WHEELS

by Lorijo Metz

  “Time to go,” called Pietas.

  “EEEEEE, tsoot, tsoot, tsoot!”

  Hayes thrust something into McKenzie’s hand.

  “EEEEEE, tsoot, tsoot, tsoot!”

  “Open it!” he ordered, then opened it for her.

  The handle was made from the pale-blue wood, while the umbrella-like top was shiny burgundy, like the leaves. Pietas and Hayes were each holding one.

  “EEEEEE, tsoot, tsoot, tsoot!” A second later, a mottled glob of—McKenzie shuddered to think what—dropped from above and landed in front of her. Several more globs hit the ground and disappeared, either absorbed, or eaten by the forest floor.

  “Tsootbas spit,” said Hayes.

  “What?”

  “Tsootbas spit when they see movement.”

  Images of long slimy tongues raining down wads of spit brewed in McKenzie’s imagination. She pulled her umbrella closer. “How do you know that?”

  “That was not a tsootbas,” said Pietas, “Though by the sound of it, they’re close. A tsootbas would not have missed. That was a sobolis dropping.” She frowned. “There seem to be ever more of them in the forest since Wells arrived. Regardless, be aware that it is one of the hazards of traveling beneath someone else’s home. Keep your noofotos close.”

  “Umbrella,” whispered Hayes, pointing at McKenzie’s noofoto.

  “Wow, Hayes, you’re like a walking alien dictionary.”

  “YE-UK!” Hayes jumped left and snatched up the bowling ball puppy as two globs of something sizzled briefly and disappeared under the moss—inches from where he’d stood.

  “S-S-Sobolis droppings,” he stuttered as the plop, plop, plop of sobolis droppings began striking the moss all around them.

  “Holy cow pies,” McKenzie stammered, not knowing whether to go forwards or backwards.

  “Come along,” yelled Pietas, “a herd of Soboli have arrived. Time to go.”

  McKenzie stuck her noofoto into her wheelchair grip and took off.

  “Never coddle a poonchi,” called Pietas, glancing over her shoulder at Hayes, “they’re easily spoiled. Put him down; he will follow.”

  And so it was, McKenzie found herself trailing behind Pietas and Hayes, rolling through a forest of endless blue trees. High above, the canopy creaked and groaned; a continual cacophony of sound, sprinkled with the hoots and howls and sounds so alien they’d begun to take on a particularly nasty appearance in McKenzie’s imagination. Then again, wasn’t her high school principal an alien. How had she missed that?

  They traveled for so long, across mustard colored moss, through row upon row of identical pale-blue trunks, McKenzie began to wonder if Pietas was lost. Finally…

  “A tad farther and we shall be close enough for me to weave us over to the Lapis Gathering.”

  After almost losing sight of them several times, McKenzie was now right behind Pietas. “Pietas, what do you call yourselves? If we’re humans, what are you?”

  “More important, what’s the poonchi’s name?” Hayes was now the one falling behind and, McKenzie suspected, carrying the poonchi again, as well.

  “You do have a flog of questions,” said Pietas, not bothering to slow down as she spoke, “and I’m sure I would be most pleased to answer them, but not now. We must keep moving. Tsendi could appear at any moment.”

  “Are you Tsendi?” asked Hayes.

  “Tsendi?” Pietas sounded horrified. “Did I not make it clear? I am a Circanthian. Imagine mistaking me for one of those horrible greedy little creatures with two scrawny appendages instead of a proper sphere.”

  “So, the Tsendi are not from this planet either,” said McKenzie.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Pietas, as though McKenzie should have known better. “What’s more, there are likely several Tsendi spies running above us as we speak.”

  They continued on like this for what seemed like almost an hour more, following a path that defied all logic as everywhere McKenzie looked there was nothing but pale-blue trees, when suddenly Pietas stopped. Leaning forward, she wrapped her thick arms around the trunk of a tree and murmured, “Ah hah,” tilting her head back as if to get an ant’s eye view of the bark. “We have arrived. Amazing how much change takes place over the course of four loonocks. It must have been an especially wretched loon.”

  McKenzie looked around nervously. “Loon? As in bird?”

  Pietas frowned. “Shame on Bewfordios for not educating you properly before plopping you on our planet. Loonock is the name of the dead, dark moon that circles our planet, cutting off the light of our sans, and reeking havoc with our weather for a period lasting twenty-one rotations. A dreadful period we call the loon.

  Between the dead moon and the spitting creatures, Circanthos was proving to be a less than hospitable planet. Although… McKenzie glanced from her wheels to the moss. It was definitely easy to maneuver.

  Pietas continued. “The loon occurs every three hundred fifty-six rotations, or seven hundred thirty epoks. In addition, there are seven hundred thirty epoks in a loonocks—not to be confused with Loonock, our dead dark moon. According to Wells, your planet rotates on much the same schedule.

  McKenzie was lost. Epok? Loonock?

  “I, myself, have been alive for three hundred fifty loonocks. Why anyone would celebrate the loon…then again, I suppose the young do enjoy their celebrations. Pietas sighed. I only hope that there are enough young Circanthians left to celebrate it.”

  “So, what you’re saying,” said Hayes, sounding very serious, “is that a loonocks equals about one Earth-year.”

  Pietas nodded.

  Hayes’ forehead creased in even deeper concentration. His left eyebrow rose. “But that would mean you’re like—THREE HUNDRED FIFTY YEARS OLD!”

  “Give or take a loonocks.”

  “And when you said you slept for four loonocks, you actually slept for—

  “Four years,” said McKenzie. Hayes wasn’t the only one who could count.

  “I was exhausted.” Pietas yawned, stretching one arm and ruffling her curls with the other. Can’t seem to sleep more than four loonocks anymore.”

  “Four loonocks,” murmured Hayes. “You slept for four years?”

  “Concentric help me,” exclaimed Pietas. “You do talk a lot. Now, let’s hope I’ve managed to judge the distance correctly. I’m not up to doing this twice in one epok.”

  “Epok,” echoed Hayes. “That’s half a day.”

  “Shush!” said Pietas, pointing up and motioning them to be quiet. Her sphere deflated slightly and she rocked back into a sitting position. “King Charles,” she whispered taking the poonchi from Hayes and stroking the top of his head with her wrinkled old fingers. “You may be stuck with that silly human name, but thanks to me you’re no longer stuck with H.G. Wells.”

  McKenzie frowned. So, H.G. Wells was different from Principal Provost. He must be a Tsendi, she thought.

  Then why does his name sound familiar? And the poonchi… The poonchi had a human name.

  “Close your noofotos and be still.” Pietas’ voice dropped to a whisper. “Movement will draw the tsootbas.”

  Seconds later, an opening the size and shape of a large door began to blur and form in front of them. A tunnel of swirling particles, much like the portal that had brought them to Circanthos. This time, however, they were not being sucked in.

  “Practice makes perfect,” said Pietas, sounding pleased with herself. “Four loonocks ago I could not leave the forest, save for the power of my own sphere. Now I can weave myself over to the farthest Lapis shore. If you look closely, you will glimpse the Lapis Sea.”

  “Excuse me,” said Hayes. “If you were asleep for four years—I mean loonocks…” his face was contorted as if he was doing some serious thinking again, “when did you practice?”

  Pietas gave a short harrumph and rolled into the portal. Shaking his head, Hayes followed.

  As McKenzie rolled into the portal behind them, a whiff of something that could only be de
scribed as overripe garbage made her pause. Something bumped into her and she turned—horrified to find herself staring into the most hideous, bulbous, bloodshot eyes she had ever seen. By the time she noticed Hayes’ backpack was gone—so was the creature holding it.

  Chapter 12

  Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm

  Monday, March 16th

  Just outside Avondale

  continued…

  Witnessed this day: Monday, March 16th

  A van: An abandoned white Ford van parked smack in the middle of a tiny, one-lane dirt road, over the top of a rise, and about half a mile into the valley.

  A man: The air seemed still, that’s the word for it. Not thirty feet in front of the van was a man who I will call Subject-A, frozen in mid-stride with a set of keys dangling in front of him. Subject-A seemed unaware of my presence and my first instinct was to give him a tap on the shoulder. Thank God, I did not.

  A dog: As luck would have it, my eyes strayed to a dog. Approximately 150 feet southwest of me, the beast was hoisting its leg on the corner of an abandoned silo. I must have unconsciously realized something was wrong, for as I watched and waited, the beast continued to pee as if unable to complete its task.

  And that’s when I came to the unlikely realization that Subject-A was frozen, the beast was frozen and, further visual inspection revealed up, left, and right, as far as my eyes could see, the entire world beyond the van was frozen.

  An anomaly in the space-time continuum and I, Wink Krumm, the first to discover it.

  ***

  NASTY TASKS & UNWELCOME NEWS

  Monday, March 16th

  Circanthos - The Tsendi Outpost

  “Abacis! Abacis, did you see that? Tsootbas spit, here. Quick, my dear Tsendi, before the evidence disappears into that hideous, mustard colored moss of yours. Your precious Advitor almost had his FOOT BURNT OFF!”

  Abacis flinched. The Wellsman did that to him. The human’s tirades always began soft and sweet like the coo-coo of a bertlecock, drawing Abacis in, lulling him into complacency. Then BANG a burst of anger, like venom from a cobrais’ mouth, burst forth hitting Abacis smack in the face, leaving him dazed and wondering how he had not seen it coming.

  “Haven’t I requested, and nicely too, I dare say, that you have the prisoners move the border of the forest back a few feet? I need more space. I know it’s a nasty task, that’s why we have the prisoners do it.”

  “Yes, my Advitor.”

  Abacis stood before Wells, head down, humbled. He stood there patiently waiting for whatever request Wells would make of him, and whatever that request was, they both knew, Abacis would obey. Abacis was Wells’ right-hand man…even if he was only a lowly Tsendi.

  His jaw tightened, intensifying the throb in the middle of his forehead—one that had taken up permanent residence of late. The Advitor’s most recent ‘improvement’ seemed…questionable.

  “Discipline and hard work, Abacis, that is how I was raised.”

  Tsendi young ones worked in the prison during Cera san, cleaning up after the prisoners and helping to build, and then maintain, the new addition. Even the very youngest remained there, watched over by a few unlucky Tsendi mothers.

  A drop of blood, pale yellow and sweet smelling, plopped onto Abacis’ toe. He’d been digging his fingernails into his palms again.

  Wells leaned over and patted Abacis’ head. His tall thin form towered at least a foot over most Tsendi. “Abacis…” he said quietly, consolingly and with a superior sense of understanding.

  “Yes, my Advitor.” Abacis struggled to control his temper. He knew it wasn’t right; Wells was their savior. Still…

  Wells stepped back and waited.

  Abacis looked up.

  “You were a prisoner once too,” said Wells using the same tone a father would use on a wayward child. “Remember how you hated it? Remember the pain? Now, look at you, Personal Guard to the Advitor. Sacrifice and hard work is good for the soul, even a lowly Tsendi’s.”

  Abacis nodded. Wells had clearly sensed something.

  The Advitor smiled, turned and walked off toward the storage compound to remind the guards that today’s cobaca froot distribution would be delayed. He disappeared from view behind the enormous structure the Tsendi had built for him over a hundred loonocks ago. A building added on to many times since; the Advitor’s living quarters. Beyond that was an even larger structure, a long rectangular building that stored all the cobaca froot harvested during the last loon—all the remaining cobaca froot until the next harvest, two hundred fifty rotations from now.

  Abacis could be glad of at least one thing: Wells had not given him the job of informing the other Tsendi that tonight’s cobaca froot distribution would be late. He would not miss the screaming, the crying or, worst of all, the pleading.

  Gazing out over the boundary of Wells’ compound, into the Cocombaca forest, Abacis tried to compose himself. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, over his nose and splashed onto his protruding, dimpled chin. Several more beads of sweat formed, and Abacis began to shake. The feeling emerged from the depths of his memories and moved outward, washing over his body, drenching his soul, physically, forcefully reminding him that his past was not—after all—so very far away. The craving, every minute of every day, for his beloved cobaca froot remained…overwhelming him at the most unexpected moments.

  But, not as often as it used to.

  Six loonocks ago, Abacis had been sent to prison. Separated from the other prisoners and deprived of cobaca froot; how long, or even why he was there, locked away in deeper memories. Like most of his former life, submerged.

  But, not everything.

  Memories, physical symptoms surfaced now and again to tempt Abacis.

  When the Advitor finally released Abacis from solitary confinement and reinstated his rations, Abacis made a most unusual decision for a Tsendi; he took the cobaca froot, but did not eat it.

  Why? No, not why—how! The pain had been almost unbearable. Desire had seeped from his pores, wrapped itself around his emotions smothering him—so painful he thought he would die.

  Yet, somehow he’d survived.

  Abacis decided that never again would that type of desire bind him. He used his hidden stash to bribe the guards. Released early on good behavior, he rose quickly through the ranks of guards to the position as Personal Guard to the Advitor. In the loonocks since, Abacis had never divulged his secret: he no longer ate cobaca froot.

  Abacis began the long walk back toward the prison. He wished he had better news for the prisoners than another round of backbreaking labor. At least the Advitor had not demanded the young one’s help.

  “Hoo-mans, Hoo-mans!” The shouts were coming from the forest’s edge. With the exception of those on scout or guard duty, most Tsendi were asleep.

  “Hoo-mans, Hoo-mans!”

  Abacis turned. The chant was nearing. Tsendi guards positioned next to the entrance of the Advitor’s living quarters awoke and ran to see who was causing the commotion. The noise woke other Tsendi and the clatter grew so loud, even the Advitor returned.

  Suddenly, out of the forest burst Mallos followed by two other Tsendi. All three of them forest spies. The greediest of the Tsendi, forest spies were willing to stay awake even during the hours of Locent san, all for the promised reward of double cobaca froot rations for the rest of their lives.

  Mallos, in particular, Abacis did not trust.

  “Hoo-mans, Hoo-mans!” The rest of the Tsendi remained outside the compound’s border, joining the chant, but afraid to cross into the Advitor’s domain without his permission.

  “What is it?” The Wellsman could hardly be heard over the deafening roar. “Abacis,” he screamed, “command them to calm down, I can’t understand a word of it.”

  “Humans,” Abacis shouted. “They are shouting something about humans, sir.”

  Wells’ face, puffed up and red, collapsed inward. He shuffled backwards, awkwardly slapping the a
ir as if something solid and horrible was coming towards him. After knocking into two guards, he collapsed onto a tree stump and curled forwards, cradling his face in his hands and moaning, “Humans, they’ve come!”

  The Tsendi stopped chanting. Like Abacis, they were shocked and frightened at seeing their leader appear so weak.

  Eventually the Advitor stopped rocking, took one great breath, almost a sob, and rose.

  Abacis had never seen this side of him. “My Advitor, do you need assistance?”

  H.G. Wells remained pale. He announced that he would speak to Mallos and the other two spies alone in his private quarters. “Clear the forest’s edge!” he shouted, then turned and marched off. The forest spies followed, panting and jumping like a pack of wild flogs drooling with anticipation. A sack of some sort hung from Mallos’ back. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Tsendi.

  Long after the crowds dispersed, Abacis remained. More humans, he thought. How many? And why did the news affect the Advitor so? Was there to be more than one Advitor? This thought made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  As Cera san began to turn, Abacis began the long journey to the prison. It was not for him to question the ways of the Advitor. And yet…

  Chapter 13

  FBI TRANSCRIPT 21204

  Agent Wink Krumm and H.G. Wells

  Monday, April 27th

  KRUMM: You said the Tsendi were the more “human” of the two species. Why?

  WELLS: Legs and well…what the Circanthians did was clearly not human.

  KRUMM: You’re referring to the particle-weaving.

  WELLS: I am referring to arac-telae, the spider’s web, which is, more accurately, how the Tsendi describe it. Particle-weaving-PAH! The only thing Circanthians wove was trickeries and deceits.

  KRUMM: So it isn’t real?

  WELLS: Of course it isn’t real! Although, it did appear ungodly so at times. Nevertheless, it’s magic pure and simple. And that’s not civilized.

  KRUMM: You ruled the Tsendi.

  WELLS: Guided. Yes, I guided them. Always kept a right-hand Tsendi, though, just to be fair. That was my downfall.