As a subway train came barreling by.
The dado hit the train. Or the train hit the dado. I guess the specifics didn’t matter. What did matter was that the robot was thrown under the wheels of the speeding locomotive. The engineer hit the brakes. It must have been a shock for him to see a man suddenly jump in front of his train from out of nowhere. A horrible screeching sound filled the tunnel. It was so shrill I felt as if it were cutting into my brain. It was followed quickly by a rumble and the sound of twisting, wrenching metal. I ran to the doorway to see the train was jumping the tracks! If it was full of passengers, it would be a disaster.
Through the tortured sound of metal being twisted, the big train bucked and rocked, moments from flipping over. There was nothing I could do but watch through the open doorway. I flashed back to the disaster of the Hindenburg. Would this go down in history as a tragedy on that level? Was this my fault? Was my presence on First Earth going to be the cause of a new epic disaster?
I saw the wheels near me lift off the track as they flew by. I held my breath. The brakes shrieked. But then the wheels came crashing back down onto the track. It wasn’t going over. Its forward movement was slowing. People weren’t going to die. The train groaned to a stop. This was going to be a massive bottleneck that would mess up the subway system for who knew how long, but it wasn’t going to be a disaster.
I had to get my head back together, fast. What should I do? Hide? Flume out of there? Run after Courtney? I took a deep breath to calm myself. The dado. I had to get rid of the dado, or what was left of it. The smell of hot oil and brake fluid filled the tunnel. I felt safe enough to poke my head out to survey the carnage. Looking both ways, I saw that the train had only three cars. Several yards to my right, the wheels of the engine were off the track. The other cars had somehow managed to stay gripped to the steel, but this train wasn’t going anywhere. I figured the dado had gotten caught under the engine’s wheels, causing the derailing. Soon there would be all sorts of emergency people flooding the tunnel. They’d find a wreck, and a mysterious robot that would seem as if it had dropped in from another planet. There was nothing I could do about the wreck, but I had to hide the evidence of what had caused it.
Smoke filled the tunnel, burning my eyes. Nobody had left the train cars yet. They must have all been in shock. Or too afraid to move. I figured I’d have a short window of opportunity. I moved as quickly as I could without tripping or bashing myself into something. I made my way toward the engine, while scanning the ground for any signs of the dado. I didn’t see anything at first and had the fleeting thought that the robot had survived. I had no idea how strong the dado was. It was definitely solid enough to derail a train. Would it be strong enough to walk away after getting slammed like that?
I had only gotten a few feet when I saw, well, a few feet. Lying next to the track were the legs of the dado. It wasn’t moving. It was done. I didn’t appreciate just how done it was until I grabbed the feet and started to pull it back toward the gate. The dado was a lot lighter than I expected. That’s because I was only pulling half a dado. Yeah, gross. The robot had been cut in two at the waist. I dropped the legs, feeling all sorts of disgusted. I had to force myself to get a grip. This wasn’t a person. It was a machine. It wasn’t any more human than a toaster oven.
I looked under the engine to see the upper half. Okay, so maybe it was a lot more gruesome than seeing a toaster oven cut in half. But still. I couldn’t let the fact that I wanted to puke stop me. I was already hearing the shouts of people coming from the subway station, calling to the passengers to see if they were okay. I had to move quickly. I grabbed the legs again and dragged them to the gate. As I pulled the legs along, I noticed again that the clothing was flimsy and rotted. The security dados on Quillan wore crisp, green uniforms. This clothing was so threadbare, it crumbled in my hands. I didn’t have the time to try and guess what it might mean. There was no telling how much time I had to ditch my half friend.
I got the legs to the gate, shoved them inside, and ran back for the rest. Moving the upper half wasn’t as easy. Not that it was heavier, but it felt more like moving a real body. I grabbed the hands and pulled, dragging it along. I couldn’t take my eyes off the head as it bounced along the gravelly track bed. I don’t mean to be gruesome about it, but it was kind of gruesome. I had to keep telling myself it was a machine. Just a machine. Just a machine. A toaster oven. A lawn mower. A weed whacker.
Then the machine grabbed my leg.
I screamed like a little girl. The thing was still alive! Or whatever the robot equivalent of “alive” is. It yanked my leg, trying to pull me off my feet. I grabbed a fistful of rotten clothing and struggled to drag it the rest of the way into the flume cavern. I now had two body halves to deal with. The legs were dead. The upper torso wasn’t. I kicked at it, trying to get the grisly thing to let go. It was the single creepiest thing I had ever experienced in my life. Finally I gave the arm a sharp kick with my free leg and knocked it away. Without hesitation I ran for the flume and shouted, “Quillan!”
The flume came to life. I spun to face the upper half. It lay next to its lower half, facedown. Unmoving. I wondered if it had grabbed me in some kind of involuntary reaction, or if it could still think. I didn’t want to take any chances. I walked cautiously back to the legs, keeping my eyes on the upper half, ready for it to grab at me again. I bent down, grabbed the legs, and quickly dragged them toward the mouth of the tunnel. The thing still had its holster on with the pistol. I thought of grabbing the gun but remembered the blast of energy had no effect on dados. With a grunt I heaved the legs up and used the weight of its butt to fling the whole mess into the flume. It was time to get the upper half.
Unfortunately, the upper half decided it was time to get me. When I turned, I saw the dado up on its hands, bracing its body in a macabre handstand. Worse, it was running toward me. It was like some twisted horror movie. I moved one way, the torso mirrored me. I moved the other way, the torso did too. I faked back, then quickly circled behind it. Now the torso of the robot was between me and the flume. It may have been relentless, but it didn’t have much agility. It turned around to face me. Yes, face me. The head was upside down, but the eyes fixed on me. Its prey. It wasn’t going to give up.
Neither was I. The explosion of light and music blasted from the flume. I ran forward, swept up the torso, spun, and heaved it into the light. Even as it sailed away from me, its hands grasped at the air, trying to grab me. That’s a nightmare I won’t soon forget. The thing disappeared into the light, headed back to Quillan. Along with its legs. Good riddance.
I felt the tug of the flume as it tried to suck me along with it. The idea of sailing through the flume along with those gruesome body parts gave me the burst of adrenaline I needed to dig my heels in and back away from the tunnel. I didn’t need to be grappling with half a robot in the flume. I needed to be on First Earth, with Courtney.
Courtney. Right. Where was she? I wasn’t done yet. I had to get out of the gate and past the subway wreck without anyone realizing the crash was sort of my fault. We hadn’t been on First Earth for more than ten minutes and I was already longing to be somewhere else.
JOURNAL #28
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 g
ot 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 wi
th 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.
The Pilgrims of Rayne Page 6
