“Is there a problem?” Mark asked.
“No. But I have to clear this with my manager.” She looked up and called out, “Ms. Jansen?”
Uh-oh. Mark heard her before he saw her. The sharp sound of quick, clicking heels on the marble floor meant the uberefficient Ms. Jane Jansen was incoming. He put his hand up to his face in hopes that she wouldn’t get too good a look at him. He figured that surely she must have heard what happened to him and his family. Ms. Jane Jansen was the picture of perfection. She wore a dark, conservative suit, and her hair was tied back so tightly into a bun that Mark wondered how she moved her lips. She looked over her half-glasses at the computer screen and frowned.
“There hasn’t been activity on that account for quite some time,” she said with clipped perfection. “Is there a reason for that?”
“It was opened a long time ago,” Mark answered. “By my grandfather. It was kind of a legacy for his grandkids. I’m just starting to use it now.”
Mark had no idea where that semi-made-up story came from, but he was grateful for it, because it seemed to do the trick.
“Very well,” Ms. Jane Jansen said, then added in a loud voice to the computer, “Approved.”
Mark could breathe again. Apparently Ms. Jane Jansen didn’t follow the news either. Maybe, he figured, she never left her desk at the bank. Mark didn’t care. He was golden. Ms. Jane Jansen took Mark’s ID from the cute girl as the teller counted out Mark’s money. She eyed it quickly, then held it out for Mark. Mark reached for it, and froze. When Ms. Jane Jansen reached out with the ID, her jacket sleeve ran up her arm. There on her forearm, as plain as could be, was a green tattoo. It was the five-pointed star.
Mark stared at it without moving.
“Here you are, young man,” Ms. Jane Jansen chirped.
“What does that mean?” Mark asked without thinking. “That mark. What does it signify?”
Ms. Jane Jansen looked at Mark coldly. The cute girl seemed to shrink away. Whatever Mark said, it was definitely a faux pas.
“Answering personal questions at a place of business is not part of my job description,” she said coldly. “Good day.”
The woman spun away and clicked off. She was ticked. Or insulted. Or something. Mark didn’t know exactly what.
“Here you go,” the cute teller said, handing Mark the money. “I gave you twenties and fifties, is that okay?”
Mark was in a daze, still watching Ms. Jane Jansen. He had to snap himself back to reality.
“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks.” He took the money and stuffed it into his wallet. Mark wanted to get out of there and get back home. He needed to talk to the others.
“Don’t mind her,” the girl whispered. “She’s old school.”
Mark took a chance and asked, “Why was she so ticked that I asked her about the star?”
The girl shrugged. “Who knows? Some people don’t like to talk about it.”
“About what? Tattoos?”
The girl gave Mark a strange stare, as if he had just asked the most ridiculous question in the world.
“You’re kidding, right?” the girl asked. “I thought you were traveling, not living under a rock.” The girl pulled up her sleeve to reveal that she, too, had the star tattoo on her arm.
Mark gasped. He couldn’t help himself. The room was suddenly getting hot. He backed away, headed for the door.
“What about your receipt?” the girl called.
Mark didn’t answer. He was too busy running away.
SECOND EARTH
(CONTINUED)
“Maybe it’s a Dr. Seuss thing,” Courtney said.”Remember The Sneetches? All the cool birds had ‘stars upon thars’ and wouldn’t hang out with the regular-old Sneetches on the beaches.”
Mark gave her a sour look.
“I was kidding,” Courtney added.
She took a big bite from a carrot. Mark had stopped on the way home to pick up groceries and of course bought carrots. The two sat in the kitchen of Mark’s home, eating and speculating. On the table in front of them was the mysterious book cover.
“Patrick’s been sitting in the living room staring at the TV,” Courtney commented. “He’s like a couch potato from the future. All he needs are chips and dip, and he’ll be set for weeks.”
“Can you blame him?” Mark asked. “The guy’s an academic. This is like the best research project possible. He’s living his own history.”
“Or maybe he’s just too scared to get his butt off the couch,” Courtney quipped, taking another bite of carrot. “I can’t blame him for that, either.”
“It’s weird,” Mark said thoughtfully. “The bank lady didn’t want to talk about the star, and the girl made it seem like it was something everybody knows about.”
“You don’t think it’s just some innocent thing?” Courtney asked. “Like a peace symbol or a yin yang?”
“It’s the symbol that marks the gates, Courtney,” Mark snapped.
“Yeah, but it’s just a star,” Courtney shot back. “It could be coincidence. I mean, stars exist in other places besides the gates.”
“Sure,” Mark said patiently. “Like on this book cover from Third Earth. And hanging over the fireplace in the Sherwood house on top of the flume. And suddenly on the arms of old ladies and young girls and thugs from the future who are willing to torch a library to destroy it and-“
“All right, I get it,” Courtney said, holding up her hands in surrender.
Mark raised the book cover to the light, staring at it for the thousandth time, as if the simple word and symbols would suddenly reveal secrets they hadn’t before. “Ravinia,” he said thoughtfully.
Courtney added, “That sounds kinda like Dr. Seuss too.”
“Stop!”
Courtney huffed and tossed the rest of her carrot into the sink. “I want to go back to my house and get some clothes. Your mom’s stuff is a little too, oh, I don’t know… wrong.” She stood up to show Mark she was wearing a pair of jeans that were two inches above her ankles and a sweater that was so tight it made her look as if she were wearing doll’s clothes. “If Bobby can wear his own boxers, I say I can wear my own things too.”
Mark looked her over and laughed.
“That doesn’t help,” Courtney snarled.
Patrick started yelling from the other room. “Hey! Hey! Come here! Hurry!”
Mark and Courtney bolted from the table and sprinted into the living room. Patrick had sprung to his feet and was standing in front of the couch, staring at the television screen.
“What?” Courtney yelled.
“Look!” he shouted, pointing to the TV.
It was a huge, flat-screen monitor that the Dimonds did not have when Mark left Second Earth. On screen was a montage of happy, wide-eyed faces, all looking up at something while raising their hands. There were all kinds of people, all ages and races. Stirring music played. It seemed to Mark like some kind of inspirational film. The image became wider to reveal there were many people. Thousands. All looking up at the same thing.
“What is it?” Courtney asked, confused.
“Keep watching,” Patrick ordered.
A smooth but authoritative man’s voice cut through the music, saying, “It is yours. It is ours. It is everything.”
More faces were seen. Multiple images, fading in and out, superimposed over one another. All seemed to be in awe of something. Close-ups were superimposed over wider shots of hundreds of people.
