by Lorijo Metz
That’s when James made his move.
As Principal Provost slid into the portal, merging and swirling with the rest of the particles, James ran up behind Revolvos, already halfway dissolved himself, and grabbed on.
Chapter 36
Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm
Tuesday, March 17th
Just outside Avondale
continued…
At approximately 1500 hours, a rattling rust infested pickup truck wandered down the road. The driver (one of those red-necked farmer types not targeted nearly enough by the bureau) pulled up behind the van and, for a moment, I feared he might jump out to investigate.
It was soon clear he’d used the van as an excuse to stop for a swig of liquid refreshment. Once the suspicious looking flask was restored to its hiding place, the truck jumped back into gear, swerved around the van and took off.
Lunging toward the front window, I was just in time to see the truck plunge into the anomaly, inches from the man already frozen inside. While the man appeared, shall I say, normal (though I could not see the front of him), the truck, being much larger, seemed to be trapped in stages as it passed into the anomaly. The resulting image appearing something like a large, red, rusty accordion. An image, I trust, the agency will be hard-pressed to ignore!
***
CHOOSING TEAMS
Wednesday, March 18th
Circanthos – Tsendi Prison Cell
Stubborn, stupid, STINKING Tsendi!
Hayes had spent the last ten minutes trying to convince Abacis he wasn’t hungry. “OUCH! PUT-IT-DOWN!” he screamed at the phantom drummer inside his head.
Two bulbous Tsendi eyes bounced in front of his face. Are-you-all-right? They blinked.
“Right?” murmured Hayes—and everything went blank.
********
Hayes’ head felt cool and tingly. It was a nice feeling. A nice smell too…like Nurse Prickel’s office. He opened his eyes and slowly, cautiously, propped himself up.
Abacis was sitting by the door staring at him. If Hayes didn’t know better, he’d say the Tsendi looked concerned. “What’d you do?” he said, his mouth thick and dry as an old sock.
Abacis checked the hallway, then walked over and held out a small black container. From the smell, Hayes deduced the greenish substance inside had something to do with the improved state of his head.
“You are not hungry?” asked Abacis.
Hayes may have passed out, but he clearly remembered his last meal. Not only did he hate Tsendi food, he despised it. Though there had been at least a half dozen different dishes, they all tasted the same; sweet and sick, like seriously over-ripe fruit.
“You do not desire more?” demanded Abacis.
Great! First, they were trying to beat him senseless, now they were trying to kill him with kindness. “Read-my-lips, bug eyes, I am not hungry.”
“Not hungry?” Abacis growled, his former look of concern shifting into something much more primitive.
Hayes shut his eyes and dropped. Shards of pain exploded between his shoulders. Oh please, oh please, oh PLEASE don’t kill me!
“The Advitor was right. Don’t ever underestimate a human! Less than one epok ago you ate enough cobaca froot to feed twenty starving Tsendi.” Abacis aimed one bulging Tsendi eye in Hayes’ direction. “How can you not crave more?”
And suddenly Hayes got it. Crave it? Cobaca fruit? Of course, he got it. That stuff Soliis had been raving about was addictive. The entire sick, sweet overripe vomit-inducing-smorgasbord-of-a-meal had probably been spiked with cobaca froot. He tried to sit up. “OW! GEEZ!” And suddenly Abacis was beside him helping him again.
“You guys beat the heck out of me,” Hayes mumbled, shirking away the Tsendi’s hairy albino hands. “I ate cobaca froot?”
Abacis nodded. Though, if Hayes didn’t know better, he’d say the Tsendi looked ashamed.
Hayes mentally scanned his body, trying to see if he felt any different. He felt like… Ah cripes! How do people know when they’re addicted? Quickly, he ran through all the information from all the support groups his aunt had made him attend that were supposed to make having a nonexistent mom-and-dad-who-were-off-somewhere-getting-high easier.
Cobaca fruit was the last thing he wanted to eat. “I think I’m, I’m…okay,” he stuttered.
Abacis’ hand slid toward the small tan pouch tied around his waist; the same type of pouch Soliis had been wearing. The second his fingers touched it they curled into a tight fist as if an electric shock had shot through them.
Hayes had thought there must be something valuable inside Soliis’ pouch, like gold or money, because Soliis kept patting it. Later, after the tremos, Soliis had nervously pulled something red out of the pouch and popped it into his mouth, a self-satisfied look of relief spreading across his face as he chewed the tiny morsel. Hayes hadn’t given the pouch much thought after that.
I should have recognized the signs.
“Do you crave it?” Hayes asked pointing at Abacis’ pouch.
Abacis seemed to hesitate. “It is part of my past. I do not crave it, but I cannot forget it either.”
Interesting, thought Hayes. “Does Wells eat cobaca froot?”
Hayes could see the Tsendi’s eyes grow even wider, if that was possible, as it dawned on him exactly what Hayes meant. “I do not know,” he said, beginning to pace. With each step, Abacis’ hand crept closer and closer to his pouch. Once it reached the pouch, it shot back up again and the process began all over.
“Why don’t you take it off?”
Abacis stopped. Slowly, painfully it seemed, he drew his hand away from the pouch. “The Advitor does not know I no longer eat it.”
Hayes had the sensation of being privy to something he did not want to hear. It made him nervous. Not scared nervous, like when he thought Mallos was going to smash his head against the wall again, but uncomfortable nervous, like when a girl shared one of those secrets you’d rather not hear.
Right! Because of a girl, he was in this mess. And yet, for some reason, Hayes sighed, he missed her. He was really worried about her. McKenzie was physically strong, but Hayes knew—better than anyone, he guessed—especially after that crazy trip across the universe—that inside she was scared. Really scared.
“Wells will order you put to death.”
Whoa! That came out of left field. The Tsendi had said it so matter-of-factly. Wells is going to kill you…he’ll also order a ham on rye.
“Take him with,” said Abacis.
“Where?”
“Back to Earth.”
“Ohhhh.” And suddenly it all made sense. The conversations Hayes had overheard while pretending to be asleep. Abacis had been meeting with other Tsendi. Mallos? No, not Mallos. Mallos was with Wells. It had all sounded very secretive. “Why not get rid of him yourselves?”
“He is the Advitor,” said Abacis.
“But, you don’t like him.”
“That is no reason to kill.”
“But it’s okay to kidnap me, throw me in a cell and beat me up?”
Abacis looked away. “Mallos beat you, not I.”
Mallos! Hayes winced at the name. Right, Abacis had made his head feel better. So, maybe…maybe Abacis would help him escape.
“Your friend, the female—”
“McKenzie?”
“After she arrives at the compound the Advitor will send for you, but before she hands over The Gate you will…” Abacis paused, pacing a few steps, and seemed to have to think about his next word. “Insist,” he said. “You will insist that she show him how it works.”
Hayes was lost. “What is a Gate?”
Abacis cocked one eyebrow. “You do not know?”
Hayes swallowed and hoped he hadn’t blown it. How could he lie if he didn’t even know what he was lying about?
“Your friend sits on it.”
“McKenzie’s wheelchair?”
“Yes, her Gate,” said Abacis. “It is the Advitor
’s invention, yes?”
Hayes nodded, playing along. “Right! McKenzie’s Gate.” This is weird, he thought. H.G. Wells must have traveled to Circanthos in something that looked like a wheelchair. Which meant he had a machine that could take them home. But, it sure didn’t sound anything like the machine Pietas had told them about.
“Your plan is to convince Wells to go home with us using our Gate?” Hayes was going to have to make this up on the fly. “Ours is kinda small, maybe we should use his.”
“It is damaged.”
“Oh.” Hayes tried to cover his disappointment by pretending his back hurt, which unfortunately, it did. But it gave him time to wonder: If Wells had built a machine that could travel across galaxies, why didn’t anyone on Earth know about it? Something didn’t add up. “So,” he said, “Wells wants McKenzie’s Gate?”
“The Advitor told your friend he will trade it for your life.”
Of course, McKenzie would do that. If she knew what he was talking about. What the heck, Mac was a genius. She had to have figured it out. On the other hand, if Wells was smart enough to build a spaceship that could travel across the universe, why would he be dumb enough to believe McKenzie’s wheelchair was a spaceship? “You’ve seen his machine, this thing he calls a Gate?”
“It sits behind the compound.”
“And it looks like ours?”
Abacis frowned. “It is much larger, but you do sit on it.”
“And he’s never tried to fix it?”
“We do not possess the proper materials on our planet.”
Hayes nodded. That could be true.
“We are running out of time,” said Abacis. “Your friend will be here soon.”
“Right,” murmured Hayes. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take Wells long to figure out McKenzie’s Gate was only a wheelchair. “So, what’s your plan,” he asked, hoping it was both brilliant and fast.
Abacis checked the hallway, then pulled a chair up by Hayes. Regardless of how buddy-buddy they’d recently become, Hayes instinctively drew back.
“As soon as the Advitor takes possession of your Gate, he will order your execution—both of you.”
“That’s your plan?”
Abacis smiled. Hayes was sure of it; the big ugly Tsendi had smiled.
“Your Gate is different,” continued Abacis. “You must insist on explaining how it works.”
“Yes!” cried Hayes, startling Abacis into getting up to check the hallway again. “Sorry. It’s just—I get it. That is a good plan. Explain how it works! Get Wells close enough and McKenzie can particle—I mean, grab him and take off in our wheel—I mean, our Gate.” He propped himself up more. “OUCH! Except it’s not a good plan.”
Abacis growled.
A gentle beast, yet still a beast! Hayes said a quick prayer and continued. “I mean, I make plans all the time, you should see how many tests I get out of. So, let me tell you where the flaws are. First, Wells could refuse and second, if we do get him home, what’s to keep him from coming back?”
“Hah!” Abacis sneered. “You will inform Wells that Abacis no longer serves him and will kill him if he returns. Wells is a coward, he will not return.”
“And if we return?”
“Then Abacis will kill you.”
And here we were getting on so well. Ah well, it didn’t matter because the plan wouldn’t work. They still needed a cortext to get home.
“Wells will call for you soon.” Abacis stood up. “You should eat.”
As if in reply, Hayes’ stomach growled. “Anything besides Tsendi food?”
Abacis remained silent. Hayes assumed that meant no and pointed to the pouch tied around Abacis’ waist. “I’ll have some of that. Better me than you.”
The Tsendi remained poker-faced, but Hayes could tell it was difficult—almost painful for him.
“Anyway,” he continued, “can’t be worse than my Aunt Patty’s cooking.”
Abacis reached for his pouch, then stopped and motioned Hayes to take it.
Hayes reached in and pulled out two dried, dark red pieces of cobaca froot. He held them up, “Ugly buggers ain’t they!” Choked down the first and stuck the second in his mouth. “This stuff is—he gagged and forced himself to swallow—awful! How long have you been off it?”
Abacis looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Five loonocks.”
“You should join a support group, I’ve heard it helps.” Hayes swallowed the last bit of cobaca froot, then took a deep breath. Here goes nothing! “I have to tell you something. But you have to promise you won’t hurt me.”
The look on Abacis’ face reminded Hayes of his sixth grade math teacher, Mr. Stein. Mr. Stein was a football coach and a cool guy—unless he was angry. Hayes gulped. “We don’t have a Gate. That chair McKenzie sits in is called a wheelchair. Her legs don’t work so she needs the wheelchair to get around. It had nothing to do with bringing us here.”
Abacis looked confused.
“Do you know what particle-weaving is?”
“ARAC-TELAE!” growled Abacis. His eyes, bulging before, were now bursting.
“Arac-te-what?”
“Arac-telae, the Tsendi word for particle-weaving.”
Hayes recalled Pietas telling them the Tsendi were afraid of particle-weaving. “I can’t particle-weave,” he blurted out, fearful he’d be forced to beg for his life much sooner than expected, “only McKenzie. And as far as I know, she’s the only human who can.” He tried to sit up straighter. “OUCH! Which is good! Don’t you see—it’s very good!”
The drumming in his head had returned. Hayes wished that Abacis would stop staring at him as if he were the main course at his next meal. More than that, he really, REALLY wished the room would stop spinning. “I don’t feel so…”
Abacis was by his side again helping him to lie down.
“Don’t you see,” Hayes was feeling slightly less dizzy, “Wells can’t return. Not unless he can build another Gate, which would take a lot of time and, which for some reason, I have a strong feeling he won’t be able to do anyway. So he can’t return unless McKenzie takes him, and that’s not going to happen.”
Abacis lowered his hackles. Except for the eyes and the fur, he looked almost human. “So, it was not Soliis who turned the rock into a fist,” he muttered, “I thought as much.”
Hayes had a feeling he knew what Abacis was thinking. “Maybe Wells has a Gate, but there’s nothing like it back on Earth. Unless it’s hidden in one of those top-secret government warehouses. Personally, I think his story sounds fishy.”
“Fishy?”
“It stinks.” Hayes reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. “OW!” And fought back another round of nausea as his hand came down covered in blood. “Can I have a…” he started to ask, but Abacis was gone. Great, probably blew my only chance of getting out of here.
Seconds later, Abacis returned holding a cloth. He bent over Hayes and, with surprising gentleness, dabbed his forehead and rubbed some more of the green medicine on it. His head felt cool and tingly again. “I’ve got a few more places I could use it—”
“No,” said Abacis. “If the Advitor notices, he will suspect something. You must wait.”
“For what? We haven’t made a plan!”
“We will use our original plan,” said Abacis. “The Advitor still believes you arrived in a Gate. You must persuade your friend to draw him close enough so that you are able to grab on to him while she begins the particle-weaving process.”
“That’s where we have a little problem.”
“Problem?”
Hayes tried to scoot back against the wall. “Ouch, Ouch, OUCH! It seems that in order to particle-weave over long distances, McKenzie needs something called a cortext. Only we don’t have one. Maybe she could take him back to the Circanthians.”
“Across the planet is not good enough.” Abacis sounded defeated. “Circanthians do not believe in taking life. Wells would return in an epok. The Tsendi will be no better off.” He tu
rned to leave.
“WAIT!” Hayes propped himself up again. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing the pain to subside. “What if Wells has a cortext? There’s one missing, that’s what Pietas told us. It’s a long shot but—”
Abacis paused just inside the cell. “What does it look like?”
“I’ve never seen one, but I’ve been told it looks like this.” He held his hands up the same way Pietas had. “It’s supposed to be bright. McKenzie and I saw something like it. Lots of lights and colors.”
“We will need time to find it,” said Abacis.
“Right! Time! But let’s not forget, Wells is planning my execution as we speak. You wouldn’t happen to have a guess where he might be hiding one?”
“I might.”
“You might?” Hayes had to look at Abacis just to make sure he wasn’t teasing. “Well why didn’t you say so?”
“I did.”
Hayes laughed. “How fast can you get it?”
“I said, ‘might.’ I have seen the light you described seeping out from the Advitor’s private chamber.”
“How do we get in and search for it?”
Abacis sighed, exhaustion showing on his face. His wide, pale Tsendi forehead furrowed with creases. Then suddenly he pulled the chair close to Hayes and sat down again. “Olt-tsoot,” he said, breaking into what it took Hayes a moment to realize was a smile, not a snarl.
“What?”
“There is a tradition,” said Abacis, “one not used for many loonocks. When there is a dispute, one group of Tsendi against the other, instead of war we play Olt-tsoot.”
Hayes nodded. “Surprisingly civilized.”
“The losing side is beheaded and left for the flickvik to feast on. Only one side suffers and no one is left to oppose.”
“The losing team is BEHEADED?”
“And all who support them.”
“Humans too? Prisoners?”
“Would you not die anyway?”
Hayes was speechless. “Olt-tsoot,” he murmured.
“Rest,” said Abacis. “I have plans to make. I will return soon.”
Suddenly, Hayes didn’t want Abacis to leave him alone. “What about the cortext?”