WHEELS

by Lorijo Metz

  “The Arelo Mines,” came the disembodied reply. Suddenly, a light appeared. Light, courtesy of Pietas’ hand, her fingers glowing like candles casting eerie shadows across the wrinkled crevasses of her face. Seconds later, a small pile of stones at the base a crumbling wall a few feet in front of them became a pile of glowing embers.

  “It’s been a long time,” Pietas said, her hand returning to normal. “I explored these mines as a child. She leaned over as if to whisper in McKenzie’s ear, but instead exclaimed, rather too loudly, “Ah ha!” and surprised McKenzie by grabbing her chair and turning it around.

  Etched into the wall in front of them now was a faint set of lines—a map, perhaps.

  “This is familiar,” said Pietas, sounding pleased with herself. “I could not have been more precise. Unfortunately, we cannot remain here long.”

  “I’m all for leaving as soon as possible.” The air was cold, stale and difficult to breathe. McKenzie was already shivering. “So, why here?”

  “It is close to the forest, but safe from the Tsendi.”

  McKenzie was shivering like crazy now.

  “You have the ability to fix that,” Pietas said. “Adjust the particles around your body, speed them up and you’ll—”

  “I’m fine!” McKenzie’s reply echo throughout the darkness. “fine, fine, fine…!”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “No! No, I’m sorry. It’s just…” McKenzie stared at the glowing rocks until she felt in control again. In her nightmare, she’d been cold. Cold and then hot—then too hot. She shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. So, what do you dig for?”

  It took Pietas a few seconds to comprehend the change of topics. “I don’t—oh, I see. No, these are Tsendi mines. Abandoned long before I was born. Before the Veni Commotos, remember?”

  “Right.” McKenzie tucked a curl behind her ear. “They dug for copper.”

  “Coraltea.”

  “The color of my hair.”

  Pietas smiled. “Yes, and found in rivers that run deep under ground here. Rivers filled with coraltea and creatures that prefer darkness to the constant light of two sans. Very beautiful.”

  “But there’s no light.”

  “Ah, but the creatures provide their own light.” Pietas held up her hand, it was glowing again. “Like this,” she said, “only permanent. Much like your stars I imagine.”

  “Stars inside a planet.” McKenzie smiled. “That’s crazy.”

  “They’re not actually—”

  “No, not that. I mean—you’ve never been able to look up and see stars in your sky. You don’t experience dark except in caves. But the stars are up there, even if you don’t see them. And I bet if I look up—when I get home, that is—I’ll be able to see light from Circanthos. Or at least your solar system.”

  “You will see Circanthos?”

  McKenzie closed her eyes, she was shivering again, harder now, and tried to think of a way to explain something that someone had never seen, never would see, when suddenly a blanket of warmth enveloped her. She opened her eyes, Pietas was grinning. McKenzie smiled back. “Thank you.” It was better to be warm.

  “The light from your solar system travels across the galaxy to our planet, but it takes many, many loonocks to reach us. It isn’t like particle-weaving; it has to travel in real time. If I could go home right now, look up in the night sky and pick out the star that is your solar system, I would be looking at light that is millions…maybe billions of years older than you.”

  “Thank you for that wonderful explanation,” said Pietas, her face glowing with the light of her smile. “Will you promise me something?” She leaned closer, her bright blue eyes shining through the darkness. “When you look up at your night sky—when you and Hayes are home again, that is—think of me, McKenzie, for I will be here on Circanthos sending light your way.” And suddenly the tunnel was aglow.

  “I will,” said McKenzie, reaching up to wipe away a tear. “I will. I promise.”

  “Your emotions are overflowing. Are you angry?”

  “No, no, I’m not angry. It’s…” McKenzie gave up and wiped away the remaining tears.

  “Well then, I fear it is almost Mid-Cera san,” said Pietas. “Time for us to leave.”

  “Pietas, have the Tsendi always lived in the forest?”

  “We don’t have time for this—”

  “Please, it’s important.”

  “Very well,” she murmured, her roticolar deflating to a comfortable sit. She looked tired and it occurred to McKenzie that, even for a Circanthian, Pietas was very old. Old and disappointed that instead of a savior, Principal—or rather—Bewfordios Provost had sent her two, as Grandma Mir would say, troublesome teenagers.

  “In my lifetime, yes, Tsendi have always lived in the forest.” Pietas paused, her forehead furrowed. “Odd, I never thought to wonder about that.”

  “What?”

  “The ruins. Above these mines, there was once a great gathering. Far older than the Veni Commotos, yet clearly Tsendi, for the evidence remains.” McKenzie must have looked confused for Pietas continued, “Circanthian gatherings are almost entirely particle woven. Once abandoned, they disappear.”

  “That’s very green.” Now Pietas looked confused. “Never mind,” said McKenzie. “As you said, we don’t have time. I have one last question. “Why do you think they moved to the forest?”

  Pietas shrugged her heavy old shoulders and sighed. “I do not know.”

  “I do. I think it was the cobaca froot. They discovered the froot and moved to the forest because they wanted more of it.”

  “Based on what you have told me, that may be so.”

  “And Wells is taking full advantage of it.”

  “You have no idea how awful cobaca froot smells. It’s difficult to imagine anyone desiring it.”

  “Soliis loves it.”

  “You’re sure? Of course, you’re sure. I’m sorry, only…it’s amazing to me that something as small and unappetizing as a piece of cobaca froot could cause so much harm.”

  “Worse,” said McKenzie, “that someone from my planet would come to your planet and take advantage of it. Assuming he is from Earth.”

  The light dimmed, and so did Pietas’ smile. “H.G. Wells was on Circanthos several loonocks before we became aware of his presence. He seemed friendly at first, sending Tsendi to welcome us to his compound. A delegation of elders, of which I was among, visited.” She frowned, as if trying to remember something. “Wells may have served cobaca froot…yes, I believe he did. Though it is not our custom to eat food we find disagreeable. And as I said, cobaca froot is most unappealing.” Her lips puckered in distaste causing McKenzie to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. “We met with him on several occasions.” Pietas continued. “You might even say we approved of his relationship with the Tsendi, they appeared to be more controlled under his influence.”

  “What happened?”

  Pietas shook her head. “Stories of the Veni Commotos speak of the Tsendi swarming to our Gatherings like packs of wild vortmog.” She almost smiled here. “They never understood that it gave us plenty of time to particle-weave walls of fire.” Then her shoulders drooped, her eyes narrowed and the light around them dimmed. “Several loonocks after that first meeting with Wells, and almost a thousand loonocks after the Veni Commotos, Tsendi once again swarmed into one of our gatherings. Only, this time, it was different. We were caught unaware.”

  “He trained them.”

  “Yes.” Pietas sighed. “I suppose that was his plan all along: to learn our ways and then attack. It was a sound plan, carried out during one of our rest periods. We were not prepared—”

  “Oh no!”

  “What is it?”

  “NO! I—”

  “McKenzie, are you ill?

  “YES. Yes, I am ill.”

  “I should have known, the air in this old mine is stale.” The light grew brighter and out of nowhere, a fresh breeze stirred.

&nbs
p; “It’s not the air,” McKenzie whispered. “It’s—the name.”

  “What name?”

  “Wells! I remember where I’ve seen it before.” McKenzie began to shiver again, but not because she was cold. “On Earth. In Grandma Mir’s collection of paper books.” She stared at the embers, stared at the walls—anywhere but at Pietas. “There was this one…a tattered old book of war games, written by someone named H.G. Wells. I remember the name because she made me dust them so often. Along with her orbs, they were her prized possessions.”

  “I see.”

  “No. You don’t see. It is a book of war games. H.G. Wells is an expert on war.”

  “McKenzie dear, breathe, just breathe.”

  “But it’s, it’s—SO much worse than that.”

  “No, no. It explains things. That’s better, not worse.”

  “It’s worse. Believe me, it’s far worse. I remember the name, not because he wrote the book, but because Grandma Mir was so proud of it. H.G. Wells was our relative. IS our relative! He was supposed to be dead, not on another planet.”

  McKenzie heard Pietas gasp and was grateful when the light dimmed making her face less visible again. “I can’t go on. I can’t be the Corona-Soter—we have to go back.”

  Pietas did not respond and McKenzie did not dare look at her. To make matters worse, the warmth seemed to slip from her shoulders, as if Pietas no longer cared. From somewhere far off, McKenzie heard the drip, drip, drip of water. Then suddenly, the light grew brighter and the warmth returned.

  “To me this only proves further that you are the Corona-Soter,” said Pietas. “Not only have you come to save the Circanthians, but more important—much more important—you have come to save your family.”

  “No,” whispered McKenzie. “No, I can’t. Pietas, you have to save Hayes!”

  “H.G. Wells is expecting you. He doesn’t know you’re his family.”

  “PLEASE—don’t remind me!”

  “You must rescue Hayes and find the cortext.” Pietas rose on her sphere. “I only wish Soliis had remembered some place other than Wells’ private chamber. I will go with you. You could get lost in the portal and turn into a circoombra.”

  McKenzie’s hands slid down to her rims. She stared at Pietas, not sure what she was going to do, yet with the sure knowledge she couldn’t let Pietas put herself in danger. “No!” she finally said. This had to stop. Not another human, alien, or otherwise, was going to be hurt because of her family. “You’re right, Pietas, I have to rescue Hayes. It’s my fault he’s here.”

  Pietas began to protest.

  “I was ordered to come alone. Don’t worry,” said McKenzie. “I traveled all the way here without turning into a circoombra, I can handle this.”

  “I could at least weave myself into the forest.” Pietas closed her eyes. “I have some idea where the compound might be. I could weave myself in and try to find you.”

  “And if the Tsendi see you—Hayes is dead.” McKenzie rolled forward, away from Pietas and into the darkness. “I have to do this myself. My family will not be responsible for any more deaths. Besides, Soliis said he thought the cortext might be in Wells’ private chamber. He said he sensed something that wasn’t—well—wasn’t human and wasn’t Tsendi.”

  “Promise me, as soon as you find Hayes you will weave yourselves out of there.”

  “As soon as I find Hayes and the cortext.” McKenzie closed her eyes, took three deep breaths and began to visualize a room made of pale-blue wood from the cocombaca tree. The room was small, but it had a bed, made out of that same wood, placed against a wall. It had two windows, one beside the bed and one across from it. Both covered with pale-blue shutters. There were other pieces of furniture, but most important, the one feature unique enough for McKenzie to focus on, the box at the end of the bed. Soliis believed it contained the cortext. On one side of the box, carved into the wood, were the initials H.G.W.

  McKenzie opened her eyes. In front of her, the particles of her portal whirled and danced anxious to return to their normal state. She tried to remember one of the prayers Grandma Mir had taught her; gave up, made the sign of the cross, and disappeared into the portal.

  Chapter 34

  FBI TRANSCRIPT 21204

  Agent Wink Krumm and H.G. Wells

  Tuesday, June 2nd

  KRUMM: What do you want?

  WELLS: What every man wants: Power. Only, I’ll never see it again. Earth is too complicated.

  KRUMM: There must be something I can offer you.

  WELLS: Perhaps. I was once a successful writer. I’d like to pick up where I left off. H.G. Wells is considered “missing.” I could use that to my advantage, my public doesn’t have to believe it, you see, merely be intrigued. I have an incredible story to tell: aliens, drama, conflict.

  KRUMM: You’ll need one of those…editors?

  WELLS: Preferably attached to a large and well-established publishing house.

  KRUMM: I’ll see what I can do, that is…if you can locate Julianne’s diary.

  WELLS: My dear departed sister.

  KRUMM: Having your sister’s diary would not only assist in my investigation…it would serve your story as well.

  WELLS: It might indeed. It might indeed at that! I’ll see what I can do.

  ***

  HITCHES…

  Monday, March 16th

  Earth

  “Amazing, simply amazing!” James Wu stood on the outskirts of Avondale, inches from space abruptly halted on its path through the space-time continuum. Imagine, he thought, vigorously ruffling his hair, Principal Provost, an alien!

  “Try stepping into it, James. Nothing like a little time disruption to stop those nasty old wrinkles.”

  “DON’T walk into the time field,” snapped Principal Provost. “Do not even attempt to touch it. Moreover, do not listen to Petré. Ignore him for the time being.”

  “Bewfordios, really, I don’t see the point of dragging James into this.”

  “If you’d only listened to me, Petré!”

  “That reminds me Bewfordios, if you don’t mind, I much prefer that you refer to me as Professor Revolvos.”

  “Picked up a degree, have you?”

  “Several, in fact.”

  James felt as if he were in the middle of a tug-of-war. McKenzie’s Principal and Professor R., or Revolvos, as he’d recently learned, the owner of Sphaera Technologies, had been bickering since they’d all somehow ended up together in his lab a few hours ago. James crouched down, leaned forward and placed both hands palm forward, as close as possible without touching the field.

  “I SAY, Mr. Wu!” Principal Provost shouted. “Move away from the time field!”

  McKenzie’s father lowered his hands, but did not stand up. He glanced back, still hardly able to believe his eyes. Not only was McKenzie’s principal an alien, so was the owner of Sphaera Technologies.

  “And if you don’t mind, Professor,” Principal Provost muttered between gritted teeth, “I much prefer you refer to me as B.R. or, better yet, Provost. Bewfordios is so—”

  “Dignified.” Revolvos tapped James on the shoulder. “Bewfordios was my grandfather’s name.”

  James frowned. He felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. You’d think aliens advanced enough to travel from one solar system to another would be beyond petty arguments.

  “Mr. Wu,” Principal Provost threw up his hands. “I know you’re dying to learn how the time field works. So, if you would please just STEP AWAY, I’ll try to explain everything.”

  “Wonderful!” James jumped up. Precisely what he’d been wanting to know, “Everything!”

  Principal Provost looked confused. “Oh right! Of course, I was going to explain, well, not ‘everything,’ but at least as much as possible in a very short amount of time.” He paused, his gaze coming to rest just above James’ head, then running slowly down the length of James’ body as if—

  Dear God, he’s studying me like a specimen!

  James t
ried to imagine what he looked like from the alien’s point of view. A tall, thin, gangly man, more legs than torso, with half moon eyes. From the waist up, the aliens could have been mistaken for Germans or Brits, or some standard European mix. So, perhaps he looked exotic to them with his Asian features, standard issue compared to McKenzie’s Asian/emerald combination—exotic in any culture. His hair was also typically Asian; black, straight and, with his bad habit of always ruffling it, never quite combed. Something his wife used to call sexy.

  Professor Revolvos sighed melodramatically. “Ahhhh Roony.”

  James glanced at the man frozen inside the time field. Revolvos and Principal Provost had had a lengthy discussion about whether to remove Roony from the field. Professor Revolvos, it seemed, having only recently learned that this could be accomplished. In the end, however, Principal Provost had won out. Roony, it was decided, would be better off inside the field until ‘other matters’ had been sorted out. “It was bad enough,” James had overheard them whisper, “that they were stuck with one human.”

  “Everything would be wonderful!” James said, a bit louder than necessary, hoping to distract Revolvos from what promised to be another lengthy explanation of how someone named Concentric hooked him up with Joe Roony sixty or so years ago. “The first thing I’d like to learn is about that sphere you’re attached to.” He had an uneasy feeling about the alien’s sphere, but he didn’t know why. It provoked a feeling of sadness, or was it emptiness, in the pit of his stomach. As if the sphere were associated with an unpleasant memory. Silly, of course, as he’d never seen anything like it before. “If only Georgianna were here,” he murmured. Aliens—think of it! What am I doing? I should be studying them!

  “It is called a roticolar.” Principal Provost went on to explain the sphere’s technical specifications, including how the joints collapsed allowing them to use chairs as cover.

  Thinking about the alien’s sphere in technical terms made James feel better. He leaned over to take a closer look.

  “I SAY!” screeched Revolvos. “Hands off my roticolar!”

  “Sorry,” mumbled James. “It’s just all those little joints. It must be heck getting arthritis.” James looked from Revolvos to Provost and back again, and that’s when it hit him: he’d seen Revolvos before. At work? No. Professor R. was famous for being a recluse. No one knew what he looked like—except, now, James. But that didn’t explain where he’d seen him, for James suddenly felt quite sure he had seen him, not once, but many times. Oh drats, he thought, there is something unnervingly familiar about the old alien, only I don’t know what.