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.
“Details,” Patrick requested.
“Person of note,” the computer responded. “Dimond, Mark. Father of Forge technology.”
“Forge!” Courtney screamed. “That’s the thing Mark invented!”
The hologram of Mark came to life. He reached into his pocket, took out a small, rubbery object, and held it in his open hand. The hologram of Mark spoke. “Cube.”
“Whoa,” Courtney muttered, sitting back in her chair.
The little object writhed and changed from a round blob into a perfect cube.
“Is that how it worked?” I asked. “Is that Forge?”
“Yup,” Courtney answered, dumbfounded. “Man, I so want one of these computers.”
“Details of Forge and Mark Dimond,” Patrick pressed.
“Forge technology. United States Patent Number 2,066,313. Issued to Dimond, Mark. President of the Dimond Alpha Digital Organization.”
“Dado!” Courtney yelled.
The computer continued, “The Dimond Alpha Digital Organization, along with its parent company, KEM Limited, developed Forge technology. It became the basis for an innovative robotics system. It changed the course of manufacturing and created the field of computer science. Mark Dimond is considered to be the genius visionary who began the computer age.”
“Once again, whoa,” Courtney gasped.
“When?” I blurted out. “When did this happen?”
“Computer,” Patrick announced, “What was the Forge patent application date?”
The cap and gown image of young Mark disappeared, leaving the older Mark, holding his invention. Andy’s invention. Saint Dane’s invention. The computer answered, “United States Patent Number 2,066,313 was filed on
