Dragon Sword Read online

  Slow pox. The epidemic that was raging in my city of Alexandria when Eli and K’lion first appeared out of time. Apparently the authorities here wanted Eli to deliberately bring a sample of the disease back, so they could study it. Mother always said the only reliable part of an experiment was its unpredictable side. The virus escaped.

  It appears the very act of creating virus cultures from the scrolls and animal skins they brought forward in time created the same epidemic that compelled them to go look for the virus in the first place. Like a big circle, or the giant mirrors in Pharos’s lighthouse back home, endlessly reflecting each other. But I wanted to tell Sandusky his time experiments brought good results, too. If Eli had not come back in time, they would have surely taken my life when they took Mother’s. I have no home, but I am alive.

  “Our ship needs direction,” K’lion said. “Specific to f-chng! finding Eli.”

  “Well, in Earth terms, I think the year would be 1940 or 1941. Or maybe, by now, ’42. I can’t be quite sure.”

  “More, please,” K’lion requested.

  “You mean a season? A month?” Eli’s father asked.

  “An object. This is a new vessel, with new gears. Thea t-t-t-ttt! knows it. Vessel itself sniffs out beings in spacetime. Just needs a little atomic structure from the thing being sought.”

  Eli’s father nodded. “WOMPER radiation.”

  “What is WOMPER?” K’lion asked.

  “Wide Orbital Massless Particle Reverser,” Sandusky said. “Your scientists probably have a different name. Fundamental particles of the universe that determine the ‘time change’ of everything. Forward or backward. We’re just — I’m just — now learning how to track them, to use them. Everything — every being, emits a slightly different…WOMPER halo, we could call it. Because everything — living or not — is just a little somewhere different in spacetime than everything else. Like a cosmic fingerprint. No two are alike.” He shrugged and sat down by the fire. “All these splendid theories, yet our families have been torn apart.”

  “Particles come together in strange hkk-kk-khh! ways. Me and Thea now with you. Three beings, three different times, two separate species, two parallel planets. Who knows how many dimensions between us before? Odd com- binations, yet here we are. Let us search kt! for Eli.”

  Sandusky sipped from his cup again and looked at both of us. “Well, if you’re really going after him…” He reached in carefully to the pocket of his garment and drew out a small piece of parchment. “I found an old paper of his when I was cleaning up. I’ve been carrying it around.”

  He handed it to K’lion, and we both looked at it in the firelight. I couldn’t read the markings of their language, but K’lion could. “Barnstormer Robot Man!” he said aloud. Below it was a child’s drawing of a mechanical man.

  “He’s loved that game for as long as I can remember. His fingerprints are all over the paper. But they’re old. He was little.” Sandusky paused, and his eyes wandered over to the fire. “I don’t know if that’ll help you get a WOMPER reading on him or not. But bring it back. Bring someone back. Bring something.”

  K’lion said we would. I’m not versed much in their modern tongue, but I did learn “bye.” So that’s what I said. And I kissed him on the cheek.

  Sandusky of the Sands nodded, and we went back into the ship, which had begun to hum again.

  I showed K’lion again what Gennt had shown me: the scanning panel that allows new material to be absorbed by the plasmechanical direction finder. It worked to take me to K’lion. Now we would see if it worked to take us to Eli.

  Chapter Eleven

  Eli: Sign Man

  December 24, 1941 C.E.

  “I know you,” I say to Andrew Jackson Williams.

  He doesn’t seem one hundred percent surprised. “Where are you from?” he asks.

  “Here and there,” I tell him.

  “I moved to California from Vinita, Oklahoma. To spread the good word. But you’re not from back home, are you?”

  “Not that home. Not really.” How do you tell someone you’ve met him, but not yet? The answer is, you don’t. I’ve probably already said too much. “What’s the good word?”

  He taps his flyer. “The Nazis are collecting power objects.” He motions over his shoulder. “And now one has been taken from that museum. I wanted to keep a close watch, but it’s already too late. And the exhibit hasn’t opened yet. I believe they were after the sword.”

  “No, I saw it. It was a fake.”

  “You were in there?” He seems genuinely surprised.

  “Yeah. But they weren’t after the sword. They took antlers.”

  “The White Stag’s antlers!”

  “How do you know about all this stuff?” I ask. Does he already know that in his future, he gets caught in a rip in spacetime, and that Thirty and Mr. Howe and a bunch of people from DARPA will be showing me his picture on the news? “Have you ever heard of DARPA?”

  “DARPA,” he whispers. Then he pulls me away from the police cars. “Is that the name of the project?”

  Just then, a few cabs roll up. Either the cops have all their statements or people don’t care and are going to leave anyway. One of the taxis pulls up near us, and a young couple, both in fancy clothes, rushes over to it. Before the man gets in the car, he scowls at us, then stuffs a dollar into my hand. Then he turns to Andrew Jackson Williams. “Shame on you, bringing your kid out here to beg with you on Christmas Eve!”

  With that, he slams the door. They’re probably headed to DiMaggio’s Grotto, toward a nice big plate of hot spaghetti with warm garlic toast. They should get some chocolate rice milk to go with it, but I bet they won’t.

  Has rice milk been invented yet?

  “Seen any po tonight?” says a voice from another cab.

  “Charlie!”

  “I heard on the radio there was some trouble here. I came back to see if you were all right.” He motions to the people waving down the other taxis. “Didn’t realize it’d be so good for business. You need another ride, kid?” Then he looks at Andrew Jackson. “Oh, did your dad come back?”

  “I’m not the boy’s father,” Andrew Jackson corrects him, before I can. “But I can tell the child has aptitude.”

  “He’s not my dad, Charlie. And Margarite isn’t my teacher. She’s my mom. And I’m still looking for her.”

  Charlie looks like he has a bunch more questions for me, but I guess he hears a lot of stories, so he decides to leave mine alone for now. “Well, hop in. You won’t even have to pay me any spooky money,” he says with a grin. “Where is she?”

  “She might be back at the hotel by now.”

  “Has your mother gone missing?” Andrew Jackson asks. He seems suspicious. Not of me — but of the simple fact she’s gone.

  “Not exactly,” I tell him. “Hey, I can just call you A.J., right?”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Not just aptitude, but perhaps the gift. How do you know that?”

  “You told —” I stop. “You look like that could be your nickname.”

  “Strange things are afoot tonight. But then, Christmas Eve is a night of heightened expectation.”

  “Look, before we go,” I tell them, “I should find a phone and see if my mom returned to the Fairmont.”

  There’s a slight pause as they wait for me to go off and make my call. “Um, I might need somebody to show me how to do it.” I guess I can use the five-dollar bill that Caen gave me, if I can figure out how to slide it in. They don’t have anything simple like vidphones or wallet cards.

  “You really are from out of town,” Charlie says.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “We can just use my radio. I’ll ask one of the cabbies there to check with the front desk. Get in.” Charlie flings open the door for me, and I climb inside. “What’s your mom’s full name again, kid? Something like French?”

  “Margarite Sands,” I tell him. “But she might be going by Franchon.”

 
; A.J. has been standing outside the car, fidgeting with his sign. I think he was waiting to be invited inside. But when he hears me, he starts pulling some other crumpled paper from his pockets.

  “She’s not there,” Charlie tells me, putting his radio microphone back. “Any other ideas?”

  “Well, there’s this fort…”

  “Fort Point,” A.J. croaks. His eyes are on fire again behind those glasses. “Fort Point,” he repeats.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He slides into the cab and holds up a paper so Charlie and I can see it. It’s just a printed list of names. But it says Samuel Gravlox Orchestra — Undercover on the top.

  A few of the names are circled. Including, halfway down, the name of Margarite Franchon. My mom.

  “How did you get this?” I ask.

  “I think she could be in great danger. Is she at the fort tonight?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me where she was going.”

  A.J. turns to Charlie. “Can you get us to Fort Point?”

  Charlie shakes his head. “It’s behind the base. Whole area’s been restricted for months.”

  A.J. nods. “Actually, I misspoke. Can you get us to the Golden Gate Bridge?”

  “Sure. But why?”

  “There’s a way down to the fort. It’s dangerous, but I think we need to risk it. We need to warn the people there. We need to warn this boy’s mother.”

  “Warn her of what?”

  Before he can answer, the cop that Joe DiMaggio was talking to walks up and leans in the window. A.J. is so startled it looks like he might shoot off the seat and hit the cab’s roof.

  “Hey, kid.” The cop gives both Charlie and A.J. the once-over. “You okay? DiMaggio wanted me to look after you.”

  “I’m fine, officer. In fact we’re going to…DiMaggio’s Grotto! To get some pasta.” It’s my stomach talking, but it sounds reasonable enough.

  “Well, all right, kid. If you’re sure.” He looks at A.J., then back at me. “He going with you?”

  “Yup. Family friend. Merry Christmas!” I wave as Charlie puts the cab in gear and pulls away before the officer can think of any more questions.

  We drive through the park and come out in one of the neighborhoods, with its square blocks and pressed-together houses. But the streets are empty, and for a moment it feels like we could be the only three people in the world.

  I turn back to A.J. and repeat my earlier question. “Warn my mom about what?”

  He’s leaning back against the seat, his eyes closed, as if what he knows is already pressing down on him. “She and everyone else on her secret project are about to be betrayed.”

  It feels like one of the longest cab rides of my life. Of course, it’s only about the second cab ride of my life.

  Charlie knows something serious is happening, but he’s trying to make small talk, mostly for my benefit, I think, since he’s figured out my mom’s in danger.

  “I really like all that crazy stuff you were saying about them Barnies,” he says.

  “Barnstormers,” I tell him.

  “I mean, the whole idea of monsters playing sports. It’s great! Like we coulda had the po out there on Maui, playing the Seals! People woulda paid high money for that! But”— and here he seems to pick his words a little more carefully —“nobody’s really making a game like that, are they?”

  “Not yet,” I admit. A.J. gives me a funny look.

  “’Cause I been writin’ ideas down, if you don’t mind.” He holds up a pad of paper. “I mean, I don’t want to be drivin’ a cab forever. Gotta miss my family like this on Christmas Eve and stuff!”

  I want to find out more from A.J. Williams about why my mom is in danger and how he could know any of that, but he’s trying to be all hush-hush, like saying anything else in front of Charlie could be dangerous.

  I’m getting more worried, getting that knot-in-my-stomach feeling, so to take my mind off it, I follow Charlie’s lead and talk about Barnstormers, and I really start to wonder whether he could invent the game before the company that’s supposed to does.

  I know that Barnstormers really was a kind of board game at first — way, way back, before my parents were born and before there was a Comnet. And the company that makes it is…

  Dang Good Games.

  Dang!

  If I had enough room right now, I’d fall out of my seat.

  “You could be the future!” I blurt out. A.J. almost bounces off his seat again.

  “Who could be the future, son?”

  I’m excited, but I still don’t want to alarm anybody. “Any of us. Any of us could be.”

  “Any of us could be the future. But none of us knows what that future is.” A.J. gives me another of his looks. “But some people are trying to find out.”

  “Who?” I wish he’d just come out and say what he knows. But maybe he doesn’t want to alarm me. Still, we’re talking about finding my mom. “What do you mean? Look, you better tell me how you got that piece of paper with my mother’s name on it —”

  The cab screeches to a halt.

  I don’t know exactly where we are, but looking through the cab window, I can see the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance. But there’s a roadblock, like a storm has come through: a fallen tree lies across the pavement, along with several boulders. We’re not going to be driving over that bridge anytime soon.

  A.J. is the first one to open a door and step outside.

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  “Part one: They got the antlers. Part two: They don’t want anyone else to get ’em.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, this isn’t an accident. Everyone’s makin’ their moves tonight. If you want to get to your mama, we better start walkin’.”

  “I need you to tell me what you know.”

  “I will,” he said. “While we move out.”

  I feel a little better to see that Charlie is right behind us. His coat is pulled tight around him, and he’s shaking his head and muttering about all the crazy po.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thea: Peenemünde

  Early 1940s C.E.

  The ship didn’t take us to Eli. At least, I hope he was never there.

  I’m trying to record the experience now, as we head back through the Fifth Dimension in search of our friend, but I never know how long the journey will take.

  After parting from Eli’s father, we returned to the void, and coming out, landed with a thud.

  The ship’s door opened, and blisteringly cold winds rushed in. After a little hesitation, K’lion and I stepped into a land of ice.

  There was no city there. There was nothing.

  We were at the top of the world, it seemed, a place we could only speculate about back in Alexandria.

  But it was real enough.

  I gathered my sklaan around me. It helped warm me a little, though my teeth chattered. K’lion seemed only slightly better protected against the elements. His hide was turning a deep gray.

  The chill made it all the more startling when we saw a group of six approaching us on the ice, all of them in rags and nearly barefoot.

  Somehow they didn’t seem especially surprised that a girl and lizard man should be stepping out of a flying time-craft. But then, they didn’t look prone to surprise: They were caked with dirt, emaciated. They looked like slow pox victims laid hurriedly to rest in Alexandrian catacombs, then somehow brought back, if only partially, to life.

  One of them spoke to me. I believed it to be a woman, but intending them no disrespect, they were all so worn down it was hard to tell. “So it’s true? The Nazis have been to the moon and back? Is that where you’re from?” The others remained silent. “Have you come to kill us?”

  I did not answer. I was still too stunned by the whole situation. Who were they? How did they get there?

  And why were we brought there?

  That haunted group of people may have had the same questions for us. They looked a
t K’lion, motioning to each other, slowly pointing. When they whispered, the lingo-spot couldn’t pick up their language clearly, although I recognized it as Teutonic in origin — some northern tribal dialect. The woman who appeared to be their leader spoke up again, pointing at my lizard friend.

  “Is he a genetic experiment?”

  “Must be,” one of the others said. “Yet he’s smiling.”

  There was silence between us, filled by the cold. “Well,” the leader finally decided, “if you’re not going to kill us, we’ll keep going over the ice.”

  They turned away. “You’ll freeze,” I said to them.

  They stopped, but they didn’t understand me. “What language is that?” I heard one of them ask.

  Without hesitating, I took a little of the lingo-spot from my skin. I could spare only enough for the leader, but if she understood me, she could tell others. I reached for her — and she looked terrified. I touched her behind the ear. I don’t know what she thought I was going to do, but she shook, then dropped to her knees and started sobbing.

  “Don’t cry,” I told her. “What’s wrong?”

  Startled, she looked up at me, wide-eyed. “I understand you,” she whispered. Then, croaking, as if she wasn’t used to talking loudly, she said to the others, “This one’s an angel. Our misery is over. We’re not on Earth anymore.”

  I hoped that we still were. “I’m not an angel. My name is Thea. What’s yours?”

  “Hannah,” she said simply, then looked away, as if she’d decided she couldn’t have direct eye contact with me.

  I liked her name. It reminded me — a little — of “Hypatia,” my mother’s name.

  “Where are we, Hannah?”

  “If we are still on Earth, then we’re in its coldest hell.”

  “Where?”

  “Peenemünde.” She pointed through the fog, through the mist coming up off the ice. I could barely make out low mountains. “There. In the distance. The Germans’ rocket base. Right now, you’re in the middle of the Baltic Sea. But it’s December. It freezes.”