Wheels (26 page)

Everything about the structure curved, from the two domes that made up the igloo-like frame to the arch of the front entrance and the dozens of portal-like windows scattered throughout. Provost rolled up the front ramp to the double wide front entryway and peered through one of the portals. It was dark inside. If, however, memory served him—and it always did—McKenzie’s grandmother lived with them. Last time he’d seen her she was not doing well mentally or physically, and therefore, she would most likely be home. He reached out to ring the bell…

Right, he thought, dropping his hand. Who did he think would answer? Instead of ringing, he checked the front door, and finding it locked, he followed the sidewalk around to the back of the house.

“Tsootbas!” His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Poonchi kaka!” He shook his head. “Not kaka. Dog dirt! Same thing. A plague on both our planets.” He rolled forward and stopped. Seconds later he’d shed the thin outer layer of skin that covered his roticolar. “Much better!”

Reaching the back of the house, he noticed an open, sliding glass door leading to a patio. McKenzie’s Grandmother sat smack in the middle of it, her wheelchair blocking the door, except for a few inches on either side of her wheelchair. Provost scanned the rest of the house looking for another way to enter, such as an open window or a side door, but saw nothing. He rolled closer.

The old woman’s mouth hung open in that most unattractive way mouths do when you forget about them. Her blue-gray eyes stared into the distance as if she’d been daydreaming. Provost took a moment to study her. The same silent reflection would echo repeatedly for 365 days, though to her it would seem only an instant. All those other moments, he thought, the lost year, the missed seconds—what would happen to them?

He made a mental note to give the phenomenon further study and rolled closer. Principal Provost had met McKenzie’s grandmother six months ago and thought she’d looked confused and tired. McKenzie’s relationship with her had seemed complicated, shifting between a loving granddaughter, embarrassed teen and frustrated caretaker. As aged as the grandmother appeared then, she seemed even older now.

Upon closer observation, her expression appeared not to be so much one of reflection as bewilderment, as if she’d forgotten why she rolled into the doorway.

Moving as close to her as possible, he closed his eyes, took three, slow, measured breaths and expanded his bubble of present time.

“Good afternoon!”

McKenzie’s grandmother stared at the stranger before her. Her eyes glazed as if she thought he might be a dream or…some forgotten bit of memory that would surely come to her if she would just be patient enough.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” said Principal Provost carefully locking her eyes with his own so her eyes would not wander down to his roticolar. “No one answered the front door, so I thought I would check around back.”

The old woman’s glazed look began to fade as it was replaced by fear. Provost needed to think quickly.

“I’m afraid I need to talk to you concerning McKenzie, your granddaughter. She’s gotten herself into trouble again; racing down the school hallway with that boy, Rudy Hayes.”

“Oh dear.” At the mention of McKenzie’s name, the old woman’s face registered instant recognition. “I don’t know why she always has to race that boy. He is handsome though, don’t you agree? Reminds me of a young Will—”

“Perhaps we should go inside. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill on my account.”

“How thoughtful of you,” she said, but did not move. “What did you say your name was? I’m afraid I’m a tad forgetful these days.”

“Forgive me, we spoke briefly at the Open House last September; of course you don’t remember me. I’m Principal Provost.”

McKenzie’s grandmother smiled “Of course I remember you, Principal…”

“Provost.”

“Ah yes…” She stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Then, as if repeating a phrase she’d used many times before, said, “I’m sorry our McKenzie is such trouble. She lost her mother in a terrible car crash, you know. Never quite got over it.” McKenzie’s grandmother rubbed her hands together and looked away, her eyes filling with tears, “I should have been—”

“Shall we?” Principal Provost gestured towards the living room.

“What? Oh yes…yes. Of course,” she said, her old hand fumbling for some switch or other on her armrest. Provost feared she’d look down, but suddenly the old woman smiled, having found the switch, and began backing up. Principal Provost followed closely, careful to protect their bubble of present time.

“Mrs.?”

“It’s Mrs. Madison, but you must call me Grandma Mir, everyone else does.”

“Grandma Mir—”

“Mir is short for Miracle, an old family name. The first Miracle was born in 1907. She went by her middle name, Renée. Renée Miracle Anderson. Never did use Miracle, perhaps afraid it was too much to live up too.”

Provost attempted, for what he hoped, was a charming smile. “Grandma Mir, could I bother you for a glass of water?”

Grandma Mir looked confused, as if he’d asked for the water in Swahili. A second later, however, she smiled and turned towards the kitchen.

Provost closed his eyes and began taking three—

“Young man?”

His eyes flew open. “Huh?”

“May I show you my collection of glass orbs? They’re paperweights, you know, but I like to think of them as orbs. They’ve been passed down for generations. Some of them are very old and most unusual.” She chuckled. “Like me.” Grandma Mir pointed towards a dusty curio cabinet in the corner of the living room. Despite the drabness of the cabinet, the orbs sparkled.

As soon as she turned, Principal Provost closed his eyes again and took three, not-quite-so-slowly-this-time, deep breaths. As Grandma Mir’s arm reached out, ready to point out her favorite orb, he withdrew his bubble of present time.

When the time disrupters wore off, Grandma Mir would turn, expecting to see a look of wonderment on the nice principal’s face. After which she would probably sigh, feeling slightly disappointed, and assume she’d dozed off again.

At least now her expression is more agreeable.

As soon as his bubble of present time was stable, Provost began his search. Photos, books, anything that might give him a clue as to the whereabouts of his old mentor. If McKenzie was the Corona-Soter, it followed that Petré T. Revolvos was in some way connected with the Wu family. What else could explain McKenzie’s apparent ability to particle-weave?

Three hours later, he’d gone through every photo album, drawer, the bedroom, attic and garage, and was beginning to think he’d left his well-developed instincts back on Circanthos. Through information gathered in his search, he now knew where McKenzie’s father worked and that James Wu had taken out patents on several
interesting
inventions. Moreover, he discovered that McKenzie had the unfortunate luck to inherit her Grandmother’s inability to keep house. There was barely enough room to navigate his sphere through her bedroom, let alone a wheelchair.

He was leaving what he surmised must have been James Wu’s bedroom, when he happened to glance into the hallway bathroom. Decorated in faded burgundy and white Victorian-style wallpaper, it held two items worth noticing. First, and for his own immediate reasons, the toilet and second, in what was probably another dead-end, two photographs hanging on the wall. As Provost moved into the bathroom, the overhead light turned on, temporarily blinding him. As his vision cleared, he found himself staring at two vintage, hand-tinted, black and white photos. The first was of no consequence, a young child twirling an umbrella. But the second…! “Ahhhh” murmured Provost, feeling like a man who had finally arrived home after a very,
very,
long journey. The second photo was of a young man, his wife and their child posed in stiff Victorian fashion. The wife, a statuesque redhead—or, at least, whoever had tinted the photo had made her a redhead—stood behind the man, who sat proudly holding a child upon his lap. Principal Provost smiled. Apart from the wheelchair, the man looked exactly as Provost remembered. Thick wavy hair framing a face whose most startling features included sparkling, lapis-blue eyes—tinted the wrong shade of blue in this case—and a chin, almost Tsendi-like in prominence. The man in the wheelchair was Petré T. Revolvos of the planet Circanthos, Provost’s mentor and the very reason he was here. What’s more, McKenzie Wu resembled the woman to such a degree, there could be but one conclusion—somewhere near the turn of the 19th century, over one hundred Earth-years ago, Revolvos had mated with a human. Provost’s instincts had finally paid off. He now understood why Revolvos had not returned to Circanthos and why McKenzie could particle-weave.

Principal Provost made some quick calculations. If his assumptions were correct, Revolvos was McKenzie’s great-great grandfather. Four generations removed; four to complete the cycle. McKenzie was the first human born with particle-weaving fully integrated into the four quadrants of her brain. Concentric, help us, he thought, unconsciously reaching up to rub his right eyebrow, there can be no doubt; McKenzie Wu is the Wheeled Warrior.

She is the Corona-Soter!

Chapter 31

FBI TRANSCRIPT 21201

Agent Wink Krumm and McKenzie Wu
Tuesday, June 2nd

KRUMM
: Let’s cut to the chase. I want my phone, my personal log and the diary.

M. WU
: I don’t know—

KRUMM
: “what you’re talking about.” Perhaps I can help. Your father’s company, Sphaera Technologies, I’ve been doing some investigation—

M. WU
: Into a wheelchair factory?

KRUMM
: As I was saying, your father was working on a “top-secret” project. If it is, as you say, only a wheelchair factory—why top secret?

M. WU:
I think you should leave my dad alone.

KRUMM
: I might be willing to consider your request…
if
you consider mine.

M. WU
: I can’t give you something I don’t have.

KRUMM
: Did I mention your friend, Hayes?

M. WU
: Leave him out of this.

KRUMM
: There’s a little matter of a pet—a poonchi to be exact.

M. WU
: Charlie—

KRUMM
: Soooo, the poonchi has a name.

M. WU
: I meant, Charlie the poonchi from my uncle’s book.

KRUMM
: Miss Wu, all it takes is one slip…
one
little slip. There’s bound to be more you know. All I have to do now is…
wait!

***

SURPRISE VISITS TIMES TWO

Monday, March 16th

A
t the precise moment Principal Provost recognized his old mentor in the photo hanging above the toilet, seven miles away in the basement lab of SPHAERA Technologies, McKenzie’s father, James Wu, found himself staring into the live, though much older, version of the very same man.

One moment, James Wu was working alone in the subbasement laboratory of SPHAERA Technologies. The next moment, he was staring into the eyes of an old man, sitting on top of a large spherical object.

“How did—?”

“Hello, James,” said the old man.

“I know you?”

“You know
of
me. I own this company. That’s my invention you’re holding.”

James Wu looked down. He’d forgotten about the object in his hands; an invention, not of his own design, but one he’d been assigned to work on by the mysterious owner of SPHAERA Technologies. He’d just completed the prototype. In fact, until the moment when he’d glanced up, it had so absorbed him that he had not even heard the stranger arrive. Or at least…it seemed the only reasonable explanation for the man’s sudden appearance.

“The cortext!” exclaimed James. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it’s for and I’m
this
close to doing so. What’s more, and please don’t tell anyone, I’ve added an element that I believe will make it work more efficiently…whatever it is.”

The stranger’s eyes widened. “Will it now, and what would that be?”

James smiled. He’d been dying to share his secret with someone. “Nanotubes! I used carbon-nanotube photonic wires instead of gold.”

“Nanotubes…I hadn’t thought of that. No wonder you needed extra funds.”

James Wu looked at the stranger with renewed interest until slowly it dawned on him, “You’re Professor R!”

“At your service.”

“The meeting!” James had forgotten about the meeting. He looked at his watch. “You’re early.”

“I am.”

“Well, no matter,” said James. “I’ve finished the prototype. I believe the nanotubes will enhance the amplification. That
is
what it’s for?”

“Yes, James.”

“Not only will they strengthen the amplification, they’ll make the pitch truer.”

“Oh, I hope so. At my age, that would come in handy.”

Up to this moment, James had been staring excitedly into the Professor’s face, now his attention shifted. His gaze traveled down to the Professor’s feet, or rather, to the place where his feet should have been.

James couldn’t help himself; his eyes widened, his mouth twisted one way then the other and a feeling of intense, almost painful curiosity overcame him. Unconsciously, he handed the cortext to the Professor and knelt down to take a closer look.

“It appears to be organic,” he murmured. “Professor R—” But that was as far as he got, for at the same moment James chose to stand up, the Professor chose to lean forward. James’ head crashed into the Professor’s chest, sending Professor R. reeling backwards and himself, sprawling to the floor. As James landed, his elbow crashed into the Professor’s large spherical appendage. The old man emitted a loud, ear-piercing scream, leaned forward, lost his balance, his hold on the cortext and—everything went blank.