by Lorijo Metz
“I assure you, Circanthian forests are nothing like those on Earth,” said Principal Provost. “McKenzie will have had no trouble navigating.”
“Tsootbas!” cried Revolvos.
“Really,” said Principal Provost, “Did you have to bring those up?”
“Gentleman—PLEASE—I don’t want to know about zootbas or tsootbas—however you pronounce it. Let’s concentrate on finding my daughter and her…that boy, Rudy Hayes.” James frowned. “Although, I’m almost happy he’s here with her. At least she’s not alone.”
“Splendid!” said Revolvos. “Then I shall weave over to the Gathering, while you and James search the forest.”
“GREAT, just great!” said Principal Provost. “I’m stuck with James—”
“HEY!”
“—searching for Wells’ compound in a Tsendi infested forest! Has it occurred to you that I’ve never been to Wells’ compound? I may not be able to use particle-weaving to get us there.”
Instead of responding, Revolvos turned and rolled to the water’s edge. He sighed heavily and stared into the water. “I haven’t much time.”
“Now what?” said Principal Provost.
“I arranged for James to build my cortext because…” Revolvos paused and sighed again, “because I wished to return home to see the Lapis Sea one last time.”
“There you go again,” said Principal Provost, “over dramatizing in order to get your own way.”
“Not this time, old friend. I can feel it in my navicals. A Circanthian knows.” Revolvos turned to face them. “Besides, I’m only thinking of my great-great granddaughter. I would never survive the forest. You’re still a relatively young Circanthian and James is her father. My intuition tells me that McKenzie and her friend are in Wells’ compound.”
There was a moment of silence. Provost appeared to be having some trouble finding his voice. Finally, he mumbled, “As you put it that way, and as my intuition tells me the same, I agree, you should go to the Gathering while James and I search the forest.”
“Then I suggest we stop talking and go find my daughter,” said James, heading toward the water.
“You need not swim. Provost will weave an opening for you. Best take a couple of noofotos, I’m sure the tsootbas are still out there.”
“Noofotos? Tsootbas?”
“Follow me, James, I’ll explain everything—most of it anyway—on the way out.” Principal Provost nodded to Revolvos then rolled over to what appeared to be a very solid, ordinary part of the cave wall. As if by magic, an archway appeared. He grabbed something that looked like an umbrella, out of something that looked very much like an umbrella stand, and turned.
“You’re weaving directly from the cave?” he asked Revolvos.
“I was once the best. I believe I can still manage it.”
Provost nodded. “We’ll meet back in, let’s say, no more than two epoks.”
“If I don’t return, assume no one is left. Take James and the children and return to Earth.”
“There is no reason for you to remain behind.”
“I have been gone long enough, Bewfordios. My final wish is to die here, on my own planet.” Revolvos turned toward the water. “Near the Lapis Sea, with my Creator.”
James looked from one old Circanthian to the other. He waited for Principal Provost to say something—to demand Revolvos return with them. However, Principal Provost simply raised his eyebrows, turned and as he rolled out of the cave said, “Open your noofoto and follow me.”
James took one more glance at Professor Revolvos, his daughter’s great-great grandfather. Revolvos smiled back and then closed his eyes. As James watched, the air in front of Revolvos began to shimmer. James had, of course, seen this same process not long ago. Seconds later, in front of Revolvos, an opening appeared. James thought he caught a glimpse of sparkling white sand and water beyond.
Revolvos opened his eyes, waved and was gone.
Chapter 43
FBI TRANSCRIPT 21202
Agent Wink Krumm with Rudy B. Hayes
Friday, June 5th
KRUMM: WHERE IS IT?
HAYES: What?
KRUMM: That alien mongrel you’ve been harboring.
HAYES: Agent Krumm, even I know that’s not politically correct.
KRUMM: Don’t patronize me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The poonchi! My operative searched your apartment the other day.
HAYES: You’re kidding me? You MUST be kidding! Aunt Patty is going to be totally pissed.
KRUMM: Is she now? Why? Because she knows about the poonchi?
HAYES: My Aunt Patty knows nothing. You leave her out of this.
KRUMM: Ahhh! So your Aunt Patty knows nothing, which means, of course, there is something to know.
HAYES: Arggg! I only meant my aunt has never read McKenzie’s crazy uncle’s story.
KRUMM: Let me tell you a story. I know the poonchi has been moved. And I believe I know where.
HAYES: You’re crazy.
KRUMM: Funny.
HAYES: What’s funny?
KRUMM: How you look so worried about a poonchi that supposedly doesn’t exist.
***
BOOM-daga, BOOM-daga, BOOMBOOMBOOM!
Thursday, March 19th
Tsoot Pit on the Tsendi Compound
McKenzie exhaled. She’d been holding her breath since the drummers began to play. Abacis had given her a crash course in tsoot. Though she still wasn’t sure of the terminology, the rules were simple enough. It was a game with a hoop and a ball. Which, as far as her world was concerned, meant basketball—a language she spoke fluently.
There were a few minor differences, of course. Tsoot only had one hoop and it was in the center of the court…or rather, the pit. Also, the court was sunk. No biggie.
The hoop itself was a tall pole with a circle on top of it. Kind of like the goal they used in that game that was a huge favorite with the geeks and nerds. The one that involved running around the field on broomsticks pretending you could fly. Frankly, McKenzie couldn’t see the point. Pretending, that is. She liked real physical contact. Real games. Like basketball…and tsoot.
Anyway, over the past twenty-four, twenty-six hours (Who could tell on a planet with two suns) she’d not only learned the basics of tsoot, but Abacis had put her to work particle-weaving a tsoot pit so that they could practice in the cave. McKenzie had barely slept, but she wasn’t a bit tired. And now they were back at Wells’ compound and the official game, the Olt-tsoot game—she shuddered—had begun.
What the…? There they go again!
Hayes was sitting on the other side of the court, directly opposite her…next to Wells. Wells was whispering something in his ear. Now he was laughing, and Hayes—he was smiling! As if they were best buds or something. “It’s all part of ‘the plan,’” McKenzie muttered. “The big, fabulous, Rudy-Hayes-plan-for-getting-our-heads-chopped-off plan!”
How did I get myself into this?
H.G. Wells had opened the game with a formal (and very lengthy) speech. “A tradition,” Abacis had explained in his introduction to Tsoot 101, which included the announcement of the teams and ended by shouting ‘Moocroken,’ a word that had something to do with an ancient sea creature with a horn in the middle of its head. Strange! But then, probably no stranger than a politician or an actor throwing out the first pitch at a baseball game.
After that, the two teams entered the pit and stood in a half circle, facing each other around the hoop. Then the drummers began to play; two on each side, beating out a fast, steady rhythm that reminded McKenzie of a tribal war dance.
Boom daga-bagadaga,
Boom daga-bagadaga,
Boom-daga, Boom-daga, BOOMBOOMBOOM!
Faster and faster until four other drummers, two more on each side, joined in; and finally, all eight of them—
BOOM-daga, BOOM-daga, BOOMBOOMBOOM!
As soon as the first beat was struck, the teams began moving, passing the ball back and forth from one
team to the other, always on the beat; their legs shuffling side to side in precise, rhythmic—
BOOM-daga, BOOM-daga, BOOMBOOMBOOM!
—dance-like movements.
Then came the chanting, this too a tradition, performed by the fans, which McKenzie was now part of. The chanting swelled in pitch and volume as the tempo of the drums increased. A slow, steady “Ahhhhh, AHHH,” louder and louder until McKenzie thought her eardrums would burst.
Then suddenly the drumming stopped.
The chanting ceased.
The players paused.
Time seemed to stand still and—
The drumming began again.
The new tempo was slower and steadier, the chanting a tolerable roar and the players were now officially playing the game. The team that had the ball when the drumming paused retained possession of it when the game began. Unfortunately, this was Mallos’ team.
********
“YES!” McKenzie whacked the player sitting in front of her on the shoulder—a show of team spirit, as evidenced by the player’s reaction, not commonly used by the Tsendi. “Sorry,” she mumbled, praying the Tsendi’s bark was worse than his bite.
The biggest difference between basketball and tsoot was that two team members from each side sat in the bleachers, each on their respective side, directly in line with the hoop. The tsoot pit was oval, rather than rectangular, with bleachers arching around either end. Their job was to catch any ball that flew out of the pit into the crowd and then try to score another point for their team by tossing it back through the hoop. A feat more difficult than it sounded, for to throw the ball across the pit and straight through the opening, rather than tossing it up and through, took strength. The players sitting in front of McKenzie were huge!
“That’s it! Hold on to it!” McKenzie leaned forward. Abaci’s team had the ball. “Yes! Exactly! Pretend you’re gonna shoot, then throw it to Adler, Adler to Tsat and Tsat to—YES!” Abacis made the shot. Their team had taken the lead.
McKenzie sat back. Abacis was their best shooter. He was good, but ultimately, she feared, no match for Mallos—Geezits—who was at this very moment down on the court staring up at her. Nostrils flared, lips drawn back exposing long sharp teeth stained blood red from cobaca froot (as least, she hoped it was cobaca froot), he looked angry enough to eat her. A second later, he’d grabbed the ball from a passing player and sent it flying through the hoop, tying the score. The ball then continued out the tsoot pit and over the heads of the two Tsendi players sitting in front of her.
Instinctively, McKenzie reached out and caught the ball. She’d been waiting for this moment. More than anything, she’d wanted to be part of the team; but Abacis wouldn’t allow it. However, there was one rule, much to Abacis’ displeasure, one of the players had let slip. If a stray ball got past the two players in the bleachers, the fan that caught it could either pass the ball back—or take the shot.
McKenzie tossed the ball from hand to hand, trying to get a feel for it. Below in the pit both teams stood silent and watching. In front of her, the players had turned, impatient for her to pass the ball to one of them.
For some reason, the alien ball felt larger and heavier than the one they’d practiced with back in the cave. Not that she’d had much time to hold that one, much less shoot it.
The drummers continued playing
Boom-daga-Boom-daga-BOOMBOOMBOOM!
The fans chanting.
What the heck, thought McKenzie, it’s a ball. She raised her arms, eyed the hoop and took aim.
“PASS THE BALL MCKENZIE! PASS THE BALL!”
What?
“PASS THE BALL!”
Hayes was shouting. Then Wells began to shout—and then all the Tsendi. “PASS THE BALL!”
McKenzie shook her head and lowered her arms. She looked in the pit—at Abacis, the only Tsendi, it seemed, who wasn’t shouting at her. Though from the scowl on his face it was clear what he was thinking.
Boom-daga-Boom-daga-BOOMBOOMBOOM!
McKenzie looked across the court. Wells was laughing. Hayes wasn’t. Hayes was frowning.
“Enough,” she muttered. “I get it already. Pass the ball. Pass the—whatever!!”
McKenzie turned to the Tsendi player who only minutes ago had growled in her face. “MAKE IT!” she said and tossed the ball to him.
He turned, aimed and shot.
“Nine-Ten,” shouted H.G. Wells. Abacis’ team was back in the lead.
“TREMOS!”
“Huh?” McKenzie turned. All around her Tsendi were jumping to their feet.
“TREMOS!”
Then everyone began shouting. “Tremos! TREMOS!”
McKenzie watched in horror as the center of the pit rose, tossing all the players to the ground, and then lowered again. It was like watching a tidal wave on dry land.
“Tremos! TREMOS!”
She had to do something.
Closing her eyes, McKenzie took three deep breaths and tried to visualize the earth unmoving and still—peaceful, as Pietas had taught her to do. But there was another step. One before the earth? What was it?
First the motion…motion? Energy! Yes—what? “Ahhhhhhh!” McKenzie’s wheelchair tilted forward. HELP!”
“Mana, one of the players sitting in front of her, caught her chair, righted it and pushed it a safe distance from the edge.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, knowing there was no way he could hear her over the crowd.
The ground rose up again and this time McKenzie’s wheelchair began to tip backwards. Once more, Mana reached out and righted her.
McKenzie unlocked her wheels and looked across the court just in time to see Wells grab Hayes and stop him from falling into the pit.
Then, as if someone had flicked a switch, the tremos stopped.
Down in the pit, the players began scrambling to their feet. McKenzie looked for Mallos. She found him standing behind Abacis. Then, to her horror, she watched helplessly as he grabbed Abacis by the shoulders, turned him around and kicked—
“OUCH!” McKenzie winced. That had to hurt.
Abacis doubled over in pain as Mallos ran to the opposite side of the pit.
“Did anyone see that? Did anyone see that?” She screamed.
But nobody was listening. Everyone was preoccupied with getting back to their places, picking up fallen possessions and talking about the tremos.
“HEY!” she shouted.
This time someone heard. Mana stood up, leaned forward, pointed at Abacis and—tumbled into the tsoot pit!
The drummers, who had somehow continued to drum throughout the tremos, stopped playing.
“TSENDI DOWN,” shouted one of the referees, pointing to Abacis lying on the ground.
“Nine-Nine,” yelled the other, pointing at Mana.
Wells stood up. “End of the first half,” he declared. “Match tied.”
McKenzie looked at Mallos and, sure enough, he was grinning at her.
Head hung in shame, Mana climbed back to his seat.
“We lost a point because you fell in the pit?” said McKenzie.
Mana nodded.
“What happens if Abacis can’t play? Do we get a substitute?”
Mana shrugged. As if in answer, the drummers began to play.
Boom-daga-Boom-daga-BOOMBOOMBOOM!
The second half had begun.
Chapter 44
FBI TRANSCRIPT 21201
Agent Wink Krumm and McKenzie Wu
Monday, June 8th
KRUMM: Where is he?
M. WU: Who?
KRUMM: Principal Provost!
M. WU: School’s out, Agent Krumm. I don’t keep track of the principal.
KRUMM: I searched his house. It’s vacant, empty, nada!
M. WU: Maybe he’s on vacation.
KRUMM: His house is for sale.
M. WU: Ohhh, so that’s why—
KRUMM: What?
M. WU: It’s just a rumor.
KRUMM: TELL ME!
M. WU: I heard there’s going to be a new principal next year.
KRUMM: B.R. Provost is under investigation. You don’t leave town when you’re under investigation by the FBI.
M. WU: Principal Provost isn’t from around here—you said so yourself. Maybe he doesn’t know that.
KRUMM: How could I have forgotten? So…maybe you could answer another question. One, I believe, that you of all people should know the answer to.
M. WU: I’ll do my best.
KRUMM: Where, or should I say, what planet is Principal Provost from?
M. WU: You’re hilarious. England, of course. Haven’t you ever noticed his accent?
***
TREMOS & TURNING POINTS
Thursday, March 19th
B.R. Provost couldn’t believe what was happening. The first action he’d taken, upon leaving the cave, had been to study the trees to determine what season they’d arrived in.
“This isn’t right,” he murmured. Tremos occurred immediately before or after the loon. Judging by the color of the moss he could tell the loon had passed, not long ago, but long enough. “This shouldn’t be happening!”
Nevertheless, there was no time for speculation. The tremos, unusually large, was affecting much of the area in and around the forest. He glanced at James, then closed his eyes and began.
Carefully, he visualized not only the particles of the planet, but the particles causing the disruption—pulsing and pushing, transforming the earth beneath him. It was like trying to weave a stream of cool water through a roaring fire. Eventually the particles began to slow and return to normal.
Finally, he accessed the memories of the particles that made up the rocks and soil, then carefully coaxed them back into their previous positions.
“That was some strange earthquake!”
Provost opened his eyes. James was behind him. “Quick—open your noofoto! Your-your—UMBRELLA!” He shouted.
“EEEEEE, tsoot, tsoot, tsoot!”
Seconds later tsootbas spit bounced off an edge of James’ noofoto, onto the ground and disappeared, hissing under the mustard colored moss.
“Welcome to Circanthos,” said B.R. Provost.