WHEELS

by Lorijo Metz

  “Well, there you go,” said McKenzie. “Just ask my coach, the problem is I’m more of a star than a leader.”

  “A star?” This seemed to please Pietas. She clapped her hands and smiled. “A star, if I am correct, is a bright point of light visible in a dark sky. H.G. Wells spoke of them. We do not see stars on Circanthos. However, if you are one of these, I believe that is a very good thing, for a star can provide light so that others may follow.”

  McKenzie’s stomach growled. She took a deep breath and tried to sort out her thoughts. Outside, a young Circanthian rolled into view. Something whooshed through the air and he caught it. McKenzie felt an odd bit of relief watching such an innocent, human-like activity. The Circanthian child laughed and then someone else ran into view. A yellow Circanthian—no blue—no green. “Pietas, who is that? He or she keeps changing colors.”

  “That is Charis.”

  Charis laughed. His expression looked as youthful as the child’s. In fact, the two were close to the same size. Charis pointed at something in the distance and they rolled off.

  McKenzie’s heart began to beat faster. “Is Charis the child’s father or older brother? I can’t tell. Except for the color, or rather colors, Charis looks so young.”

  “Charis and his friend are the same age. They have been close since birth.”

  “But, but—” Pietas had given her the worst possible answer. If only McKenzie could go back in time. Before now, before yesterday…back before she was born. She didn’t want it to be true. Circanthians weren’t supposed to change color until they came of age. “But he’s not white.”

  “Charis is special. The ability to particle-weave usually manifests around the fortieth loonocks. Charis was born with the ability. It happens, but is rare and, as you can imagine, very dangerous. Circanthian children do not know how to control their emotions. They must be taught. Imagine particle-weaving in anger, hate, or fear. For his sake and for the sake of others, until he comes of age, Charis must never be left alone.”

  McKenzie felt ill. What if she was like Charis? What if she had caused the accident? What if her dad had lied to protect her? Or didn’t know, because the accident had somehow been enough to make her stop? Make her forget—until now.

  “Much like my good friend Petré Revolvos, who also was born with the ability, Charis will someday be a very powerful Circanthian.” Pietas laughed. “I could tell you many stories about young Petré that would turn your hair green.”

  McKenzie was very still. She was creating a hole; a deep, dark hole…only this time, she was disappearing from the inside out. Life, as she knew it, was over. “Dreams,” she murmured, as the darkness crept over her organs and seeped into her flesh, “are true.”

  “McKenzie!”

  Someone was shaking her. “I can’t. I can’t!”

  “Look-at-me!”

  “What?” McKenzie’s eyes popped open; two sparkling blue orbs of light stared back.

  “Breathe,” said Pietas.

  McKenzie’s chest expanded. Air flowed in as if forced to do so. Her stomach growled.

  “My goodness. You need nourishment!”

  The blackness receded. “Food,” murmured McKenzie, her stomach aching with an emptiness no food would ever fill.

  “Follow me.” Pietas rolled to the back of the room.

  McKenzie sat there, empty in every way a human being could imagine being empty.

  “McKenzie!”

  Somehow, she turned her chair around. As she approached the back wall, the mural that had been a blur became clearer. It was a painting of Charlie the poonchi sitting on Pietas’ lap—only, it wasn’t solid. “Particle-weaving,” murmured McKenzie, and rolled through.

  Chapter 21

  FBI TRANSCRIPT 21203

  Agent Wink Krumm and Principal B.R. Provost

  Tuesday, May 12th

  KRUMM: You arrived in Avondale the same day the former principal, Harold Shepherd, chose to retire.

  PROVOST: It was no coincidence. My friend, Joe Roony—

  KRUMM: Ah yes…your friend of many names. He does seem rather simple.

  PROVOST: Joe likes to give that impression. Actually, he speaks several languages, including Uzbek. Joe and I were discussing his company, Sphaera Technologies, when he mentioned the fire and fact that Harold Shepherd would be stepping down. I didn’t want to take advantage of anyone, mind you, but I thought I would be a good fit. Avondale is an unusual town, wouldn’t you agree?

  KRUMM: Without a doubt! Now forgive me for changing the subject, but I have a request before you leave. I need you to fill out a questionnaire; family background, that sort of thing.

  PROVOST: I filled out a form when you first interrogated me.

  KRUMM: Interviewed, please. Interrogate seems so hostile. And we haven’t reached that point…yet.

  PROVOST: Why, Agent Krumm, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were threatening me.

  ***

  A VAN, A MAN & A DOG

  Monday, March 16th

  Earth

  Revolvos woke with a start. The van was pitching and twitching so much he could hardly believe Roony wasn’t cursing at the top of his lungs. The road they were on appeared to be little more than a dirt path. Either Roony was lost, or this was James Wu’s twisted idea of a scenic route. Ah well, the san was out and, by all accounts, it was going to be a perfect day.

  Then why do I feel so anxious?

  Roony was humming a tuneless tune and oblivious to all but what was in front of him. Up the road was a shack, perhaps an abandoned farmhouse. Revolvos leaned forward. He blinked his eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on him. And when he was quite sure they weren’t, he shouted, “STOP! Right now Roony—stop this instant!”

  Roony slammed on the brakes while shouting a few particularly nasty curses in Rapanui. “Professor! You lucky dez James Wu have us take back roads, or we be road kill now.”

  “Look!” said Revolvos rubbing his elbow and pointing in the direction of an old, abandoned looking silo.

  “What goes on in dat mind of yours?” Roony mumbled. “I don’t see nut’in.”

  Had it not been for a dog hoisting its leg on the corner of the silo, Revolvos might never have noticed. “The dog, Roony, look at the dog!”

  Roony’s gaze turned into a squint. “Dis dog is worth killing ourselves?”

  “Look again.”

  Roony leaned forward. “Nope. Don’t see nut’in.” He scrunched and unscrunched his eyes as if adjusting the lens of a microscope. “’Cept some old dog pissin’.”

  “Exactly!” Revolvos unbuckled his seatbelt. “And how long does it take a dog to—as you so elegantly put it—piss?”

  Roony looked at Revolvos, then back at the dog. He surveyed the scene as if seeing, but not quite believing his eyes. An awareness of something odd, something he would probably never totally fathom, was beginning to dawn on him.

  Revolvos began to notice other things. It wasn’t only the dog, it was everything: a bird in the sky, a tattered old windsock crumpled as if being blown back and forth, yet not moving at all; and farther off, a bit of something, perhaps a balloon, hanging motionless in the air—a few hundred feet in front of them, the whole world, frozen.

  “HOLY CHURA! Dez is no human trick.”

  Roony glared at him accusingly, but Revolvos was already unhitching his chair. He needed to get a closer look. “You’re correct, Roony. Probably not human, but what, or rather—why?” Worse, he wondered, did it have anything to do with the cortext Wu was building for him?

  Revolvos rolled down the ramp and around to the front of the van. Roony jumped out and walked up behind him. “What is dis Professor?”

  “I’m not sure, but I suggest you go no farther until I find out.

  “Be careful, old alien.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course.” Revolvos inched forward. He studied the area in front of him for several minutes. Particle-weaving, he thought, I’m sure of it. But why? How can one maintain such
a large area, unless…?

  Bewfordios Provost! So, it wasn’t just a dream. He really is here. Revolvos rolled closer, his expression unconsciously changing to one of practiced disapproval. Young upstart loved to toy with the idea of time disruption. “Never thought there was much use in it myself,” he muttered.

  “Careful,” Roony called.

  “Just-stay-back!” For Revolvos could see it now. There was a tension to the air, like a bubble waiting to burst. And despite a natural inclination to disapprove, Revolvos heard himself exclaiming, “Amazing! Simply amazing!”

  Careful to keep out of the time-field, he moved to the side of the road and began looking for something that would work as a stabilizer to keep the field from collapsing. Something that would not be obvious. The search was fruitless, naturally, as the field was enormous, most likely encompassing the entirety of Avondale. In all likelihood, the stabilizers were miles from here.

  Lost in his own thoughts, Revolvos did not think to check on Roony. So, he was surprised, and not a little bit sad, when he turned and discovered Roony had walked straight into the time-field and was now frozen in place on the edge of it—directly in front of the van.

  “Oh, Roony!” he cried. “Roony, my boy, what have you done?” Then he spotted it, on the other side of the road—a mushroom shaped rock. “Of course,” he said. “Brilliant!”

  Revolvos could only observe the device from afar, for it was within the time-field. But it was definitely Provost’s work. Why go to all this trouble, he wondered, freeze all of Avondale simply to find me?

  Revolvos pondered this for some time before concluding that there was only one way to find out. “Roony,” he called, turning around, “Roony—oh blast it!” He frowned. Roony’s frozen form stood inches from his own. “Well, at least you won’t be getting into any trouble, old man.”

  Revolvos rolled back to the van, grabbed the keys and tossed them into the time-field where they would remain frozen in mid-air, in front of Roony’s face, until the field collapsed.

  Easing back from the edge, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep, meditative state. It had been a long time since he’d used this most Circanthian of abilities, particle-weaving. Yet at one time, Revolvos reminded himself, he’d been the best.

  The particles of air surrounding Professor Revolvos took on a life of their own, spinning and sparking as they began moving barely a nano-hair faster than the air outside the bubble he was weaving around himself. Seconds later, his eyes opened. Here goes everything, he thought—and rolled into the time-field.

  Chapter 22

  Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm

  Monday, March 16th

  Just outside Avondale

  continued…

  Though the alien’s appendage did not appear to be dressed, as such, it did not appear naked either. One might describe it as a spherical, organic/mechanical-type mechanism, the bones and joints visible beneath the skin (much like a hand or foot). The outer lining, or skin, appeared almost bark-like in appearance. I imagine it to be quite callused. In addition, it appeared to rotate a full 360 degrees.

  Both human and non-humans ignored the van, a sign that its presence was not a surprise. Also, a sign that I was trapped. Concerned about compromising my cover I risked only three photos, which I quickly sent off to Wickersheim back at headquarters.

  ***

  CONCENTRIC, THE GREAT CREATOR

  Tuesday, March 17th

  Circanthos

  “Concentric,” said Pietas. “The Great Creator, Creation, that which is everything.”

  “Sounds like,” McKenzie paused to swallow a plump, bright yellow dorabaca berry, “religion.”

  “Religion?”

  “Tastes like,” she popped another in her mouth, “sweet gravy! These berries are delish!”

  “Apparently. So, you too believe in the Great Creator?”

  “Ummmm—huh?” McKenzie had only been pretending to take an interest in the Circanthian laws. She’d already begun making plans to leave as quickly as possible. And the best way to do that; or rather, the only way she could think of, was to find H.G. Wells and ask him about his machine—the one that might be able to take them home. Once home…well, she’d stopped particle-weaving once in her life—she would find a way to do it again. This time, forever.

  “McKenzie, please.”

  “I go to 5 o’clock Mass. So…I guess I do.” McKenzie grabbed another handful of berries and began popping them one by one in her mouth. “Do the Tsendi (pop) believe in him?” (pop, pop)

  “Concentric is neither male nor female. Yes, Tsendi believe. Though they have their own name for the Great One.”

  “Ahhh!” McKenzie swallowed her mouthful of berries and shook her head knowingly. “And you fight over this difference in names. Just like home! Religious fanatics cause almost all of Earth’s wars. Let me guess—OH!” McKenzie’s face turned green as a burst of flavor so bitter, so disgusting— “YUK!”—sent the remaining berries flying from her mouth. “YUK, yuk and double yuk!”

  “My, my!” muttered Pietas.

  “What?” McKenzie looked around frantically for something to rinse her mouth out with. “’My, my’ WHAT?”

  “I neglected to warn you…” Pietas smiled and handed her a glass full of pale yellow liquid. “Dorabaca berries are easily influenced by mood. A foul thought can spoil an entire batch.”

  McKenzie peered into the bowl and cringed at the sight of the once plump dorabaca berries now shriveled and green. “I’m finished,” she said, pushing the bowl away.

  “Very useful when training young ones to control their emotions,” said Pietas. “But perhaps we should find you something less…persnickety. Now, where were we? Oh yes! Do we argue over the naming of the Great One? Certainly not! A Tsendi cannot be expected to view Concentric the same way a Circanthian does, or the other way around. Furthermore, Circanthians do not fight.”

  McKenzie’s eyes narrowed. “At dinner last night, or whatever you call it, you said your world has not always been peaceful, even before H.G. Wells.”

  Pietas sighed. “You do have good ears.”

  “My only Vulcan-like trait.”

  “We call it the Veni Commotos. It refers to unfortunate events that occurred over a thousand loonocks ago. A time of great change in the relationship of Tsendi and Circanthians.”

  “So you weren’t always enemies?”

  Pietas raised her eyebrow. “Humans use such strong words. Recently, the Tsendi have begun referring to the Veni Commotos by a different name. They call it The Great War. A name, I assume, inspired by H.G. Wells.”

  “But Wells wasn’t even here.”

  “Of course not. He arrived a mere one hundred and fifty, or so, loonocks ago.”

  McKenzie temporarily forgot about the Veni Commotos. “That’s not possible. H.G. Wells would be dead.” She frowned. Which meant, even though he spoke, as Pietas called it, “Earthian,” he was not human. Wells had probably traveled to Earth, just as he’d traveled to Circanthos. So, what type of creature was he? More important, would he be willing to let them use his machine to return home?

  “Why?” said Pietas.

  “Why what?”

  “Why must he be dead?”

  “Because humans die when they’re like eighty or ninety. Even if they live to be a hundred, they can barely move or talk.”

  “It sounds horrible.”

  McKenzie rolled her eyes. “It is! My Grandma is so old she needs a wheelchair to get around.”

  “Like you?”

  “Oh no.” McKenzie blushed. “Hers is a regular old wheelchair. Mine is, well…fast! Totally different.”

  Pietas nodded, though there was a hint of a smile on her face. “Let me try to sum up the Veni Commotos.” She paused, as if contemplating where to begin. Her smile faded. “Until approximately one thousand loonocks ago, it is said, the Tsendi and Circanthians existed in peace.”

  “What happened?”

  “At that t
ime, the Tsendi worked deep in the Arelo mines digging for coraltea.” Pietas pointed to McKenzie’s chair. “Coraltea is similar in nature to your chair, but the color of Locent san.”

  McKenzie nodded. “Like copper or gold.”

  “They used it to create beautiful and useful objects, such as bowls and cups. Items which Circanthians gladly traded for.”

  “Why not particle-weave your own cups?”

  “A few well-chosen items free us to maintain the more complicated weaves. Particle-weaving, as you know, is not permanent.”

  McKenzie hadn’t known that. Her own attempts had always ended disastrously. Yet, since being on Circanthos, some small part of her must have begun to see the possibilities—not that she was ever going to take advantage of them.

  “You will no longer find coraltea in the Gathering.” Pietas’ expression became even more serious. McKenzie had to lean forward to hear her as she continued. “It occurred during one of our rest periods. The Tsendi mine collapsed, trapping seven Tsendi under the rubble. Runners were sent to seek our assistance.”

  “And?”

  Pietas sighed. “Long ago, Circanthians wove walls of silence around themselves during rest periods. Sleep is vital for controlling the emotions. For reasons that will become obvious, we no longer do this. However, back then, when Tsendi runners arrived at our Gathering looking for help, they were only able to wake two young Circanthians whose walls were not well woven. The young ones accompanied them and were able to rescue all but two of the Tsendi miners.”

  “That’s good. Right?”

  “Tsendi do not understand what they cannot see, and they did not understand walls of silence. To them, it must have seemed as if all but the two young ones had refused to help in one of their greatest times of need. The two young Circanthians returned, but the Tsendi came back a short time later, during another one of our rest periods, and took two other young ones. Those two were never seen again.”

  “I’m sorry,” murmured McKenzie.

  Pietas nodded. “Circanthians reproduce only once. It was unimaginable to lose one’s young one back then…” her voice trailed off. For someone usually so in control of her emotions, Pietas appeared too overcome to speak. “But what is truly distressing is that in the last hundred loonocks it has become almost—commonplace.”