For the Love of Gelo! (4 page)

“Sure, but being smart is, like, your main thing,” said Hollins.

“I guess,” said Nicki quietly, and she went back to fiddling with the
Phryxus II
.

“Okay, so who ate my phui-chips?” asked Becky. She was referring to a popular Xotonian snack food/salt-delivery mechanism. “My phui-chips are missing.”

No one said anything.

“It's okay. Whoever did it can tell me. I won't be mad,” said Becky. “I promise I'll be totally calm and emotionless when I end your life.”

“It wasn't me,” said Hollins. “Those things are full of carbs, possibly.”

“Nicole Ximena García?” said Becky.

“Do what now?” asked Nicki. “Microchips? Don't have any. Wish I did.” She was already completely engrossed in a thick tangle of colored wires.

“You're being awfully quiet, Chorkle,” said Becky. “If you confess, this will go easier on you.”

I gulped. A few days ago, I
had
stolen two of Becky's sweetened yth-cakes—a poor substitute for the Feeney's Original I craved—but I hadn't taken her phui-chips. “I didn't eat them,” I said. “Why don't you try some of that mushroom jerky instead?” I pointed to a pouch of gummy gray flakes that had been sitting open on the ping-pong table for weeks.

“That fungus has got mold on it,” said Becky, and she plopped down on the couch in front of the TV.

“Hey, Chorkle, a little help over here?” Hollins called out.

“'Sup, cool dude playa?” I said, trying for maximum human slang as I joined him on the far side of one of the ships. I was expecting to assist him in patching a blaster hole or holding two wires together to be soldered.

Instead, he looked around and then spoke quietly. “Hey, look, Nicki's birthday is coming up, and I want to get her something special. Any ideas?”

Apparently, each year humans expect special accolades and material rewards merely for having been born. “A bag of phui-chips?” I suggested, wondering if I should claim that today was my own “birthday” and demand that all of the humans give me their shoes.

“A bag of phui-chips?” said Hollins, crinkling his brow. “No. Come on. It's gotta be bigger than that.”

“What about . . . ten thousand tons of phui-chips?”

“Forget the chips, Chorkle. What about some cool alien thing? Like a space gem or a jewel? Something that's, like, classy. Hey, maybe a crown that does telepathy! Do you know where I can buy a telepathy crown?”

I shrugged.

“All right. Well, if you think of anything, let me know.”

“Won't it be Becky's birthday as well?” I asked. “They hatched on the same day, didn't they?”

“Hatched? What? Oh yeah. I guess so,” said Hollins. He shrugged. The humans were always evasive on the details of their reproductive cycle.

“So don't you need to get Becky something too?” I asked.

He looked confused for a moment. Then his eyes lit up. “Yeah. You're right. I could stuff a bunch of stink-pods into a sock and wrap it up real nice. Put a card on it that says ‘From Your Secret Admirer.' Then, when she opens it, she'll probably barf. That would be hilarious. Good idea, Chorkle.”

I was puzzled by the discrepancy in the quality of these two birthday presents, and I was about to inquire further when Becky called out.

“Sis!”

I turned to see her lying on the couch, pointing the remote at the televisual console and clicking. The TV remained resolutely off.

“Hold on,” came her twin's muffled voice. Nicki was torso deep in the guts of the
Phryxus II
. “I'm recalibrating the flight controls.”

“Sis.”

“Just give me one second.”

“Siiiiiiis,” whined Becky, stretching the word out to four syllables, at least. “Sis. Sis. Sis. Sis. Sis. Sis. Sis. Si—”

“All right, all right!” cried Nicki, emerging from an access panel. She pulled out her holodrive, and with a few quick swipes, the
T'utzuxe
hummed to life. So did the TV. Nicki had figured out a way to redirect a small percentage of the ship's power. It wasn't much, just enough to run the human televisual screen.

“Thanks, sis,” said Becky. “This is why I'm still twins with you.” And she started to watch her favorite prerecorded episodic program. The humans had brought several with them from Earth. This one was a teen melodrama called
Vampire Band Camp
.

“Do you think Clyve is
finally
going to ask Lucy to be second trombone?” I asked, sitting down beside her.
Vampire Band Camp
certainly trumped the wrinkled geology worksheet I clutched in my thol'graz.

“Nah, Clyve's dead,” said Becky. “Oboe right through the heart.”

“Wow,” I said. I'd only missed one episode, but apparently a lot had happened.

“Hey, everybody check this out,” said Little Gus. He'd finally arrived, with Pizza leaping and gamboling behind. “I taught Pizza how to say ‘hamburger.'”

“What?” said Hollins. “Dude, why didn't you teach him how to say ‘Pizza'?”

“Huh,” said Gus, scratching his head, “Oh yeah. Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Too late now.” Then to Pizza, “C'mon, boy, say ‘hamburger.'”

Pizza stared at him silently.

“‘Hamburger.' C'mon. Remember what we discussed. It's very important that you say ‘hamburger.' C'mon. Say ‘hamburger,' boy. You're embarrassing me in front of my colleagues.”

Pizza rolled over onto his back, sticking all four feet in the air. He wanted a belly rub.

“Impressive,” said Becky, turning back to the TV.

“This is, uh . . . also something I taught him to do,” said Little Gus, pointing to the thyss-cat. “He couldn't do that this morning.” But everyone had already returned to what they were doing.

Gus approached the couch. “Aw, c'mon. Not this dumb show. I hate these cool-hair vampires. All they do is make serious faces and french. It's gross,” he said. “How about we watch
Kaper Kidz
instead.” He referred to another human program, a kinetic, brightly colored cartoon show. Unless I'd eaten an astronaut ice cream directly beforehand,
Kaper Kidz
always gave me a splitting headache.

“
Kaper Kidz
is for little babies,” said Becky distractedly. “This is grown-up stuff.” On-screen, two chiseled teen vampires tried to learn the new color guard routine.

“I'm not a baby!” said Gus. “In two years we'll be exactly the same age.”

“No. Because I'll still be two years older then,” said Becky.

“Has anybody seen the ion welder?” asked Hollins as he rummaged through the toolbox.

“Is this it?” asked Little Gus. He picked a screwdriver up from the floor near the couch.

“No, dude,” said Hollins, “that's a screwdriver. Come on.”

“Oh, well excuse me, Sir Einstein Newton,” said Gus. “Some of us aren't complete nerds like Nicki.”

“I'm not a nerd!” cried Nicki from somewhere inside the bowels of the
Phryxus II
.

“Total nerd thing to say,” whispered Little Gus. “You're cool though, Becky.”

“You're not,” she said. Gus frowned.

“Man, I could have sworn I left the ion welder in this box,” said Hollins.

On-screen, vampires kissed and broke up and struggled to learn a very challenging tuba part. I briefly considered doing my geology homework. Then I began to flip through one of the Observatory cyclopaedias that I had borrowed. I'd heard that
Spiral Arm 314229 of the Turech Galaxy
was an underrated classic.

“K
yral,” I said. I awoke in the night with this sudden revelation. I leaped out of my sleeping-veth and reread the cyclopaedia entry.

Then I tried to rouse the humans from their slumber. As usual, it was hopeless.

“I may have finally figured out our location!” I cried. “We can finally calculate our position relative to Earth!”

“Neat,” said Nicki without waking up.

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” slurred Hollins before rolling over.

“Little Gus,” murmured Little Gus.

So instead I woke Kalac and made my originator take me directly to the High Observer's dwelling. Hudka came along too. My grand-originator could never bear to be where the action wasn't.

Core-of-Rock was dark. Power outages had become the norm in the weeks prior. Only the most essential services were allowed to use electricity. Normal life in the city ground to a halt. The fifth grade was put on hold indefinitely.

In my free time, I studied the Observers' cyclopaedias. I'd become obsessed. I had the feeling that somehow our salvation lay with the new planet. Every day I would borrow new cyclopaedia volumes and spend hours reading through them. Their content was occasionally interesting, filled with brief descriptions of distant worlds and strange alien races—apparently there were many intelligent species in the universe. Usually, though, the cyclopaedias were deadly dull. A typical entry might read:

“Cymis-19 is a type 6 binary pulsar (Pulsar-901368A and Pulsar-901368B) in the Ghez sector of the Ylori star cluster of Spiral Arm 991234 of the Edopo Galaxy. Pulsar-901368A has a mass of 2.6 x 10
30
kg and a spin period of 0.023 seconds, while Pulsar-901368B has a mass of 2.8 x 10
30
kg and a spin period of 2.8 seconds. Cymis-19 may reach a rate of up to 227 EMR pulses per second. ACRG: 5018, 8183, 0081.”

If you feel like gnawing your own eyes off after reading that, imagine trying to get through a whole book of entries just like it. Then imagine reading ten such books.

But in the end, my suffering had paid off. Buried in all the facts and figures, I had found something important. And I had to share it.

So I knocked on the door of the High Observer's dwelling, while the rest of the city slept. I clutched the cyclopaedia in my thol'graz.

“See,” muttered Hudka, pointing to the fancy platinum doorknob of Ydar's dwelling, “I've always said the High Observer position is overpaid.”

“Oh, Ydar's not so bad,” said Kalac. “It's come a long way in recent months.”

I pounded on the door again. At last, it eased open.

“Yes, what is it?” said Ydar, its five eyes blinking slowly. It was odd to see the High Observer out of ceremonial robes and wearing pajamas. Recently Ydar had been pulling double duty, working in the Observatory and trying to keep the reactor in Trillid's plant running.

“Sorry to bother you at this hour, High Observer,” said Kalac, “but Chorkle—”

“It's Kyral!” I said. “The new planet is Kyral!”

The High Observer frowned and shook its head. “No, Chorkle, we already considered Kyral. It's not the new planet. Believe me, we focused on all the entries for habitable worlds in the cyclopaedias first. I can't believe you awakened me in the middle of a sleep cycle for this. It's enough to make me reconsider my policy of allowing lay-Xotonians to access the order's sacred cyclopaedias.” Ydar started to close the door.

“Listen up, mold-brain,” said Hudka. “If my grand-offspring here says the new planet is Kyral, then it's Kyral. The evidence is irrefutable!”

“And just what is the evidence?” asked Ydar, squinting at Hudka.

“How should I know?” shrugged Hudka. “Chorkle?”

“Right,” I said. “So it's got a single moon. It's the same diameter. The same mass. It's habitable—”

“Slow down and read the entry,” said Ydar.

I opened the tome and read. “Kyral is a planet located in the Nyspol sector of the Ueldo star cluster of Spiral Arm 5456901 of the Pharrash Galaxy. Kyral has a mass of 6.00809 × 10
24
kg and a diameter of 13,458 km, with a single orbital moon (
see
: Ithro). Kyral is a densely populated and highly urbanized world, a regional cultural mecca for several adjacent sectors, home to an intelligent species known as the Aeaki, whose capital city of Hykaro Roost—”

“And that is where I will stop you,” said Ydar, cutting me off. “The new planet we orbit is not ‘densely populated.' We've seen a few scattered signs that could mean intelligent life, yes, but hardly ‘urbanized.' And no cities to speak of at all. Just lots of forests and swamps and blighted deserts down there. We haven't seen anyone coming or going. The planet isn't a ‘cultural mecca' by any standard.”

“Yes,” I said, “but this cyclopaedia comes from the time of Jalasu Jhuk, doesn't it? That was ages ago. Maybe something happened since then.”

Ydar pondered this.

“See,” said Hudka, “I told you the evidence was irrefutable.”

Ydar's expression had changed. “Chorkle, what did you say that diameter was?”

“Thirteen thousand four hundred fifty-eight kilometers,” I said. “But here's the most important part.” I returned to the entry, skipping over long boring swathes that focused on Kyral's water cycle and tectonic plate dynamics.

“The Aeaki,” I read aloud, “are a highly technologically advanced race, capable of faster-than-light space travel. Xotonians enjoy the highest level of cultural amity and cooperation with this friendly species.”

Kalac, Hudka, and Ydar looked at one another.

“The reactor,” said Kalac.

“If they're so technologically advanced, then maybe the Aeaki can help us fix it!” I said. “And with faster-than-light travel, maybe they can even help the humans get back to their own planet.”

“It's a long shot,” said Ydar. “But I suppose it's worth a try.”

“I always said you were a wise one,” said Hudka. “The Council should give you a raise.”

• • • •

“By Great Jalasu Jhuk of the Stars,” cried Loghoz, “let this, the eight hundred nineteenth Grand Conclave of the Xotonian people, commence!”

Ryzz Plaza was packed once more. The entire population of Core-of-Rock had gathered for the great meeting. Four young humans stood among the populace, now counted as full citizens of Gelo. This time they were able to follow the proceedings on their own. Well, three of them were, anyway.

Hollins was lost. “Did Loghoz just ask us all to name our favorite type of mouse?” he asked. “Because I don't know if I have one.”

Nicki shook her head. “I can't wait to exercise my civic duty!” she whispered as she rotated her shoulder in a slow circle. “Gotta warm up my voting arm.”

“Wake me up when it's over,” said Becky, sprawling on a flat rock.

Beneath the iridium statue of Jalasu Jhuk stood the Xotonian Council. In addition to Loghoz and Kalac, there were Glyac, Dyves, and, of course, the dimwitted and outspoken Sheln. At the moment it was whispering something to Loghoz. Loghoz blinked uncertainly.

“By special request,” said Loghoz, “the first to speak will be Council Member Sheln.”

Sheln stepped forward, its thol'grazes folded humbly. There were hisses from the crowd, a few outright boos. The preceding months had not been kind to Sheln, politically or physically. By all accounts it had spent most of its time shut up in the municipal archives, reading over arcane laws and statutes. Perhaps it was trying to shed its public image as a complete moron.

“Greetings, Xotonian people,” said Sheln. Its voice sounded uncharacteristically reedy and weak. Sheln had lost weight since the great battle. Its once overstuffed physique now looked saggy and deflated. Sheln had been caught on the wrong side of history: Blinded by its hatred for humans, it had opposed the efforts to fight the Vorem in favor of attacking the human miners. In hindsight, that position looked ridiculous.

“Allow me to extend my warmest welcome to our newest citizens,” said Sheln, fooling no one. It was well known that it blamed the Earth children for its waning fortunes. In fact, most assumed this would be Sheln's last term of office on the Council.

“Power,” said Sheln, “or the lack thereof. That is what we came here to discuss. Our reactor is failing, and we don't know how to fix it. We've lost our Stealth Shield. The Observatory barely functions. Agriculture, air circulation, and sanitation are crippled. Life in Core-of-Rock is becoming unbearable. And if the Vorem return, simply put, we are in trouble. This situation cannot stand.”

I was confused. Sheln was summarizing the problem accurately and without a stupid or self-serving agenda. Perhaps the wormhole had taken us to some alternate universe where Sheln wasn't an utter mold-brain?

“But there is hope!” cried Sheln. “And once again it comes from young Chorkle here. What a prodigy, folks. And a hero of the great battle too! Let's hear it for Chorkle. What would we do without this little one? I have always said that the offspring are our future.”

A few in the audience clapped uncertainly. The lack of applause wasn't a reflection on my personal popularity—though I noticed that Zenyk kept its thol'grazes folded. It was just that anyone was leery of agreeing with Sheln. I too wondered what it was getting at.

“You see, Chorkle has identified our new planet. And apparently it is home to an advanced and friendly civilization that was an ally back in the Time of Legends! It's possible that they can now help us fix the reactor.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. The idea of more contact with outsiders didn't sit well with a lot of Xotonians. A few started to tear up preemptively. Yet still, a chance at solving our problems had a strong appeal.

“Therefore, for the good of the Xotonian species, I propose that we immediately launch a mission to the surface of this new planet, Kyral,” said Sheln.

My gul'orp dropped open. Sheln had put forth the exact proposal that Kalac had intended to!

Someone called out, “Hey, over here. I'm a hero too!” Of course, it was Hudka. My grand-originator obviously couldn't let a public speaking appearance by Sheln pass without interruption.

“Hudka,” sighed Loghoz, “while the Council recognizes your valiant service, we simply don't have time for—”

“No, please, let the ancient one speak,” said Sheln, trying to sound deferential. “Hudka reminds us that history is still alive.”

“Thanks,” said Hudka. “Sheln, I was all set to call you a fat, self-serving, mold-brained creep, a toxic blight on the very political process itself. But I'm not going to do that. I will give credit where credit is due. For the first time in your life, you have made perfect sense.” Then to the crowd, “Let this be a lesson, folks: Stupidity is not an incurable disease!”

A ripple of laughter swept across the plaza. Sheln forced a grotesque smile onto its face and tried to look like everything was in good fun. Its eyes weren't smiling though.

“The next to address the Conclave,” cried Loghoz, “shall be Chief of Council Kalac!”

Kalac stepped forward.

“Greetings,” said my originator. “In fact, I had intended to put forward exactly the same proposal. Thank you, Sheln, for stating the case so well.”

Sheln nodded respectfully, its face still a pained smile.

Kalac continued. “The reason I felt this matter should be brought before the Grand Conclave, however, are the risks. It is only fair that they be addressed in public.”

“If we undertake a mission to Kyral, we may end up drawing more attention to ourselves. We believe the Aeaki who inhabit the planet are friendly, but our information is hundreds of years out of date. The data we've gotten from the Observatory is limited. And, as we all know, our recent luck with alien encounters has been
mixed
at best. The truth is that we don't honestly know what we'll find down there. And to compound that risk, it appears there is already a Vorem trireme somewhere on the surface of the planet.”

The crowd shuddered. A few of the more easily frightened Xotonians clutched each other for support.

“Still,” continued Kalac, “I believe that a mission to Kyral is our best hope to bring the reactor and the Stealth Shield back online. And maybe even to help our young human friends return to their families. So I encourage you all to vote in favor of Sheln's plan.” Kalac concluded its speech. The crowd seemed persuaded.

“If there are no further proposals,” cried Loghoz, “then let us vote—”

“Pardon me, Custodian,” said Sheln humbly, “but I wish to make one small amendment.”

Loghoz looked around. Dyves seemed uncertain. Glyac seemed asleep. Kalac was unreadable.

“Go ahead, Sheln,” said Loghoz.

“I propose,” said Sheln, “that Kalac lead this vital mission to Kyral. It is an honor that our esteemed Chief of Council has earned many times over. And I can imagine no better leader for such a crucial endeavor.”