by Lorijo Metz
Eventually the screaming stopped and the Tsendi leader disappeared behind a rock. McKenzie took a discrete look around. There was something strange about their captors, strange beyond their looks—something pathetic. Hunched over, sweating and drooling, they shifted and jittered, one hand holding the spear, while the other clutched compulsively at a small pouch tied about their waist. Carefully, she looked over her shoulder, fearful any movement might provoke their already jumpy captors. Soliis looked terrified. Shivering and shaking, he looked ready to collapse. Obviously, he hadn’t planned this. Led them into a trap, that is. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear he was going to be much help either.
The Tsendi leader returned. The soldiers stopped fidgeting and stood taller. Maybe it was his eyes; bulging, but not as bloodshot, the compulsive, half-mad look replaced with intelligence. He frightened McKenzie.
“Make way for the Advitor,” he announced, each word spoken with authority. “H.G. Wells, our most trusted leader. Savior of the Tsendi.”
There was little emotion in the Tsendi leader’s voice, yet he commanded attention. What was strangest of all, however, was that just like Pietas, he had a British accent. Whatever kind of creature Wells was, he must have learned English in England.
Two large Tsendi hoisting a throne-like contraption on their shoulders marched out from behind the rocks.
McKenzie heard Hayes breathing beside her and realized how grateful she was not to be alone. Even more—how glad she was it was Hayes.
The throne was set on the ground and everyone bowed. Even Soliis, McKenzie noticed. Everyone except her and Hayes. She studied the man sitting upon the pale-blue throne. Everything from his thick, curly white hair to his trim, v-shaped beard looked human enough, but he didn’t look a day over sixty. He turned and caught McKenzie staring at him. His cold, ice blue gaze was such a shock she lowered her eyes.
Silence followed. It felt as if the entire planet was holding its breath waiting for H.G. Wells to speak.
McKenzie became aware of something hovering above her head. She prayed it wasn’t one of the fat, plum-colored insects with long needle-like stingers she’d noticed above a couple of the Tsendi. Larger than any insect she’d ever seen, their tiny phosphorescent wings looked barely large enough to support their bulbous, translucent bellies filled with sloshing, dark red liquid. McKenzie wanted to scream, but the silence had grown so thick she was afraid to pierce it. Instead, she closed her eyes, held her breath, and tried to think of something besides Hayes, Wells and giant mosquitoes.
When she finally had the courage to look up, H.G. Wells’ icy blue stare was there to greet her. As McKenzie looked into those eyes, she was overcome by a feeling of déjà vu. Stranger still, it felt as if he knew her—all of her. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, he spoke.
“Julianne Renée! What in the blue blazes are you doing on my planet!?”
Chapter 26
FBI TRANSCRIPT 21211
Agent Wink Krumm and Miracle Madison
Tuesday, May 26th
KRUMM: Longevity runs in your family. I believe you’re one hundred and—
MIR: A lady never reveals her age.
KRUMM: Of course not. I didn’t—
MIR: You’re that nice young man who keeps pestering my daughter.
KRUMM: You mean granddaughter, your daughter is…never mind. Mrs. Madison, I don’t wish to keep you. If you could just answer—
MIR: Keep me? No one’s keeping me. I’m going home.
KRUMM: Yes, yes, but before you do, I need to ask you one small favor.
MIR: You seem like such a nice young man.
KRUMM: I uh...why, thank you. I am nice. Most people don’t notice. Now, Grandma Mir…May I call you Grandma Mir?
MIR: Of course, dear.
KRUMM: Do you remember anything about the accident?
MIR: I don’t recall having an accident.
KRUMM: Excuse me, I mean the one your daughter, Georgianna—
MIR: Oh! Time to go. Time to go to sleep. Poor Georgianna. Shame, shame, that’s what it is. Shame, shame—
KRUMM: Shame. Yes, I agree. Apparently, it is time to go.
***
FISTS, FIGHTS & FLEEING TSENDI
Tuesday, March 17th
Aramedios
McKenzie frowned. Her great-great—well, she wasn’t sure how many greats—grandmother was named Julianne. She was somewhat famous, but McKenzie didn’t know why. Anyway, she was being paranoid. There had to be tons of people named Julianne.
“Her name is McKenzie,” said Hayes.
H.G. Wells descended his throne, adjusted his vest, smoothed his hair, and then, as if reluctant to relinquish center stage, strolled over. Ignoring Soliis, he circled McKenzie and Hayes, stopping several times to examine something, a piece of clothing, McKenzie’s hair; but most often, her wheelchair.
At some point, Hayes had placed his hand on her shoulder. McKenzie was glad it was there. Conscious of Wells, conscious of the bug hovering above—even more conscious of Hayes’ hand—she waited. The bugs hovering above the two Tsendi resembled ominous little black rain clouds.
“Abacis, have one of your men lead those disgusting creatures away,” said Wells.
The Tsendi leader looked uncomfortable, pained even, by his leader’s request…or rather, his order. Despite this, he nodded to the smaller, older looking of the two Tsendi. The soldier’s bulging eyes almost burst from their sockets pleading, begging Abacis not to pick him.
“Get on with it,” said Wells.
The old Tsendi lowered his spear, paused and then, suddenly and quite violently, ripped the pouch from about his waist. He tossed it to Abacis. The air erupted with groans and moans, as though each and every other Tsendi had been pained by this act. All accept Abacis who, for his part, acted as if he’d been tossed a bag of burning coals; he almost dropped it, in fact.
“Quiet!” yelled Wells.
“Ungrateful fool!” McKenzie heard Soliis mutter.
Abacis nodded to the old Tsendi, some unsaid message passing between them, and tied the pouch next to his own.
The old Tsendi picked up his spear, turned it around and, to McKenzie’s horror, pierced his own flesh. Thick white blood oozed from the wound. The buzzing above McKenzie’s head intensified. Tsendi on either side stepped away. The old Tsendi dropped his spear and took off in the direction of the rocks. The insects followed.
Though Locent san burned brightly, McKenzie was suddenly chilled.
“Don’t worry, if he makes it to the Boreis Peaks, the flickviks will give up the chase,” said Wells. His cold blue gaze lingered on McKenzie’s face, finally coming to rest upon her eyes. “I suppose I’ve lived so long I’ve forgotten what it is to die,” he murmured. “Of course, my sister Julianne is nothing but a rotting putrid box of bones buried beneath a gravestone that reads, Here lies Julianne Wells, she searched and searched and searched, but could never find her dear brother.” He laughed, delighted by his own joke. “Your eyes, my dear…you are the girl in the picture.”
Hayes’ grip on her shoulder tightened.
McKenzie didn’t know what picture he was talking about. But it didn’t matter. Why had Wells mistaken her for his long dead sister?
“It’s been years since I’ve laid eyes on another human.” Wells grabbed a fist full of McKenzie’s red curls and let them slide through his fingers.
McKenzie flinched. Who was this man? Despite his age, he claimed to be human. If so, you’d think, surrounded by all these monsters, he’d be happy to see someone from his own planet.
“Don’t play games with me child! Perhaps you don’t know who I am. H.G. Wells, at your service, the inventor of this little machine you sit upon.”
Hayes’ hand slipped from her shoulder. “Wow! You’re the inventor of the wheelchair!” He could be such a geek at times.
Wells glanced at Hayes as if noticing him for the first time, and then returned to McKenzie. “It was wise of you to bring along your serv
ant,” he said. “Really, though, you should have trained him better.”
McKenzie reached back for Hayes, but she was too late. “Hayes don’t—!”
By the time the words left her mouth, Abacis was already peeling Hayes’ fingers from around Wells’ neck. Hayes fought to hold on, but the muscle-bound Tsendi easily got the better of him, holding his kicking, thrashing body with one arm, while motioning three soldiers to come forward and assist.
“Tie him UP!” said Wells, his voice horse from Hayes’ well-placed grip.
McKenzie watched, stunned and helpless. The Tsendi bound Hayes’ arms and legs with scratchy looking pieces of orange twine, and then stuffed an enormous crimson colored leaf into his mouth. “Help him!” she cried, looking back at Soliis.
Soliis shrugged. “He’ll pass out soon enough.”
McKenzie hadn’t jumped since she was five-years old, but she could almost feel her legs aching with the urge to lunge out of her wheelchair. “Traitor! You led us into a trap!”
Soliis looked away.
“Now, perhaps you’ll be good enough to stop feigning ignorance,” Wells nodded pointedly at Hayes, “and hand over your machine.”
McKenzie hated riddles, and this felt like one. First his sister, now a machine? What machine?
“You thought you’d go on a little adventure; explore the galaxy, claim a few planets and return home. I knew it was only a matter of time before Julianne sold my plans. Although…I am surprised it took the rest of mankind this long to get here.”
McKenzie was only half listening. She was trying to figure out how two humans, one of them bound, gagged and passed out, could outrun all those Tsendi soldiers.
“I am not surprised,” Wells continued, “No, rather, I am flattered my design has been improved upon. After all, according to my calculations, it has been almost one hundred fifty years since I left Earth.”
One hundred fifty? He suddenly had her full attention. McKenzie looked. She really looked. But no matter how much she squinted or tried to imagine it, H.G. Wells still looked decades younger than her Grandma Mir.
“Over time, I would have improved upon the design myself,” he boasted. “On the other hand, time is precisely what I wouldn’t have had…had I remained on Earth. The point is: this is my planet. I was destined to rule here.” Wells leaned closer, once again, McKenzie sensed, studying her face. “They think I am a god!” he whispered, his warm, sour breath flooding her senses. McKenzie tried to backup, but Soliis stopped her.
“I admit, at first all I wanted to do was go home. Circanthos is a primitive planet. Unfortunately, my Gate was damaged during the journey. So, I said to myself, ‘Look here, old man, these Tsendi believe you are their savior. You’ve been handed a gift, the opportunity to rule an entire planet. Create a civilized society from the ground up—the way it should be.’” He paused. His expression sincere, yet clearly patronizing. “And all my subjects ask is that I help them defeat their enemies.”
It was plain as day, as her grandmother would say, Wells wanted the planet all to himself.
“As it happens, I am a brilliant strategist, war games being a passion of mine.” His smile broadened, and his eyes narrowed. “I quickly discovered the Circanthian’s weakness.”
Weakness? McKenzie leaned closer. Wells smiled knowingly and stood up. “Now, the only thing that can prevent me from helping these good Tsendi regain their rightful superiority over this planet,” His voice raised so that all the Tsendi could hear, “is you.”
Growls and hisses filled the air. Spears were hoisted and shook in her direction, while at the same time, McKenzie noticed, several Tsendi took advantage of the interruption to grab a quick bite of whatever it was that was in the sack tied about their waist. The froot, she recalled, that Soliis was so overly fond.
“Why me?”
Wells laughed. “Why indeed you. That has crossed my mind, but I think I have an answer. Clearly, whoever built your gate chose to test it using children because, well, children are expendable. I did not return and therefore the functionality of my Gate was in question. Why you? Because you are merely a sacrifice, yet a success if you return home. A success and a guarantee that eventually more humans will find their way to Circanthos and claim it for their own.”
Power made people nuts, but H.G. Wells was really nuts—sacrificing children? It was time McKenzie set him straight. “The truth is no one knows we’re here, and if you let us go, no one will ever know. I promise. You can have this planet. All of it. This was a mistake. Hayes and I just want to go home.”
Wells turned and marched over to one of the soldiers. He grabbed the pouch from around the soldier’s waist and tore it off. A visible shudder rippled through the crowd. “What do you think, Soliis? Should I believe her?”
Soliis rolled out from behind McKenzie. His eyes shifted nervously, but always, McKenzie noticed, returning to the pouch in Wells’ hand.
“Oh, Great One, I don’t know,” he stammered.
Great One?Oh GREAT one! McKenzie wanted to puke.
“Of course you don’t,” said Wells. “Circanthians are only good for magic tricks, isn’t that true, Abacis?”
Abacis stood slightly behind Wells. McKenzie could see him, but Wells would have to turn or look over his shoulder. Abacis did not nod. He did not disagree, either. He simply stood there stone-faced and…by all appearances, respectful.
Wells tossed the pouch into Soliis’ eagerly outstretched hands. A few of the more daring Tsendi moaned.
McKenzie was more interested in Abacis. He’d been close enough to overhear everything Wells had whispered to her. Soliis didn’t seem to care. But was Abacis content to have someone like Wells order him around?
“You know, little girl, it doesn’t matter why you’re here. The fact that you’re here is what matters. Somehow you and your friend managed upon a Gate, and now you’re here and you say you want to go home.”
McKenzie nodded. Maybe he finally understood.
“See, I am correct.” This seemed to amuse Wells. He laughed and looked over his shoulder. “Everyone needs my help, eh Abacis.”
His help? Wells’ had admitted his machine was broken. If he still had help to offer, maybe he had a cortext. “That’s right. We do need your help. We’re looking for a cortext.”
“A what!” The speed at which Wells turned was telling enough. His eyes narrowed and McKenzie could see his body tense, anticipating her answer. Though why, she wasn’t sure.
“Cortext,” she repeated, watching his face closely. “It looks like a triangle with all these lights. Well…not lights, exactly, but it shimmers. A cortext could take us home. You’d have the planet all to yourself.”
Though he tried to hide it, Wells’ face gave him away. With each word, it grew redder and redder. And as his face grew redder, McKenzie’s heart beat faster. Wells knew something about the cortext. Whatever it was, he wanted to keep it to himself.
“Why would you need this machine when you have a Gate? You’re trying to confuse me. Well I won’t have it!” he said, jabbing a long bony finger in her direction. “What I will have is your Gate! This is my planet and I won’t have any more humans trying to lay claim.”
McKenzie tried to backup but, once again, Soliis stopped her.
“Look at him!” said Wells. “That BOY will die and so will you unless you remove yourself from my machine.”
And in that split second, McKenzie knew exactly what Wells had been talking about. She opened her armrest, grabbed her iPort and flipped it open. Holding it out in front of her, one finger poised as if to push a button, she prayed that Wells would believe the slightest touch would send her and her wheelchair—her Gate—spinning back to Earth. “Not until you let Hayes go!” she shouted.
For several seconds, Wells’ mouth hung open; then he doubled over and began to laugh. He laughed and laughed, and with each laugh, McKenzie knew her bargaining power was gone. She had never been good at chess—and she had just given up her queen. Wells had dis
covered her weakness: Of course, McKenzie would never leave without Hayes.
“If I allow you to return to Earth—even if, as you claim, your presence is a mistake—it is only a matter of time before more humans return. How many planets resemble Earth as nearly as this one? How many planets resemble Earth and are inhabited by primitive cultures that offer limited resistance, if any, to our advanced technology? More important, how many planets hold the promise of eternal youth?”
So, he was human. McKenzie’s heart sank. Of course, she’d known he was. She’d known all along. She just didn’t know how, nor did she want it to be true. “I won’t tell anyone,” she stammered.
“Ahhhh, but it would only take one slip and all the Queen’s horses would come galloping across the galaxy to claim my kingdom. The kingdom of a man long considered dead—and no one would be the wiser.”
McKenzie could have cried. No one would come galloping across the galaxy to her rescue. She sighed. Or to Hayes. McKenzie sat up straighter. No one would rescue Hayes. That was not acceptable. She might not deserve a savior—but Hayes did. How could I have let this happen! And that’s when the image began to form. An image built of hate and fear and, most of all, loathing.
“If you try to escape, I will not only kill the boy—I will make him suffer. Abacis,” Wells called, effectively dismissing McKenzie. “Remove the child from the Gate. Do what you like with the two humans, so long as you dispatch of them quickly. After all, we must remain civilized.”
As Wells continued to spew forth words like “for the good of all” and “how really none of this was his fault” the large red rock behind him began to take on another shape. Within seconds, the rock had transformed into a hand the size of a six-story building. Soliis, Abacis and the rest of the Tsendi turned, too frightened to say anything. They stared, transfixed, as the hand grew into a fist. Wells, caught-up in the sound of his own voice, didn’t notice.
The fist began to ungulate and swerve, growing larger and larger and then finally angling back, positioning itself for the final blow, one that would crush everything in its path. The Tsendi guards dropped their spears and took off. By the time Wells noticed what was happening, only Abacis remained.