or not.
I looked at Courtney. “Maybe you should wait here.”
“Alone? With RoboNurse? No way. I’m coming too.”
“It’s okay,” Patrick said.
The dado called out, “I hope you feel better.”
I looked back at the Mark-like mechanical man. It was a twisted, creepy feeling. I was talking to Mark, but not.
Patrick led us through an inside door, down a corridor, and up to another door that opened into a clean, modern exam room. Waiting for us was another dado wearing medical whites. When we opened the door, he stood facing the wall, not moving. A second after we entered, he came to life, turned to us, and smiled. It seemed like by entering the room, we activated it. I guess if robots have nothing to do, they stand around staring at walls.
Courtney said, “Okay, that was odd.”
Patrick said to the dado, “We need to see Dr. Shaw.”
The dado approached me and gently took my arm. I pulled back at first, not sure I wanted to be handled by a robot whether he looked like Mark or not. The robot looked at me with kind eyes, as if to say, “Relax, I know what I’m doing.” I let him check me out. He first removed the strip of T-shirt we’d used to stop the bleeding.
“Ick” was Courtney’s comment.
The fabric was covered with crusty dry blood. It didn’t bother me. I was much more creeped out by the fact that the robot’s touch was cold. He looked and acted totally human, but he wasn’t. I guess mechanical men don’t need to have human-body temperatures.
“Shouldn’t you get Dr. Shaw?” Patrick asked.
I looked at Patrick and asked, “Should I be nervous about this?”
Patrick shrugged. He didn’t know. Swell. The dado pulled out a device that looked like a thick, white pipe. It was about ten inches long and five inches in diameter. He reached inside and peeled back a clear piece of soft plastic wrap that was covering the entire inside surface of the tube, kind of like you’d pull off the backing of a Band-Aid.
Courtney stepped forward, standing between me and the dado protectively. “Why don’t you get the doctor now, Tin Man,” she said firmly.
“It’s okay,” Patrick assured her. “That’s the same treatment the doctor would use.”
The dado gave her a kind smile. Courtney wasn’t sure what to do. She stepped away, but reluctantly.
“Have I mentioned how creepy this whole Mark-robot thing is?” she muttered.
The dado held out his hand, gesturing for my injured arm. I held my breath and raised my arm. The dado gently slipped the white tube over my hand and positioned it over the wound. He gently grasped the tube and squeezed it. I felt the tube tighten and heat up. Just as I was about to complain, the tube released and the dado slipped it off. The wound on my arm had been sealed. What was in that tube? Antibiotic? Bactine? Super Glue? Whatever it was, it created a thin, clear seal that completely closed the wound. It didn’t hurt anymore either.
The Pilgrims of Rayne Page 3
