For the Love of Gelo! (6 page)

“W
hat in the name of Morool are you saying?” I cried.

“Maybe you forgot your own language because you speak so much hoo-min now,” said Sheln, reverting to its old mispronunciation of the word, “but I'll repeat it one last time: I am now the Chief of the Xotonian Council.”

We stood in a small, cramped office in a public building that had no name. With the Hall of Wonok occupied by Vorem prisoners, this had become the temporary seat of government.

Upon returning from the hangar to Core-of-Rock, I'd proceeded directly here with just one quick detour. I had to tell Hudka about the distress beacon. Plus, if Sheln was attempting some sort of coup, I was going to need my grand-originator to help me stop it. Hudka was a Sheln-buster without equal.

Now Hudka, the humans, and I stood on one side of a raised stone bench. On the other side sat the four remaining members of the Xotonian Council. Behind us stood several members of the city guard, including Eromu. The only person in the room who seemed to be pleased with the situation was Sheln.

“You can't just declare yourself the Chief!” I cried. “We have laws! Kalac's not dead! My originator is on the surface of the new planet! I just heard a distress beacon—”

“Exactly!” said Sheln, interrupting me. “Kalac is absent from Gelo, and we have laws. Loghoz, you're the Custodian of the Council. Please explain.”

Loghoz winced, then unrolled a yellowing sheaf, a page from our ancient legal code. Loghoz read aloud, “If the Chief of the Xotonian Council is absent for an extended period of time, the Provost-General of the Council shall be temporarily elevated to the rank and shall assume all duties and responsibilities as such.”

“And guess who the Provost-General is,” said Sheln, grinning.

“Guano!” cried Hudka. “Kalac beat the ish'kuts off you in the last election for Chief! ‘Provost-General' is just the stupid ceremonial title we give to the loser so that they don't weep themselves to death.”

“I wasn't crying! That was allergies!” snapped Sheln. “And as it turns out, the title of Provost-General is not
completely
ceremonial. You see, for the past few months, I've had a lot of time on my thol'grazes. Time to study the finer points of the Xotonian legal code. I learned some very interesting things. For one, an ‘extended period of time' is defined as three weeks under our law. Can someone refresh my memory: How long has dear Kalac been gone?”

“Three weeks today,” said Dyves glumly.

“But you're the one who wanted Kalac to go down to the surface,” I yelled. “My originator could die down there, you treacherous bag of—” Hollins placed a firm hand on my i'arda to calm me.

“Does meeting. Does of Kalac. Forty-five red sponges? Fat pudding,” said Hollins in Xotonian. The room was silent for a moment.

Sheln continued as if Hollins hadn't spoken. “If Kalac were to perish, Chorkle, we would hold a new election for the position of Chief of Council. But your originator isn't dead. Kalac has merely been ‘absent for an extended period of time.' And that means I'm in charge. And as Eromu has already informed you, my first order of business was to officially declare a state of emergency for all of Core-of-Rock.”

“Shouldn't the rest of the Council vote on something like that?” said Nicki.

“We are at war with the Vorem, are we not?” asked Sheln.

“Oh, I don't know, they seem all right to me,” said Becky, her voice thick with sarcasm.

“Quiet, hoo-min!” said Sheln.

“Look, of course we're at war, mold-brain,” said Hudka. “What's your point, Sheln?”

“Well, I think you will find that, again, according to the law, the Chief of Council may declare a state of emergency
at will
during a time of war. It is one of just two actions that the Chief may take without any imput from the rest of the Council.”

“So you can declare a state of emergency?” said Hudka. “So what?”

“Well, during a state of emergency,” said Sheln, “the Chief of Council has much
broader
powers than usual. It's all in the legal code.” It was practically giggling.

Loghoz sighed. “We've been arguing for hours, Hudka. Believe me, Sheln, er”—here Loghoz looked thoroughly nauseated—“I mean, Chief of the Council seems to have the law on its side. Our thol'grazes are tied until Kalac returns. Or we have . . . another election.” Loghoz was obliquely referring to the possible death of Kalac.

Becky spoke in Xotonian. “Well, what if something were to happen to Sheln?” she said, cracking her knuckles. “Something bad.”

“Very good conjugation,” said Loghoz primly, “but remember to roll your
h
's.” It had momentarily reverted to its role as the humans' XSL teacher.

“What? Don't you correct this duplicate's grammar while she's threatening my life!” shrieked Sheln. “Commissioner of the Guards, please remove the unruly hoo-min from the Council chamber.”

Eromu gave Sheln a confused look. “I don't understand, Chief. I am a captain of the guard. There is no such title as Commissioner.”

“During a state of emergency,” said Sheln, “the Chief of Council may make certain temporary appointments for the greater good. And I have created a leadership position within your force. Allow me to introduce the new Commissioner of the Guards!”

I had a sinking feeling in my z'iuk. Somehow, I already knew who it was going to be. From the back of the room, a huge young Xotonian stepped forward, wearing a look of epic smugness on its ugly face. It was Sheln's offspring, Zenyk, clad in a ridiculous pseudo-military uniform: ill-fitting, brightly colored, and ornate. Practically every centimeter was encrusted with buttons and badges and crystal medals. Did they give out medals for flunking math? Maybe for picking your vel'doc and eating it?

At the sight of Zenyk, Little Gus burst out laughing. Zenyk turned and scowled.

“What?” said Little Gus, speaking Xotonian. “I'm sorry, but you look like a Christmas tree threw up.”

“Careful what you say to me now, hoo-min,” snarled Zenyk.

“Doesn't . . . of punchings,” said Hollins, stepping toward Zenyk.

“That's it,” said Sheln. “All of the hoo-mins must go. They simply can't be controlled. Bunch of filthy two-eyed barbarians.”

“You heard the Chief, Eromu,” snapped Zenyk. “Get them out of here. Now!”

Eromu gave the Council a pained look. It had served under many Councils, and disloyalty and disobedience were against its nature. Still, this was almost too much. “Zenyk,” said Eromu at last, “is just a—a youngling.” There were far worse words that I might have chosen to describe our new Commissioner.

“And haven't younglings proved they are capable of so much recently?” said Sheln with sarcasm. “I believe Zenyk is ready for this responsibility.”

Eromu sighed, then did as it was told, gently leading the human children from the room.

“Hey, what did I do?” asked Nicki.

“You look just like the other one,” said Sheln. And then she was gone. Now there were only Xotonians left in the chamber.

“That's better. No more foreign elements corrupting the political process,” said Sheln. “Of course the state of emergency also means that no one leaves the city without my permission. So your little hoo-min clubhouse is over, Chorkle. Those two-eyed freaks shouldn't be fiddling with our Xotonian starfighters anyway. They're probably sabotaging them—”

“They saved your worthless
butt
with those starfighters!” yelled Hudka, using a human anatomical word for emphasis.

“Worthless
butt
?” repeated Sheln. “Worthless
butt
! I am the Chief of the Council now! I think you will find that my
butt
is quite valuable these days!”

“What?” said Hudka. “Gross.”

“Fine,” I said, struggling to remain calm. “I will grant that my originator has been gone for a while. But that's exactly why we need the starfighters in good working order. I just heard a distress beacon coming from the surface of Kyral. We need to undertake a rescue mission. Kalac, Ornim, Chayl—they could all be in grave danger!”

“Hmm,” said Sheln. “That sounds like a pretty big decision. I think we would need to hold a Grand Conclave to debate something so important. It doesn't seem like a matter that should be decided behind closed doors by the political elite. Everyone should have a chance to weigh in.”

“So then let's have a Grand Conclave already!” I cried.

“Ah,” said Sheln, “you may remember there is a second unilateral power of my new office. Loghoz?”

The Council looked at one another in despair. Loghoz spoke faintly. “Only the Chief of the Council may call a Grand Conclave.”

Now Sheln really did burst out giggling. Everyone stared in silence as its flabby body shook with laughter. I had been struck speechless. In an accomplished lifetime of political dirty tricks, this was Sheln's dirtiest.

“Come on,” said Hudka quietly. “We don't have to listen to this nonsense anymore. Let's go home, Chorkle.” It placed a thol'graz on my i'arda.

“Not so fast,” said Sheln. “I'm afraid the two of you have something I need.”

“Okay, Sheln,” said Hudka, “you can borrow some soap. Honestly, I've been wondering when you were going to ask.”

“Shut your wrinkled gul'orp, or I'll have you jailed for sedition,” snapped Sheln. “From the time of Jalasu Jhuk, each Chief of the Council has been passed down an eight-digit numeric code. I think you know what I'm talking about.”

Indeed, I knew exactly what Sheln was talking about. The code was 9-1-5-6-7-2-3-4. I had memorized it when I saw Kalac punch it into the keypad to open the door of the Vault, the ancient structure where Jalasu Jhuk placed the Q-sik for safekeeping.

“I'm the Chief now, so that means I get the code,” said Sheln. It was speaking very quietly, but there was a crazed look in its eyes. Sheln wanted the Q-sik, our ancient weapon of mass destruction, a device capable of destroying ships, planets, even stars.

“Sorry,” said Hudka. “Don't know where the code is. Wouldn't tell you if I did. Furthermore, might I respectfully suggest that you go jump in a hot pile of slime eels?”

“One more word and I'll throw you in the Hall of Wonok with the Vorem,” said Sheln. Then it turned to me and stared hard. “What about you, Chorkle? Do you know where your originator left the code? Did Kalac give it to you? What is it?”

“Don't know either,” I lied. “But I will confess to being mildly curious as to why you want it. What with Jalasu Jhuk forbidding us from ever opening the Vault and all.”

“Huh,” said Sheln, looking around the room. “Do you see Jalasu Jhuk anywhere around here? Because I don't. And I don't see Kalac either. I run Gelo now, Chorkle. And I want the Q-sik!”

The rest of the Xotonian Council looked horrified.

“To keep it safe, of course,” Sheln added, smiling once more.

“Pretty sure it's safe in the Vault,” I said. And with that I turned and walked out of the Council Chamber.

“I'll get that code,” said Sheln behind me. “One way or another, I'll get that code.”

Sheln proved to be a creature of its word. It had already secretly ordered members of the city guard to search our home for the code during the meeting. By the time we returned through the pitch-black streets of Core-of-Rock, two guards, Nar and Ydevi, were already ransacking the place. They opened drawers, flipped furniture, and rifled through documents. We had to wait outside until they finished. By the end, Hudka really did look ready to do something that would be worthy of jail time.

Thankfully their search came up empty. Kalac kept the code (scrawled on an ancient bit of parchment) hidden on its person at all times. This meant that—for the time being, at least—I was the only Xotonian on Gelo who could open the Vault.

Now we sat in grim silence—the four young humans, Hudka, and I—in the living room of my dwelling. Books, furniture, cookware, all of my family's belongings were strewn about the floor. It was dark, save for the glow of human flashlights.

“Well, that was awesome,” said Becky.

“Dude, I think your government needs more checks and balances,” said Little Gus.

“Is there any way we can change Sheln's mind?” Nicki asked me. “Convince it to call a Grand Conclave after all? If you really did hear the beacon, it means Kalac and the others need our help. Maybe we could appeal to Sheln's conscience?”

At the idea of Sheln's “conscience,” Hudka laughed bitterly. It sometimes understood more human-ese than it let on.

“Sheln won't back down,” said Hollins. “The last thing it wants is for Kalac to return. It would probably rather blow up Gelo than relinquish control.”

“So what choice do we have?” asked Little Gus. “Just wait for Kalac to find a way back to Gelo on its own?”