by Lorijo Metz
Reaching the free throw line, McKenzie looked at Pietas, who smiled, then at Abacis, who winked one of his large, bulbous Tsendi eyes and held out his arms. For what may have been the first time in her life, McKenzie was unsure of herself on a basketball court. Ignoring Pietas, ignoring Abacis, ignoring the chants from the crowd, she focused on what felt most comfortable—the hoop.
“One point. Just one point.”
The chanting grew louder.
“One, two…” McKenzie aimed, “three!” and shot.
As Hayes’ head flew threw the air, his face spun toward McKenzie. He was laughing. But as his head continued to spin, his eyes grew wide and his face strangely elongated leaving his mouth one long, black, terrifying scream. Too late, McKenzie realized the basketball hoop had changed into a swirling storm of particles shaped like a giant fist.
“Should have passed the ball!” screamed Hayes. The fist opened up, swooped down and scooped up Hayes’ head. The crowd roared.
“Should have passed the ball. Should have passed the ball!”
***
INSIGHTS
Wednesday, March 18th
“Help!” The earth was shaking. McKenzie moaned. She couldn’t move—one of her shoulders was pinned, crushed beneath a heavy weight.
“McKenzie?”
Should have passed the ball.
“Wake up. You’re lost.”
McKenzie’s eyes popped open to reveal two bright, aqua blue spheres surrounded by folds of wrinkled flesh staring down at her. “Grandma? Where’s—Oh my god, where’s Hayes?”
“Hayes is not here. You were lost.”
“Lost—where?”
“On the other side, or…somewhere in between.”
“But Joanne and…?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know. I feel so…what time is it?”
“It’s early.” Pietas yawned. “Much too early.”
McKenzie stretched, scrunching her eyes and angling her head to get a better look outside. The sky was a foamy cappuccino full of billowy brown swirls. “What happened to the sans?”
“The Sans remain,” said Pietas. “We’re simply as far from one, as we are from the other. It is always like this before the turning. Soon it will be Locent san and everyone will be awake. We should be on our way.”
“Right. I have to save Hayes.” McKenzie swung out of bed and onto her chair, “Is Soliis awake?”
“I had him moved to a safe location. We feared he might attempt a return to the forest.”
“Let him go. Soliis is the only one who can lead me to Hayes.” McKenzie glanced at Pietas. “Unless you know the way.”
“We will discuss plans for Hayes’ rescue, but first you must accompany me. There is food on the table, choose what you like—no, I take that back—green is good, brown is, well…trust me, stick with green. I’ll wait for you outside.”
McKenzie opened her mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a loud rumbling noise coming from the direction of her stomach. “Alright,” she said, noticing a bright green stain prominently displayed on the bottom of her favorite red and black jersey.
Pietas was already halfway out the door, “Give your face a splash, then change into the tunic I’ve set out for you. We have nothing to accommodate your bottom half. I could particle-weave something, though as it would not be permanent—”
“A shirt is fine.”
“Good! I’ll meet you out front then. And remember, no dilly-dallying.”
McKenzie found the soft, suede-like tunic Pietas had left for her. Though it was too large, it was clean. As there was no one to impress, she pulled it over her head—creech, creech, creech—and the tunic immediately began shrink-wrapping itself around her body. McKenzie stretched and pulled, attempting to make herself wider, and after a few panic-filled moments noticed that if she held a position long enough, the material stopped shrinking. A bit more stretching and pulling and the tunic hung reasonably well.
She was about to return to the kitchen when her reflection, cast in the silvery, mirror-like substance painted above the sink, caused her to pause. McKenzie gazed at the mess of springy red curls, the face still pale and eyes, even more emerald green than usual, as if amazed to see herself.
She stared at the eyes reflected back on the silvery surface. There was something about their color today. Leaning closer, McKenzie peered into the alien mirror, light years away from home and, like a ghostly shimmer, saw her mother staring back.
The ache in McKenzie’s stomach grew, larger than hunger, larger than anything. She reached out to wipe a tear from her mother’s cheek and sent silver ripples dancing across the surface, carrying her mother away.
Quickly, she rolled out of the bathroom, grabbed what looked like a loaf of lime-green bread bursting with juicy blueberries, and hurried out of the cave.
“Ah, panis proniis, my favorite.” Pietas produced one of her broad, brilliant smiles, then turned and took off without a backwards glance.
McKenzie followed, silent and brooding. A bad dream usually signaled the start of an even worse day. She gazed at the sky, dark by Circanthos standards, yet barely twilight by Earth’s. A bad day would last a very long time on this planet.
Pietas stopped to drink from a lopsided fountain in the middle of the Gathering, “Remind me to tell Master Korte that her fountain is returning to a stump,” then led McKenzie away from the Gathering through a series of narrow dirt paths snaking around back of the mountain.
Locent san had begun to show, a touch of red-gold on the horizon, not in front of McKenzie, but beside her. While Earth’s sun rose, Circanthos’ sans seemed to glide into view, filling the entire sky. No wonder Circanthos had so many earthquakes, pulled between two giant suns.
Before Locent san’s blinding rays made looking up impossible, she stopped to gaze once more at the sky. At its darkest point, it was still too bright to see any stars. Yet out there, somewhere, was her home: a bright shining solar system where Earth, her dad and Grandma Mir were waiting for her.
“McKenzie!”
The path ended at a field filled with tall purple grasses towering well above her head. Pietas plowed ahead. McKenzie took a breath and dove in.
The tall, willowy thin leaves laid down at the touch of her wheels and popped up again behind. Wonderful—if you were first. But after two, three—four times of being slapped in the face by leaves popping up behind Pietas, McKenzie slowed down and found her way by listening for the sound of Pietas’ voice as she continually called out for McKenzie to quit “dilly-dallying.”
Minutes later, they entered a clearing; a smooth rectangular base of amber colored rock on the edge of a swift-flowing stream whose destination was camouflaged by a single tree, larger than any McKenzie had ever seen. It’s elephantine trunk, like one great gray gnarled knot, took up half the stream, while a profusion of twig-like branches covered with rust-colored needles swooped and drooped, as though undecided which way to grow, all the way to the other side.
Lining the other three sides of the clearing were more trees, each unique from the next. What’s more, between every third tree was a rock, approximately four foot tall, rectangular and gray—except for one.
“What’s that?” McKenzie pointed to what looked like a mix between a large lump of moldy Swiss cheese and a…well, she wasn’t sure.
“Oh my…” Pietas studied the lump. “I believe that is a flickvik trap in the process of returning to its original form.” She took a bite of bread. “Which, but the looks of it, was a loaf of panis proniis. One of our young ones must have been practicing.”
McKenzie gulped, forcing the recently chewed piece of panis proniis back down her throat.
“Not to worry, flickviks are only interested in the dead.” Pietas glanced upwards. “Though, they can be a terrible nuisance if they sense death is near.”
“What do they look…?” McKenzie suddenly recalled the horrible, blood-sucking insect that had hovered above her head only a short time ago. “Never mind.”
What with flickviks, tsootbas and broshbonits, McKenzie couldn’t imagine what.
“After every other loon we hold a festival to celebrate the harvest. The loons wreak havoc, but most of our plants would not ripen without them. The young ones use these celebrations as an excuse to hold competitions such as weavings and races.”
Races? “What type of races?”
Locent san had begun to ease around the cliffs and Pietas seemed suddenly distracted. “We should begin.”
“But—”
“Now.”
“Fine.” McKenzie lifted her chin, determined to be on her way as soon as possible. “Why are we here? Is Soliis coming?”
“Soliis will not be joining us. Though, it is because of him I brought you here.” Pietas paused, her cheeks growing noticeably pink. “Soliis warned me about you.”
“About me? Me? He warned you about ME? Soliis is a—”
“You must learn to control your temper. Particle-weaving is an ability that cannot be used lightly.” Pietas’ gaze was unflinching and stern. “Soliis informed me about the fist.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Exactly! You must always weave what you mean and mean what you weave.” She rose on her sphere, towering above McKenzie. “No matter how justified your reasons, particle-weaving during any extreme emotional state is dangerous. The fist you created, had it come down on Wells as you so carelessly envisioned, would not only have crushed him, but also Soliis, Hayes, you and half the Tsendi.
McKenzie’s face burned.
“Of course…” Pietas shrugged her shoulders and, sounding suspiciously less stern, continued, “had that happened—had you crushed everyone, including yourself—you would not have had to worry about rescuing Hayes, would you?”
“It wasn’t that big.”
“If it were only half the size Soliis described, you would have all been dead.”
McKenzie watched the lapis blue water trickle steadily down the cliff, its path clear—into the stream, out to the sea. “You don’t have to worry,” she said turning to Pietas, “I won’t ever particle-weave again. I wish I’d never been born like this.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“What?”
“Be careful—
“What I wish for!” McKenzie turned. “I heard you. Why would you say that? You know—you must know!” McKenzie began backing away. “I’m going to talk to Soliis and find Hayes. We’re going home.”
Instead of stopping her, Pietas closed her eyes and began taking slow, deep breaths.
McKenzie headed toward the first opening she could find, only to be stopped short of bumping into what was suddenly a mass of greens and browns, burnished reds, oranges and grays—all the colors of all the trees and rocks woven into a wall. She turned, intending to race to the other side, but it was too late. McKenzie was surrounded—even the water had risen up against her.
“It seems Hayes isn’t the only prisoner.”
Pietas sighed. “However much you wish not to particle-weave, the truth is, you will. Someday, whether you wish it or not, you will particle-weave and you will hurt someone. Perhaps even someone you love.”
McKenzie could hear her heart, a thousand times larger now, beating against her chest, begging her to please, please let it go free.
Then in a softer, gentler tone Pietas said, “And I know you do not wish to hurt anyone.”
The first tear came, and then another. Her heart had won. And it was only a matter of time, with each tear, a crack here, a crack there, soon all her tears would pour forth, exposing her crime, leaving her empty, finally, for all the world to see…she was not a savior. Murders did not save.
“Home,” whispered McKenzie, in one last desperate attempt, “Home, home…” while the ground in front of her began to blur. Precisely, clearly, McKenzie envisioned each detail of her living room. The blurring increased, shifting—HOME, take me home—then stopped, molecules frozen in mid-shift, a painful blur pulled in two directions. Energy being torn apart, threatening to explode. McKenzie tried to hold on, but whatever—whoever—was pulling the molecules in the opposite direction was stronger. The image of her living room disappeared and the molecules shifted into flat, amber-colored stone.
“I’m not entirely sure humans are capable of controlling their emotions,” said Pietas, as if she too were having a difficult time. “However, you appear to be surprisingly capable of particle-weaving; therefore, it is my intention to train you to better recognize and use this ability. Accepting, whether you like it or not, is the first step toward controlling it.”
McKenzie turned just enough to see Pietas’ face. “I never meant to—I mean—I don’t want to hurt anyone and that’s why I’m not going to particle-weave. It’s not normal for humans.”
“I see,” said Pietas.
“No, you don’t!” The tears were coming faster now. “You can’t possibly see!”
“Normal is like those particles I stopped you from weaving and forced back into their ‘normal’ state,” said Pietas. “But humans, like Circanthians, are not merely particles and therefore not confined by only one definition of normal. Normal, in our case, is a quality as elusive as happiness. The moment we think we are normal, we no longer desire to be it.”
“That’s not what I—”
“And you cannot be happy,” Pietas continued, “if you do not choose to accept that which is uniquely you. Therefore ‘normal’ does not equate with happiness and so why would you wish it?”
McKenzie closed her eyes, forcing the tears back, if only for a moment, determined to shut out anymore of Pietas’ philosophical ramblings.
“What is it?”
Her heart felt as if it were pounding out of both sides of her chest now. As if it had grown so large, it was threatening to crack her ribs and crush her lungs. Happiness? Did someone like her deserve happiness? And that’s when the pounding changed into a word. One word, over and over. Murder. Murder. Murderer.
“McKenzie, dear me, you don’t look well.”
“No.”
“Let me take you back.”
“NO!” McKenzie stared at her hands, fingers spread, pushing against the tops of her thighs, pushing against flesh that hadn’t felt anything since she was five-years-old. “Pietas,” she whispered. “Have you ever done something…something horrible?”
Silence.
Something buzzed above McKenzie’s head then flew away. The tears pushed against her eyelids. Any moment. Any moment now, they would burst free again.
Finally, Pietas spoke. “Young ones often make mistakes. It is their nature. It takes loonocks to master one’s particle-weaving abilities and that is only with regular instruction. Whatever happened with Wells and the Tsendi is understandable—you’ve had no one to instruct you.”
“Not Wells—” The words stuck in McKenzie’s throat, choking her. She tried to swallow, but it only made it worse. She turned to Pietas, pleading, suffocating, “Help me!” And the tears broke free. “When I was five-years-old—” Another gulp and with every breath remaining she forced the words out loud and clear so she would never, ever have to say them again. “When I was five-years-old—I killed my mother.”
Silence.
A sharp intake of breath.
“No,” whispered Pietas. “No. Not you—it can’t be!”
More tears came, but McKenzie ignored them. Her nose ran, and she ignored that too. She sat and she stared, and she prayed that Pietas would leave her to die. Maybe she would kill her. She didn’t deserve happiness. She deserved nothing better than to be invisible. To be ignored. To be alone.
“Is this true,” Pietas asked, “what you tell me—are all humans like this?”
McKenzie shook her head. Pietas was
equating her to H.G. Wells. Oh God—no, she wasn’t like him. “It was a mistake. I was only five-years-old and cold…so cold.” The tears were flowing so hard and fast McKenzie could hardly speak. “So, I made it hot. Burning!” she cried. “Then I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. And I couldn’t open the window, so I made a hole…I made a hole, Pietas—in my MOM! And I couldn’t…I couldn’t—fix it! She begged me to stop and I’m so sorry because it was so hot and it was all my fault because we were driving toward a tree and—”
“Don’t—please. You don’t need to say anymore.”
“I thought it was a dream.” McKenzie brushed the sticky, wet curls away from her cheeks. “But it wasn’t, was it. I’m like that boy, Charis. And if I could, I would go back. I would go back and never be.”
Suddenly a blanket of warmth enfolded itself around her, protecting her, comforting her; McKenzie found herself wrapped in Pietas’ embrace. Too tired to resist, she laid her head against Pietas’ shoulder. Streams of tears flowing out, onto the ground, and back into the Lapis Sea. They remained like that until Locent san slid into place; then Pietas led McKenzie to the stream.
“Wash your face,” she said gently, “We have work to do.”
Chapter 29
FBI TRANSCRIPT 21205
Agent Wink Krumm and James Wu
Thursday, May 28th
J. WU: Are we going to talk about spaceships and little green men today? I’m in a hurry, we’re nearing some very exciting technological breakthroughs.
KRUMM: Enlighten me.
J. WU: Robotics—legs to be exact!
KRUMM: Chairs with legs?
J. WU: Exactly! Robots have been walking for years. What’s more, learning to walk over all types of terrains. We’re simply extending this same technology to chairs.
KRUMM: Your daughter must be quite excited about this.
J. WU: McKenzie? No really. She loves her wheels. She loves basketball—I can’t even get her to use one of our J-23’s.
KRUMM: Funny, isn’t it…that she’s so attached to her wheels.
J. WU: You wouldn’t think it funny if you saw her play basketball.
KRUMM: But I have seen her.