D. MacHale: The Reality Bug

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.

16 26 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?”

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 territo- ries 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.