Wheels (25 page)

“Is this true,” Pietas asked, “what you tell me—are all humans like this?”

McKenzie shook her head. Pietas was equating her to H.G. Wells. Oh God—no, she wasn’t like him. “It was a mistake. I was only five-years-old and cold…so cold.” The tears were flowing so hard and fast McKenzie could hardly speak. “So, I made it hot. Burning!” she cried. “Then I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. And I couldn’t open the window, so I made a hole…I made a hole, Pietas—in my MOM! And I couldn’t…I couldn’t—fix it! She begged me to stop and I’m so sorry because it was so hot and it was all my fault because we were driving toward a tree and—”

“Don’t—please. You don’t need to say anymore.”

“I thought it was a dream.” McKenzie brushed the sticky, wet curls away from her cheeks. “But it wasn’t, was it. I’m like that boy, Charis. And if I could, I would go back. I would go back and never be.”

Suddenly a blanket of warmth enfolded itself around her, protecting her, comforting her; McKenzie found herself wrapped in Pietas’ embrace. Too tired to resist, she laid her head against Pietas’ shoulder. Streams of tears flowed out, splashed onto the ground and followed the stream into the Lapis Sea. They remained like that until Locent san slid into place; then Pietas led McKenzie to the stream.

“Wash your face,” she said gently, “We have work to do.”

Chapter 29

FBI TRANSCRIPT 21205

Agent Wink Krumm and James Wu
Thursday, May 28th

J. WU
: Are we going to talk about spaceships and little green men today? I’m in a hurry, we’re nearing some very exciting technological breakthroughs.

KRUMM
: Enlighten me.

J. WU
: Robotics—legs to be exact!

KRUMM
: Chairs with legs?

J. WU
: Exactly! Robots have been walking for years. What’s more, learning to walk over all types of terrain. We’re simply extending this same technology to chairs.

KRUMM
: Your daughter must be quite excited about this.

J. WU
: McKenzie? No really. She loves her wheels. She loves basketball—I can’t even get her to use one of our J-23’s.

KRUMM
: Funny, isn’t it…that she’s so attached to her wheels.

J. WU
: You wouldn’t think it funny if you saw her play basketball.

KRUMM
: But I have seen her.

J. WU
: What? You’ve been spying on my daughter? Stay away from her Krumm or I’ll—

KRUMM
: What? According to my sources, wheelchairs are only a small portion of what’s being developed at Sphaera Technologies.

J. WU
: Your sources—

KRUMM
: Are impeccable. There were requisitions, it seems. Special orders signed by the absentee owner …

***

HOOP DREAMS & TSOOTBALLS

Wednesday, March 18th
Circanthos

“
W
hat do you feel?”

“Feel? I don’t know…how about stupid? I’ve been trying to visualize a pole but all I get is a taller, thinner version of the same dumb tree.” McKenzie moaned. “
Why
does it always happen when I’m
not
trying?”

“Why are you attempting to change the tree into a pole?”

“I don’t know?” McKenzie glared at Pietas. “This is a waste of time. I should be making plans to rescue Hayes.”

“Your best hope for saving Hayes rests in the ability to control your particle-weaving. Think, McKenzie. What is different in your attempts at particle-weaving now versus the other times, when you were not trying?”

“Isn’t the point to just change it? You’re telling me not to try so hard?”

“I’m asking you to THINK—don’t guess!”

McKenzie slumped lower into her chair; one hand wiping the sweat from her brow, while the other twisted a stray curl. After staring at the same tree for hours, she wasn’t sure she had a brain left with which to think. “When I wasn’t trying, it worked—sort of—but it always went haywire, crazy. That’s the only thing I can think of.”

“Think harder!”

“I AM! You’re the one who says it takes loonocks to teach young ones to particle-weave. How am I suppose to master it in one day?”

 Pietas sighed. “You know how to particle-weave. You’ve already woven objects many Circanthians might never accomplish; the giant fist, for instance. You’ve also traversed a portal across the universe and come out in one piece. Dragging Hayes along with you, I might add.”

“Two shining examples!” snapped McKenzie. “Let’s see, whose life can I ruin next?”

“McKenzie—”

“I shouldn’t be doing this. Why teach me to particle-weave when you’ll never be able to teach me to control my emotions? I’m human. I’m an emotional time bomb. A particle-weaving nuclear holocaust waiting to happen!”

Pietas’ only reaction was to remain annoyingly calm. Then she did something totally unexpected. She smiled. “Very well, then please explain how you stopped yourself from particle-weaving for what—almost nine Earth-years?”

“I didn’t. Or…I don’t know?” McKenzie had never thought of it that way. “Maybe I’m not like Charis.”

“I’m not sure what you are, except it seems to me the problem isn’t controlling your emotions or that you can’t particle-weave. You seem to be capable of doing both surprisingly well. The problem isn’t
if
you’re capable, the problem is
when
.”

McKenzie frowned. Had she subconsciously stopped herself from particle-weaving after the accident? If so, could she do it again?

“McKenzie?”

“Huh?

“’When’ is the problem!” said Pietas, sounding almost excited.

“Right. So, we should start with my emotions. If I can control my emotions—even though I’m
only
human—I can stop myself from particle-weaving.”

“Perhaps. But as you are already particle-weaving, I believe it is best to know how you are doing it. If you know how to particle-weave then, of course, you should know how to do the opposite.”

“How not to?”

“Precisely,” Pietas smiled. “Furthermore, I fear I do not have the time to instruct you on emotions.”

“I hate to admit it…” And without realizing it, McKenzie found herself smiling too, “but I think you might be right. Only, it’s been hours and I’m still no closer to knowing how to particle-weave on demand.”

 “No? When you were in the portal, what did you want, McKenzie? More than anything else at that moment, what did you desire?”

“A pizza.”

“Harrumph!” Pietas might not have known what a pizza was, but she had clearly understood McKenzie’s tone. “Tell me, are all young humans as lazy as you?”

McKenzie had been twisting a piece of hair around her finger and now the tip was beginning to tingle. “I don’t know,” she moaned. “To get out of that cosmic recycling bin in one piece. That’s what I wanted—I guess.”

“Ahhh!” said Pietas. “And why do you want to change the tree into a pole?”

“Geezits-louizits! I don’t care if it’s a pole or a—OH!” The hair unwound from around McKenzie’s finger and fell, forgotten, by the side of her face. “OH—oh, oh, oh!” she repeated, sitting up straighter.

“Exactly!” Pietas honored McKenzie with one of her huge, eye-squashing smiles.

McKenzie turned to the tree. After examining the layout of the clearing, she settled on a different tree located a few feet away. A tall tree, with a clean straight trunk, few branches and leaves, located midway between the two corners farthest from the water. “What I need,” she whispered, “is something to take my mind off all my troubles.”

Then, exactly as Pietas had taught her, McKenzie closed her eyes and took three slow, deep breaths. With surprising speed, the tree took on a light, transparent appearance as molecules that had once joined to make the trunk, leaves and limbs began to shift and separate. The temperature around the tree shot up as particles began spinning and dancing to new rhythms, moving to tunes McKenzie wove with remarkable purpose. As the beat slowed, particles joined with particles, creating new shapes and colors. The temperature dropped and a new form emerged.

“There!” McKenzie grinned, thoroughly drained. “No wonder my other attempts always ended in chaos. Particles, like humans, don’t like change.”

Pietas nodded her head appreciatively. “You are an excellent student. One might inquire, though…what is it?”

“A hoop.” McKenzie shot an invisible ball into the air. “For basketball. All I need now is a court.” She looked around as if planning to redecorate. “And then, I guess, a basketball.”

“Would this basketball be something that you toss into the hoop?”

“Very good, Pietas, you too are an excellent student.”

Pietas looked confused.

“That was a joke.”

“Oh.” Pietas’ lips inched into a smile. “I believe I can get you a basketball, or something similar. She held her hands out as if, indeed, holding a basketball. “And without particle-weaving.”

“Really?”

Pietas nodded.

“Yowza!” Aliens were one thing. Basketball playing aliens…that was just too weird. “Does it bounce?” McKenzie pretended to dribble a basketball.

“Of course. Though you need a firm surface in order to bounce a pilas.”

“Pilas?”

“A basketball,” said Pietas, “made from the knob of a cocombaca tree, covered in paest, what you know as tsootbas spit, then covered with cocombaca leaves and sealed with a final layer of paest. Paest is what gives our pilas what you call bounce. They use them in
tsoot
competitions. Soliis used to be fond of saying, ‘You either play tsoot, watch tsoot or talk tsoot.’ I enjoy tsoot, though I’m afraid I’m much too old to play it.”

“I could play it.”

“I’m afraid tsoot has not been played in our Gathering for many loonocks.” The excitement in Pietas’ voice seemed to fade. She gazed off into the distance, as if needing time to collect herself. When she spoke again, it was with a tinge of sadness. “I will take you to the old tsoot court, you may find its surface sufficient for this game of…?”

“Basketball.”

Pietas smiled. “Ah yes. I remember now. You are the star.”

McKenzie looked at her hoop. It had begun to waver and lose form. “We have a game this Saturday. My team can’t…well, they’ll have a hard time winning without me.”

“I have been thinking about that,” said Pietas, “about getting you home.” Their eyes met, but Pietas quickly looked away. “Particle-weaving to another side of the planet is one thing, weaving to an entirely different star system is beyond anyone’s ability—without a cortext, that is. I need to speak with Soliis.”

“Why?”

“Locent san is with us for only a while longer, I believe our time is best spent in more particle-weaving practice—wouldn’t you agree?”

McKenzie looked at her hoop. It was a tree again. In only a short time, she’d have to face Wells. Failure wasn’t an option. She threw back her shoulders, took three slow, deep breaths and began to particle-weave.

********

Thank Concentric, Pietas thought. Rescuing Hayes was one thing. Helping them get home—Pietas was suddenly distracted by a small flickvik hovering about her head—would be quite another.

Chapter 30

FBI TRANSCRIPT 21204

Agent Wink Krumm and H.G. Wells
Thursday, May 28th

KRUMM
: I have a theory.

WELLS
: Theories—Bah! I’ve enough to worry about, Krumm…cell phones and computers! Do you realize I’ve aged twenty years in the last two months! Can’t even cross the street without one of those confounded automobiles chasing me.

KRUMM
: My theory is that Principal Provost and your niece are just the tip of the iceberg. I believe there are other Circanthians on Earth. You mentioned many of them had…
disappeared
.

WELLS
: A few. Thought they were dead, then they were back. Never trust Tsendi intelligence.

KRUMM
: Exactly!

WELLS
: You may have a point. Indeed, probably other Circanthians, missing for loonocks, dead, but not dead—on Earth. A master plan to take over the planet and I their pawn! Now wouldn’t that make a great book!

KRUMM
: I believe we can help each other. I had proof: a diary written by Julianne Wells.

WELLS
: My sister?

KRUMM
: Yes. Your great-great-great niece, McKenzie, stole it from me. If you could get that back, I might be able to enlist the government’s—

WELLS
: Now hold on, Krumm. I’m an old man who’s getting older by the minute. You’re an agent of the government. Uncovering an alien invasion could make your career—but what about me? Chances are I won’t live long enough to see Circanthians cause any trouble. Bottom line: what’s in it for me, Krumm? What’s in it for me!

***

SURPRISE VISITS

Monday, March 16th
Earth

“
B
last it all!”

Principal Provost had spent the last thirty minutes weaving his way between cars filled with humans frozen in the act of picking their nose, scratching their head, plucking their eyebrows, texting, eating—you name it, he’d seen it—everything, except looking at the road.

“It’s amazing their species survives at all,” he muttered.

He turned the corner onto a wide, tree-lined street, considered part of Old Avondale. 313 Joshua Drive turned out to be the last house on the block. Principal Provost stared at it, impressed and—surprised. While the Wu house was a ranch style, like most of the other houses on the block, it was far from typical. Words like earth shelter, igloo, even spaceship came to mind.

“Papercrete! I told those snooty old Victorian school board members that papercrete would be perfect in this environment.”