Wheels (14 page)

“…could no longer particle-weave.”

A collective sigh escaped the Circanthians. Several more excused themselves and left the table.

“Then, more Circanthians began to disappear.”

McKenzie’s ears began to throb with the sound of her heartbeat. Unable to bare the sadness in Pietas’ eyes, she too, found herself staring at her plate. H.G. Wells was a monster, maybe even a human one. Worse, all too human herself, McKenzie feared she was not the savior Pietas wanted or needed.

“Mac, you okay?” Hayes put his hand on her arm.

“…and, those who returned to the Gathering,” continued Pietas, “taught us the Earth language, but then ultimately returned to the forest, begging like poonchi for something only Wells could provide. Choosing slow death by starvation, rather than return home.”

“Sounds familiar,” murmured Hayes, his hand slipping from McKenzie’s arm.

McKenzie forgot about the Circanthians and looked at Hayes. It suddenly occurred to her that possibly the strangest part of this journey hadn’t been the blue trees or the aliens, but Hayes. Before today, she’d known nothing about him. Not really. If she’d had to describe him, she would have said he was cocky and good-looking…funny, too. However, Hayes was much more than that, and right now, he looked like the little boy she’d seen in the particle stream. The boy whose parents had chosen drugs rather than be a family to him. McKenzie reached out to touch his arm—then stopped. Just as she had secrets…Hayes, she was sure, would want this to be one of his.

“The Earth language was not difficult to learn,” said Pietas. “As you may have noticed, there is an unusually strong resemblance between our two languages.

McKenzie’s stomach was full and her head ached. Wherever this planet was, it couldn’t be anywhere near Earth—anywhere near the Earth’s solar system.

“If Wells is human…I mean, if he traveled here and we traveled here, there must be other humans that can particle-weave.” McKenzie wasn’t asking, she was simply voicing her thoughts. Trying to find some logic for their presence.

“H.G. Wells cannot particle-weave,” said Pietas. “He arrived in something he refers to as The Gate. I know of no other human visitors beside H.G. Wells and yourselves.”

McKenzie felt an odd tingling in the back of her brain, like a memory bursting to come forth.

Pietas pointed to Hayes’ chin and smiled. “Mosrack.”

The tension relaxed and the remaining Circanthians began chatting, updating Pietas, and for the most part, ignoring the humans. Hayes was busy eating; and McKenzie, try as she might, could not remember whatever it was that had felt so important. After a few more bites, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

Someone was telling Pietas that an old friend of hers had returned to the Gathering. Beyond that, the news did not sound good. There was much talk of the tremos and of how frequently they were occurring. From the sound of it, this was the last Circanthian Gathering on the planet.

“Mac, you don’t look so good.” Hayes had another glob of mosrack hanging from his chin.

“You should talk,” she said.

“Humans,” said a pale-white Circanthian boy standing behind them, holding a plate of yellow spotted noodles (at least McKenzie thought they were noodles), “would you like more?”

Hayes stared at him, tongue-tied. “No, thank you,” McKenzie murmured. The boy had reminded her of something: a question so important, the answer could change everything! “Pietas?”

“Yes dear?” Pietas stretched and yawned so long and loudly, McKenzie could hardly keep from laughing. It was a good thing, for it gave her time enough to realize she needed to be alone with Pietas when she heard the answer.

“Never mind.” McKenzie glanced at Hayes. His eyes were already half-closed. She yawned. Her question would have to wait.

Chapter 17

DIARY OF JULIANNE WELLS

London, England 1896
continued: Now, dear diary, I must pause…

As I look back over your pages, it would appear my story has all of the makings of a work of horror; a fair maiden, face-to-face with a monster worthy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Indeed, should you have questioned me at that very moment, that is exactly how I would have described it—or perhaps, I would have suggested Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, my brother playing the part of both creator and monster. Before I am through, however, you will see that my story is not horror, but rather, both romance and science—though none of it fiction.

The form that materialized before me was not my brother, nor an abomination, but Petré T. Revolvos from the planet Circanthos, soon to be known to all human associates outside myself as Peter R. Anderson. The very same being—the man—with whom I would agree to give my hand in marriage (if all went well), only six months from the moment I first set eyes upon him.

Even now, as the clock strikes twelve, my wedding day arrives.

The rest of my story must wait. It will be an accounting of the events that led me (staid, proper, and certainly not impulsive) to attempt the act of marriage to a being from another planet. An act, be it folly or not, which will take place nine short hours from now.

We leave London directly following the ceremony and you, Dear Diary, shall remain safely hidden away until we reach our destination. My beloved’s identity must remain a secret if he is to have any peace at all while upon our planet. We have found the perfect disguise for him, and with any luck, shall build a new life together in America.

“The course of true love never did run smooth…” Yet, may our most unconventional of unions prove thou greatest of all bards false, and deliver us safely to the shores of a New World.

Julianne Renée Wells

***

WHERE IN THE WORLD IS PROFESSOR REVOLVOS?

Monday, March 16th
Earth / Reeves Airport

“
P
rofessor! What did I say? Do not lift dat. You much, much too old.”

“Interfering old savage.” Professor Revolvos grabbed the handle of his oversized suitcase, and without as much as a grunt or a groan, swung it onto his lap. “Don’t talk to me about being old. I have been old far longer than you. Almost three hundred Earth-years longer, to be exact.”

“Please, Professor, you making picture of yourself.”

“A spectacle, Roony. Great Creator! You manage to speak Rapanui and Uzbek well enough, you’d think you could manage proper English.”

Roony gave a loud, disgusted, “Harrumph.”

Revolvos smiled. Cherish these moments, he reminded himself, for they were swiftly coming to an end.

“Roony, old man, bring the van around. I’ve arranged to have it left in parking lot A, next to the elevator.”

 “One of deez days,” Roony muttered, picking up the last piece of luggage, “I’s going to write my life story:
My Life Wit’ An Alien.
It’s going to be a tragedy!” 

Revolvos watched his old friend hobble towards the elevators. “Do
try
not to have a heart attack on your way to the garage,” he shouted. “I’ll meet you out front.”

“Thank you for using Reeves Airport,” droned an electronic voice as Revolvos rolled out the exit.

Revolvos and Roony had left New Zealand twenty hours earlier, landed in LAX and transferred to a smaller jet. Reeves was a small airport, used by only a few other travel-weary passengers who, like Revolvos, were waiting to be picked up.

Reeves Airport
, thought
Revolvos. The last time he’d flown here had been to attend a funeral—
Georgianna’s, poor girl!
Then, as it had been for the last sixty or so years, his presence had been a secret. Not even a blip on the map.

Swinging the suitcase off his lap, he prepared for a long wait. Roony was slower these days. It pained Revolvos to see how fragile the man looked. He sighed. Years ago, necessity had driven him to find an assistant, someone who could help him navigate through wheelchair unfriendly countries. More important, someone he could trust to keep his alien identity a secret. Life in a wheelchair had been even more restrictive back then. Fortunately, he’d found Joe Roony; a scraggly teen living on the streets trying to make a living hawking overpriced, imitation Rolex watches. Worse yet, attempting to sell them to a generation who no longer wore watches.

Wasn’t he surprised when I showed him a real Rolex.

Suspicious at first, Roony had been overwhelmed by the amount of money Revolvos offered to pay him to be his assistant and to keep, as he explained, one little secret.

Revolvos smiled.

The secret had turned out not to be so little, but by the time Roony discovered that Revolvos was an alien—not from another country, but from another planet—they’d been fighting like family for months.

Roony old man, what am I going to do? This is not going to be easy, but the thought of replacing you is too much for this ancient Circanthian. I want to go home. I want to stop pretending to be human and hop out of this confounded chair!
Revolvos closed his eyes. A vision of sparkling blue water flooded his senses. “Tsootbas!” he moaned. “I need to see the Lapis Sea one more time before I die.” As he’d done many times over the past few days—over the past few hours—he reached into the inside pocket of his vest and removed a well-worn piece of paper.

From: JWu <
[email protected]
>

Subject: James Wu, SPHAERA TECHNOLOGIES

To: Professor R.

Greetings Professor,

I am truly excited to be meeting SPHAERA TECHNOLOGIES’ most illustrious, dare I say, mysterious absentee owner, and am pleasantly thrilled to report that everything you’ve requested is in place. Although difficult at times, I have managed to maintain complete secrecy on “project C.” Your help in obtaining the Australian crystals was most appreciated. However, my request for two pounds of titanium did not go unquestioned by upper management, despite your letter to them. I suspect it was a slap in their egos that you should contact me directly.

Now, I must confess, though thoroughly intrigued by “project C”, I trust when you arrive that you will be good enough to shed some light on the project. Until then…

Below are the directions you requested as well as the location where you will find me at 4:00 pm on the day of your arrival. I am quite famous for my scenic shortcuts, and this one should cut at least ten minutes off your travel time while affording you a wonderful view of the mountains surrounding our little valley.

As requested, I am keeping “mum” about your upcoming visit.

Confidentially yours,

James Wu

SPHAERA TECHNOLOGIES

Revolvos studied the directions, then returned the note to his pocket. Though eccentric, James Wu was an undeniable genius. More important, he’d married Revolvos’ great granddaughter, Georgianna René. Wu was one-in-a-million, and his marriage to Georgianna was most fortuitous. Without that connection, Revolvos might never have found a human capable of completing his project.

Ah yes, Georgianna…
Revolvos frowned, remembering a less fortuitous event: the car accident that killed Georgianna and left her young daughter paralyzed.

Blast it! Where is Roony? Doesn’t he realize how precious time is?

Revolvos shook his head. Of course he didn’t. Roony would need to have lived at least three hundred years to comprehend that amount of regret. For all the time wasted, for all the people he had never had time to know. For all of it—all three hundred plus loonocks of it coming so quickly to a close.

Revolvos pulled out his phone, clicked open the browser and stared at the photo below the webline:
Avondale Warriors Favored to Win Conference.
It was a photo of the Warrior’s star player. Each time Revolvos looked at it…each time he saw the wild, curly red hair; the strong, yet graceful aquiline nose; the emerald green eyes, which though strikingly Asian, reminded him of her—he had to remind himself it wasn’t Julianne. It was their great-great granddaughter, McKenzie. Who, like her mother, Georgianna, he’d never met.

He and Julianne had had only one child, a girl, who in turn had produced one child, a girl, and so on—no more than one child per generation, all very Circanthian-like. Fortunately, each child was human-like in both appearance, with legs being a dominant trait, and life expectancy. Moreover, none of them had shown even the slightest ability to particle-weave. As blending in with society had not been an issue, Julianne and Revolvos had chosen to keep his alien origin a secret from the family. The one thing he could not hide, however, was his extended lifespan. Shortly after Julianne passed away, Revolvos faked his own death and disappeared. Discarding the name Anderson, he returned to his own name, Revolvos. After earning several scientific degrees along the way, he added the title of Professor to his credentials.

Revolvos noticed his heart racing and took several deep breaths. Decades on Earth had weakened him not only physically but also mentally. Lately, it seemed, his emotions were dangerously close to the surface. Though his purpose in traveling to America was to meet with James Wu, for some human-like, certainly irrational reason, he hoped to meet McKenzie, as well. In addition, there was that blasted dream. It had to be a dream. After all this time—Bewfordios Provost, here on Earth?

 “Professor!”

“Coming, my good man.”

Minutes later they were off to visit SPHAERA TECHNOLOGIES, the newest and one of several American Companies he owned—all under yet another pseudonym, Professor R.

Revolvos stared out the window, half lost in thought, half drinking in the sites and sounds of everything around him. He was as eager and anxious as a soldier returning from war; excited, but also afraid to go home.

The fact that SPHAERA TECHNOLOGIES had produced some of the most innovative, handicapable accessories of the last ten years was reason enough for its absentee owner to return for a closer inspection. Revolvos, however, had no intention of touring his company, or for that matter, making his presence known.