Wheels (11 page)

“And where do think they would hide such a large machine? Under the moss, perhaps? No. No…I believe they left it behind in the cave.”

“We cannot—”

“Confirm it. No, you cannot; or rather, you will not enter the cave because you, like all Tsendi, fear the water. Very well, I will search the cave myself.”

Mallos gritted his teeth. The Wellsman continued to claim Concentric lived in the sky, rather than the sea. He ridiculed the Tsendi for their “confounded fear” as he called it. Yet, he refused to see the obvious: if Concentric lived in the sky, would he not be consumed by the sans? Mallos glanced behind him, the other Tsendi were curled up like a pair of cowardly, bright red
vortmogs
.

“Oh, Great One,” he stammered, “perhaps it is another Circanthian trick. We will scour the forest searching for anything that looks out of place. The Circanthian spy will help us.”

“Soliis can no longer perform Circanthian trickery.”

“Yes—” Mallos knew it was dangerous to correct the Advitor. “But, he knows it when he sees it.”

“Soliis has already returned to his Gathering.”

Mallos groaned. He was tired. This was taking much longer than he had planned.

“Is that all?”

All?All as in more? More?
The Wellsman always wanted more. All Mallos wanted was more cobaca froot and then a long, much deserved rest. Before that, however… “These humans,” he closed his eyes and tried to recall that moment in the forest, “they were…different.”

“In what way?”

Always more!
Mallos stared at his long, pointed nails, cracked and crusty. He really should have one of the females work on them.

“Time is valuable, Mallos. Your reward is getting smaller with every passing second.”

The Tsendi behind him let out a collective sigh. “Say, say,” they whispered.

“Oh, Great One,” he began, flicking a large, green-grey chunk from beneath one of his nails, “one of the humans was a different color than you. Brown like the color of some of the seaside dwelling Circanthians, but it was tall, like you, and standing on two legs such as yours.”

“There are many different color humans. That is not important.

Mallos nodded, trying not to stare at the green-grey chunk that had landed close to the Advitor’s foot. Mallos had not realized humans came in different colors as did Circanthians.

“Did they speak the Earth language?”

“They spoke to Pietas in Earth, though it sounded…different.”

“Go on.”

“The other…” Mallos paused, wondering if he should grab the chunk, or hope the Wellsman did not notice it. “The other human had hair…?” He was not sure how to describe it. “Hair the color of Locent san.”

“Red! Interesting. Is that it?”

“Yes…I mean, No.” Mallos had almost forgotten about this. “The other human sat on a—” He stopped. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? “The other human sat on the star machine!” Excited, he leaned back on his heels. “I did not recognize it before, because it was much inferior to yours. Much smaller, Oh, Great One.”

The Wellsman began feverishly combing his fingers through his hair. He turned, strode to the window and threw open the shutters. “I must see this machine for myself. NOW!”

Mallos quickly grabbed the chunk and stuffed it into his mouth. He looked over his shoulder. The other Tsendi were still prostrate, heads tucked, bellies flat to the ground. He sneered at their cowardice and swore he’d demand a share of their cobaca froot.

“Mallos!”

“Oh, Great One,” Mallos swallowed, tasting a hint of overly sweet bile in the back of his throat, “Pietas performed her trickery before we could capture them. They disappeared.”

“Or…” The Advitor closed the shutters. “Perhaps it was the human’s machine that made them disappear.”

Mallos was almost sure the machine had nothing to do with it, but he thought it best not to say so. “Before they disappeared, I may have seen a glimpse of the Lapis Sea.”

“Of course!” Before Mallos knew it, the Advitor was again standing before him.

Mallos quickly averted his eyes. He tried to ignore the hot, stale smell of the Advitor’s breath. The human had a strange habit of rolling
socoos
leaves and holding them burning between his lips.

“Pietas would encourage them to return with her to the Circanthian Gathering. She’ll fill their heads with lies about me, about you, Mallos, and the Tsendi. When more humans arrive—and they will come, believe me, they will come—they will rise up against us and enslave the Tsendi.” The Advitor leaned over, placing his hand on Mallos’ shoulder with his stinking breath beside Mallos’ ear. “Therefore,” he whispered, “we must take action. We must destroy these invaders before it is too late.” He caressed Mallos’ shoulder reassuringly, if painfully, and then quickly pulled away. “We must be careful,” he said, walking back to his desk. “They may be stronger than we are.”

Mallos let out the breath he’d been holding and looked up. “Not you, Oh, Great One.”

The Wellsman honored him with a smile. “Of course not, but remember there are two of them. We must arrange a meeting somewhere…” He paused to pull out a map of Circanthos. Abacis had drawn the map. Mallos felt an urge to spit on it. Abacis, who was more human—no—more Circanthian than Tsendi, and could not be trusted.

“Somewhere west of the
Boreis Peaks
,” said The Wellsman. “Somewhere neutral. It is only natural that I should want to meet the other humans.”

“I will set up the meeting myself, Oh, Great One.” Mallos allowed himself a small sigh of satisfaction. Abacis would soon find he was no longer the Advitor’s number one Tsendi. Mallos would draw a better map, one without Circanthian Gatherings on it. One, where Tsendi ruled the planet!

The Advitor walked over to a large cocombaca wood chest sitting at the end of his bed and began gliding his fingers across the top of it. “We will meet with them,” he said softly. “We will be our most civilized selves. Proving, of course, the lies Pietas has told them about the Tsendi are not true. Then they will show us their Gate.”

“Gate?” whispered Mallos, not meaning to say it aloud.

“Yes, yes,” said The Wellsman, clearly annoyed. “I’ve explained this to you several times, Mallos, my galactic time traveler, The Gate. The reason I’m here.”

Mallos nodded his head, thinking about how the Advitor’s machine had always reminded him of Circanthian trickery. Now there was another Gate on Circanthos. Worse, it was now in Circanthian hands!

“What if they leave their Gate at the Circanthian Gathering, Oh, Great One?”

“They will not leave it behind. No, they will want to show it to us. Surely, their Gate is based upon my design. It is at that moment—the moment they let me, the creator, sit upon their machine—in that moment, we shall strike.”

“Send them away?”

The Wellsman laughed. “No, my poor foolish Tsendi. We will kill them. Unfortunately, regrettably,” he said, as if talking to a young one, “it is the only way. If I am to fulfill my roll as Advitor, your savior, there is no other choice.”

Mallos felt a shiver of pleasure run down his spine.

The Advitor walked to the door and threw it open. “Guards!”

Four large Tsendi rushed into the room.

“Take those two and lock them up.”

Mallos’ cohorts stood up—confused. “No, we find hoo-mans,” one of them cried. “Cobaca froot? Cobaca froot?”

“Take them away,” said the Wellsman, his gaze coming to rest on Mallos. “They have withheld important information.”

The guards dragged the two Tsendi away kicking and screaming. Mallos remained, the hair running down the length of his spine tingling with fear and anticipation.

“Let that be a lesson. Never let anyone do the talking for you.” He motioned Mallos to get up. “Send word through our fastest runner to the Circanthian Gathering. We will meet Soliis and the two humans at
Aramedios
,” He pointed to the map, “three epoks from now, when Locent san begins its turn toward the forest. Understood? Look for us near the rock next to the last inlet.”

Mallos nodded and began backing away before his luck failed him. “Yes, oh, Great One. At Aramedios.”

“And Mallos, make sure Soliis understands that he, not Pietas, is to accompany the humans. Soliis must work this out. If you accomplish this without a hitch, you will receive not only your promised supply of cobaca froot, but an additional supply from  your former allies.” The Wellsman’ face broke into a generous, almost jovial smile. “It seems they won’t be needing it anymore.”

Chapter 14

Excerpt from the personal log of Agent Wink Krumm

Monday, March 16th
Just outside Avondale
continued…

I had just secured my position inside the van when I heard voices. Good thing, I had the foresight to bring my Burrberry and trusty stun gun along on this little “vacation.” I feared the owners of the van had returned.

 As I looked out of the window, I was in time to see the last—or rather—the first human emerge. I say first, for although two others had proceeded him, they were either some mutation of humankind or not human at all.

From the waist up, they appeared both “normal” and male. One was fortyish and the other elderly, but quite spry. From the waist down, instead of legs (the exact point indiscernible, as both were wearing a longer version of the standard sport coat and dress shirt) they possessed a spherical appendage. Their height (including the sphere), I estimated at around five foot six or seven inches.

***

IT’S GOOD TO BE THE KING

Monday, March 16th
Circanthos – The Tsendi Outpost

H
.G. Wells locked the door, bolted the shutters and lit two more sconces. It was hardly a soundproof room, for there was no glass in the windows, but then it was not sound he wished to hide.

The satchel was constructed of a thick, tightly woven, shiny blue material. Decorating the front was a wide, black swoosh. What interested Wells most, however, were the rows of shiny black, interlocking teeth of its clasp locker. He’d read of the clasp locker’s début in the 1893 World’s Fair, and now the sight of it caused him to experience an almost overwhelming moment of homesickness. All the progress he’d made with the Tsendi over the last one hundred years paled in comparison to this simple, yet brilliant invention.

Wells struggled with the clasp locker’s pull, unable to get it to budge. Another tug and suddenly it began to glide. Rows of interlocking teeth separated, opening wide, exposing the belly of the beast. The contents of the satchel spewed forth across Wells’ bed, and oh, what treasures they were! There was a hard, rectangular device about the size of a book, although much thinner. At first, Wells thought it must be some sort of tray. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a button embedded in it. When he pushed the button, the tray, or whatever the contraption was, lit up with words.
A book tray, of all things
. He looked forward to examining it later. In addition to the book tray, there were several decks of cards decorated with humans, monsters, and machines such as Wells had never seen. Also, there were chips and chocolates, and brightly colored sweets, packaged in strange materials that promised to keep the contents fresh for eternity. What pleased him most, what caused a second wave of homesickness much worse than the first, were the pencils. Not just plain pencils, but colored pencils, pristine and sharp, stored in a metal box.

“Feathers and blood,” murmured Wells, rolling one of the thin, yellow treasures between his fingers. The pencils would bring a welcome reprieve from the bloody, barbaric tools with which he’d been forced to write.

And then, there was paper…oh, how he’d longed for real paper! Wells picked up a journal bound in wire so fine, he almost cried. He turned the pages carefully, noticing how thin, yet remarkably strong, the fiber felt beneath his fingers. The owner of the satchel had filled the pages with skillfully sketched faces of both young and old. One thing had not changed over the last one hundred years: humans still looked like humans. Wells turned one more page, hoping the next would be blank when—

“It can’t be!” he exclaimed, dropping the journal as though it had bitten him. Praying his eyes had been playing tricks; he looked again. Green eyes stared back at him. Emerald green eyes framed by wild, curly red hair. Eyes that mocked him, daring him to look away. It was those eyes, in fact, which brought Wells to his senses; for though they were precisely the same color as his sister’s eyes, they were not the same shape.

“How dare she!” he said, forgetting even in that instant that this was not his sister. Only Julianne had known how to access the secret room where he’d created his most prized possession, the invention that had first brought him and now others to Circanthos. Only Julianne could have given away his secret.

As he bent to collect the journal, Wells recalled Mallos’ description of the humans. One of them had red hair. He studied the picture; with the exception of the eyes, everything else was the same. Perhaps the artist had made a mistake. Then he laughed. “Ha! Fool!” For, of course, Julianne was nothing but a rotting, putrid corpse by now. This picture was but an aberration—a coincidence. He picked up the journal and returned it to the satchel.

The mere thought of leaving his kingdom, of growing old, ugly, and under-appreciated made him more determined than ever to stop the humans. “Dear God, why would I return to Earth,” he murmured, remembering Mallos’ bumbling responses, so aimed at pleasing him, “when here, I am adored.”

Fingers trembling, he reached up to brush away the no-longer-red, unruly mess of curls from his forehead. He was, after all, a cultured man, not a murderer. As a professor of literature, author, inventor, and now—King and Savior—for the sake of his dear Tsendi, he could not risk allowing the humans to return home. Mallos would have to take care of eliminating them.