WHEELS

by Lorijo Metz

  J. WU: What? You’ve been spying on my daughter? Stay away from her Krumm or I’ll—

  KRUMM: What? According to my sources, wheelchairs are only a small portion of what’s being developed at Sphaera Technologies.

  J. WU: Your sources—

  KRUMM: Are impeccable. There were requisitions, it seems. Special orders signed by the absentee owner …

  ***

  HOOP DREAMS & TSOOTBALLS

  Wednesday, March 18th

  Circanthos

  “What do you feel?”

  “Feel? I don’t know…how about stupid? I’ve been trying to visualize a pole but all I get is a taller, thinner version of the same dumb tree.” McKenzie moaned. “Why does it always happen when I’m not trying?”

  “Why are you attempting to change the tree into a pole?”

  “I don’t know?” McKenzie glared at Pietas. “This is a waste of time. I should be making plans to rescue Hayes.”

  “Your best hope for saving Hayes rests in the ability to control your particle-weaving. Think, McKenzie. What is different in your attempts at particle-weaving now versus the other times, when you were not trying?”

  “Isn’t the point to just change it? You’re telling me not to try so hard?”

  “I’m asking you to THINK—don’t guess!”

  McKenzie slumped lower into her chair; one hand wiping the sweat from her brow, while the other twisted a stray curl. After staring at the same tree for hours, she wasn’t sure she had a brain left to think with. “When I wasn’t trying, it worked—sort of—but it always went haywire, crazy. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

  “Think harder!”

  “I AM! You’re the one who says it takes loonocks to teach young ones to particle-weave. How am I suppose to master it in one day?”

  Pietas sighed. “You know how to particle-weave. You’ve already woven objects many Circanthians might never accomplish; the giant fist, for instance. You’ve also traversed a portal across the universe and come out in one piece. Dragging Hayes along with you, I might add.”

  “Two shining examples!” snapped McKenzie. “Let’s see, whose life can I ruin next?”

  “McKenzie—”

  “I shouldn’t be doing this. Why teach me to particle-weave when you’ll never be able to teach me to control my emotions? I’m human. I’m an emotional time bomb. A particle-weaving nuclear holocaust waiting to happen!”

  Pietas’ only reaction was to remain annoyingly calm. Then she did something McKenzie totally didn’t expect. She smiled. “Very well, then please explain how you stopped yourself from particle-weaving for what—almost nine Earth-years?”

  “I didn’t. Or…I don’t know?” McKenzie had never thought of it that way. “Maybe I’m not like Charis.”

  “I’m not sure what you are, except it seems to me the problem isn’t controlling your emotions or that you can’t particle-weave. In fact, you seem to be capable of doing both surprisingly well. The problem isn’t if you’re capable, the problem is when.”

  McKenzie frowned. Had she subconsciously stopped herself from particle-weaving after the accident? If so, could she do it again?

  “McKenzie?”

  “Huh?

  “’When’ is the problem!” said Pietas, sounding almost excited.

  “Right. So, we should start with my emotions. If I can control my emotions—even though I’m only human—I can stop myself from particle-weaving.”

  “Perhaps. But as you are already particle-weaving, I believe it is best to know how you are doing it. If you know how to particle-weave then, of course, you should know the opposite.”

  “How not to?”

  “Precisely,” Pietas smiled. “Besides, I fear I do not have the time to instruct you on emotions.”

  “I hate to admit it…” And without realizing it, McKenzie found herself smiling too, “but I think you might be right. Only, it’s been hours and I’m still no closer to knowing how.”

  “No? When you were in the portal, what did you want, McKenzie? More than anything else at that moment, what did you desire?”

  “A pizza.”

  “Harrumph!” Pietas might not have known what a pizza was, but she had clearly understood McKenzie’s tone. “Tell me, are all young humans as lazy as you?”

  McKenzie had been twisting a piece of hair around her finger and now the tip was beginning to tingle. “I don’t know,” she moaned. “To get out of that cosmic recycling bin in one piece. That’s what I wanted—I guess.”

  “Ahhh!” said Pietas. “And why do you want to change the tree into a pole?”

  “Geezits-louizits! I don’t care if it’s a pole or a—OH!” The hair unwound from around McKenzie’s finger and fell, forgotten, by the side of her face. “OH—oh, oh, oh!” she repeated, sitting up straighter.

  “Exactly!” Pietas honored McKenzie with one of her huge, eye-squashing smiles.

  McKenzie turned to the tree. After examining the layout of the clearing, she settled on a different tree located a few feet away. A tall tree, with a clean straight trunk, few branches and leaves, located midway between the two corners farthest from the water. “What I need,” she whispered, “is something to take my mind off all my troubles.”

  Then, exactly as Pietas had taught her, McKenzie closed her eyes and took three slow, deep breaths. With surprising speed, the tree took on a light, transparent appearance as molecules that had once joined to make the trunk, leaves and limbs began to shift and separate. The temperature around the tree shot up as particles began spinning and dancing to new rhythms, moving to tunes McKenzie wove with remarkable purpose. As the beat slowed, particles joined with particles, creating new shapes and colors. The temperature dropped and a new form emerged.

  “There!” McKenzie grinned, thoroughly drained. “No wonder my other attempts always ended in chaos. Particles, like humans, don’t like change.”

  Pietas nodded her head appreciatively. “You are an excellent student. One might inquire, though…what is it?”

  “A hoop.” McKenzie shot an invisible ball into the air. “For basketball. All I need now is a court.” She looked around as if planning to redecorate. “And then, I guess, a basketball.”

  “Would this basketball be something that you toss into the hoop?”

  “Very good, Pietas, you too are an excellent student.”

  Pietas looked confused.

  “That was a joke.”

  “Oh.” Pietas’ lips inched into a smile. “I believe I can get you a basketball, or something similar. She held her hands out as if, indeed, holding a basketball. “And without particle-weaving.”

  “Really?”

  Pietas nodded.

  “Yowza!” Aliens were one thing. Basketball playing aliens…that was just too weird. “Does it bounce?” McKenzie pretended to dribble a basketball.

  “Of course. Though you need a firm surface in order to bounce a pilas.”

  “Pilas?”

  “A basketball,” said Pietas, “made from the knob of a cocombaca tree, covered in paest, what you know as tsootbas spit, then covered with cocombaca leaves and sealed with a final layer of paest. Paest is what gives our pilas what you call bounce. They are used in our tsoot competitions. Soliis use to be fond of saying, ‘You either play tsoot, watch tsoot or talk tsoot.’ I enjoy tsoot, though I’m afraid I’m much too old to play it.”

  “I could play it.”

  “I’m afraid tsoot has not been played in our Gathering for many loonocks.” The excitement in Pietas’ voice seemed to fade. She gazed off into the distance, as if needing time to collect herself. When she spoke again, it was with a tinge of sadness. “I will take you to the old tsoot court, you may find its surface sufficient for this game of…?”

  “Basketball.”

  Pietas smiled. “Ah yes. I remember now. You are the star.”

  McKenzie looked at her hoop. It had begun to waver and loose form. “We have a game this Saturday. My team can’t…well, they’ll hav
e a hard time winning without me.”

  “I have been thinking about that,” said Pietas, “about getting you home.” Their eyes met, but Pietas quickly looked away. “Particle-weaving to another side of the planet is one thing, weaving to an entirely different star system is beyond anyone’s ability—without a cortext, that is. I need to speak with Soliis.”

  “Why?”

  “Locent san is with us for only a while longer, I believe our time is best spent in more particle-weaving practice—wouldn’t you agree?”

  McKenzie looked at her hoop. It was a tree again. In only a short time, she’d have to face Wells. Failure wasn’t an option. She threw back her shoulders, took three slow, deep breaths and began to particle-weave.

  ********

  Thank Concentric, Pietas thought. Rescuing Hayes was one thing. Helping them get home—Pietas was suddenly distracted by a small flickvik hovering about her head—would be quite another.

  Chapter 30

  FBI TRANSCRIPT 21204

  Agent Wink Krumm and H.G. Wells

  Thursday, May 28th

  KRUMM: I have a theory.

  WELLS: Theories—Bah! I’ve enough to worry about, Krumm…cell phones and computers! Do you realize I’ve aged twenty years in the last two months! Can’t even cross the street without one of those confounded automobiles chasing me.

  KRUMM: My theory is that Principal Provost and your niece are just the tip of the iceberg. I believe there are other Circanthians on Earth. You mentioned many of them had…disappeared.

  WELLS: A few. Thought they were dead, then they were back. Never trust Tsendi intelligence.

  KRUMM: Exactly!

  WELLS: You may have a point. Indeed, probably other Circanthians, missing for loonocks, dead, but not dead—on Earth. A master plan to take over the planet and I their pawn! Now wouldn’t that make a great book!

  KRUMM: I believe we can help each other. I had proof: a diary written by Julianne Wells.

  WELLS: My sister?

  KRUMM: Yes. Your great-great-great niece, McKenzie, stole it from me. If you could get that back, I might be able to enlist the government’s—

  WELLS: Now hold on, Krumm. I’m an old man who’s getting older by the minute. You’re an agent of the government. Uncovering an alien invasion could make your career—but what about me? Chances are I won’t live long enough to see Circanthians cause any trouble. Bottom line: what’s in it for me, Krumm? What’s in it for me!

  ***

  SURPRISE VISITS

  Monday, March 16th

  Earth

  “Blast it all!”

  Principal Provost had spent the last thirty minutes weaving his way between cars filled with humans frozen in the act of picking their nose, scratching their head, plucking their eyebrows, texting, eating—you name it, he’d seen it—everything, except looking at the road.

  “It’s amazing their species survives at all,” he muttered.

  He turned the corner onto a wide, tree-lined street, considered part of Old Avondale. 313 Joshua Drive turned out to be the last house on the block. Principal Provost stared at it, impressed and—surprised. While the Wu house was a ranch, like most of the other houses on the block, it was far from typical. Words like earth shelter, igloo, even spaceship came to mind.

  “Papercrete! I told those snooty old Victorian school board members that papercrete would be perfect in this environment.”

  Everything about the structure was curved, from the two domes that made up the igloo-like frame, to the arch of the front entrance, to the dozens of portal-like windows scattered throughout. Provost rolled up the front ramp to the double wide front entryway and peered through one of the portals. It was dark inside; however, if memory served—and it always did—McKenzie’s grandmother lived with them. Last time he’d seen her she was not doing well, mentally or physically; and therefore, would most likely be home. He reached out to ring the bell…

  Right, he thought, dropping his hand. Who did he think would answer? Instead, he checked the front door and, finding it locked, followed the sidewalk around the back of the house.

  “Tsootbas!” His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Poonchi kaka!” He shook his head. “Not kaka. Dog dirt! Same thing. A plague on both our planets.” He rolled forward and stopped. Seconds later he’d shed the thin outer layer of skin that covered his roticolar. “Much better!”

  Reaching the back of the house, he noticed an open, sliding glass door, which led onto a patio. McKenzie’s Grandmother sat smack in the middle of it, her wheelchair blocking all but a few inches on either side. Provost scanned the rest of the house looking for an open window or a side door, but saw nothing. He rolled closer.

  The old woman’s mouth hung open in that most unattractive way mouths do when you forget about them. Her blue-gray eyes stared into the distance as if she’d been daydreaming. Provost took a moment to study her. The same silent reflection would echo repeatedly for 365 days, though to her it would seem only an instant. All those other moments, he thought, the lost year, the missed seconds—what would happen to them?

  He made a mental note to give the phenomenon further study and rolled closer. Principal Provost had met McKenzie’s grandmother six months ago and thought she’d looked confused and tired. McKenzie’s relationship with her had seemed complicated, shifting between a loving granddaughter, embarrassed teen and frustrated caretaker. As aged as the grandmother appeared then, she seemed even older now.

  Upon closer observation, her expression appeared not so much one of reflection, as bewilderment, as if she’d forgotten why she rolled into the doorway.

  Moving as close as possible to her, he closed his eyes, took three, slow, measured breaths and expanded his bubble of present time.

  “Good afternoon!”

  McKenzie’s grandmother stared at the stranger before her. Her eyes glazed as if she thought he might be a dream or…some forgotten bit of memory that would surely come to her if she would just be patient enough.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” said Principal Provost careful to keep her eyes locked on his own so they would not wander down to his roticolar. “No one answered the front door, so I thought I would check around back.”

  The old woman’s glazed look began to fade and was replaced by fear. Provost needed to think quickly.

  “I’m afraid I need to talk to you concerning McKenzie, your granddaughter. She’s gotten herself into trouble again; racing down the school hallway with that boy, Rudy Hayes.”

  “Oh dear.” At the mention of McKenzie’s name, the old woman’s face registered instant recognition. “I don’t know why she always has to race that boy. He is handsome though, don’t you agree? Reminds me of a young Will—”

  “Perhaps we should go inside. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill on my account.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” she said, but did not move. “What did you say your name was? I’m afraid I’m a tad forgetful these days.”

  “Forgive me, we spoke briefly at the Open House last September; of course you don’t remember me. I’m Principal Provost.”

  McKenzie’s grandmother smiled “Of course I remember you, Principal…”

  “Provost.”

  “Ah yes…” She stared at him blankly for a few seconds and then, looking apologetic, said, “I’m sorry our McKenzie is such trouble. She lost her mother in a terrible car crash, you know. Never quite got over it.” McKenzie’s grandmother rubbed her hands together and looked away, her eyes filling with tears, “I should have been—”

  “Shall we?” Principal Provost gestured towards the living room.

  “What? Oh yes…yes. Of course,” she said, her old hand fumbling for some switch or other on her armrest. Provost feared she’d look down, but suddenly the old woman smiled, having found the switch, and began backing up. Principal Provost followed closely, careful to protect their bubble of present time.

  “Mrs.?”

  “It’s Mrs. Madison, but you must call me Grandma Mir, everyone do
es.”

  “Grandma Mir—”

  “Mir is short for Miracle, an old family name. The first Miracle was born in 1907. She went by her middle name, Renée. Renée Miracle Anderson. Never did use Miracle, perhaps afraid it was too much to live up too.”

  Provost attempted, what he hoped, was a charming smile. “Grandma Mir, could I bother you for a glass of water?”

  Grandma Mir looked confused, as if he’d asked for the water in Swahili. A second later, however, she smiled and turned towards the kitchen.

  Provost closed his eyes and began taking three—

  “Young man?”

  His eyes flew open. “Huh?”

  “May I show you my collection of glass orbs? They’re paperweights you know, but I like to think of them as orbs. They’ve been passed down for generations. Some of them are very old and most unusual.” She chuckled. “Like me.” Grandma Mir pointed toward a dusty curio cabinet in the corner of the living room. Despite the drabness of the cabinet, the orbs sparkled.

  As soon as she turned, Principal Provost closed his eyes again and took three, not-quite-so-slow-this-time, deep breaths. As Grandma Mir’s arm reached out, ready to point out her favorite orb, he withdrew his bubble of present time.

  When the time disrupters wore off, Grandma Mir would turn, expecting to see a look of wonderment on the nice principal’s face. After which she would probably sigh, feeling slightly disappointed, and assume she’d dozed off again.

  At least her expression is more agreeable.

  As soon as his bubble of present time was stable, Provost began his search. Photos, books, anything that might give him a clue as to the whereabouts of his old mentor. If McKenzie was the Corona-Soter, it followed that Petré T. Revolvos was in some way connected with the Wu family. How else could he explain McKenzie’s apparent ability to particle-weave?

  Three hours later, he’d gone through every photo album, drawer, the bedroom, the attic and the garage, and had begun to think he’d left his well-developed instinct back on Circanthos. He now knew where McKenzie’s father worked, that James Wu had patents on several interesting inventions; in fact, vital inventions that could have brought in enough money to buy the Wu family a much nicer home. Moreover, that McKenzie had the unfortunate luck to inherit her Grandmother’s ability to keep house. There was barely enough room to navigate his sphere through her bedroom, let alone a wheelchair.