For the Love of Gelo! (5 page)

I was thunderstruck. I had figured that Sheln only wanted to go ahead with the mission to screw it up or somehow turn the situation to its own advantage. Maybe even start a new war with the Aeaki, if we could find them. But with Kalac in charge, Sheln wouldn't get the chance.

“Very well,” said Loghoz. “An amendment to the proposal: Kalac shall lead the mission to Kyral. Any objections?” There were none.

The proposal passed overwhelmingly, by a vote of 5,664 to 82. And one of the nay votes shouldn't have counted, since it was cast by a confused Hollins.

After the Conclave, the crowd slowly dispersed, perhaps a little more hopeful than when they had left their darkened homes. A few Xotonians were even shaking Sheln's thol'graz as it lingered by Jhuk's statue.

“So what was that about?” asked Nicki. “Voting the same way as Sheln makes my skin crawl.”

“Yeah, what
was
that about?” asked Hollins. “Seriously. I'm asking. I only understood, like, twenty percent of what they were saying. Sheln wants to open a juice bar, but Kalac thinks it should serve packing tape instead?”

“What? No,” I said. And I explained how Sheln had co-opted Kalac's idea and even suggested that my originator should lead the mission.

“Oh, that is pretty good,” said Hollins, smiling. “Same old Sheln.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“See, Sheln doesn't want to get caught on the wrong side again,” said Hollins. “So it stole Kalac's idea. If the plan works, Sheln at least gets some credit for coming up with it. But if it doesn't—and this is what Sheln is hoping for—Kalac, the leader of the mission, will take the blame. It's all upside for Sheln. Not as dumb as you think, that one.”

“Heh,” said Becky. “I bet you that Sheln's hoping that Kalac doesn't come back from Kyral at all.” Hollins nudged her hard with his elbow.

“Sorry,” said Becky. “I mean—I'm sure that won't happen, Chorkle.”

I hadn't really considered it before, but who knew what dangers my originator might encounter down on the planet's surface? “Kalac will definitely come back,” I said. I hoped it was true.

• • • •

The four humans and I formally volunteered for the Kyral mission as well. After all, there were no better pilots on all of Gelo than Becky and Hollins. And Nicki and I were pretty handy with a blaster turret. And Little Gus, well . . . he could cook. Sort of. How could the five of us possibly pass up the chance to have an adventure on a strange new world?

“Absolutely not,” said Kalac.

“But we fought in the great battle,” I said. “Not to brag, but we're, you know, heroes.” I only threw this term around on rare occasions, like when it might win an argument or get me something for free.

“You did, and you are,” said Kalac. “Your courage meant the difference between victory and defeat. Gelo owes you a debt that will never be repaid.”

“Here comes Kalac's famous ‘but,'” said Hudka from its battered chair across the room.

“But you're still just children,” said Kalac. “I couldn't bear it if something happened to you, Chorkle. Or any of the humans, either.”

“So just because we're young, you won't let us help?” I asked. Kalac shook its head.

“Well, if age is all that matters, then I should be in charge of this whole asteroid,” said Hudka, who was happy to jump into any argument against Kalac. “I hereby decree that all citizens must rub my aching fel'grazes no fewer than three times a day. And let them not be shy, but really get
in
there—”

“The fact is,” said Kalac, cutting Hudka off. “You already have helped enough, Chorkle. You found the cyclopaedia entry. You and the humans have repaired the starfighters and even trained other pilots to fly them. Pilots who are grown-ups and fully understand the risks of undertaking a mission like this. They don't have their whole lives ahead of them. Trust me. When you have your own offspring, you'll understand.”

All my arguments were futile. Kalac would not be persuaded. And unlike a Grand Conclave proposal, this matter wasn't up for a vote.

“Eh, look on the bright side, kid,” said Hudka, placing a thol'graz on my i'arda. “With Kalac gone, none of us have to bathe.”

“Wait. Everyone else has been bathing this whole time?” said Little Gus.

The next day, Ornim and Chayl boarded one of the Xotonian starfighters, the one we called
Phryxus II
. The ship was powered and ready for flight.

“Keep three eyes on everything around here while I'm gone,” said Kalac to me.

“I will,” I said.

“If you see any nacho cheese down there,” said Little Gus, “try to bring back a sample.”

Kalac smiled and nodded. “I love you, Chorkle,” it said. “And I love you humans too.” Then it turned and followed the others aboard.

The ship's engines fired, and they took off for Kyral.

A
sense of hope pervaded Core-of-Rock. With Kalac and the others gone, the Xotonian people felt that their leaders were working toward a solution to the problem. Surely the reactor would be repaired, and then everything would return to the way it had been for ages. All the lights and computers would blink back to life. No more cold food or piles of uncollected garbage rotting in the streets. The darkness would be lifted.

Few seemed to worry when the ship didn't radio back to the Observatory—temporarily fully powered, just for this purpose—to confirm their safe landing. I worried though. I worried a lot.

“Atmospheric conditions can certainly disrupt transmissions. There's probably an electrical dust storm down there. We've seen many since we began observing the new—er, Kyral,” said Ydar to me. “I'm sure all is going according to plan. Kalac is a very brave and capable leader.” Did I hear a tinge of nervousness in the High Observer's voice?

All that day, we heard nothing. And the next day as well. The days turned into weeks. Still there was no message from Kyral's surface. I began to think about Kalac all the time. I pestered Ydar daily for information. There was none.

I realized now how my originator must have felt when I had seemingly disappeared in the days after the asteroid quake. I regretted putting Kalac through such pain. Even Hudka, who always made jabs at Kalac when it wasn't around, was strangely quiet.

The lack of mission contact was an open secret in Core-of-Rock. Soon tensions were running higher than ever. Neighbor began to turn against neighbor. Accusations—that certain citizens were using more than their allotted share of power or were hoarding food or other supplies—ran rampant. Several fights broke out in the marketplace. There were even a few cases of houses getting robbed—something unheard of in our small, tight-knit society. Beneath it all was the underlying fear that the Vorem—perhaps a whole new legion from their distant homeworld—could arrive at any moment to destroy us. After all, we had no Stealth Shield to conceal us from their long-range scanners.

More and more often, the human children and I took refuge in the hangar. We spent our time tinkering with the two remaining Xotonian starfighters, the
Roosevelt
and the
T'utzuxe
. We'd made a lot of progress on both ships, which were now mission-ready. While we worked, I often activated the ship's communicators, hoping for any sign from Kalac. Operating under such limited power, I worried that the Observatory might miss a transmission from the
Phryxus II
. It was no use though. Each time, I just heard radio silence. Still, I listened.

When the twins' birthday arrived, it provided a much-needed distraction. We gathered in the hangar to celebrate on Yshoj 7th (August 23rd), a date that coincidentally fell just five days before our Xotonian Feast of Zhavend, the most important holiday on Gelo.

I resolved not to bring the others down, so I tried to put aside my Kalac anxiety for the duration of the party. To start things off, Gus, Hollins, and I serenaded the twins with a traditional human birthday song. Even Pizza yowled along. The children took great pleasure, because this particular song was legally restricted on their home planet.

“But how can someone own a song?” I asked. Among all the aspects of human culture that baffled me, this one was the hardest to grasp.

“I dunno,” said Little Gus, “but if you sing it back home and word gets out, you have to pay some super-old dude, like, six hundred dollars in royalty fees.”

“It's actually probably our best bet at getting rescued,” said Becky. “Let the copyright lawyers track us down to deliver a cease-and-desist letter.”

Based upon my understanding of human traditions, I presented the twins with my gift: two precious Feeney's Original Astronaut Ice Cream bars, mushed together into a vaguely squarish shape. In the center, I had placed a large, burning mushroom.

“Um, wow. . . . Thank you, I think?” said Nicki.

“I hope you enjoy the birthday cake! Congratulations on being born several years ago,” I said. “It took me a long time to get the mushroom burning. Somebody lost the welding torch.” I squinted at Hollins, who just shrugged.

“Sure, yeah, it's, uh, really great,” said Nicki as she flung the mushroom onto the ground and tried in vain to stamp out the fire. For some reason, open flames were required at every human birthday.

We each ate a tiny sliver of Feeney's Original Astronaut “birthday cake.” Actually, I ate three. Five, at the most. I tried to savor the oversweetened, artificial goodness. There were, after all, only a few bars left in this entire star cluster. I wished I had rationed them more carefully. Perhaps Kalac would return with the advanced Aeaki technology required to synthesize new Feeney's Originals. A Xotonian could dream.

After cake, it was time for more presents. Nicki and Becky presented each other with a gift. Nicki gave Becky a well-worn book called
Advanced Concepts in Astrophysics
. Becky gave Nicki her copy of
Vampire Band Camp: The Complete Ninth Season
. Neither one of them looked too thrilled, so they decided to swap.

There were two more wrapped gifts for Becky sitting on the ping-pong table. Both had cards that said they came from a “Secret Admirer.”

The first was a gaudy necklace of big pink and purple jewels. The second was an old sock full of stink-pods, a horrifically pungent variety of Gelo fungus. As predicted, Becky gagged when she opened it. Instantly, the whole hangar smelled like hard-boiled feet.

“Ha ha. Super funny,” said Becky to Hollins, who was doubled over with laughter. “Honestly, I think one gag gift would have been sufficient, you jerk.” He just managed to duck out of the way as she whipped the ridiculous pink necklace at his head. It clattered across the floor, and Pizza ran to chase it. From the corner of my third and fourth eyes, I noticed that Little Gus was frowning.

Next, Nicki unwrapped her gift from Hollins. It was a small, intricate x'yzoth crystal carving of a human female holding a round shield and a spear. A few days earlier, I had gone to the market to help Hollins commission it from Layiz the jeweler.

“It's Athena,” said Hollins. “The Greek goddess of wisdom.”

“Huh,” said Nicki. “Thanks.” She seemed less than impressed.

“You know, because you're the smart one,” laughed Hollins.

“The smart one?” asked Nicki.

“I mean, you know how—I mean,” said Hollins, “how I'm the ‘brave leader' or whatever, and Becky is the rebellious one—”

“So you don't think Nicki's brave?” asked Becky with an evil grin. After the stink-pods, it seemed she was out for revenge.

“What? No,” said Hollins, “I just mean that each of us is extra
good
at something different. That's all.”

“Maybe I'm capable of more than you know,” said Nicki, looking unhappy. “And maybe I would be brave if other people gave me the chance once in a while. Instead you think you're ‘extra
good
' at telling other people what to do. But sometimes it can be a bit much, Hollins. Ordering everyone around in the fire, even though your Xotonian is
terrible
. Trying to protect me from a bunch of stupid rockbats . . .”

Hollins tried to defend himself but only succeeded in digging himself deeper the more he talked.

And so the birthday party ended on a glum note. Nicki was insulted. Becky was annoyed. Hollins was defensive and frustrated. Once more I descended into my own private concern for Kalac's well-being. Little Gus was the saddest of all. He sat alone, a sour expression on his face, while Pizza snored at his feet. At least the thyss-cat seemed happy.

“What's wrong?” I asked Little Gus once I was out of earshot from the others. “Are you jealous we're not celebrating your birth for no real reason?”

“No,” he said. “Becky hated the necklace.”

“Yes, pretty funny. We Xotonians don't really have the concept of ‘gag gifts,' but I'm definitely starting to see the appeal. I was thinking I could give Hudka a new hat, except it's really a hibernating woolrat—”

“No, you don't understand,” said Gus. “I got the necklace for her.”

“Oh,” I said. “Good one. She hated it worse than the stink-pods.”

“Chorkle, I didn't give it to her as a joke!”

“But . . . the gift said it was from a ‘secret admirer.' And the necklace was just so . . .” I trailed off as Little Gus stared at me. “Oh,” I said.

He sighed and nodded. “I can't believe I blew it so bad,” said Little Gus. “It's pink. It's a necklace. It's expensive. Those are three things that girls are supposed to like, right?”

I shrugged. I was truly out of my depth here. In my experience, girls seemed to like holodrive programming and piloting starships and playing extremely aggressive ping-pong. In short, I could see no particular pattern. Plus, I already found the dynamic between Hollins and Nicki hard enough to fathom. Now Little Gus was supposed to be Becky's “secret admirer”? It was just too much.

So I offered him my advice: “Just a thought, but it seems like this might cause a lot of trouble and confusion,” I said. I was thinking of the tortured, tangled romances of
Vampire Band Camp
; I didn't want any of my human friends to get an oboe through the heart. “Perhaps you should stop,” I added.

“Stop?”

“You know. Forget about it. Choose to focus on something else that humans enjoy. Like flossing your teeth.”

“Chorkle,” said Little Gus pitifully, “I can't just forget about it.”

I left him to his misery and joined Hollins inside the
Roosevelt
. He was angrily attempting to recalibrate its flight controls.

“Where are the stupid adjustable micro-tongs?” he snapped, flinging tools out of the chest and over his shoulder.

“Are ‘adjustable micro-tongs' a real thing?” I asked.

“They used to be. Now they're gone. We really need to treat this workspace with a little more respect!”

I could tell he was in no mood for friendly conversation. So I left him in the cockpit and set about trying to fix the hydraulics of the starfighter's blaster turret. They had been jittery and unreliable ever since the great battle. As usual, I turned on the ship's com to listen while I worked. And as usual, I heard only the quiet hum of static.

I'd been fiddling with the turret for the better part of an hour when I finally found the problem: a fluid leak near the main actuator. I sat up to get some polymer to patch the seal, when the ship's com crackled strangely.

I listened more closely. There was a faint noise, barely audible: a rhythmic chime. There was no mistaking it: a Xotonian distress beacon!

“Hollins,” I said.

I heard him grumbling from the cockpit as he pounded on something metal. “Stupid statue . . . last gift I ever buy for anyone . . . ungrateful . . .”

“Hollins!” I cried again. “Turn on the cockpit communicator com.”

“Huh? Okay, hold on a sec,” he called back. “What am I listening for?”

“Do you hear a chime?”

“Nothing,” he said.

I scrambled down into the cockpit. Hollins had his ear cocked toward the ship's main communicator. It was quiet.

“I'm not hearing anything,” he said.

“There's a distress beacon,” I said, flooding with panic. “It's got to be the
Phryxus II
. Down on the surface of Kyral. I heard it!”

We both returned to the com station in the blaster turret to listen. Again the signal was just a faint static. The chime was gone.

“I heard it,” I said, adjusting the frequency back and forth across the spectrum. “It was Kalac's ship.” Hollins nodded uncertainly.

“Hey,” said Becky, stepping onto the
Roosevelt
. “We've got a visitor.”

It turned out to be Eromu, the guard captain.

“Eromu, I just heard a distress beacon from the surface!” I cried as I exited the ship. “It's got to be Kalac and the others!”

“Kalac's in danger?” said Eromu. “I'll be sure to notify the Chief of Council.”

“But Kalac is the Chief. What are you talking about?” I asked. “What's going on?”

The guard captain looked extremely put out. “I'm sorry,” said Eromu, “but I've come to escort all of you back to the city.”

“But we need to listen for more transmissions,” I said. “We can't leave!”

Eromu shook its head. “No one is allowed outside of Core-of-Rock anymore. For safety's sake.”

“What?” asked Nicki, speaking in Xotonian. “Since when?”

“Since the . . . Chief of Council has officially declared a state of emergency,” said Eromu.

“Why do you keep saying ‘Chief of Council'?” I cried. “Kalac is down on the surface—”

“Not Kalac,” Eromu sighed. “I'm talking about Sheln.”