Space Rocks! (17 page)

“So . . . that didn't work,” I said.

“My tooth feels loose,” whined Little Gus, reaching his hand into his mouth. “Becky, feel my tooth and see if it's actually loose!”

“Yeah. I'm not going to do that,” she said, blinking heavily. Tears were running down her face, some combination of the dirt in her eyes and pure, unbridled fury.

Hollins was stanching his nose again. “Look: ‘Courage is not having the strength to go on; it is going on when you don't have the strength.' Teddy Roosevelt,” he said. “Don't worry, we're gonna win this thing.” There wasn't much conviction in his voice.

“Inspiring,” sneered Becky. “Any idea how?” Hollins had no answer.

“Guys, I know you're all competitive and stuff, but, seriously, come on,” pleaded Nicki. “Somebody threw dirt in Becky's eyes! I got stink-gland sprayed on me! Does this sound like a real sport to anyone else? If we go back out there . . . we're going to get killed.”

“We've already used both of our timeouts,” I said. “Now there's no way for us to stop them from pounding us forever.” Across the pel, the other team stared at us hungrily. No doubt they knew this as well.

“Oog-ball is just a glorified brawl!” said Nicki. “Why would we keep playing a game that has no rules?”

“Wait. That's it,” said Hollins. “If there aren't any rules, then . . . then there aren't any rules.” A smile slowly spread across his face. The rest of us were deeply confused. Hollins quickly explained his plan.

We resumed our positions. Outside the pel, the crowd roared. I took a deep breath. If this didn't work, we would be stuck in the ring, to be pounded at Zenyk's leisure. Surely the spectators wouldn't let them actually murder us . . . would they?

All of this was racing through my mind as I said, “Ti'zeg aush.” The frozen oog-ball tableau sprang to life. Once again we were being pummeled.

Suddenly, Little Gus broke free and ran for his life.

“Please, just leave me alone!” he howled pitifully as he cowered at the opposite side of the pel.

And now the oog-ball was moving again—Slal, Chrow, and Polth were pushing it. Bullies in training, they sensed weakness, and they simply couldn't resist: They were aiming the ball right for Little Gus.

Hollins, Becky, Nicki, and I tried to hold them back, but Zenyk and Skubb were running interference on us at the same time, grabbing at our limbs and faces and anything else they could get their brips on. It was rolling bedlam.

After building up a little speed, the heavy oog-ball slammed right into Little Gus. The impact knocked him against the pel. Now he was trapped there, squeezed between the stalagmites and the oog-ball itself. The other team kept pushing with all their might, as though they meant to crush him. From somewhere, Little Gus (once more invisible) wailed. There was no way for us to help him.

“Now!” said Hollins, and something shiny flashed in his hand. At this point, instead of pulling at our opponents, we all began to push too. Nine players were now shoving the oog-ball in the same direction, nearly doubling the force. All of it was directed right at poor Little Gus.

Zenyk's team was momentarily too confused to react, but we kept pushing. Over the noise of the crowd, there came a hissing sound, like some colossal sigh. Forward, forward, forward we pushed until we couldn't push any further. Our opponents were fighting back now, but it was too late. We were against the pel.

There, on the other side of the ring of the stalagmites among the crowd, stood Little Gus. We'd squeezed him clear through the gap. In his hands, he held up one corner of the heavy, now deflated oog-ball at his feet. There was a smile on his face.

The crowd exploded.

“We win,” I said to Zenyk.

Hollins folded his pocketknife. He'd popped the stupid oog-ball.

“What? That's impossible!” shrieked Zenyk, tears welling in its eyes. “You let all the air out of the—you can't just puncture the—that's against the—”

“Rules?” I said. “Oog-ball doesn't have any rules.”

Zenyk was totally speechless. And at that precise moment, I tried to memorize the look on Zenyk's face, to file it away in my fine Xotonian brain for safekeeping. I suspected that this particular memory would keep me warm on cold nights. Brighten my mood in times of despair.

Was popping the oog-ball a low-down, despicable, unfair way to win the match? Absolutely.

And the crowd loved it.

Hollins had come up with a new dirty trick to play out in the pel! That was every serious oog-baller's dream. From now on, deflating the ball would just be another nasty play—like choking and eye gouging and stink-gland discharging—in a sport that was supposed to be nasty. Our victory had, in its own strange way, honored the very spirit of the game.

Now a rhythmic chant began to roll through the crowd: “Human! Human! Human!” (again, the only word of the human language that most Xotonians knew). They hoisted Little Gus up onto their i'ardas and carried him through the streets. Everyone loves a winner.

Well, not quite everyone. A good third of the spectators were sullen and resentful. They whispered darkly among themselves or whined pitifully. They were angry that a pack of aliens had beaten Xotonians at our own game. But for the moment, they were the minority, and Human Fever carried the day.

We followed the spontaneous parade and rehashed key moments of the match. Linod joined us too, thrilled to have finally played any part—even one as minor as holding on to Nicki's glasses—in an oog-ball victory.

I took one last look back at the pel. Zenyk's team had surrounded it. They were questioning its leadership in what one might call less than deferential tones. In fact, it looked as though things might even turn violent. Now wouldn't that be a shame?

After marching back through Ryzz Plaza and twice around the marketplace, the crowd finally arrived on the lawn of my dwelling for an impromptu celebration.

Little Gus capered and danced. Becky savored the attention (much hair fluffing ensued). Nicki was quiet and mostly stared at the ground, but she had a huge grin plastered on her face the whole time. Hollins even showed off the folding knife and good-naturedly went through all five Xotonian words he could remember about a hundred times. As usual, his accent was terrible, but the Xotonians appreciated the effort. Even Hudka came outside and tried to indirectly take credit for the remarkable human victory.

When the crowd finally dispersed, they shook the humans' hands and said “goodbye.” At their request, I had taught them the human farewell.

It was quite a day. If our foray into Core-of-Rock had accomplished anything, it was that maybe, just maybe, a couple hundred Xotonians might despise the human species a little less. At the very least, they had seen that not all of these odd aliens were monsters. And some of them were pretty good oog-ball players.

Shortly after we entered my dwelling, the humans all fell asleep. I couldn't blame them. An oog-ball match would tire out anyone.

Now Hudka and I sat in the living room of our dwelling. Unconscious humans covered most of the furniture.

“You know, they used to call me Hudka the Destroyer, back in my oog-balling days,” said my grand-originator. It scratched Pizza's chin as the thyss-cub dozed in its lap. “In one match, I put Gatas right over the pel. Nearly broke its et'vor.”

“Why'd you do that?”

“Because Gatas had knocked out three of my ish'kuts by stomping on my face!” said Hudka. “I miss the good old days.”

“Speaking of the past,” I said, “when we were in the Unclaimed Tunnels, we came to a place I'd never been before. A place I'd never even heard of. It was a forest filled with charred ruins. Hudka, was there another Xotonian settlement once?”

Hudka was quiet for a long time before it spoke. “Yes. Long, long ago.”

“But I thought Core-of-Rock was the only Xotonian city.”

“Not always. The ruins you saw were once called Flowing-Stone, named for the river that ran through that city. Many thousands lived there. It had its own Stealth Shield. They say it was even greater and more beautiful than Core-of-Rock.”

“What happened?”

“In the Time of Legends,” said Hudka, “Jalasu Jhuk came from the stars and founded Core-of-Rock to protect the Q-sik. But Jhuk also founded Flowing-Stone for another reason that is now lost to history. The two cities were neighbors, bent toward a common purpose. As you know, Flowing-Stone is only a few hours' walk from here.

“But as the years passed, Core-of-Rock and Flowing-Stone grew apart. That short distance became bigger in the minds of their inhabitants. They became like two different tribes, despite all they had in common. There was a dispute. Some say trade. Others say borders. The true cause is long forgotten. The point is, the two cities went to war.”

“Xotonians fought a war among themselves? Why?” I said, astonished. “How could that happen?”

“Imagine two cities, each with a Sheln as Chief of the Council,” shrugged Hudka. Put that way, war didn't seem unlikely at all. In fact, it seemed downright inevitable.

“The fighting continued for a few years,” Hudka went on, “and Core-of-Rock was losing. So we pressed the one advantage we had. Jalasu Jhuk had put the Vault in Core-of-Rock, not in Flowing-Stone. So we violated our most important commandment. Instead of guarding the Q-sik . . . we fired it.”

“And Flowing-Stone was destroyed,” I said.

“In an instant,” said Hudka, “a beautiful city was burned to ash by the Q-sik's light. It became a place that we don't even tell our young about, because we are too ashamed.” I thought back to all the ruined homes I'd seen in the forest, to the Xotonian skull I'd found half-buried in the dirt.

“It was the greatest mistake we ever made. A betrayal of Jalasu Jhuk,” Hudka sighed. “Jhuk always worried about enemies from without. The Great Progenitor never considered the possibility that we could become our own worst enemy. It just shows why the Q-sik is so dangerous.”

“Hudka, I saw something else there in Flowing Stone,” I said. “A place that wasn't destroyed. I think I know what Flowing-Stone's purpose was. There was a hangar there, and I saw a hologram of Jalasu Jhuk—”

Just then Kalac walked through the front door of our dwelling, and I clapped my gul'orp shut. I was still afraid to mention the starships.

“Well, you look like guano,” said Hudka to Kalac, covering my silence. My originator did look thoroughly exhausted. I realized that the Council meeting must have lasted for almost an entire day.

“Thanks,” said Kalac, slumping into the single chair that wasn't occupied by a sleeping human. “Why is there a baby thyss-cat in the house?”

“I figured since I already disobeyed you about everything else . . . might as well,” I shrugged. Kalac blinked at me. Then it laughed.

Hudka and I looked at each other. Did we just share a synchronized auditory hallucination . . . or had Kalac actually found something funny?

“Do we have any food?” said Kalac. “I feel weak. Twenty-four hours of uninterrupted Sheln can take quite a toll.”

“We have most of a stuffed cave slug,” I said. Little Gus had only nibbled at his.

“Great,” said Kalac. I handed it over, and Kalac devoured it. “Much better,” it said.

“So,” said Hudka, “what has the just and mighty Council decided to do about the human problem?”

“Will we let them go?” I asked.

“No decision has been reached on that yet,” said Kalac. “But I did get them to agree to what I believe is now our best hope for avoiding an outright war. Tomorrow, the young humans may contact their parents.”

O
n the surface of Gelo, there was an extensive array of precise instruments—disguised in sneaky Xotonian fashion as ordinary rocks and craters. These instruments existed to watch the universe.

X-rays, radio waves, the ultraviolet, the infrared, and the visible light spectra: All were monitored. The resulting flood of information flowed underground—via ancient wires running through kilometers of solid rock—into a room, a circular chamber in the heart of Dynusk's Column. This room was called the Observatory.

The data gathered above appeared on the countless computer screens that covered every wall of the Observatory. Only now, in addition to tantalizing images of distant galaxies swirling in blackness, the data took the form of numbers and charts and graphs. And it was analyzed by an ancient and erudite order, a priesthood of watchers trained to make sense of it all.

The elders say Jalasu Jhuk's lieutenant, Dynusk, was the first Observer. The hallowed tradition of watching the sky was carried down through the ages to our present time.

What are the Observers looking for, exactly? No one really knows. Yet still they watch.

Now, seven non-Observers—three Xotonian, four human—stood in the Observatory and asked this noble order, for once, not to observe. Instead of using the technology here to gather information, they wished to send it.

“I'm afraid that would be impossible,” said Ydar the High Observer, pristine in its clerical robes. “We lack the necessary capacity. Our equipment is very, very sensitive, and I simply cannot allow it.”

Several other Observers glared at us from their workstations, computers displaying colorful visual readouts of distant stars.

“I'm sorry if I didn't make myself clear,” said Kalac politely, “but this is not a request. They have the Council's permission to contact their mothership. It's important that we let the human leader know that their offspring have not been harmed. That we can reach a peaceful resolution to this situation.”

“I deeply wish that it were possible,” said Ydar in a tone that suggested quite the opposite, “but alas, at this juncture, it is not.” On a nearby desk, Ydar noticed a particularly alluring pie chart of gamma radiation levels in the Ghezs Sector. It quickly hid the chart behind its back.

“Come on,” growled Hudka, “I know you're not telling me I walked up five thousand steps to the top of this stupid Column for no reason? These human kids are calling their human parents.”

“I would not expect a lay-Xotonian to understand, but our role here is to observe. Not to . . . broadcast,” said Ydar, spitting out the last word with disgust.

“Don't you talk to me like I'm some ignorant yokel. My own originator was an Observer, so I know a thing or two about what you lazy mold-brains do up here!” Hudka had gone from annoyed to hopping mad.

“Broadcasting would require alterations to our current observation scheme. It would take away resources that I simply cannot spare,” said Ydar. “Remember when the humans landed on the surface? What if we had been broadcasting instead of observing then, eh?”

The other Observers nodded smugly. The day the humans landed on the surface was perhaps the greatest day in the history of the order. It had justified their very existence—which many Xotonians had come to question—and they weren't about to let anyone forget it.

“We all thank you for your keen observation during the human landing,” sighed Kalac.

Ydar continued, “And speaking of humans, I must point out that it is already most unorthodox to bring four of them into the Observatory. What would Jalasu Jhuk have said—”

“Jalasu Jhuk would have said, ‘Thank you, Hudka, for smacking that sniveling technocrat until it squealed,'” said Hudka as it started toward Ydar, who stumbled backward in fear. Kalac stopped Hudka and continued to argue with Ydar.

All the while I quietly translated for the humans.

“This Ydar just doesn't want anybody else playing with its precious toys,” said Hollins.

“I'm with Hudka,” said Becky. “I say we wreck the place.” I'd noticed an increased aggression level in Becky since the oog-ball game. Perhaps she had developed a taste for violence?

“Look at that,” said Nicki. “A microphone. And that thing's a camera. I'd bet my shrozz'norr mushroom sample on it.” Despite the fact that none of us wanted to win that bet, we all looked to where she pointed. In a neglected part of the chamber was a deactivated computer console. Attached to the console was a thin metal cylinder and a small glass orb. “If they have a mic and a camera,” continued Nicki, “it means they actually
can
broadcast, not just receive.”

“Seriously, I'm trying to avert a war here!” Kalac was almost yelling at Ydar now.

“That is not within the purview of this order. When the war occurs, we will be here to observe it.”

“I'm Chief of the Council, you little—”

“Hey, can't the humans call their parents on that?” I said, pointing to the camera-and-mic-equipped computer. Kalac and Ydar stared at me, along with all the rest of the Observers at their workstations.

“Since nobody's using it,” I said, shrugging.

“That workstation,” cried Ydar, “is out of order!”

I walked over to the console. There was a large green switch on the side. I flicked it. The screen lit up.

“I guess I fixed it,” I said.

Ydar sighed. “All right, all right, all right,” it said. “But if it gets damaged in any way, then all of you are in grave, unspeakable, historic trouble. And I don't want the humans putting those slimy, wiggly . . . things on my console.” I supposed he meant their fingers. Or maybe their tongues?

After a bit of back-and-forth, we eventually agreed that I—presumably less slimy than a human—would physically operate the device. Hopefully, Nicki could tell me how.

“I'm assuming this thing uses high-frequency radio waves,” she said. “Those controls over there, they probably move a transmitter somewhere on the surface. Can you ask Ydar?”

After a bit of pleading (and a few more threats from Hudka thrown in for good measure), Ydar agreed to help us. The humans' best guess was that additional vessels had met their mothership to assist with repairs and refueling at some midpoint between Gelo and the human lunar base. So we aimed the transmitter at Earth's moon.

“They planned on landing tomorrow,” said Hollins, who watched over our shoulders. “So the ship should be pretty close.”

“When I see my dad,” said Little Gus, “I'm gonna be all like, ‘Hello, Father. When you left, I was but a boy. Now, I am a man.'”

“When I see our parents,” said Becky, “I'm going to ask them for a car. Straight up. Emotionally, they're going to be in no position to refuse. I'll be the only eighth grader with a Ferrari.”

“Ready?” I said. The humans all nodded. I could see the anticipation on their faces. They missed their parents terribly. “Let's call.”

I flicked the switch to begin broadcasting. On the screen now was a sea of rolling static. Hollins spoke into the microphone: “Hello. This is Daniel Hollins, Nicole García, Rebecca García, and Augustus Zaleski of the Nolan-Amaral mining vessel
Phryxus
. Is anyone out there? Over.”

“That knob looks like it might adjust the frequency,” said Nicki. “Let's keep trying channels.”

Slowly, slowly, I turned the knob, as Hollins repeated his message over and over. Once or twice, the static jumped and almost resolved itself into an image. Each time, I could feel the humans jump with it.

“Where are they?” whispered Little Gus.

Just then, a voice crackled over the device.

“Commander of . . . lan-Amaral mining vessel
Phryxus
 . . . who is . . .”

“It's them!” cried Becky.

“Mom?” said Hollins. “Mom, is that you?”

“. . . nny . . . is that . . .”

“We need a stronger signal. How do we boost the power?” asked Nicki. I asked Ydar.

“Absolutely not. If that device draws more power, it could short out other—”

“How about I hit your head against that computer until we find the right button?” said Hudka.

“All right, all right, all right! There's a little wheel on the side there. But be careful with it, will you? I don't like the look of your fat, clumsy brips.”

Despite the apparent fatness of my brips, I managed to slowly nudge the wheel up.

“Mom,” said Hollins, “I just want to let you know that we're all safe. We're with aliens, Mom! But they haven't hurt us. The Xotonians—that's what they call themselves—they're good guys, Mom.”

“. . . alive! Thank Go . . . aw your SOS . . . safe? . . . back for you . . . your father . . .” the voice crackled.

“Yes, we're safe! Can you hear me? We're safe!”

Slowly, the static resolved itself into a fuzzy image of an adult human female. It was Commander Hollins. Standing over her shoulder was her husband. They both looked incredibly anxious.

The audio was still patchy, though: “. . . not receiving any video . . . Hold on . . . m putting this through to . . . e Garcías . . . and Frank Zal . . . ,” said Commander Hollins.

The image on the screen went black for an instant. Then it came back, now divided into four quadrants. The Hollinses were in the upper left square. The other three squares were each occupied by video feeds: another woman and two other men.

“Mom! Dad!” cried Nicki and Becky in perfect unison.

“Hey, Pop!” cried Little Gus. “They have burritos here but they're not very good, and now I have a pet thyss-cat and I named it ‘Pizza' and I miss you!”

All the humans—four juveniles and five parents—began to talk all at once. And cry. Even Becky was crying. There was no dirt in her eyes this time.

The quality of the transmission was still terrible, though. It was clear that the
Phryxus
was not receiving any video and only spotty audio. I boosted the power of the signal even further.

“Does the human leader understand that the juveniles haven't been harmed?” asked Kalac. “That there is no need to attack us?” I relayed this to Hollins. He nodded.

“Mom, like I said: We're safe. You don't need the soldiers! We're safe,” said Hollins. “Are you hearing me?”

I pushed the power up even further. It was at maximum.

“Hold on, Danny, I think we're getting visuals now.”

All five of the adult humans' faces changed from concern to outright terror. “The alien!” cried Commander Hollins. “Danny, it's right next to you!”

The young humans looked confused for a moment. Everyone—including me—had forgotten that I was on camera.

“Oh no, don't worry, Mrs., er, Commander Hollins,” cried Nicki. “This is just Chorkle! Chorkle's our friend.”

“My second-best friend!” said Little Gus.

Commander Hollins shrieked, “Get away from those children, you—”

And suddenly the signal went dead. The screen was black.

“What happened?” cried Becky.

“Where's my dad?” asked Little Gus.

“Does the human leader understand there is no need for an invasion?” asked Kalac.

“Chorkle, we have to get that signal back!” said Hollins.

I flicked the broadcast button up and down. I played with the signal strength and the frequency. I even moved the transmitter on the surface, tweaking its direction. Nothing changed. The screen was dead.

Everyone waited in quiet anticipation. After a long moment, I heard a soft sound coming from behind me. It was Ydar, sobbing.

“Now that console really is out of order,” it said pitifully.

“High Observer Ydar,” said one of the other Observers, sitting at its workstation across the chamber.

“What is it, Ghillen? And please don't give me any bad news. We've just lost a console, thanks to these barbarians.”

“I've just detected a massive power surge,” said Ghillen.

“You see? You see?!” cried Ydar at me, suddenly furious. “You see what you've done? You and these awful two-eyed monsters. You've used too much power! You've blown out my entire system! By Jalasu Jhuk and all the lieutenants, I curse your—”

“No,” said Ghillen. Its screen now showed several little red triangles moving toward a big blue circle.

“I mean that I've detected a power surge in high Gelo orbit. Now I'm seeing . . . ships. Eleven ships. Bearing toward us. Fast.”

“It's the humans,” said Kalac. “They're here with their soldiers!”

“Negative,” said Ghillen.

“What?” I said.

“The ships—the ships don't appear to be human. . . .”

“What are you saying?” said Kalac.

“I don't really know what to make of this, but if our manuals are correct—well, the power surge is consistent with . . .” Ghillen trailed off, its voice filled with terror and uncertainty.