WHEELS

by Lorijo Metz

  KRUMM: Have you ever seen this, for lack of a better word…man?

  M. WU: Never.

  KRUMM: Take a closer look. Notice anything…unusual?

  M. WU: He’s wearing a costume.

  KRUMM: May I remind you, Miss Wu, I witnessed you emerge from that hole in the sky. He’s Circanthian.

  M. WU: Ahhh, you’ve been reading my uncle’s novel.

  KRUMM: Your great-great-great uncle. Well over one-hundred-years old.

  M. WU: Uncle Wells loves to exaggerate. He’s not that great.

  KRUMM: We’ll see. Regardless, I’ve requested authorization for a blood test.

  M. WU: For my uncle?

  KRUMM: For you, Miss Wu. I have a theory we’ll discover something…interesting. You’re smiling. Did I say something amusing?

  M. WU: Look at my legs, Agent Krumm. I’ve been to the hospital plenty of times. My blood type is AB+. Can I go now?

  KRUMM: Of course. I believe you have a game tonight.

  M. WU: I didn’t know you were wheelchair basketball fan?

  KRUMM: …I am now.

  ***

  THE LAST GATHERING

  Monday, March 16th

  Circanthos

  “Hayes, close your mouth. You’re staring!” Though McKenzie could hardly blame him. In addition to the normal array of human skin tones, bright pink and crimson Circanthians, blushing violet and canary gold Circanthians, aquamarine and even olive green Circanthians were rolling towards them, waving and shouting greetings to Pietas.

  “Salooti! Salooti Pietas, salooti!”

  It was a sight McKenzie would never forget. She couldn’t help but wonder if Pietas was disappointed as to be such a boring color as pale peach.

  After surviving an extremely embarrassing introduction, (She definitely needed to talk to Pietas about the whole savior thing) and a quick escape through the crowd assisted by Hayes, they were now within minutes, seconds she hoped, suddenly realizing how tired and hungry she was, of the Gathering.

  Hayes groaned. “Please God, let them have bathrooms.”

  McKenzie tried to ignore him.

  “They don’t have bathrooms in sci-fi movies.” He groaned again.

  “OMG!” McKenzie felt her face redden. “Think of it this way…if we are in a sci-fi movie, then you don’t have to go to the bathroom.” She reached back and pinched his hand. “And you don’t have to push my chair either.”

  “I suspect you two would like to freshen up,” said Pietas. “After four long loonocks, I certainly do. Follow me to the cleansing area.”

  “Oo, la, la!” cried Hayes and, despite McKenzie’s protests, grabbed on to her wheelchair and took off.

  The Circanthian Gathering looked like a giant beehive carved into the side of a small mountain. An ebony mound glittering with flecks of diamonds, striking against the Locent san-red sky. Arched entranceways lined the face, each ascending level carved deeper to allow a single pathway to zigzag all the way to the top.

  Pietas led them to an entrance on the lowest level. Located in the center, it was by far the largest of the archways.

  “Egyptian,” said Hayes pointing to a carving over the archway that looked something like an eye with two wavy lines covering it.

  “Right!” said McKenzie. “And any moment the sun god Ra will come flying across the sky.”

  “He did on the retro channel.”

  “This is real life. They don’t have Egyptians on Circanthos.”

  “Well excuse me.” He grinned.

  “What?”

  “Real Life!’” Hayes pointed up.

  McKenzie’s eyes grew wide at the sight of a multi-colored Circanthian peeking over the edge. “Holy guacamole,” she muttered, as Pietas led them under the archway. “I guess you never know.”

  The room they entered was cavernous, by any standards. Giant torches lined the glittering, ebony walls casting wild, orange-red reflections off row upon row of huge steaming pools of water. The smell was sinus clearing and refreshing all at once.

  Pietas led them through an archway in the back to the most anticipated living area in the Gathering: the bathrooms.

  “They’ve solved it!” Hayes announced, several minutes later when McKenzie joined him back in the pool area.

  “What?”

  “The toilet paper controversy. You know—which way to hang it.”

  “But there wasn’t any…Ohhhhh!”

  “Yep, shower-off and air-dry.”

  McKenzie laughed. It had taken some convincing to get Pietas to make the minor, though necessary particle-weaving adjustments to the girl’s bathroom. She hadn’t wanted to accept that McKenzie couldn’t particle-weave the adjustments herself.

  “Ready for a soak?” asked Pietas appearing like magic behind them. Three of the pools had been curtained off. An attendant, holding towels, stood beside each. “Personally, I’m covered head to spheres with a thick layer of filth and can hardly stand the smell of myself.”

  A short while later they emerged from the cleansing area feeling refreshed and smelling something like peppermint-eucalyptus.

  “Dear me. I have never heard anything quite so, so…?”

  “Awful!” McKenzie glared at Hayes. “Listening to him belt out Bohemian Rhapsody is something no human—or Circanthian—should ever have to endure.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” said Pietas.

  While they’d been bathing, the other Circanthians had been busy. The area in front of the mountain, a wide open space empty save for a small fountain in the center, was now filled with a large table set for at least thirty and covered with a feast so colorful it rivaled the surrounding foliage.

  “I believe that’s for you,” McKenzie whispered to Hayes, indicating a lone stool drawn up to the table.

  Soon more Circanthians joined them, including several children. McKenzie noted that while the adults were of all sizes and colors, the children were white as bleached cotton sheets.

  “Salooti,” said Pietas, touching two fingers to the center of her forehead. “Salooti” responded the other Circanthians returning the gesture. And the meal began.

  Usually the world’s pickiest eater, at least according to Grandma Mir, McKenzie tried to taste nearly everything. The food was similar to Earth’s food, but ultimately unrecognizable. Something green and crispy smelled like meat, while something wide, flat and yellow like a pancake, tasted like toothpaste. Then there were tastes and smells so exotic McKenzie could hardly believe they were possible.

  “Fantabulicious!” said Hayes, a red mashed-potatoie-substance dripping from his chin.

  “My guess is that you’d probably eat anything.” McKenzie glanced across the table and found Pietas smiling at her, as were many of the other Circanthians. She wiped her mouth and smiled back. She’d never experienced a large family dinner, and lately it was just her, Grandma Mir, and the TV. Ever since they moved to Avondale, her dad had been spending more and more time at his new lab.

  McKenzie’s mind was bursting with questions, and now seemed as good as any to ask them. “This H.G. Wells…he’s human, I think you said, and I was wondering…” her voice trailed off. Had she said something wrong? She glanced around the table. Eyes turned away, smiles turned into frowns and Pietas, who normally looked her straight in the eyes, was even staring at her plate. Everyone had stopped eating. Everyone except Hayes.

  “Our world has not always been peaceful, mind you.” Pietas wiped her mouth and looked at McKenzie. “Yet, after H.G. Wells arrived, the Tsendi seemed to become more than hateful. They were vicious and, unfortunately, more organized. After loonocks of what was undoubtedly an uneasy truce, the Tsendi began repeatedly raiding our villages and stealing our young ones. There was no provocation—no reason for it. The only explanation was H.G. Wells. Perhaps we should have fought back sooner, but we didn’t understand.”

  The tension around the table had grown so thick, McKenzie wondered if the Circanthians saw her as a savior—or a sacrifice. She wanted to
shrivel up and disappear. Stealing children! H.G. Wells was a monster. She should have waited until they were alone to ask her questions. Should have…but didn’t. “So, he is with the Tsendi.”

  “They call him the Advitor, their savior.”

  McKenzie glanced at Hayes. Now even he was staring at his plate. Coward!

  “The Circa Septim, a group of Circanthian elders of which I am a member, sent representatives to negotiate. One did not return. The two that did…”

  The Circanthian next to Pietas excused himself and left the table.

  “…could no longer particle-weave.”

  A collective sigh escaped from the Circanthians. Several more excused themselves and left the table.

  “Then more Circanthians began to disappear.”

  McKenzie’s ears began to throb with the sound of her heartbeat. Unable to bare the sadness in Pietas’ eyes, she too found herself staring at her plate. H.G. Wells was a monster, maybe even a human one. Worse, McKenzie, all too human herself, was not the savior Pietas was hoping for.

  “Mac, you okay?” Hayes put his hand on her arm.

  “…and those that returned to the Gathering,” continued Pietas, “taught us the Earth language, but ultimately returned to the forest, begging like poonchi for something only Wells could provide. Choosing slow death by starvation, rather than return home.”

  “Sounds familiar,” murmured Hayes, his hand slipping from McKenzie’s arm.

  McKenzie forgot about the Circanthians and looked at Hayes. It suddenly occurred to her that possibly the strangest part of this journey wasn’t the blue trees or the aliens, but Hayes. Before today, she’d known nothing about him. Not really. If she’d had to describe him, she would have said he was cocky and good-looking. Funny too. But he was much more than that, and right now he looked like the little boy she’d seen in the particle stream. The boy whose parents had chosen drugs over him. McKenzie reached out to touch his arm—then stopped. Just as she had secrets…Hayes, she was sure, would want this to be one of his.

  “The Earth language was not difficult to learn,” said Pietas. “As you may have noticed, there is an unusually strong resemblance between our two languages.

  McKenzie’s stomach was full and her head ached. Wherever this planet was, couldn’t be anywhere near Earth—anywhere near the Earth’s solar system.

  “If Wells is human…I mean, if he traveled here and we traveled here, there must be other humans that can particle-weave.” McKenzie wasn’t asking, she was simply voicing her thoughts. Trying to find some logic for their presence.

  “H.G. Wells cannot particle-weave,” said Pietas. “He arrived in something he refers to as a Gate. I know of no other human visitors beside H.G. Wells and yourselves.”

  McKenzie felt an odd tingling in the back of her brain, like a memory bursting to come forth.

  Pietas pointed to Hayes’ chin and smiled. “Mosrack.”

  The tension relaxed and the remaining Circanthians began chatting, updating Pietas and, for the most part, ignoring the humans. Hayes was busy eating; and McKenzie, try as she might, could not remember whatever it was that had felt so important. After a few more bites, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Someone was telling Pietas that an old friend of hers had returned to the Gathering. Beyond that, the news did not sound good. There was much talk of the tremos and how frequently they were occurring. From the sound of it, this was the last Gathering on the planet.

  “Mac, you don’t look so good.” Hayes had another glob of mosrack hanging from his chin.

  “You should talk,” she said.

  “Humans,” said a pale-white Circanthian boy standing behind them holding a plate of yellow spotted noodles (at least McKenzie thought they were noodles), “would you like more?”

  Hayes stared at him, tongue-tied. “No, thank you,” McKenzie murmured. The boy had reminded her of something: a question so important, the answer could change everything! “Pietas?”

  “Yes dear?” Pietas stretched and yawned so long and loudly, McKenzie could hardly keep from laughing. It was a good thing, for it gave her time enough to realize she needed to be alone with Pietas when she heard the answer.

  “Never mind.” McKenzie glanced at Hayes. His eyes were already half-closed. She yawned. Her question would have to wait.

  Chapter 17

  DIARY OF JULIANNE WELLS

  London, England 1896

  continued: Now, dear diary, I must pause…

  As I look back over your pages, it appears my story has all the makings of a work of horror: a fair maiden face-to-face with a monster worthy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Indeed, should you have questioned me at that very moment, that is exactly how I would have described it—or perhaps I would have suggested Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, my brother playing the part of both creator and monster. Before I am through, however, you will see that my story is not horror; but rather, both romance and science—though none of it fiction.

  The form that materialized before me was not my brother, nor an abomination, but rather, Petré T. Revolvos from the planet Circanthos. Soon to be known to all human associates, outside myself, as Peter R. Anderson. A being with whom I would agree to give my hand in marriage, if all goes well, only six months from the moment I first set eyes upon him.

  Even now, as the clock strikes twelve, my wedding day arrives.

  The rest of my story must wait. It will be an accounting of the events that led me: staid, proper, and certainly not impulsive, to attempt the act of marriage to a being from another planet. An act, be it folly or not, which shall take place nine short hours from now.

  We leave London directly following the ceremony and you, Dear Diary, shall remain safely hidden away until we reach our destination. My beloved’s identity must remain a secret if he is to have any peace at all while upon our planet. We have found the perfect disguise for him and, with any luck, shall build a new life together in America.

  “The course of true love never did run smooth…” Yet, may our most unconventional of unions prove thou greatest of all bards false and deliver us safely to the shores of a New World.

  Julianne Renée Wells

  ***

  WHERE IN THE WORLD IS PROFESSOR REVOLVOS?

  Monday, March 16th

  Earth / Reeves Airport

  “Professor! What did I say? Do not lift dat. You much, much too old.”

  “Interfering old savage.” Professor Revolvos grabbed the handle of his oversized suitcase and, without as much as a grunt or a groan, swung it onto his lap. “Don’t talk to me about being old, I have been old far longer than you. Almost three hundred Earth-years longer, to be exact.”

  “Please, Professor, you making picture of yourself.”

  “A spectacle, Roony. Great Creator! You manage to speak Rapanui and Uzbek well enough, you’d think you could manage proper English.”

  Roony gave a loud, disgusted, “Harrumph.”

  Revolvos smiled. Cherish these moments, he reminded himself, for they were swiftly coming to an end.

  “Roony, old man, bring the van around. I’ve arranged to have it left in parking lot A, next to the elevator.”

  “One of deez days,” Roony muttered, picking up the last piece of luggage, “I’s going to write my life story: My Life Wit’ An Alien. It’s going to be a tragedy!”

  Revolvos watched his old friend hobble towards the elevators. “Do try not to have a heart attack on your way to the garage,” he shouted. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  “Thank you for using Reeves Airport,” droned an electronic voice as Revolvos rolled out the exit.

  Revolvos and Roony had left New Zealand twenty hours earlier, landed in LAX and transferred to a smaller jet. Reeves was a small airport, used by only a few other travel-weary passengers who, like him, were waiting to be picked up.

  Reeves Airport, Revolvos thought to himself. The last time he’d flown here had been to attend a funeral—Georgianna’s, poor girl! Then, as it had been for t
he last sixty or so years, his presence had been a secret. Not even a blip on the map.

  Swinging the suitcase off his lap, he prepared for a long wait. Roony was slower these days. It pained Revolvos to see how fragile the man looked. He sighed. Years ago, necessity had driven him to find an assistant, someone who could help him navigate through wheelchair unfriendly countries. More important, someone he could trust to keep his alien identity a secret. Life in a wheelchair had been even more restrictive back then. Fortunately, he’d found Joe Roony; a scraggly teen living on the streets trying to make a living hawking overpriced, imitation Rolex watches. Worse yet, attempting to sell them to a generation who no longer wore watches.

  Wasn’t he surprised when I showed him a real Rolex.

  Suspicious at first, Roony had been overwhelmed by the amount of money Revolvos offered to pay him to be his assistant and to keep, as he explained, one little secret.

  Revolvos smiled.

  The secret had turned out not to be so little, but by the time Roony discovered that Revolvos was an alien—not from another country, but from another planet—they’d been fighting like family for months.

  Roony old man, what am I going to do? This is not going to be easy, but the thought of replacing you is too much for this ancient Circanthian. I want to go home. I want to stop pretending to be human and hop out of this confounded chair! Revolvos closed his eyes. A vision of sparkling blue water flooded his senses. “Tsootbas!” he moaned. “I need to see the Lapis Sea one more time before I die.” As he’d done many times over the past few days—over the past few hours—he reached into the inside pocket of his vest and removed a well-worn piece of paper.

  From: JWu

  Subject: James Wu, SPHAERA TECHNOLOGIES

  To: Professor R.

  Greetings Professor,

  I am truly excited to be meeting SPHAERA TECHNOLOGIES’ most illustrious, dare I say, mysterious absentee owner, and am pleasantly thrilled to report that everything you’ve requested is in place. Although difficult at times, I have managed to maintain complete secrecy on “project C.” Your help in obtaining the Australian crystals was most appreciated. However, my request for two pounds of titanium did not go unquestioned by upper management, despite your letter to them. I suspect it was a slap in their egos that you should contact me directly.