Wheels (31 page)

“Your plan is to convince Wells to go home with us using our Gate?” Hayes was going to have to make this up on the fly. “Ours is kinda small, maybe we should use his.”

“It is damaged.”

“Oh.” Hayes tried to cover his disappointment by pretending his back hurt, which unfortunately, it did. But it gave him time to wonder: If Wells had built a machine that could travel across galaxies, why didn’t anyone on Earth know about it? Something didn’t add up. “So,” he said, “Wells wants McKenzie’s Gate?”

“The Advitor told your friend he will trade it for your life.”

Of course, McKenzie would do that.
If
she knew what he was talking about. What the heck, Mac was a genius. She had to have figured it out. On the other hand, if Wells was smart enough to build a spaceship that could travel across the universe, why would he be dumb enough to believe McKenzie’s wheelchair was a spaceship? “You’ve seen his machine, this thing he calls a Gate?”

“It sits behind the compound.”

“And it looks like ours?”

Abacis frowned. “It is much larger, but you do sit on it.”

“And he’s never tried to fix it?”

“We do not possess the proper materials on our planet.”

Hayes nodded. That could be true.

“We are running out of time,” said Abacis. “Your friend will be here soon.”

“Right,” murmured Hayes. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take Wells long to figure out McKenzie’s Gate was only a wheelchair. “So, what’s your plan,” he asked, hoping it was both brilliant and fast.

Abacis checked the hallway, then pulled a chair up next to Hayes. Regardless of how buddy-buddy they’d recently become, Hayes instinctively drew back.

“As soon as the Advitor takes possession of your Gate, he will order your execution—both of you.”

“That’s your plan?”

Abacis smiled. Hayes was sure of it; the big ugly Tsendi had smiled.

“Your Gate is different,” continued Abacis. “You must
insist
on explaining how it works.”

“Yes!” cried Hayes, startling Abacis into getting up to check the hallway again. “Sorry. It’s just—I get it. That is a good plan. Explain how it works! Get Wells close enough and McKenzie can particle—I mean, grab him and take off in our wheel—I mean, our Gate.” He propped himself up more. “OUCH! Except it’s not a good plan.”

Abacis growled.

A gentle beast, yet still a beast!
Hayes said a quick prayer and continued. “I mean, I make plans all the time, you should see how many tests I get out of taking. So, let me tell you where the flaws are in your plan: First, Wells could refuse. Second, if we do get him home, what’s to keep him from coming back?”

“Hah!” Abacis sneered. “You will inform Wells that Abacis no longer serves him and will kill him if he returns. Wells is a coward, he will not return.”

“And if we return?”

“Then Abacis will kill you.”

And here we were getting on so well.
Ah, well, it didn’t matter because the plan wouldn’t work. They still needed a cortext to get home.

“Wells will call for you soon.” Abacis stood up. “You should eat.”

As if in reply, Hayes’ stomach growled. “Anything besides Tsendi food?”

Abacis remained silent. Hayes assumed that meant no and pointed to the pouch tied around Abacis’ waist. “I’ll have some of that. Better me than you.”

The Tsendi remained poker-faced, but Hayes could tell it was difficult—almost painful for him.

“Anyway,” he continued, “it can’t be worse than my Aunt Patty’s cooking.”

Abacis reached for his pouch, then stopped and motioned Hayes to take it.

Hayes reached in and pulled out two dried, dark red pieces of cobaca froot. He held them up, “Ugly buggers ain’t they!” Choked down the first and stuck the second in his mouth. “This stuff is—he gagged and forced himself to swallow—awful! How long have you been off it?”

Abacis looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Five loonocks.”

“You should join a support group, I’ve heard it helps.” Hayes swallowed the last bit of cobaca froot, then took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing!
“I have to tell you something. But you have to promise you won’t hurt me.”

The look on Abacis’ face reminded Hayes of his sixth grade math teacher, Mr. Stein. Mr. Stein was a football coach and a cool guy—unless he was angry. Hayes gulped. “We don’t have a Gate. That chair McKenzie sits in is called a wheelchair. Her legs don’t work so she needs the wheelchair to get around. It had nothing to do with bringing us here.”

Abacis looked confused.

“Do you know what particle-weaving is?”

“ARAC-TELAE!” growled Abacis. His eyes, bulging before, were now bursting.

“Arac-te-what?”

“Arac-telae, the Tsendi word for particle-weaving.”

Hayes recalled Pietas telling them the Tsendi were afraid of particle-weaving. “I can’t particle-weave,” he blurted out, fearful he’d be forced to beg for his life much sooner than expected, “only McKenzie can do it. As far as I know, she’s the only human who can.” He tried to sit up straighter. “OUCH! Which is good! Don’t you see—it’s very good!”

The drumming in his head had returned. Hayes wished that Abacis would stop staring at him as if he were the main course at his next meal. More than that, he really, REALLY wished the room would stop spinning. “I don’t feel so…”

Abacis was by his side again helping him to lie down.

“Don’t you see,” Hayes was feeling slightly less dizzy, “Wells can’t return. Not unless he can build another Gate, which would take a lot of time and, which for some reason, I have a strong feeling he won’t be able to do anyway. So, he can’t return unless McKenzie takes him and that’s not going to happen.”

Abacis lowered his hackles. Except for the eyes and the fur, he looked almost human. “So, it was not Soliis who turned the rock into a fist,” he muttered, “I thought as much.”

Hayes had a feeling he knew what Abacis was thinking. “Maybe Wells has a Gate, but there’s nothing like it back on Earth. Unless it’s hidden in one of those top-secret government warehouses. Personally, I think his story sounds fishy.”

“Fishy?”

“It stinks.” Hayes reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. “OW!” And fought back another round of nausea as his hand came down covered in blood. “Can I have a…” he started to ask, but Abacis was gone.
Great, probably blew my only chance of getting out of here.

Seconds later, Abacis returned holding a cloth. He bent over Hayes, and with surprising gentleness, dabbed his forehead and rubbed some more of the green medicine on it. His head felt cool and tingly again. “I’ve got a few more places I could use it—”

“No,” said Abacis. “If the Advitor notices, he will suspect something. You must wait.”

“For what? We haven’t made a plan!”

“We will use our original plan,” said Abacis. “The Advitor still believes you arrived in a Gate. You must persuade your friend to draw him close enough so that you are able to grab on to him while she begins the particle-weaving process.”

“That’s where we have a little problem.”

“Problem?”

Hayes tried to scoot back against the wall. “Ouch, Ouch, OUCH! It seems that in order to particle-weave over long distances, McKenzie needs something called a cortext. Only we don’t have one. Maybe she could take him back to the Circanthians.”

“Across the planet is not good enough.” Abacis sounded defeated. “Circanthians do not believe in taking life. Wells would return in an epok. The Tsendi will be no better off.” He turned to leave.

“WAIT!” Hayes propped himself up again. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, willing the pain to subside. “What if Wells has a cortext? There’s one missing, that’s what Pietas told us. It’s a long shot but—”

Abacis paused just inside the cell. “What does it look like?”

“I’ve never seen one, but I’ve been told it looks like this.” He held his hands up the same way Pietas had. “It’s supposed to be bright. McKenzie and I saw something like it. Lots of lights and colors.”

“We will need time to find it,” said Abacis.

“Right! Time! But let’s not forget, Wells is planning my execution as we speak. You wouldn’t happen to have a guess where he might be hiding one?”

“I might.”

“You might?” Hayes had to look at Abacis just to make sure he wasn’t teasing. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“I did.”

Hayes laughed. “How fast can you get it?”

“I said, ‘might.’ I have seen the light you described seeping out from the Advitor’s private chamber.”

“How do we get in and search for it?”

Abacis sighed, exhaustion showing on his face. His wide, pale Tsendi forehead furrowed with creases. Then suddenly he pulled the chair close to Hayes and sat down again. “Olt-tsoot,” he said, breaking into what it took Hayes a moment to realize was a smile, not a snarl.

“What?”

 “There is a tradition,” said Abacis, “one not used for many loonocks. When there is a dispute, one group of Tsendi against the other, instead of war we play Olt-tsoot.”

Hayes nodded. “Surprisingly civilized.”

“The losing side is beheaded and left for the flickvik to feast on. Only one side suffers and no one is left to oppose.”

“The losing team is BEHEADED?”

“And all who support them.”

“Humans too? Prisoners?”

“Would you not die anyway?”

Hayes was speechless. “Olt-tsoot,” he murmured.

“Rest,” said Abacis. “I have plans to make. I will return soon.”

Suddenly, Hayes didn’t want Abacis to leave him alone. “What about the cortext?”

“During the competition, one of my Tsendi will sneak into the Advitor’s private chamber and search for it.”

“What about McKenzie? I bet she could use her particle-weaving to get us in.” At least he hoped she could. McKenzie didn’t seem to have much confidence in her ability. Actually, she didn’t even seem to want to use it. Imagine, being able to change a Chevy into a Porsche and not wanting to.
Girls!
He’d never understand them.

Abacis’ eyebrows rose. His expression changed, as if he were having one of those revelations Aunt Patty’s favorite TV preacher was always talking about. “McKenzie is human.”

“And female. Very female!” Hayes added. Abacis had thought of something—good, from the look on his face. Something that hopefully didn’t include death or beheading. “Tell me.”

Abacis shook his head. “First,” he said, turning to leave, “I must get the others to agree.”

Hayes waited a few minutes, but Abacis did not return. I should escape, he thought. There’s no door and no guard. He tried to get up, but within seconds, pain and exhaustion forced him down again. On the other hand, I could rest ‘cuz, let’s face it, if you’re gonna be beheaded… Hayes sighed. You wanna look your best.

Chapter 37

Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm

Wednesday, March 18th
Just outside Avondale

Hearing sirens in the distance. Obviously, I am no longer the only one to have discovered the phenomenon. As no one has bothered to check this abandoned farm road, my investigation, for the moment, remains anonymous.

***

ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT

Wednesday, March 18th
H.G. Wells’ Private Chamber

I
remember!

Someone was in the portal. A god?

NO, a god wouldn’t have been afraid. A golden being afraid of…what?

Help them. It told us to help them!

Wait. Something’s not right—there were two of us.

Two of me?

Not us—me! It told ME to help them.

HELP WHO? Geezits!

I can’t, I can’t…can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!

********

McKenzie felt strange and powerful and—totally awesome! She’d woven a portal into H.G. Wells’ room all by herself. Her breath exploded in one long jagged sigh. She wanted to shout out to the world. Tell someone. Anyone. Hayes! She wanted to tell Hayes.

“SNAPS!”

McKenzie gripped her rims, leaned back and spun her chair 360 degrees, her eyes scanning the room in one quick, panic-filled sweep. Relief came so swiftly it made her dizzy. What if someone had been in the room?

Her gaze took in her surroundings more slowly this time. The pale-blue chest was exactly where Soliis said it would be. McKenzie moved toward it, then stopped. Something nagged at the edge of her consciousness. Something she was forgetting or…was it something she should remember? Something from the portal.

But it was no use, whatever it was, had gone.

On the other side of the room, opposite the bed and chest, was a desk. McKenzie rolled over to it. Before she did anything, she needed to know if this H.G. Wells was the same H.G. Wells who had written the book prominently displayed on her grandmother’s bookshelf.

Scattered across the top of the desk were sheets of thick, coarse, homemade looking paper covered in fancy, flowing red letters.

The boy appears to be lacking in respect for his elders.

Therefore, as much as I detest violence, I shall insist Mallos…

McKenzie felt sick.

She skimmed the rest of the desk. Along the back were small black pottery jars filled with an assortment of feathers stained with thick, inky red smudges. To one side was a stack of primitive looking notebooks. Next to the desk and along the wall were several more stacks. Notebooks and pens…tools of a writer.

McKenzie ran her finger over the cover of the top book. Etched into the suede-like, mottled burgundy and brown fabric were the letters C, X, V and I.

Something pricked her finger. McKenzie jerked her hand away. The prickly twine binding of the books was the same orange-red color as the twine used to bind Hayes’ wrists. And that’s when she noticed it, tucked under the desk next to the notebooks, Hayes’ backpack.