D. MacHale - The Pilgrims of Rayne

“I don’t believe it!” Courtney exclaimed as we pulled up to the cement steps leading to the library. “It’s exactly the same as Second Earth!”

She was almost right. The steps were the same steps that led to the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue, complete with the oversize stone lions guarding the door. Though the actual building was much smaller and more modern than the imposing library from Second Earth. In 5010 the people of Earth no longer used paper books that took up space. Sad, but true.

As a teacher and a librarian, Patrick had full access to the library computers. He knew how to dig deep. This was Patrick’s world. He now had a mission and looked much more confident. He led us up the wide cement steps into the large. marble-floored lobby of the library. It was exactly as I remembered it, with several rows of chairs where people read from computer screens. A corridor led deeper into the building and the computer rooms. There was only one difference from the last time I was there-a small one, but disturbing.

Courtney was the first to notice. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” I asked.

“The book. The display. You wrote that it was here in the lobby.”

She was right. There had been a single, old-fashioned book on display in the lobby. It was an important relic of the past, encased in glass for all to view. That book was Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss. It wasn’t there. I stood on the spot where it had been and glanced around.

“Did they move the display?” I asked Patrick.

Patrick looked grim. “No,” he said. “It was here yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Courtney added. “Before things changed.”

“It might not mean anything,” I offered hopefully.

Courtney added, “Or it might mean that not all the changes are for the better.”

The three of us stood for a moment, trying not to think about how different the world might actually be once we started digging below the surface.

“Let’s continue,” Patrick said, and strode quickly down the corridor.

We followed right behind him. Most of the doors were closed, which meant other teachers were using the computers. The final room was open. That was good. I was too anxious to have to wait any longer. The room was much like the one I had been in on my last trip. Six black chairs were spaced around a raised silver platform that was about eight feet across.

“How do you want to start?” Patrick asked.

“Let’s go with what we already know/’ I suggested. “Let’s see what history has to say about Mark Dimond.”

Patrick nodded and sat down in one of the black chairs. Courtney and I each took a seat. On the armrest of Patrick’s chair was a white glowing button. Patrick pressed it and said clearly, “Computer, new search.”

A voice from the computer answered him. It wasn’t the pleasant woman’s voice I remembered from the last time. It was a man’s voice. It was Mark’s voice. I saw Patrick start in surprise.

The voice said, “Identify, please.”

Patrick frowned. “It never asked for my code before.” He shook off his concern and said clearly, “Patrick Mac. Access code three-seventeen-ninety.”

“Welcome, Patrick,” the voice said. “How can I help you?”

Courtney leaned over to me and whispered, “This is awesome!”

Patrick cleared his throat and said clearly, “Dimond, Mark.” He looked to me and asked, “Where was he born?”

Courtney answered, “Stony Brook, Connecticut.”

Patrick pushed the button again and said, “Born in Stony Brook, Connecticut.” Near the turn of the twenty-first century.”

An image blinked to life on the platform in front of us. I knew it was only a hologram, but it still took me by surprise.

“Mark!” Courtney shouted.

I thought she was going to cry. I almost did too. We were looking at a life-size three-dimensional image of Mark. My best bud Mark. He looked to be about ten years old and had on the cap and gown we all wore when we graduated from the Glenville School. It hurt to see my friend standing there, even if it was just an image. It made me realize how much I missed him, and my old life.

“Computer,” Patrick said, “last significant entry for Dimond, Mark.”

Two more people appeared behind Mark in the hologram. Courtney gasped. They were Mark’s parents.

The computer said, “History of Mark Dimond ends in his eighteenth year of life. Final entry occurs when both his parents were killed in the loss of a commercial airline flight.”

“Did he die?” Patrick asked.

“Unknown,” the computer answered.

“Speculation?” Patrick asked while pressing the button.

“Suicide,” the computer answered.

The word jolted me. The thought of Mark committing suicide never entered my head.

I looked at Courtney.

“No way,” she declared. “Not a chance. Stupid computer. Ask it something else.”

Patrick said, “Additional speculation?”

The computer answered, “Potential runaway with peer.”

“What?” Courtney shouted with surprise. “What peer?”

“Name that peer,” Patrick ordered.

I already knew the answer. The holograms of the Dimonds disappeared and were replaced by the image of a girl. She wore the field-hockey uniform of Davis Gregory High School. She stood looking all sorts of cocky, leaning on her field-hockey stick.

“Oh,” Courtney gasped.

The computer announced, “Chetwynde, Courtney. Last seen by her parents on the same day Mark Dimond was last seen.”

Patrick and I didn’t know what to say. Courtney stared at her own image as if looking at a ghost of herself.

“It’s the day we left to come here,” Courtney croaked. “It was only a few hours ago.”

Patrick corrected, “It was three thousand years ago.” “You okay?” I asked.

Courtney swallowed, but didn’t take her eyes off her image. “Better than okay,” she declared. “Look at me! I look great!”

She was putting on a brave front, but her voice cracked. She was shaken. I’m guessing the reality of what she had done by leaving home hadn’t hit her until that moment. Only a few hours before she had been sitting at her kitchen table writing a good-bye note to her parents. That was by our own clocks. On Third Earth she had been missing for three thousand years. That’s enough to make anybody’s voice crack. Even Courtney’s.

“Keep going,” Courtney ordered.

Patrick hit the button and said, “Computer, clear and new search.”

The image of Courtney disappeared. The image of Mark returned.

“Computer, clear!” Patrick said impatiently.

“Discrepancy,” the computer responded.

I looked at Patrick. He shrugged.

“Explain,” he demanded. “Searching,” the computer responded. “What does that mean?” Courtney asked Patrick. “I’ve never seen this before. It seems to be cross-referencing several different entries.”

“Is it gonna crash?” I asked. “Crash? What does that mean?”

I didn’t press. I figured computers on Third Earth were too advanced to crash, the way ours did on primitive old Stone Age Second Earth.

“Discrepancy in search for disappearance of Dimond, Mark,”the computer finally announced. “Multiple, conflicting entries.”

“What the heck does that mean?” Courtney asked. “Explain,” Patrick demanded.

Another image appeared next to Mark. The original hologram was a ten-year-old Mark in his cap and gown. The second image was also of Mark, but he looked older. He was more like the Mark of today, or yesterday, or whatever. He looked about seventeen and much taller. He was dressed strangely in long pants, a stiff white shirt, and a bow tie. His hair was cut short and parted in the middle, like I’d never seen it before. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses. This image of Mark looked like the dados on Third Earth. It chilled me.