Wheels (36 page)

There were a few minor differences, of course. Tsoot only had one hoop and it was in the center of the court…or rather, the pit. Also, the court was sunk. No biggie.

The hoop itself was a tall pole with a circle on top of it. Kind of like the goal they used in that game that was a huge favorite with the geeks and nerds. The one that involved running around the field on broomsticks pretending you could fly. Frankly, McKenzie couldn’t see the point. Pretending, that is. She liked real physical contact. Real games. Like basketball…and tsoot.

Anyway, over the past twenty-four, twenty-six hours (Who could tell on a planet with two suns) she’d not only learned the basics of tsoot, but Abacis had put her to work particle-weaving a tsoot pit so that they could practice in the cave. McKenzie had barely slept, but she wasn’t a bit tired. And now they were back at Wells’ compound and the official game, the Olt-tsoot game—she shuddered—had begun.

What the…? There they go again!

Hayes was sitting on the other side of the court, directly opposite her…next to Wells. Wells was whispering something in his ear. Now he was laughing, and Hayes—he was smiling! As if they were best buds or something. “It’s all part of ‘the plan,’” McKenzie muttered. “The big, fabulous, Rudy-Hayes-plan-for-getting-our-heads-chopped-off plan!”

How did I get myself into this?

H.G. Wells had opened the game with a formal (and very lengthy) speech. “A tradition,” Abacis had explained in his introduction to Tsoot 101, which included the announcement of the teams and ended by shouting ‘Moocroken,’ a word that had something to do with an ancient sea creature with a horn in the middle of its head.
Strange!
But then, probably no stranger than a politician or an actor throwing out the first pitch at a baseball game.

After that, the two teams entered the pit and stood in a half circle, facing each other around the hoop. Then the drummers began to play; two on each side, beating out a fast, steady rhythm that reminded McKenzie of a tribal war dance.

Boom daga-bagadaga,
Boom daga-bagadaga,
Boom-daga, Boom-daga, BOOMBOOMBOOM!

Faster and faster until four other drummers, two more on each side, joined in; and finally, all eight of them—

BOOM-daga, BOOM-daga, BOOMBOOMBOOM!

As soon as the first beat was struck, the teams began moving, passing the ball back and forth from one team to the other, always on the beat; their legs shuffling side to side in precise, rhythmic—

BOOM-daga, BOOM-daga, BOOMBOOMBOOM!

—dance-like movements.

Then came the chanting. This too was a tradition, performed by the fans, of which McKenzie had become a part. The chanting swelled in pitch and volume as the tempo of the drums increased. A slow, steady “Ahhhhh, AHHH,” louder and louder until McKenzie thought her eardrums would burst.

Then suddenly the drumming stopped.

The chanting ceased.

The players paused.

Time seemed to stand still and—

The drumming began again.

The new tempo was slower and steadier, the chanting a tolerable roar and the players were now officially playing the game. The team that had the ball when the drumming paused, retained possession when the game resumed. Unfortunately, this was Mallos’ team.

********

“YES!” McKenzie whacked the player sitting in front of her on the shoulder—a show of team spirit, as evidenced by the player’s reaction, not commonly used by the Tsendi. “Sorry,” she mumbled, praying the Tsendi’s bark was worse than his bite.

The biggest difference between basketball and tsoot was that two team members from each side sat in the bleachers, each on their respective side, directly in line with the hoop. The tsoot pit was oval rather than rectangular, with bleachers arching around either end. Their job was to catch any ball that flew out of the pit into the crowd and then try to score another point for their team by tossing it back through the hoop. A feat more difficult than it sounded, for to throw the ball across the pit and straight through the opening, rather than tossing it up and through, took strength. The players sitting in front of McKenzie were huge!

“That’s it! Hold on to it!” McKenzie leaned forward. Abaci’s team had the ball. “Yes! Exactly! Pretend you’re gonna shoot, then throw it to Adler, Adler to Tsat and Tsat to—YES!” Abacis made the shot. Their team had taken the lead.

McKenzie sat back.
Abacis was their best shooter. He was good, but ultimately, she feared, no match for Mallos—
Geezits
—who was at this very moment down on the court staring up at her. Nostrils flared, lips drawn back exposing long sharp teeth stained blood red from cobaca froot (as least, she hoped it was cobaca froot), he looked angry enough to eat her
.
A second later, he’d grabbed the ball from a passing player and sent it flying through the hoop, tying the score. The ball then continued out the tsoot pit and over the heads of the two Tsendi players sitting in front of her.

Instinctively, McKenzie reached out and caught the ball. She’d been waiting for this moment. More than anything, she’d wanted to be part of the team; but Abacis wouldn’t allow it. However, there was one rule, much to Abacis’ displeasure, one of the players had let slip. If a stray ball got past the two players in the bleachers, the fan that caught it could either pass the ball back—or take the shot.

McKenzie tossed the ball from hand to hand, trying to get a feel for it. Below in the pit both teams stood silent and watching. In front of her, the players had turned, impatient for her to pass the ball to one of them.

For some reason, the alien ball felt larger and heavier than the one they’d practiced with back in the cave. Not that she’d had much time to hold that one, much less shoot it.

The drummers continued playing

Boom-daga-Boom-daga-BOOMBOOMBOOM!

The fans chanting.

What the heck, thought McKenzie, it’s a ball. She raised her arms, eyed the hoop and took aim.

“PASS THE BALL MCKENZIE! PASS THE BALL!”

What?

“PASS THE BALL!”

Hayes was shouting. Then Wells began to shout—and then all the Tsendi. “PASS THE BALL!”

McKenzie shook her head and lowered her arms. She looked in the pit—at Abacis, the only Tsendi, it seemed, who wasn’t shouting at her. Though from the scowl on his face it was clear what he was thinking.

Boom-daga-Boom-daga-BOOMBOOMBOOM!

McKenzie looked across the court. Wells was laughing. Hayes wasn’t. Hayes was frowning.

“Enough,” she muttered. “I get it already. Pass the ball. Pass the—whatever!!”

McKenzie turned to the Tsendi player who only minutes ago had growled in her face. “MAKE IT!” she said and tossed the ball to him.

He turned, aimed and shot.

“Nine-Ten,” shouted H.G. Wells. Abacis’ team was back in the lead.

“TREMOS!”

“Huh?” McKenzie turned. All around her Tsendi were jumping to their feet.

“TREMOS!”

Then everyone began shouting. “Tremos! TREMOS!”

McKenzie watched in horror as the center of the pit rose, tossing all the players to the ground, and then lowered again. It was like watching a tidal wave on dry land.

“Tremos! TREMOS!”

She had to do something.

Closing her eyes, McKenzie took three deep breaths and tried to visualize the earth unmoving and still—peaceful, as Pietas had taught her to do. But there was another step. One before the earth? What was it?

First the motion…motion? Energy! Yes—what?
“Ahhhhhhh!” McKenzie’s wheelchair tilted forward. HELP!”

“Mana, one of the players sitting in front of her, caught her chair, righted it and pushed it a safe distance from the edge.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, knowing there was no way he could hear her over the crowd.

The ground rose up again and this time McKenzie’s wheelchair began to tip backwards. Once more, Mana reached out and righted her.

McKenzie unlocked her wheels and looked across the court just in time to see Wells grab Hayes and stop him from falling into the pit.

Then, as if someone had flicked a switch, the tremos stopped.

Down in the pit, the players began scrambling to their feet. McKenzie looked for Mallos. She found him standing behind Abacis. Then, to her horror, she watched helplessly as he grabbed Abacis by the shoulders, turned him around and kicked—

“OUCH!” McKenzie winced. That had to hurt.

Abacis doubled over in pain as Mallos ran to the opposite side of the pit.

“Did anyone see that? Did anyone see that?” She screamed.

But nobody was listening. Everyone was preoccupied with getting back to their places, picking up fallen possessions and talking about the tremos.

“HEY!” she shouted.

This time someone heard. Mana stood up, leaned forward, pointed at Abacis and—tumbled into the tsoot pit!

The drummers, who had somehow continued to drum throughout the tremos, stopped playing.

“TSENDI DOWN,” shouted one of the referees, pointing to Abacis lying on the ground.

“Nine-Nine,” yelled the other, pointing at Mana.

Wells stood up. “End of the first half,” he declared. “Match tied.”

McKenzie looked at Mallos, and sure enough, he was grinning at her.

Head hung in shame, Mana climbed back to his seat.

“We lost a point because you fell in the pit?” said McKenzie.

Mana nodded.

“What happens if Abacis can’t play? Do we get a substitute?”

Mana shrugged. As if in answer, the drummers began to play.

Boom-daga-Boom-daga-BOOMBOOMBOOM!

The second half had begun.

Chapter 44

FBI TRANSCRIPT 21201

Agent Wink Krumm and McKenzie Wu
Monday, June 8th

KRUMM
: Where is he?

M. WU
: Who?

KRUMM
: Principal Provost!

M. WU
: School’s out, Agent Krumm. I don’t keep track of the principal.

KRUMM
: I searched his house. It’s vacant, empty, nada!

M. WU
: Maybe he’s on vacation.

KRUMM
: His house is for sale.

M. WU
: Ohhh, so that’s why—

KRUMM
: What?

M. WU
: It’s just a rumor.

KRUMM
: TELL ME!

M. WU
: I heard there’s going to be a new principal next year.

KRUMM
: B.R. Provost is under investigation. You don’t leave town when you’re under investigation by the FBI.

M. WU
: Principal Provost isn’t from around here—you said so yourself. Maybe he doesn’t know that.

KRUMM
: How could I have forgotten? So…
maybe
you could answer another question. One, I believe, that you of all people should know the answer to.

M. WU
: I’ll do my best.

KRUMM
: Where, or should I say, what planet is Principal Provost from?

M. WU
: You’re hilarious. England, of course. Haven’t you ever noticed his accent?

***

TREMOS & TURNING POINTS

Thursday, March 19th

B
.R. Provost couldn’t believe what was happening. The first action he’d taken, upon leaving the cave, had been to study the trees to determine in what season they’d arrived.

“This isn’t right,” he murmured. Tremos occurred immediately before or after the loon. Judging by the color of the moss he could tell the loon had passed, not long ago, but long enough. “This shouldn’t be happening!”

Nevertheless, there was no time for speculation. The tremos, unusually large, was affecting much of the area in and around the forest. He glanced at James, then closed his eyes and began.

Carefully, he visualized not only the particles of the planet, but the particles causing the disruption—pulsing and pushing, transforming the earth beneath him. It was like trying to weave a stream of cool water through a roaring fire. Eventually the particles began to slow and return to normal.

Finally, he accessed the memories of the particles that made up the rocks and soil, then carefully coaxed them back into their previous positions.

“That was some strange earthquake!”

Provost opened his eyes. James was behind him. “Quick—open your noofoto! Your-your—UMBRELLA!” He shouted.

“EEEEEE, tsoot, tsoot, tsoot!”

Seconds later tsootbas spit bounced off an edge of James’ noofoto, onto the ground and disappeared, hissing under the mustard colored moss.

“Welcome to Circanthos,” said B.R. Provost.

“My-my-my-DAUGHTER is here?”

“Don’t worry. It’s usually not this exciting. Not all at once, anyway.”

“The trees—they’re BLUE!”

“Yes, they’re blue, just the way trees ought to be. Never could get used to all that green. It’s not normal.”

“And the leaves—so red! My goodness they’re tall. And dense! It’s like having a roof over your head.”

“Now James, I’m sure you’d love to study—”

“NO! Oh no! I have no desire to study the trees. Trees make me—” James’ arm shot straight up in the air as if he were trying to keep the canopy at bay.

Provost reached out and steadied him. “Try to relax.”

“I mean forests make me-me-me…”

“Make you?”

“Did I mention I get kind of…” James’ swaying became more pronounced, “claustrophobic?”

“EEEEEE, tsoot, tsoot, tsoot!” Another wad of tsootbas spit shot past James and disappeared under the moss.

“And I DON’T LIKE BUGS!”

Darn Petré for sticking me with this scientist! Probably never gets out of the lab!
“Then I suggest you keep your noofoto open, and
if possible
,
your mouth shut!”

James nodded, his face growing paler by the second.

“Quickly. Hold on to my shoulders. I’m weaving us out of here.”