killer.
Courtney tried the door handle for the fiftieth time. It was just as locked as the previous forty-nine times. The face of her guard appeared in the round window in the door. He was a friendly enough guy who introduced himself as Sixth Officer Taylor Hantin. It was his job to watch over Courtney and make sure she stayed put, though Courtney didn’t think he had to bother. There was no way she was getting out of that steel dungeon. She was about to try the door handle for the fifty-first time, when an idea struck her that was so simple, she kicked herself for not thinking of it before. Now that the crew knew she was on board, there was no longer any need for secrecy. couldn’t get to Mark, Mark might come to her. She leaped at the door and knocked on the round glass. “Excuse me!” she called politely.
Sixth Officer Hantin appeared at the window. Courtney thought he was probably in his twenties. He was young to be an officer, but then again he was a sixth officer. Not exactly high up in the officer pecking order.
“Yes, miss?” he replied politely.
Courtney was happy she wasn’t being treated like a dangerous criminal. The British crew was polite. Or at least, as polite as you can be while locking you into a tin can and watching you with a loaded gun on your hip.
“I know I don’t deserve any special consideration, but it’s very important that I see one of the passengers,” Courtney said. She tried to sound as innocent and helpless as possible.
“I’m afraid that’s against regulations, miss,” he replied, but with sympathy.
“I know,” Courtney pouted. “But I’m in a lot of trouble here, and I’ve got nobody to turn to except for my friend. He doesn’t even know I’m here, but he’d want to.”
Every word she spoke was deliberately vague, but the absolute truth.
“I don’t know…”
Courtney sensed he was weakening.
“Could you at least tell him that I’m here?” she begged.
Sixth Officer Hantin looked at Courtney through the glass window. Courtney tried to look as needy as possible. Finally the officer smiled.
“What’s his name?”
“Mark Dimond,” Courtney answered quickly. “Thank you so much, Officer. You don’t know what a wonderful thing you’re doing.”
“It’s ‘Sixth Officer’ and let’s hope I don’t get thrown in the brig the same as you,” he said, and walked off.
Courtney punched the air in victory. She absolutely knew that when Mark found out she was on board, he’d come to see her. She realized that getting caught by the crew might have been the best possible thing to have happened. Saint Dane had turned her in, and it was about to backfire on him.
Courtney went from trying to puzzle her way out of the prison, to fretting over what she would say to Mark. There was so much he needed to know. Mark hadn’t read any of Bobby’s journals from Quillan. He didn’t know that the woman he was with, Nevva Winter, was the Traveler from Quillan and a traitor who’d joined Saint Dane. Without Nevva Winter, Quillan would not have fallen. She betrayed her own people, and the Travelers.
Courtney tried to prepare a speech, but didn’t know where Mark’s head would be. Was he forced into coming to First Earth? Had he been tricked? Or had the unthinkable happened? Had he joined Saint Dane the same as Nevva? She discounted that last option as impossible. No matter what, she knew she had to do two things: stop him from introducing his Forge technology to First Earth, and warn him that somebody on board was going to shoot him. If she could do those two things, dealing with Saint Dane and Nevva Winter would be the least of their problems.
An hour passed. Mark didn’t show. Neither did Sixth Officer Hantin. Courtney started to worry. The ship was big, but not that big. It wouldn’t take Hantin that long to find Mark. Or maybe he’d changed his mind. Or maybe he’d got to Mark and Mark didn’t want to see her. Or could the worst thing have happened already? Could Mark already have been shot? All those possibilities raced through Courtney’s head, making her pace again. With each passing minute she grew more anxious. She was about to bang on the door again and demand to see a ship’s officer, when she heard a squeak. The door was being unlocked.
Courtney froze. There was a lump in her throat. Her heart raced even faster. She was about to be reunited with Mark. The door opened and Sixth Officer Hantin poked his head in. He spotted Courtney and said, “No funny business now, miss.”
Courtney nodded silently. Sixth Officer Hantin stepped back into the corridor, and Courtney heard him say, “You sure you’ll be all right?”
There was no answer. The door opened a few inches farther and someone stepped inside. Nevva Winter.
The fallen Traveler stood there facing Courtney, looking every bit like an older woman from 1937. She wore a beautiful evening gown that sparkled with light cast from the single bulb in Courtney’s cell. Over the dress she had on a short fur wrap to guard against the night air. Her hair and makeup were perfect. She looked to Courtney like a glamorous movie star from the golden age of Hollywood.
She also looked like a traitor. Courtney wanted to rip her throat out.
“Do you know who I am?” Nevva asked.
“Where is he?” Courtney asked coldly.
“I’m not a villain, Courtney,” Nevva said calmly. “Neither is Saint Dane.”
Courtney wasn’t sure if she should laugh or scream.
“No, he’s a great guy,” Courtney said sarcastically. “Sure, he’s destroyed a couple of civilizations, but who hasn’t?”
“This is a revolution,” Nevva said, maintaining her composure. “There are casualties in every revolution. It’s unfortunate, but inevitable. The future of all humanity is at stake.
When you think of it that way, no price is too high.”
“Do you really believe that?” Courtney asked, her anger rising. “I mean seriously? The guy is a coldblooded killer. No, I take that back. There’s nothing cold about it. He enjoys it. How could you think whatever it is he has planned for Halla could be justified by the misery he’s caused?”
“Because I know what that vision is,” Nevva answered.
“Then please, share!” Courtney demanded. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me Bobby and the Travelers are wrong. Tell me the thousands-no, millions-of people whose lives he’s destroyed are all going to be better off because of his evil. I’d love to hear all that.”
Courtney walked closer to Nevva. With each step her anger grew. Nevva didn’t move. Courtney was a moment away from taking a swing at her when she saw something that made her stop. Someone else had entered the room. Standing in front of the open door, sheepishly, was Mark Dimond. Courtney saw him and nearly burst into tears. Suddenly Nevva meant nothing.
“Hi, Courtney” was all he said.
Courtney’s first thought was that in spite of the incredibly tense situation, Mark didn’t stutter. The second thing she realized was that Mark looked grown up. His curly black hair was cut short and, for a change, was combed. The wire-rimmed glasses made him look ten years older than he was. The bizarre image was completed by his tuxedo. He was no longer the nerdy kid from Stony Brook. Mark looked like a man. Courtney could barely breathe, let alone talk.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Nevva said, and quietly backed out of the room. Before leaving, she looked at Mark and said, “I’ll be right outside.”
She left. Mark and Courtney stood facing each other for the first time since the afternoon Bobby’s Journal #25 from Quiilan had arrived on Second Earth. It was later that night that Mark’s parents were killed when their flight disappeared over the Atlantic. It was the beginning of the odyssey that led them to be staring at each other awkwardly in a prison cell on an ocean liner on First Earth. Neither knew what to say. It was Courtney who finally took the leap.
“So, how ‘bout them Yankees?” she asked lightly.
Mark chuckled. Courtney did too. The ice had been broken. Sort of.
“What do you think of my stateroom?” Courtney asked with false cheer. “Sweet, huh? You want me to order you something from the kitchen?”
“You shouldn’t be here, Courtney,” Mark said softly.
