freeze-frame in a movie.
The computer voice then said, “Zeppelin LZ-one-two-nine. Hindenburg. Crashed on first transatlantic flight of 1937. Origin of flight: Frankfurt, Germany. Destination: Lakehurst Naval Air Station, New Jersey, USA. Date of incident: May sixth. Time of incident: 7:25p.m. Duration of incident: thirty-seven seconds. Passengers and crew aboard: ninety-seven. Dead: thirty-six.”
“Thirty-six people died,” I said in awe. “And it only took thirty-seven seconds. Unbelievable.”
Maybe not so unbelievable. I remembered how quickly the flames spread in that slaughterhouse when Winn Farrow’s rocket exploded.
“It landed at 7:25p.m.?”asked Gunny. “I thought it was supposed to come in the morning?”
Patrick said, “Computer. Reason for delayed arrival.”
The computer said, “High winds. Storms. Hindenburgdelayed until storm subsided.”
“Spader will be happy to hear that,” Gunny said. “We’ve got twelve more hours to work with.”
Patrick turned to Gunny and asked, “What are you looking for?”
“We want to know what caused the crash,” Gunny said. He glanced at me. We thought we knew the answer to that, but it was as good a place to start as any.
Patrick hit the button and said, “Computer. Cause ofHindenburgcrash.”
The pleasant computer voice said, “Several theories. One: Zeppelin filled with flammable hydrogen gas. Possible cause of ignition, residual static electricity from earlier thunderstorm. Two: Shell of balloon covered with volatile aluminum powder. Potential ignition cause, same static electricity. Three: Lightning strike. Final theory: Sabotage.”
“Sabotage?” I asked.
Patrick said, “Computer. More on sabotage.”
The computer said, “Potential for explosive device having been placed on board by crew member. Never proven.”
“State most likely scenario,” Patrick ordered the computer.
The computer answered, “No likely scenario. Cause of disaster unproven.”
The still frame of the burned zeppelin then disappeared.
“It’s one of the great mysteries of all time,” Patrick said. “Why did theHindenburgburn? Even with all our technology, we don’t know for sure.”
Gunny and I glanced at each other. We knew.
“So this computer has information stored on all people?” I asked. “Not just famous presidents?”
“Every single bit of information that exists is at your disposal.”
I thought for a second, an idea slowly forming. “Can I try?” I asked.
Patrick stood up and gave me the chair. “Have fun,” he said.
I sat down in the chair, feeling like I had a whole bunch of power at my fingertips. I touched the button and said, “Computer. Rose, Maximilian.”
The computer answered, “Over eight hundred thousand entries. More specifics, please.”
Patrick chuckled. “The computer cross-references everything in its databases. Give it more to go on.”
Okay. I hit the button again and said, “Computer. Rose, Maximilian. United States. 1937. Manhattan Tower Hotel. Criminal.” Bingo. Who should appear on the platform in front of us but Max Rose. He was even wearing one of his familiar silk bathrobes.
“Friend of yours?” Patrick asked.
“Sort of,” I answered, then hit the button again. “Computer. Rose, Maximilian. May sixth, 1937.”
The computer said, “Maximilian Rose, killed in automobile accident on May sixth, 1937.”
Huh? I shot a look to Gunny. Gunny sat up straight. Things were getting interesting. I then said, “Computer. When and where?”
The computer answered, “Six fiftyp.m. Intersection of Toms River Road and Route five-twenty-seven, Lakehurst, New Jersey, USA.”
“He must have been on his way to meet theHindenburg,”Gunny said.
I hit the button again and said, “New Search.” The image of Max Rose disappeared.
“Computer. Farrow, Winn. New York. 1937. Criminal.”
Bang. There he was. Winn Farrow, right in front of us. I was beginning to think this computer was as good as Patrick said.
“Computer. Farrow, Winn. May sixth, 1937,” I said.
The computer answered, “Received speeding ticket from New Jersey State Police. Four twenty-fivep.m.”
“That’s it for May sixth?” I asked.
The computer answered, “He was driving twelve miles over the speed limit.”
“There’s gotta be more than that,” I said in frustration. “Let me try something.” I hit the button again and said, “Computer. Amaden, Esther. New York. 1937.”
The image of Winn Farrow disappeared. There was a second of silence. Nothing appeared on the platform.
The computer said, “No data.”
That was weird. I gave it more to go on. “Computer. Add nickname, Harlow. Manhattan Tower Hotel. Singer. Friend of Rose, Maximilian.”
A moment, and then, “No data.”
“Does this machine ever make mistakes?” asked Gunny.
Patrick answered, “Well, no. Someone named Esther Amaden never existed or the computer would have a record of her.”
“What if she changed her name?” Gunny asked.
“The computer would know that. Guaranteed. Who was she?”
Uh-oh. A bad thought hit me and I started getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Computer,” I said weakly. “Van Dyke, Vincent. Nickname, Gunny. Manhattan Tower Hotel. New York. 1937.”
There was a pause, and then the computer answered, “No data.”
Now I started to sweat. Things were happening fast. “Computer. Tilton, Press. Stony Brook, Connecticut. Early twenty-first century. Uncle to Pendragon, Robert. Sister to Pendragon, Kathleen.”
A pause, and then, “No data.”
Patrick said, “We’re Travelers, Pendragon. There wouldn’t be any records.”
This was getting more horrifying by the second. I was learning something new about being a Traveler. As far as the world was concerned, we didn’t exist. That’s why my house on Second Earth was gone. That’s why my family disappeared.
“Computer! Pendragon, Robert. Nickname, Bobby. Stony Brook, Connecticut.” There was another pause, and then, “No data.”
“Don’t do this to yourself, Bobby,” Gunny said softly.
I was freaking out, but not for the reason Gunny thought. In some ways, I think I knew something like this had to be true. Yeah, it was horrifying to know we had no history. But as frightening as that was, it wasn’t what was making my brain explode.
I couldn’t sit down anymore. My heart raced. I jumped up, hit the button again and shouted, “Computer! Amaden, Esther. Nickname, Harlow. Girlfriend to Rose, Maximilian. New York. 1937.”
The computer paused for several seconds and then said calmly, “No data.”
“Uh-oh,” Gunny said. He now realized where I was going with this.
“Yeah, uh-oh,” I shot back. “Travelers don’t have records because Travelers don’t have histories. AllTravelers, not just the good ones.”
“Do you think-“
“Yeah, I do. Esther Amaden is Saint Dane. He’s been playing the game from both sides from the very beginning.”
