We didn’t fall far, but our landing knocked the wind out of me.
I could feel my pulse beat thickly in my carotid arteries and when I could finally draw a breath, hot wet air clogged my throat as though I were choking on purlass. We scrambled to our feet and I was vaguely aware that Coreg’s new boots were covered with dust and he was no longer wearing his faded uniform, but a pale green one in the style of a Third Commander. The fact that he was stomping his feet to dislodge the dirt bordered on the ridiculous until it dawned on me that he was using the same blasting function that had freed us from a locked room in the abandoned city of Turlektrad. Alex had recounted the event to my mother a mere half hour ago.
“Try there,” Alex urged, his earlier anger gone. He pulled me close to his side and he watched Coreg while I kept one eye upward in case someone above would throw us a rope. Unlikely, I knew, but everything concerning Plickkentrad was “unlikely.”
Coreg yelled a Klaqin curse—one I’d heard Buddy try—and smashed his foot sideways against the rock wall where there was a crack. The tremors underfoot ceased, but the thudding of fleeing feet above remained. If it was an earthquake—make that klaqinquake—it was over, but if it was a Gleezhian attack—and Marcum’s treaty was definitely broken—we could expect another wave of destruction.
Coreg took one more kick and broke through into a lower level store.
“This part’s still functioning,” he said. He drew his hand along the edges of the opening he’d made then pressed his arm, wrist to shoulder, against one side.
“This is like—” Alex began.
“I know,” I said. He didn’t need to finish. We’d used our bio-materials to punch through a wall before, but I could see that Coreg’s old suit was not working as fast as mine had.
“Let me.” I pushed him aside and he, obviously quite aware that his suit was failing, let me take over. I expanded the opening and stepped through, followed by the guys in their slightly baggy uniforms. I frowned, but kept my fashion advice to myself.
“Are all the walls, the whole city, made of bio-materials?” Alex asked.
Coreg waved us to follow as he answered, “Yes, of course. Plickkentrad is very modern.”
“Well, we better get out of Plickkentrad before it collapses.”
“We are safer down here during an attack.”
“You’re sure it’s an attack?”
Coreg stopped short and gave me a look that said I’m so much smarter than you. “Of course it’s an attack. What else would it be?”
I looked at Alex and knew he was thinking the same thing. Together we said, “A bio-failure.”
***
COREG INTENDED TO take us to his father, the ruler of this crumbling city, and the person he’d visited after purchasing new footwear.
“He won’t be happy to see me again so soon,” he said. “Especially since I’m wearing this.” His whole attitude had changed, but at least he agreed with us that it wasn’t an attack or seismic activity. He’d never heard of tremors or quakes, but he knew all about the delicate balance of bio-dependence, galactic lard and re-animated building materials, or rather bio-materials: bio-rock, raw purlass and bio-metals.
I’d rather have gone topside, found our transport and headed back to my dad and Buddy, but Coreg insisted we’d be safer in the ruler’s thotti.
“Hey, I thought you said there weren’t any thottis in Plickkentrad … and you weren’t going to visit your family.”
He gave a gravelly growl and tisked his tongue, not quite a full cluck. He was such a liar. I didn’t know why we should believe a thing he said.
We made our way out of the lower level store and down a deserted street. I was on constant alert, listening warily for the scuttle of rodent feet or the dry scrape of scales; we were, after all, somewhere unnerving.
We came to an old fashioned Earth-like metal barrier: a gate. Probably it was crawling with electrified bio-things and if we tried to open it or climb over it we’d be fried. Two guards popped out of nowhere, the usual habit here, and relaxed when they saw Coreg, though they laughed at his uniform. He locked thumb rings with one of them and they opened the gate and let us pass. I noticed the pant leg of one guard looked a little too loose and the other guard kept pulling his neck flap up over his nose and mouth and making little sucking sounds.
“Why do people do that?” I asked. “Are they sucking the moisture out of their uniforms?”
Coreg grunted.
We passed under an arch that blew down and across our bodies. The grate we stood on collected the wormy-looking dust and strings of purlass that rolled off us. I figured that was the non-functioning bio-stuff. More came off Alex and Coreg than off me.
“Through there,” Coreg directed. We had to duck, well, the guys did. I was short enough. I ran my fingers through my hair and wondered how I looked. Alex needed a haircut, but he looked okay. Were we going to meet royalty or a politician? And how should I address Coreg’s father? I knew we were related. I reviewed the facts: my grandfather, known as Turlek on this planet and Turlek Langston on Earth, had sons here named Merlig and Covill. They were young children when he left; one of them, Merlig, didn’t have a left arm. Apparently he’d grown up to become Coreg’s father. That was all I knew until Coreg revealed, quite incidentally, that his father was the ruler of Plickkentrad.
All those thoughts evaporated when I saw Uncle Merlig’s thotti. Certainly not a royal palace. This looked far more like a prison than the place my mother was assigned to.
Coreg led us to a private, for lack of a better word, parlor. It was a small, intimate room furnished with four basket-shaped chairs with a short table beside each one. The walls, rock-hard purlass, had a faint blue tinge that made them look like mirrors. I could see my own grotesque reflection, pug-nosed and wide-eyed, a scary creature from another planet. The glassy walls were lined with shelves that held bottles of every size and shape, labeled with pictures of Klaqin flora and fauna. Pechan vines hung from the ceiling around a single light tube. There was no mistaking we were underground. Parlor or not, this was not the least bit homey. The prison vibe came from the bars over the light tube and across the door.
The furniture seemed polished and clean though; the tables held glittery ornaments whether of decoration or scientific use I hadn’t a clue. A large knitting basket full of yarn balls sat in one corner next to a hole in the floor. At least, I thought they were yarn balls until one of them unrolled itself. It leaped out of the basket and ran toward the hole on tiny legs and disappeared.
“Sit,” Coreg said. “We may have to wait awhile.”
At the sound of his voice another yarn ball woke and a cute, bug-eyed creature peered over the lip of the basket.
We sank into the seats and Coreg stared at the fourth chair. Alex wiggled an eyebrow at me. I smiled back to let him know I wasn’t nervous. He rubbed his nose. I rubbed mine. Another furry creature peeked at us and I was on the verge of asking Coreg about the animals when his father stepped into the room.
Somebody time-paced. Probably an automatic response to the imposing figure that entered. Merlig had the same white-white hair as Coreg. Handsome but fuller in the face with burning yellow-flecked eyes beneath bushy white eyebrows. Tall. And no left arm.
I countered the pacing with a bit of bending so I could control my response. Because my response was to jump up and run. I was afraid of this uncle even though he looked amazingly like my grandfather. He wore a garment unlike any I’d seen on this planet. Perhaps it was magnetic, because he had arc-guns and other items stuck to his left side, their handles within easy cross-body reach of his only hand.
Merlig chastised Coreg for wearing a wrongfully appropriated uniform. Coreg lowered his eyes and accepted the harsh words. Then he drew the attention to me.
“Father, this is the time-bender: Selina.”
Merlig looked me over with shrewd, piercing eyes that gave less than an inkling of warmth. I dropped my own then looked toward Alex. Coreg stuttered a cu
rt introduction of Alex who had risen to his feet in the initial pacing, but was stiffly observing Merlig now. Possibly we’d made a mistake alternating our pacing and bending in this small space. I tried to relax, but found myself on my feet and moving toward the yarn basket. The tiny creatures leaped out in slow motion and rolled for the hole in the floor.
“Selina,” Merlig nodded at me. I stopped, realizing I had no idea where I could go. My eyes were on the floor—typical old-style Selina. Shy. Avoiding eye contact. Enduring social anxiety. Feeling inferior. I fully intended to isolate myself … follow the creatures down the rabbit hole …
“Yes, sir.” Well, what I said was hotah. I stopped inching away.
“My son tells me your grandfather is Turlek, my father. You are my niece. Coreg is your cousin.”
“Hotah.” I lifted my gaze. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. But I counted three arc-guns. No, four.
I glanced at Coreg. He was trembling, not pacing.
I swallowed hard and blurted, “There’s a bio-failure. The people of Plickkentrad, the people everywhere in fact, are dehydrating … dying … because they need to eat and drink. My mom’s a nurse; she’s figured it out. We’ll never fight off the Gleezhians until we fix this.”
He sat and motioned us to do the same. There we were, one adult, ruler of a huge city, and three kids—full, half, and quarter-blood Klaqins—discussing the fate of two or three planets. Time-pacing, time-bending, time-stopping, Marcum, Stetl-glet, starvation, refugees, bombings, bio-failures, infiltration plans, resistance fighters, purlass capsules … we covered everything, petted the returning furry friends—animated toys that Coreg had brought home, Merlig told us—and nervously discussed the original plan of creating a new race with my genes and, ahem, Coreg’s or Alex’s. Awkward.
That led me to ask about the resistance leader who I thought was my uncle Esko, well, great-uncle actually, the small, white-haired Klaqin who said he invented the language cabs. Merlig confirmed his identity and admitted that all branches of their family tree had some part in both traditional government and the resistance. They were like a clan of double agents.
Uncle Merlig still frightened me, but I also respected him. He exuded authority and command, not because of what he was wearing, but because of his demeanor and the fact that Coreg humbled himself in his presence.
“I promise,” Merlig said, his one hand mechanically massaging the stump of his missing arm, “to supply food and new clothing to all citizens and to reverse the evacuation. Also your mother and the other Earth people here will be well taken care of.” He paused and spoke directly to Coreg in a lower tone as if we wouldn’t hear. “Of course, I’ll need the First Commanders’ approval before I release them. They may insist they return to Earth.” He made a small contemptuous huff and the intimidating atmosphere got more so.
He locked thumb rings with each of us to give us access to a faster way to our transport.
Before we left his little parlor he took a bottle from the shelf and then four square glasses that resembled beakers with pour spouts. The process of pouring and distributing the drinks was made rather slow and awkward by his missing left arm. He filled his halfway with a pungent blood-red liquid, a little less for each of us. I expected a toast, but in place of clinking glasses Coreg and Merlig held their glasses between their knees, dipped two fingers in and splattered a few drops on their chests. Their uniforms absorbed the red stains. They swallowed the rest in loud gulps.
“Cheers,” Alex mumbled. He splashed more than he wanted to on his front and used his sleeve to blot it up. I skipped this messy part, sniffed the glass—strawberry and lemon?—and drank the whole cup.
I should have expected to feel unsettled drinking who-knows-what in a room with metal bars, attended by a brand new relative and his deplorable son, in an underground city, surrounded by wilderness that was home to unidentifiable elements and strange animals. I could only hope I hadn’t gotten myself engaged to Coreg in some Klaqin ritual. Unsettled, yes, I was definitely unsettled. And intimidated. And now nauseated.
Merlig left the parlor with a strained and uncomfortable goodbye, but not before attempting a stubborn embrace with his son who held his own left arm stiffly down.
As soon as my strange uncle was gone Coreg grabbed three bottles from the shelf and stuffed them down his thigh pouches. Technically we shouldn’t need any more nourishment for a couple double-moons so his action was curious.
We reached our transport by a lateral chute, sort of a sideways elevator. The same lethargic guards stood on patrol, their smocks less silvery and more gray-brown now. Coreg pressed a bottle into the grateful hands of the first one and spent a moment grilling him about who else had entered or left the city while we were inside.
When he finished he turned to us and said, “I have to go back. My father was not entirely truthful.”
Surprise, surprise. It runs in the family. I kept my opinions to myself while Alex quizzed him. Apparently the guard revealed that five First Commanders, assigned to various regions of the planet, had come to Plickkentrad for an important meeting, to be hosted by the city’s leader, dear Uncle Merlig. I rubbed the spot on my hand that had turned red from stupid Klaqin experiments and tried to induce a vision. Who knew, maybe I could see the future at will like I could slow time.
But no. All I could do was remember how I’d nearly been turned into a brood mare. If I thought about it, my hand still ached from that experiment. I wasn’t sure that plan had fizzled out, not after reviewing it in Merlig’s parlor.
I noticed Alex’s fingers searching out mine. I glanced up at him and he hummed three notes—right in the middle of his conversation with Coreg. That’s all it took to settle my stomach and slow my heart.
Coreg grunted. “Wait for me.” He plucked something from the panel of the transport. “In fact, start your time-pacing as soon as I get inside.”
He handed another bottle to the guard and slipped back into Plickkentrad.
“Ready, set, go,” I said and Alex helped me into the transport quick as a wink. I enjoyed the time-pacing for once. We weren’t hiding or fighting or traveling. This was the best way to wait.
Coreg returned in next to no time. He must have been pacing too.
“Well?” Alex prompted as they both allowed time to resume its regular beat.
“They never knew I was there.”
“The parlor?” I asked.
“No, not in the family quarters. They met in the rotun and I observed from a floor duct.”
“And?” Sheesh, he wanted us to drag the information out of him.
“And, little cousin, you are still the key to survival.”
Not what I wanted to hear. Sure, I’d agreed to be given to the Gleezhians since I was the only time-bender—not going to count Buddy—but it was all a part of a scheme. Didn’t they understand plots and schemes? It would be a trick … an illusion.
“The First Commanders have received a final threat from the Gleezhians and they’ve implemented a deadline. We’re going to attack.”
“Okay, that’s good. Attack is good. What about me?”
“If your purlass capsule isn’t ready or if the weapons and defense group haven’t resupplied every fighter starship by the deadline we can’t attack and they’re going to simply hand you over and rather than evacuate to the Edges we’re going to evacuate to Earth.”
“Evacuate to Earth?” I knew my lips were moving with those words, but Alex’s smooth voice was louder and he was repeating the same thought. He continued, “But, your whole population will leave? And us from Earth too?”
Coreg kept his eyes down. “Most. We’re not that numerous any more. We’ll take all the scientists, pilots, farmers, soldiers and officials and leave the sympathizers and refugees. The Gleezhians can have the planet.”
Right. They’ll have the planet and me. Not acceptable.
“That’s crazy.” I squinted at him. He had a bit of stringy purlass caught in his disordered silvery locks. His usually g
reenish yellow complexion burned a deep caramel. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Coreg shook his head in an unconvincing answer, replaced the small metal pin that he’d taken from the transport and pressed his thumb ring into the reader. Nothing happened.
The empty air around us vibrated, the silence filled with dread. Mine. I had to ask, “Coreg, who’s side are you on?”
He took a slow breath. Then another. And a third. Each one was a deliberate effort, debating with himself, I supposed. He changed his grip on the ring, wiped his sweaty fingers on the leg of his uniform and watched the color change. At last he answered, “I’m on your side. Press your rings in. Your transport won’t return to the Academy otherwise.”
I clutched my ring. “What does that mean to you? How are you on my side? We came here to help fight the Gleezhians. We’re on your side.”
I glanced at Alex. It wasn’t like him to be quiet so long. I let the silence lengthen.
A soft cluck preceded a louder one. Coreg lifted his eyes, first to me. “They plan to replace you with your brother. He will go to Gleezhe. You … we … will disappear on the trip back to the Academy. Experiments to follow.” He looked at Alex. “One of us will father a new race.”
What? What? Cue the screamingly loud psycho music.
“But,” Alex said, too calm to be the Alex I knew and loved, “you’re not going to let that happen, right?”
“I’m not. I believe we can mount a successful attack. I thought about it the entire long walk across the land from where you two and Marcum left me stranded.” He pointed at the reader again. “Punch your rings in and get out. The transport will follow the road into the atra region and crash. They’ll find the wreck and figure we were killed by wild xanxes.”
The Time Ender Page 8