The Reality Bug Page 2

  All afternoon Courtney was one step behind. These high school girls were good. Really good. They shot no-look passes, stole the ball from her, and basically made her look like she was a little kid playing with grown-ups. One girl stole the ball, flipped it up with her foot, bounced it off her knee, and slammed a header downfield. She then looked to Courtney and said, “Welcome to the big time, superstar.” When it came time for sprints, Courtney was nearly last every run. That was unheard of. Nobody beat Courtney Chetwynde. Ever! What had happened?

  The truth was, nothing had happened. Courtney was always big for her age. It was one of the reasons she had been so good at sports. But between the ninth and tenth grades, the other girls caught up. Girls who had been too small to compete with Courtney were suddenly eye to eye with her. It wasn’t that Courtney had suddenly gotten bad, it was that everybody else had grown up and gotten better. Much better. For Courtney it was an absolute, total nightmare. But she wouldn’t let it show. No way.

  On the sidelines Mark sat under a tree, watching practice. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Everybody had bad days, but seeing Courtney struggle like this was disturbing. There were some things in life that were absolute. He knew that pi times the radius squared gave you the area of a circle; he knew that water was made up of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen; and he knew that if you challenged Courtney Chetwynde, you would lose.

  The last one of Mark’s all-time truisms was now being proved wrong. It was the perfect way to end a totally crappy day.

  “Looks like she ain’t so tough after all,” came a familiar voice from behind Mark.

  Mark looked up quickly to see that the horror of this day wasn’t yet complete. Standing over him was Andy Mitchell. The guy snorted back a lougie and spit, barely missing Mark’s hand. Mark spun out of the way, but Mitchell flicked his cigarette butt in the other direction and Mark nearly rolled into it. Mark had to pop to his feet or risk getting gobbed on.

  “What’sa matter, Dimond?” Mitchell laughed. “Twitchy?”

  “What do you want?” Mark grumbled.

  “Hey, don’t get all testy with me,” Mitchell shot back. “I’m just out here having a smoke. Seeing Chetwynde getting whupped up on was a bonus.” Mitchell wheezed out a laugh through yellowed, smoke-stained teeth.

  “Go away,” was all Mark managed to squeak out. He turned and walked off, but Mitchell followed.

  “I didn’t forget, Dimond,” Mitchell snarled. “About them journals. Pendragon is out there somewhere. You know it and I know it and I know you know I know it.”

  Truth be told, there was a third person who knew about what happened to Bobby Pendragon. It was Andy Mitchell. Mitchell had seen one of Bobby’s journals and blackmailed Mark into showing him the rest.

  Mark turned to Mitchell, standing toe to toe with him. “All I know is, you’re an idiot. And I’m not afraid of you anymore!”

  Mark and Andy held each other’s gaze. Mark had had enough of this bully and would almost welcome a fight. Almost. Mark wasn’t a fighter. If Mitchell called his bluff and took a swing, things would get real ugly, real fast. For Mark.

  “Hey, Mitchell,” Courtney said.

  She stood behind Mitchell with her gear bag in one hand and her cleats in the other. She looked tired and dirty and not in the mood to be messed with. “What are you doing in high school? I thought you’d be out stealing cars by now.”

  Andy ducked away from her. He didn’t mess with Courtney, no matter how bad she looked playing soccer.

  “Real funny, Chetwynde,” Mitchell sneered. “You two think you’re being all smart, but I know.”

  “What do you know?” Courtney asked.

  Mark said, “He knows we know he knows … or something like that. You know?”

  Mark and Courtney chuckled. They knew Mitchell wasn’t a threat to them anymore. He wasn’t smart enough for that.

  “Yeah, you laugh,” he sneered. “But I read those journals. You gonna laugh when that Saint Dane dude comes here looking for them?”

  With that, Mitchell snorted back another good one, then turned and hurried away.

  Mark and Courtney weren’t chuckling anymore. They silently watched Mitchell jog off. Then Courtney said, “Well, today pretty much … sucked.”

  The two walked to catch the late bus home. Normally Courtney would sit in the back of the bus with the cool kids and Mark would sit up front with the not-cool kids. Not today. There were a couple of girls in back who had just taken Courtney apart on the soccer field. They were sitting with some guys from the football team, laughing and flirting. Courtney wasn’t welcome. She had to sit in the front of the bus with Mark. It was the final indignity.

  “You want to tell me about your day?” Courtney asked.

  “No,” answered Mark. “You?”

  “No.”

  They rode in silence, both wondering if the rest of high school was going to be as painful as the first few hours. Finally Courtney asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Mark glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. He kept his voice low, just in case. “I’ve been thinking,” he began. “Remember what I said before? In spite of what Mitchell just said, I think we dodged a bullet. When the Travelers stopped Saint Dane on First Earth, I think they saved all three Earth territories. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Courtney said, then added with growing annoyance, “and I remember you saying how disappointed you were because you wanted Saint Dane to come here so you could help Bobby fight him. And I remember saying that you were totally crazy. Do you remember that part, Markie boy?”

  Mark nodded.

  “Good,” Courtney said. “Then stop thinking so much.”

  “But still,” Mark added. “I want to be able to help Bobby.”

  “We are helping him,” Courtney corrected. “We’re holding his journals.”

  “But that’s like almost nothing,” Mark countered. “I want to really help him.”

  “We can’t, Mark.”

  Mark gave her a sly smile. “Don’t be so sure.”

  Courtney gave Mark a long, probing look. “Now what are you thinking?”

  “I want to become an acolyte. I want us both to become acolytes.”

  “Aco-whats?”

  “You know, acolytes. Bobby wrote about them. The people from the territories who help the Travelers. They put supplies by the flumes for the Travelers. They’re the ones who kept Press’s motorcycle, and had his car ready when he got back. It’s totally safe, but really important.”

  “Safe?” Courtney shot back. “You think going to that abandoned subway in the Bronx and getting past those quig-dogs is safe?”

  “Maybe there’s another flume here on Second Earth,” Mark added hopefully. “They have more than one flume on other territories, why not here?”

  “And what if it’s in Alaska?” Courtney lobbed back. “You want to move to Alaska?”

  “After the day I had, absolutely.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  The two rode in silence for a few more stops. A couple of the soccer girls got off and made a point of ignoring Courtney. Courtney didn’t care. Her mind was back on the journals, and Bobby.

  “I know you care, Mark,” Courtney said softly. “I do too. But even if I thought this acolyte thing was a good idea, how would we do it?”

  Mark sat up straight, encouraged that Courtney was at least considering it.

  “I don’t know, but when Bobby was home I talked to him about it—”

  “You already asked Bobby?” Courtney interrupted. “Without talking to me first?”

  “All I did was ask him to look into it,” Mark said. “He didn’t know any more about acolytes than he wrote, but he promised to try and find out. What do you think?”

  “I think I gotta think about it. And I think this is my stop.” Courtney stood.

  “Promise me that?” Mark asked. “You’ll think about it?”

  “Yeah,” Courtney answe
red. “But I gotta know more.”

  “Absolutely,” Mark said.

  Courtney swung down the bus stairs and out the door. Mark felt better than he had all day. He felt sure that if Bobby got them information about the acolytes, Courtney would join up with him. It was a great feeling to know he might actually have a shot at helping Bobby in a real way.

  As Mark lay in bed that night he couldn’t stop his mind from imagining the possibilities. If they became acolytes, could they actually fly through the flumes? That would be awesome! He imagined himself on Cloral, speeding underwater with Bobby. He could see himself racing a sled down the snowy slopes of Denduron, dodging the charging quig-bears. He even saw himself on Zadaa, battling through the capture the flag game alongside Loor.

  Mark had to force himself to think of something else for fear he’d never get to sleep. He turned his mind to math problems. He thought of lying on the beach at the Point. He imagined looking up at puffy clouds on a warm summer’s day. He pretended his ring was twitching and another journal from Bobby was about to show up.

  Mark sat bolt upright in bed. That wasn’t his imagination. Mark’s ring was twitching. He looked at his hand. The stone in the heavy silver ring was dissolving from dark gray into crystal clear. That meant only one thing… .

  Mark wouldn’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.

  He threw his feet over the side of his bed, yanked off the ring, and placed it on the rug. The small circle became larger, revealing a dark hole where the floor should have been. Mark knew this was the conduit to another territory. He heard the jumble of sweet musical notes that sounded far away at first, but quickly grew louder. Sparkling light then blasted out of the hole, lighting up his room like a thousand fireflies. Mark had to shield his eyes from the brilliant show.

  Then, as always, the event abruptly stopped. The lights went out and the music was gone. Mark peeked through his fingers to see that the ring had returned to normal. As always, the mysterious ring had made a delivery.

  Lying on the rug was Bobby’s latest journal.

  But this was unlike anything Bobby had sent before. In fact, it didn’t even look like a journal. It was a small, shiny silver device that was roughly the size and shape of a credit card. Mark curiously picked it up and saw three square buttons on it. One was deep green, another was bright orange, the third was black. The thing didn’t weigh much more than a credit card either. There was a piece of paper stuck to the device. It was a short note, written in Bobby’s handwriting.

  It read: GREEN—PLAY. BLACK—STOP. ORANGE—REWIND.

  It seemed to Mark like CD player instructions, but this tiny little card didn’t look like any media player he had ever seen. But if Bobby sent it, who was he to argue? So he touched the green button.

  Instantly a narrow beam of light shot from one end of the card. Mark dropped the device in surprise. The silver card hit the floor and the beam swept across the room. Mark jumped over his bed and crouched down on the far side for protection. Was it a laser? Was he going to get sliced? A second later the beam grew until it projected a holographic image in the middle of the bedroom. Mark had to blink, then rub his eyes, then look again, because standing in front of him was Bobby Pendragon. The image looked as real as if his friend were standing there in the flesh. The only thing that reminded him it was a hologram was the beam of light that came from the device on the floor.

  “Hiya, Mark. Hey, Courtney,” Bobby’s image said as clear as can be.

  Mark fell back on his butt, stunned.

  “Greetings from the territory of Veelox, What you’re seeing and hearing right now, is my journal number thirteen. Pretty cool, aye?”

  JOURNAL #13

  VEELOX

  Hiya, Mark. Hey, Courtney. Greetings from the territory of Veelox. What you’re seeing and hearing right now is my journal number thirteen. Pretty cool, aye? I’ll bet it beats having to read my lousy handwriting. Heck, it beats having to write everything down, too. I’m loving this. But this projector thing is a toy compared to the science fiction stuff they’ve got going on here. It’s totally incredible.

  Just to tease you a little, imagine the most amazing video game you ever played. You know, great graphics, realistic sound, 3-D environments, excellent challenges, the whole deal. Now, imagine that game being about twelve billion times better. That’s what they’ve got on Veelox. I’m not exaggerating. There’s no way I could give you a quick description beyond that. You’ll have to learn about it the way I did, a little at a time. Be patient. It’s worth it.

  But before we dive into the wonders of Veelox, I want to tell you what happened after I left you guys on Second Earth. Borrowing one of Spader’s phrases, I found myself in the middle of a tum-tigger.

  Again.

  Gunny and I were given a limo ride to the Bronx by the old gangster, Peter Nelson. We were headed for the abandoned subway station and the flume to the territories. Our ultimate destination was Veelox. Where Saint Dane goes, we go.

  Unfortunately.

  As we rode toward the Bronx, my head was in a strange place. It was because of what happened on First Earth. Simply put, I failed. On First Earth Saint Dane tried to prove I wasn’t worthy of being a Traveler, and that’s exactly what happened. It all came down to the moment when the airship Hindenburg was about to be destroyed. As horrible as that was, the Hindenburg was supposed to be destroyed. If history was changed, it would have been Armageddon for Earth. As I stood over the rocket that was about to shoot into the air and blow it up, I knew I had the future of all three Earth territories in my hands.

  And I choked. In that horrible moment, I couldn’t bear to let the innocent people in that zeppelin die. So I made a move to kick over the rocket, save the Hindenburg, save those people, and send the Earth territories spiraling toward doomsday.

  But Gunny held me back. He stopped me from making the worst mistake possible. The rocket took off and the Hindenburg exploded. Gunny saved the Earth territories. That was the way it was meant to be.

  Though the Travelers had beaten Saint Dane, Saint Dane had beaten me. Call it what you want: a moment of truth, a test, whatever. But I blew it. From that moment on I questioned whether or not I was up to this job. Heck, I’ve questioned it from day one, but my screwup on First Earth totally rocked me. I think Saint Dane expected me to shrivel up and crawl into a hole, never to bother him again in his quest to rule Halla. Believe me, I thought about it.

  But that wasn’t going to happen.

  My screwup on First Earth had the opposite effect. It got me mad. I wanted to prove to that monster I’m not the loser he thinks I am. Or maybe what I really wanted to do, was prove it to myself. Whatever. Bottom line was, for the first time since I left home to become a Traveler, I felt like I wanted the job. Seriously. I wanted to live up to the trust Uncle Press had in me. Saint Dane’s plan had backfired. Rather than making me go away, he fired me up. If he thinks I’m too weak for the job, that’s cool. That means he won’t see me coming.

  And I am definitely coming.

  After the limo dropped us off at the abandoned subway station, Gunny and I stood on the sidewalk, enjoying our last few moments of Second Earth sunlight. Gunny’s a great guy and I’m proud to call him my friend. There’s a lot of great things I can say about him, but probably the most important is that he was strong enough to take the heat for me on First Earth.

  But at that moment, standing on a Bronx sidewalk, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go Saint Dane hunting. He was a tall, African-American guy, about 6′4″, who looked pretty happy being there with his eyes closed and the sun on his face.

  “What’re you thinking?” I asked the Traveler from First Earth.

  Gunny opened his eyes and glanced around at the busy city intersection. It must have looked strange to him. After all, he was from 1937.

  “Tell me, shorty,” he said. “Do you think the day will ever come when we can all go home and get back to normal?”

  I had been asking myself that same question
from the minute I first left home with Uncle Press.

  “Don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “But then again, I’m not so sure I know what normal is anymore.”

  I led him down the garbage-strewn stairs of the closed station. It was a familiar route. The entrance was boarded over with wooden planks that were plastered with flyers and advertisements. But I knew the way in. Two of the boards were loose and a quick tug revealed our entrance.

  The empty station looked the exact same as it had the first night Uncle Press brought me here. It was a long forgotten piece of New York history—forgotten by everyone but us, that is. A subway train rumbled through, kicking up pieces of crusty paper full of yesterday’s news. Once it passed we quickly jumped down onto the track and made our way along the oil-stained wall toward the wooden door with the star symbol. A few seconds later we entered the rocky cavern that would be our last stop on Second Earth. The first leg of our trip had been cake. Now things would get interesting. The two of us stood there for a moment, silently gazing into the long, dark roadway to the territories … the flume.

  “Tell me about this Veelox place,” Gunny said.

  “Not much to tell,” I answered. “I was only there for a few minutes and never left the flume.”

  “That floating-head girl?” he asked. “You sure she’s a Traveler?”

  “So she says,” I answered.

  Gunny shook his head in wonder. “Heads floating in space,” he said philosophically. “What next?”

  “I think we’re about to find out,” I answered.

  He gave me a small smile, then stepped into the mouth of the flume. “Veelox!” he shouted and the flume came to life. The rock walls cracked and groaned as if they were stretching out the kinks after a long sleep. Deep in the tunnel a faint light appeared that would soon come to sweep Gunny away. Along with it came the faint jumble of sweet musical notes that always accompanied the spectacular light show.