So I’ll sign off now. This is the end of my Journal #13. By the time I record #14,1 should have more answers. Good-bye, guys. I miss you.
(END OF JOURNAL # 13)
SECOND EARTH
After a quick good-bye wave, Bobby’s image disappeared in a flicker, leaving Mark and Courtney staring into the empty space of her father’s workshop. Neither could say anything. They had been watching Bobby’s story unfold before them, spoken by Bobby himself. It was like he had been standing in front of them, in the flesh.
“Well,” Courtney said after several silent seconds. “That was… different”
“I can’t imagine something like Lifelight being real,” Mark said thoughtfully. He reached forward and picked up the silver, credit card-size projector. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting it. “Then again, I can’t imagine something like this, either, so what the heck do I know?”
“Do you think Saint Dane sabotaged Lifelight?” Courtney asked.
“That’s my guess,” Mark answered. “But I’ll bet it’s not as simple as that. Man, what I wouldn’t give to try it out.” “What would you do?”
“A million things,” Mark answered quickly. “I’d ride a horse.
79 88 I’ve always wanted to do that. I’d fly an airplane, and play in a rock band, and run the New York marathon.”
“But you can do all that for real,” said Courtney.
Mark shrugged. It didn’t feel to him as if any of those things were within his reach. “What would you do?” he asked Courtney.
Without hesitation Courtney said, “I’d put some major whup-ass on that soccer team.”
Mark said, “Same thing, you can do that for real.”
Like Mark, Courtney shrugged. Her confidence was so low, the idea of putting major whup-ass on anybody seemed like a fantasy. Mark then looked back at the silver hologram projector. A thought came to him, and he frowned.
“What?” Courtney asked.
“This is wrong,” Mark answered. “Bobby shouldn’t have sent this to us.”
“Why not? It beats having to read the journals.”
“But he’s not supposed to mix things from other territories,” Mark answered while fingering the device nervously. “It’s totally against the rules.”
“We’ll put it in the safe-deposit box at the bank,” Courtney offered. “Nobody will ever see it.”
“Good idea. I’ll go first thing after school tomorrow,” Mark said. “Man, why didn’t Bobby think of this?”
“Maybe they don’t use paper on Veelox. It might have been the only way he could send a journal.”
“Still,” Mark said. “It might cause-“
Mark’s ring started to twitch. He stopped talking and held his hand up.
“You’re kidding?” Courtney said with surprise. “That was fast!” Mark stared at the ring quizzically. “It feels different” was all he could say.
He quickly took off the ring and put it on the table. Courtney stood next to him and the two gazed at it. Normally when one of Bobby’s journals was arriving, the gray stone in the center of the ring would turn crystal clear. The band would then grow and the journal would arrive in a flash of light and music. But that wasn’t happening this time. The large gray stone didn’t change. But something else did.
Engraved in the silver band and circling the stone was a series of odd characters. Each symbol was unique, with no apparent pattern. When Mark first got the ring he did a search on the Internet, thinking he could decipher them. But he came up empty. After tons of research there was only one thing he knew for sure: The symbols had no relation to any language or culture on Earth.
Now one of those symbols was starting to glow. It was as if there were a light inside the ring, shining out through the engraving. The glowing symbol was nothing more than a squiggle with a straight line passing through it. Mark and Courtney watched, dumbfounded, as the ring finally began to grow.
“Something’s coming in,” Mark gasped. “I think.”
The ring didn’t grow as large as usual. But they heard the familiar jumble of sweet notes that accompanied every trip. The light from the symbol then flashed across the room, momentarily blinding Mark and Courtney. A second later they looked back at the ring. As always, the event was over quickly. The ring had returned to normal. No more light, no more sound, nothing unusual…
Except for what the ring had deposited. It wasn’t a journal. It was an envelope. A regular old white, Second Earth-style envelope.
“What is it?” Courtney asked.
“It’s an envelope,” answered Mark.
Courtney rolled her eyes. “Duh. Why did Bobby send us an envelope?”
Mark cautiously leaned over and picked up the piece of mail. He turned it over, examining it. There was nothing weird about it. It was sealed, with no writing on the outside. Courtney gave Mark a nod of encouragement and he carefully opened it, trying not to rip it more than he had to. Inside was a piece of plain white paper.
“I don’t think this is from Bobby,” Mark announced.
Courtney looked at the page. There was handwriting on it, and it was definitely not Bobby’s. Bobby wrote in a kind of classic script. This note was written with block letters. It was actually jittery looking, as if the person who wrote it didn’t have a sure hand. The note was simple. It was an address.
“‘Four twenty-nine Amsterdam Place. Apartment Five-A. New York City,’” Mark read aloud. “You know anybody who lives there?”
“No,” Courtney answered. “Why would Bobby send us an address? With no explanation?”
Mark suddenly looked up, as if he were hit with an idea.
“What?” asked Courtney.
“Could it be?” he asked, half to himself, half to Courtney.
“Could it be what?” Courtney asked, growing impatient.
Mark looked at the address again, then back at the ring. “Could this be about the acolytes?”
Courtney deflated. This wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. “Are you still on that kick?” She plopped back down onto the couch.
Mark was gaining energy. “I asked Bobby to find out about the acolytes. Maybe this is his way of pointing us in the right direction!”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Courtney said sharply. “You promised you’d think about it,” Mark shot back at her. “I did. I decided I don’t want to hear about it.” “But this could be our chance to help Bobby, for real!” “Mark, I’ve got enough stuff to worry about.”
Mark didn’t back down. “Like what?” he asked sarcastically. “Soccer?”
It was like Mark had flashed a red cape in front of an angry bull. Courtney jumped to her feet. “Yes, soccer!”
In the past Mark would have backed off when faced with Courtney’s rage. But not this time. He stood his ground. “How can you care about stupid sports when there’s so much more important stuff going on?”
“It’s important to me!” Courtney defended herself.
“But it’s just a game!” Mark countered.
“It’s not! Can’t you see that? I’ve never failed, Mark. Never. You just can’t relate!”
Mark stiffened. “Why? Because I’m used to failure?”
Courtney forced herself to calm down and speak with more control. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” She sat back down on the soft couch and took a deep breath. “It’s not just about soccer,” she continued. “Everybody’s got a role. You know? An identity. I liked mine. I liked how people looked up to me. But after what’s been going on the past few days, I’m beginning to think I might not be the person I thought I was.”
“Courtney,” Mark said with sympathy. “It’s just a game”
“Yeah, maybe,” Courtney said. “But who knows what might turn up tomorrow? It’s the first time I’ve doubted myself. Ever.”
Mark thought for a moment, then picked up the silver hologram projector and the envelope with the address, and put them in his backpack.