WHEELS

by Lorijo Metz

  He was leaving what must have been James Wu’s bedroom, when he happened to glance into the hallway bathroom. Decorated in faded burgundy and white Victorian-style wallpaper; it held two points worth noticing. First, and for immediate reasons, the toilet. And second, in what was probably another dead-end, two photographs hanging upon the wall. As Provost moved into the bathroom, the overhead light turned on blinding him. As his vision cleared, he found himself staring at two vintage, hand-tinted, black and white photos. The first was of no consequence, a young child twirling an umbrella. But the second…! “Ahhhh” murmured Provost, feeling like a man finally arrived home after a very, very long journey. The second was of a young man, his wife and their child posed in stiff Victorian fashion. The wife, a statuesque redhead—or at least, whoever had tinted the photo had made her a redhead—stood behind the man, who sat proudly holding a child upon his lap. Principal Provost smiled. Apart from the wheelchair, the man looked exactly as Provost remembered. Thick wavy hair framing a face whose most startling features included sparkling, lapis-blue eyes—tinted the wrong shade of blue in this case—and a chin, almost Tsendi-like in prominence. The man in the wheelchair was Petré T. Revolvos of the planet Circanthos, Provost’s mentor and the very reason he was here. What’s more, McKenzie Wu resembled the woman to such a degree, there could be but one conclusion—somewhere near the turn of the 19th century, over one hundred Earth-years ago, Revolvos had mated with a human. Provost’s instincts had finally paid off. That’s why Revolvos had not returned to Circanthos and that’s why McKenzie could particle-weave.

  Principal Provost made some quick calculations. If his assumptions were correct, Revolvos was McKenzie’s great-great grandfather. Four generations removed; four to complete the cycle. McKenzie was the first human born with particle-weaving fully integrated into the four quadrants of her brain. Concentric help us, he thought, unconsciously reaching up to rub his right eyebrow, there can be no doubt; McKenzie Wu is the Wheeled Warrior.

  She is the Corona-Soter!

  Chapter 31

  FBI TRANSCRIPT 21201

  Agent Wink Krumm and McKenzie Wu

  Tuesday, June 2nd

  KRUMM: Let’s cut to the chase. I want my phone, my personal log and the diary.

  M. WU: I don’t know—

  KRUMM: “what you’re talking about.” Perhaps I can help. Your father’s company, Sphaera Technologies, I’ve been doing some investigation—

  M. WU: Into a wheelchair factory?

  KRUMM: As I was saying, your father was working on a “top-secret” project. If it is, as you say, only a wheelchair factory—why top secret?

  M. WU: I think you should leave my dad alone.

  KRUMM: I might be willing to consider your request…if you consider mine.

  M. WU: I can’t give you something I don’t have.

  KRUMM: Did I mention your friend, Hayes?

  M. WU: Leave him out of this.

  KRUMM: There’s a little matter of a pet—a poonchi to be exact.

  M. WU: Charlie—

  KRUMM: Soooo, the poonchi has a name.

  M. WU: I meant Charlie the poonchi from my uncle’s book.

  KRUMM: Miss Wu, all it takes is one slip…one little slip. There’s bound to be more you know. All I have to do now is…wait!

  ***

  SURPRISE VISITS TIMES TWO

  Monday, March 16th

  At the precise moment Principal Provost recognized his old mentor in the photo hanging above the toilet, seven miles away in the basement lab of SPHAERA Technologies, McKenzie’s father, James Wu, found himself staring into the live, though much older, version of the very same man.

  One moment, James Wu was working alone in the subbasement laboratory of SPHAERA Technologies. The next moment, he was staring into the eyes of an old man sitting on top of a large spherical object.

  “How did—?”

  “Hello, James,” said the old man.

  “I know you?”

  “You know of me. I own this company. That’s my invention you’re holding.”

  James Wu looked down. He’d forgotten about the object in his hands; an invention, not of his own design, but one he’d been assigned to work on by the mysterious owner of SPHAERA Technologies. He’d just completed the prototype. In fact, until the moment when he’d glanced up, it had so absorbed him that he had not even heard the stranger arrive. Or at least…it seemed the only reasonable explanation for the man’s sudden appearance.

  “The cortext!” exclaimed James. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it’s for and I’m this close to doing so. What’s more, and please don’t tell anyone, I’ve added an element that I believe will make it work more efficiently…whatever it is.”

  The stranger’s eyes widened. “Will it now, and what would that be?”

  James smiled. He’d been dying to share his secret with someone. “Nanotubes! I used carbon-nanotube photonic wires instead of gold.”

  “Nanotubes…I hadn’t thought of that. No wonder you needed extra funds.”

  James Wu looked at the stranger with renewed interest until slowly it dawned on him, “You’re Professor R!”

  “At your service.”

  “The meeting!” James had forgotten about the meeting. He looked at his watch. “You’re early.”

  “I am.”

  “Well, no matter,” said James. “I’ve finished the prototype. I believe the nanotubes will enhance the amplification. That is what it’s for?”

  “Yes, James.”

  “Not only will they strengthen the amplification, they’ll make the pitch truer.”

  “Oh, I hope so. At my age, that would come in handy.”

  Up to this moment, James had been staring excitedly into the Professor’s face, now his attention shifted. His gaze traveled down to the Professor’s feet, or rather, to the place where his feet should have been.

  James couldn’t help himself; his eyes widened, his mouth twisted one way then the other and a feeling of intense, almost painful curiosity came over him. Unconsciously, he handed the cortext to the Professor and knelt down to take a closer look.

  “It appears to be organic,” he murmured. “Professor R—” But that was as far as he got, for at the same moment James chose to stand up, the Professor chose to lean forward. James’ head crashed into the Professor’s chest, sending Professor R. reeling backwards and himself, sprawling to the floor. As James landed, his elbow crashed into the Professor’s large spherical appendage. After which the old man emitted a loud, ear-piercing scream, leaned forward, lost his balance, his hold on the cortext and—everything went blank.

  ********

  “Great Concentric!” exclaimed Principal Provost. “What do we have here?” It appeared as if his old mentor and McKenzie’s father had been involved in a hardy game of tsoot—only not with a pila, but a cortext! The two scientists were frozen in an awkward, half-up, half-down position, the cortext hovering above their heads.

  Provost framed the figures with his hands, trying to imagine a way to extend his bubble of present time around Revolvos and the cortext, without having to include Wu. There was none.

  “Nevertheless,” he smiled, “Revolvos and a cortext—my, my! It appears my instincts are functioning perfectly.” With no idea how the cortext might influence the equation, Provost cautiously extended his bubble of present time, careful to weave it slowly and meticulously around all three of them.

  Seconds later, Petré T. Revolvos toppled over, bumped his head on the side of the counter and landed smack on top of his great, grandson-in-law, James Wu. Principal Provost caught the cortext.

  From their integrated position on the floor, the two men looked up, both clearly surprised to see B.R. Provost looking down at them.

  “Bewfordios,” exclaimed Revolvos. “What on Circanthos are you doing here?”

  Principal Provost grimaced. No one but Revolvos would dare call him Bewfordios. “Apparently, I’ve arrived just in time to rescue you.”

  �
��Rescue me?” Revolvos laughed as though it were the most ridiculous notion he’d ever heard.

  “Off,” moaned a voice from beneath Revolvos. “OFF! Please, get off me.”

  “Bewfordios, give me a hand up.”

  Principal Provost bid himself to remain calm and offered Revolvos his hand. As he helped his old mentor up, he noticed how aged the old cir looked—much older than he’d expected. Life on Earth had taken its toll.

  James Wu rose shakily to his feet. Principal Provost could have removed him from the bubble at any moment, Revolvos was clear and they had the cortext, but something made him stop. James Wu was McKenzie’s father—the father of the Corona-Soter, the savior of the Circanthians—he deserved some sort of explanation.

  “What the—what’s going on here?” James Wu demanded. “Who are you?”

  “Remove him from our bubble,” said Revolvos.

  “Not yet.”

  “His job is finished,” said Revolvos, sounding like his bossy old mentor self. “He’s completed the cortext, and now you and I may return home. I assume that’s why you’re here, to fetch me back. You needn’t have bothered; I did not need your help. In fact, had you not disrupted the time continuum of this pleasant little town, I would have collected my cortext from James, rewarded him exceedingly for his efforts, and returned to Circanthos—no human the wiser. Your attempts at rescue have mussed things up. It’s best we leave before the human gets any more confused.”

  Provost was simmering. His bubble of present time began to blur.

  “Bewfordios,” Revolvos said sternly, “it would not do to burst our bubble, now would it?”

  Principal Provost took three quick breaths and stabilized the bubble. He took another three, slow-deep breaths. “Revolvos, Mr. Wu,” he said, “there are events taking place, as we speak, which I believe will be of interest to both of you. However, as there is a strong possibility that my bubble of present time will burst, leaving us stranded for another 365 Earth days, I suggest you follow me to a location that is not under the influence of my time-disruptors.”

  James Wu began firing questions at him. Revolvos began to protest.

  Principal Provost lifted the cortext high above his head and shouted, “Silence! Now…if you wish to have all your questions answered, stay as close to me as possible.” He then turned, glancing back just once to make sure the two men were behind him, and rolled out of the laboratory.

  Chapter 32

  Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm

  Tuesday, March 17th

  Just outside Avondale

  From the size and style of the clothes, the largest piece of luggage belongs to the older alien (i.e. no pants). Aside from assorted toiletries, several extra long shirts and suit coats, the aforementioned baggage contained the following:

  A diary, personal in nature.

  A file of business documents

  A Last Will and Testament

  ***

  CHECKMATE

  Wednesday, March 18th

  A Tsendi Prison Cell

  Hayes couldn’t stop thinking about his Aunt. It sucked how things always became clear when it was too late…or too many solar systems away to do anything about. All these years he’d been telling himself Aunt Patty would be better off without him. She wouldn’t have to work two jobs. She’d have time to do whatever it was adults did when they had time; watch TV, go to the movies…date?

  And now he was gone…maybe forever. And it was all so clear; he was all the family she had and she was all the family he had.

  I should be trying to escape!

  He tried to sit up. Whoever or whatever had occupied the cot before him needed a bath—more than one. Sour fruit and sumo size sweat, that’s what it smelled like. The room began to sway and blur. Hayes pressed his hand against his forehead and carefully, regretfully, lay down again. Apparently, the entire Avondale Drum Core was practicing in his head.

  The cell they’d thrown him in was primitive at best: no window, no electricity, only a cot covered with dried weeds and a chair. Hayes peered at the open doorway through half closed eyes. Abacis and his friend had left maybe five minutes ago. He’d been spying on them all night. Or day? Or whatever they called it on this crazy planet, pretending to be asleep.

  Maybe this was all a dream—heck, he was probably still in Nurse Prickel’s office. Sure, he thought, McKenzie pinched me and it hurt, but that’s what dreams are like. The second you’re convinced everything is real you wake up.

  If only I could wake up.

  Just then, H.G. Wells entered followed by Mallos, a Tsendi of enormous proportions: enormously big, enormously ugly and, as Hayes learned last night, enormously fond of inflicting pain. Mallos was carrying a small table covered with food. He set the table down and slapped a large shell-shaped object on the wall. It began to buzz and seconds later produced a pale pink glow.

  The smell of the food was sickeningly sweet and surprisingly worse—much worse—than the cot. Hayes closed his eyes and hoped they wouldn’t notice his stomach lurching.

  “Wake him,” Wells commanded.

  Hayes held his breath. Maybe they would think he died in his sleep and leave him alone.

  “You cannot wake someone who is only pretending to be asleep.”

  Hayes’ eyes flew open—Abacis had returned. Crap! Abacis knew he was awake! How long had he known?

  “So nice of you to join us,” droned Wells.

  A long, tense silence followed in which Hayes, for lack of a better idea, pretended to be asleep again.

  “I realize you’ve only been a prison guard for one day, but do you think leaving your post to go gallivanting about is a wise idea?”

  “There was no danger of escape,” replied Abacis.

  ‘Only’ a prison guard? Something must have happened between Abacis and Wells. It made sense. Hayes had overheard conversations between Abacis and another Tsendi. Whispers of Wells, Whispers of trouble, Whispers of unrest. Something was going on and it appeared Abacis had been demoted.

  Hayes cracked open an eye. No one was looking, so he opened both of them and in the pale-pink light studied Abacis’ face in all its gory Tsendi detail. Not as ugly as Mallos and maybe a little less frightening, a tad less crazy—but not much. And then it dawned on him; if Abacis had known all along he was awake—then he also knew Hayes had been eavesdropping on his conversation. Cripes!

  Fingers with sharp nails dug into Hayes’ back, deep into open wounds, unceremoniously hoisting him into a sitting position. Hayes’ face contorted in pain, trying to suppress a scream that pressed up against his lips, wanting to escape, threatening to implode—

  “OW!”

  Hayes’ exclamation was cut short as he found himself staring straight into Mallos’ bloodshot eyes. Quickly, he shifted his gaze only to find himself looking straight at Abacis; and worse yet, Abacis staring back.

  “Human is awake,” said Mallos, releasing his grip and sending a new wave of pain shooting through Hayes’ body.

  “Boy,” said Wells, “please refer to him as a boy. Do not forget that I too am human. That boy is at least ten times as intelligent as any Tsendi. You may out maneuver him physically, but he’d beat you to a bloody pulp in a game of chess.”

  “Chess is a curse upon man,” said Abacis.

  Hayes couldn’t believe his ears. The comment had been so human, so random and so ‘smart-alecky’ as his aunt would say.

  “Oh, you are the clever one,” snapped Wells, “parroting my words as if you knew anything about the game.” But he was clearly unnerved that a Tsendi would dare speak to him that way.

  “I’ve made it quite clear that I could never understand how grown men whittled away hours playing chess as if the entire state of the country depended upon it; lately though, I’ve come to wish I had someone civilized enough to challenge.” He turned toward Hayes. “So you are awake and hungry too I wager. A strapping boy like you needs proper nourishment.”

  Dizzy with pain, disoriented
by Wells’ sudden change of attitude, Hayes looked at Abacis standing in the doorway, not looking at anyone at the moment, and it occurred to him—maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t completely helpless. After all, he did have certain…information, certain…overheard conversations that might come in handy. If there was one thing Hayes could do, it was negotiate; a talent that had come in useful many times in his dealings with old Principal Provost.

  Mallos lifted Hayes to his feet, dragged him over to the table and left him standing there. Hayes legs were like Jell-O, his stomach nauseous and the pain almost unbearable.

  I am—NOT—going to cry!

  Right before he collapsed, Mallos shoved a chair against Hayes’ knees forcing him to fall into it. His back, covered with scabbing wounds and bruises, smacked against the unforgiving surface. Hayes groaned. Wells was right about one thing; if he was going to survive, he would need nourishment. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Hayes raised the 3-pronged fork and began to eat.

  Chapter 33

  Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm

  Tuesday, March 17th

  Just outside Avondale

  …older alien would appear to be Petré T. Revolvos, a.k.a., Peter Anderson, a.k.a. Professor R., the owner of several businesses worldwide, including a factory that manufactures chairs (among other things) called SPHAERA Technologies, located (surprise, surprise!) in Avondale. According to his Last Will and Testament, upon Professor R.’s demise the ownership of the American companies will revert to a James R. Wu of Avondale.

  ***

  WAR GAMES & BAD RELATIONS

  Wednesday, March 18th

  A shaft in the Arelo Mines, Circanthos

  McKenzie rolled out of the portal into darkness so complete, she feared she’d become a circoombra; but then, of course, realized a ghost wouldn’t need a wheelchair. “Where are we?” she whispered, terrified there’d be no reply.