D. MacHale - The Never War

“I’m guessing you don’t have good news,” I said.

Patrick managed a sad smile. “No, no good news, except to say you were right. You found the turning point on First Earth, all right. It’s theHindenburg. And you hit the mother lode. It’s not just the turning point for First Earth. What happens on May sixth, 1937, is going to affect First, Second, and Third Earth as well.”

“Is it as bad as all that?” Gunny asked.

Patrick’s only answer was an ironic chuckle. He then turned and walked up the stairs back to the library.

Gunny and I stood there, stunned. I wanted to run home now more than ever. I felt sure that whatever was waiting for us in that library, it would be gruesome. I was truly at a crossroads. I knew how important this was, but I had to convince myself not to run for my life.

“You want to know why we’re the ones responsible?” Gunny asked.

I looked up into a pair of wise eyes that had seen far more than mine.

“Because there’s nobody else,” he said. With that, he slowly walked up the stairs after Patrick.

I stood alone, trying to keep from crying. What Gunny had said was simple, and it was the truth.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and ran up the stairs after them.

(CONTINUED)

You’ve got to get back to make sure theHindenburgis destroyed,” Patrick said. Though his voice was quivering with fear, he couldn’t have been any more clear. “If you don’t, everything is going to change.”

“I’m guessing it won’t be for the better,” Gunny said.

“Not even close,” Patrick answered.

“Do we want to see this?” I asked.

“No,” was Patrick’s answer. “But you have to.”

We were back in the small library room. Patrick motioned for us to take seats. Gunny sat, but I was too nervous. When I get anxious like that, it’s hard for me to sit still.

“Here’s the deal,” Patrick began. “Remember I talked about mathematical equations and if you changed one number, the whole equation would be altered?”

“Yeah,” I answered tentatively.

“Well, it’s true, but it also depends on what number you decide to change,” Patrick explained. “You might change one number and the overall difference would be small. Or you might change a number that has a much bigger impact.”

“What about theHindenburg?”Gunny asked. “How big a change could that make?”

Patrick had to sit down. It was like the weight of what he was about to say was making it hard for him to stay on his feet.

“Saint Dane hit the jackpot,” he said. “He found a single event in history that if changed, would turn the future inside out. If he succeeds, he’ll push all three territories into chaos.”

That was exactly what I didn’t want to hear. “How can one change do so much?” I asked.

“That’s what I’ve got to show you,” Patrick answered. He hit the white button on his chair and called out, “Computer. HindenburgVariation. Item number one.”

Instantly the image of Max Rose appeared before us.

“It’s all about this guy Maximilian Rose,” Patrick began. “He started doing business with the Nazis in 1935.”

“We know that,” I said. “He said he was shipping them tools and scrap metal.”

“That’s not all he was shipping them,” Patrick said. “Computer. Item number two.”

Appearing before us was a group of men. None of them looked familiar. They were all white guys with short haircuts and wearing suits. They looked like a bunch of dorks.

“Who are they?” Gunny asked.

“Spies,” Patrick answered quickly.

“Spies?” I asked. “You mean like James Bond?”

“Industrial spies,” said Patrick. “The kind of guys who sell secrets about companies and manufacturing plans and designs. These are all Americans who worked for Max Rose. Some of them did it for the money, others were forced into it by Rose’s thugs. Every one of them had valuable secrets the Nazis would have loved to get hold of.”

“And Max Rose was selling them these secrets?” Gunny asked.

“Yes. That is, until May sixth, 1937. Computer. Item three.”

The gang of spies disappeared and was replaced by an image of a wrecked car. Whatever had happened to this vehicle, it was ugly, because it was a step above scrap metal. I guarantee, nobody could walk away from a wreck like that.

“May sixth, six fiftyp.m.,”Patrick explained. “Intersection of Toms River Road and Route five-twenty-seven…Max Rose is killed in a collision with a state trooper. But that alone wouldn’t have stopped his spy business. He had lieutenants who would have picked up right where he left off. Except for one thing: Item four.”

The car wreck disappeared and we then saw the familiar image of theHindenburgon fire.

“When theHindenburgwent down,” Patrick explained, “a huge payment from the Nazis to Max Rose went down with it. Records show there was a shipment on board with four million American dollars, bonds, jewels, and artwork. All gone in thirty-seven seconds.”

“Bad for Rose,” Gunny said.

“Worse than bad. Losing that money destroyed Rose’s organization,” Patrick said. “Payments couldn’t be made. Ties were severed. Some of the spies sank back into deep cover, never to be heard from again. Others got arrested. Bottom line is the crash of theHindenburgput Rose’s spies out of business.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now we know what happened. What did your computer figure out would happen if theHindenburgdidn’t crash?”

Patrick hesitated, then stood up and paced.

“I input one single change,” he finally said. “I input the variable that theHindenburgarrived safely.” Patrick took a deep breath, then continued. “It took the computer twenty minutes to calculate all the changes. Pendragon, that’s like saying a computer from Second Earth took a lifetime to calculate pi. That’s how extensive the changes were. Every resource, every data bank, every bit of memory was called into play. It knocked everybody else in the library offline. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“So? Show us,” I said.

Patrick sat back down in his chair. He hit the button and said weakly, “Item five.”

A man appeared. A lone man with salt-and-pepper-colored hair. He was short, with wire-rimmed glasses and a gray suit. He didn’t look familiar at all.

“This is Dani Schmidt,” Patrick said nervously, “a physicist working for the Nazis. He never played a big part in history, because he was a failure. The project he devoted the final years of his life to was never finished. He was executed by the Nazis in 1944. His only crime was failure. But that was under the old scenario. If theHindenburghad survived, his life would have taken a different turn. Item six.”

The image of Dani Schmidt disappeared, and was replaced by a large, gray piece of equipment that looked like a fat torpedo.

“When theHindenburgarrived safely, the payment was made to keep Max Rose’s spy operation in business. More information was stolen from the U.S. and fed to the Nazis. They in turn gave it to Dani Schmidt. It was scientific data they never would have gotten if theHindenburghad crashed.”

“So what is that thing?” I asked, pointing to the gray torpedo.

“That was the project Dani Schmidt was working on,” Patrick said. “With the scientific information stolen from the United States, he was able to put the final pieces of his project together.” Patrick then took a deep breath. “Item seven.”

The image of the torpedo was replaced by an image that looked very familiar. It was a bird’s-eye view of Washington, D.C. I could see the Capitol, the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial.

“May twenty-fourth, 1944,” Patrick said with a shaky voice. “The Germans were on the run. The Allies would invade Europe in two weeks. The war would only last another year or so. But on that date, Dani Schmidt’s project was brought into play.”