didn’t waste time and went for the second SUV. Alder and I jumped in the backseat and slammed the doors. Behind the wheel was a big guy with a neck as thick as his head. He turned to us and said, “Hey, how come you two bozos get special treatment?”
I wasn’t in the mood to explain anything to anybody. Especially somebody who called me a “bozo.”
“Drive,” I snapped.
The big guy shrugged and revved the engine. “Whatever you say. The professor says I gotta get you there, I’ll get you there. That’s my job. But I was wonderin’ why do you two get the VIP treatment when-”
“Drive!” I shouted again. He did. With a quick lurch, we were off. Traffic was light, so we were able to move quickly uptown, toward the Bronx. Toward a potential massacre. “You got a phone?” I called to the driver. “Sure? Want it?”
“Yeah.”
He grabbed his cell phone off the seat next to him and tossed it to me. “Don’t go making any long-distance calls.”
“I have to talk to Professor Gastigian. What’s his number?”
“He doesn’t have a cell,” the big guy answered.
“You’re kidding! Somebody in that car must have one!”
“Nope. The professor hates ‘em. He doesn’t let anybody carry one around him. He says we all got by just fine for a long time without cell phones.”
“Until today,” I grumbled, and tossed the useless phone back into the front seat.
“I do not know what to do, Pendragon,” Alder said, sounding less than his usual confident self. “I am at a loss to understand your territory.”
“We might be wrong. Wiping out a stadium full of people isn’t exactly a small thing. Naymeer has a lot of power and influence, but unless he’s got some kind of massive weapon, things might be okay.”
The driver turned around and gave me a strange look. “Do I want to know what you’re talking about?”
“No,” we both said together.
“I hope you are right,” Alder said. “My instincts tell me otherwise.”
Mine did too. We had gone from thinking this rally might be the salvation of Halla, to fearing it would be the most horrific disaster in history. The Bronx Massacre. That’s what Patrick wrote. We thought for sure it was the incident at the flume. But that would seem like a footnote if something horrific were to happen to a stadium full of people. Was Naymeer capable of doing something so diabolical? To what end? Fear? Intimidation? Or was having so many of those opposed to him, all in one place, too tempting to pass up? With one deadly swipe he could wipe out the most vocal of the people who resisted him. Would the rest of the world stand for that? Or would they be too frightened of Naymeer to bring him to justice?
How could he wipe out an entire stadium of people anyway? It was all seeming kind of far fetched. I hoped I wasn’t talking myself into believing that everything was going to be fine, but the hard truth was that even if we knew for certain the people in the stadium were in danger, we had no way of helping them.
I had been to Yankee Stadium many times before. I’m a Yankees fan. Or I was a Yankees fan. I had no idea who was on the team anymore. Or who the manager was. Or who had won the last four World Series. It seems strange to think how important baseball used to be for me. My dad took me to a lot of games. He even took me and Uncle Press to a World Series game. Yankee Stadium was a special place for me.
When we crossed the bridge to leave Manhattan, we saw it. I caught sight of the familiar blue letters that ringed the upper rim of the stadium and made a brief wish that someday I’d get the chance to see a ball game again. Any ball game. Anywhere. I might as well have wished to sprout wings and fly.
The parking lots surrounding the stadium were already packed. The rally was under way.
“Where do we go?” I asked the driver.
“We’re gonna drive right inside near left field,” he answered. “I never been down on the field. Maybe I’ll get a Yankee autograph.”
The guy was an idiot.
Alder stared up at the stadium, wide eyed.
“You were not exaggerating,” he said. “It is colossal.”
There was a big police presence. I guess that’s what happens when a protest is going on. Especially one with multiple thousands of angry people. Alder and I ducked down, in case some overeager cop recognized us and decided to be a hero by bringing down the terrorists. We drove along the outer wall of the stadium that ran parallel to the third-base line. The police waved us through with no problem. As we swung around toward the gate in left field, my eye caught something. Parked across the street from the stadium was a line of buses. They looked like the same buses that had picked up the Ravinians after the abrupt end of the conclave. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, except that standing at the doorway to each of the buses was a red-shirt dado. Why were they there? This wasn’t a Ravinian show.
I nudged Alder and pointed. He saw the dados and frowned.
“That is not a good sign,” he said gravely.
We didn’t have time to wonder what it could mean. Our car was being waved inside an open gate. We had arrived. Though I had been to Yankee Stadium many times, the first moment that I got a peek inside the park itself was always a breathtaking one, if only for the sheer size of the place. A day at the ballpark was as much about the sensory experience as it was the game. I loved seeing the perfectly manicured, brilliant green grass and razor-sharp diamond.
We drove through the gates, past the bull pen, and right onto the warning track in left field. It was like a dream come true for a baseball fan. Too bad I wasn’t enjoying it.
Alder was so overwhelmed by the sight that he pushed himself back into his seat. It wasn’t exactly like going to a ball game, but the experience wasn’t any less impressive. The place was packed. I mean, totally packed. World Series packed. There wasn’t an empty seat anywhere. You couldn’t even see the aisles, because people crowded the stairs. A big stage was erected over second base, complete with a lighting grid and a huge bank of speakers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was set up for a rock concert. It even sounded like one. A guy with a guitar was onstage singing. I recognized him but couldn’t remember his name. I know my parents listened to him a lot. I guess he was real popular back in the day, but I doubted that he ever played to an audience this big. The giant screen in center field showed his image as he sang some old song that I didn’t know the name of.
People were allowed down on the field in front of the stage. They were packed in, shoulder to shoulder. Behind the stage, the grass of the outfield was empty. A couple of cars and limos were parked there, which is probably how the performers got in and out. Even the outfield bleachers were packed. Standing room only. In all, it was an impressive rally. Professor Gastigian had done his job. It was actually good to see how many people were willing to take a stand against Naymeer and the Ravinians. I had to believe that these people represented only a fraction of the people in the world who didn’t agree with him, or his vision. It made me feel as if there might be hope yet.
It also scared the hell out of me. If anything bad were to happen here, anything, lots of people would get hurt.
The idea of Naymeer trying something so villainous seemed impossible. But the impossible often happened. Every day.
The driver steered us behind the stage, where a big, eighteen-wheeler truck was parked.
“The professor’s in there,” he said. “And hey, if you see a Yankee, get me an autograph, all right?”
“What is a Yankee?” Alder asked.
The driver gave him a sideways look. “Where you from? Mars?”
“Denduron, actually.”
I had had enough of the witty banter with the driver, so I jumped out of the car. As soon as I opened the door, I was hit with a rush of noise. Besides the old guy onstage singing some ancient song, the people in the stands were chanting and singing. They swayed back and forth, repeating phrases like the protestors used outside the conclave: “We the people,”
“Liberty and justice,”
“All men are created equal.” It seemed that whichever way I turned, I was hit with a different wave of singing. Unlike the protesters outside of the conclave, these people were calm. Police were patrolling everywhere, but there were no problems. There were homemade signs everywhere, and hands waving in the air. It was a totally
