Space Rocks!

by Tom O'Donnell

  “Good call, Chorkle! These things are delicious,” said Becky as she stuffed her mouth with soft, gooey slugmeat. “They’re so . . . tangy.” I hadn’t told the humans they were eating hollowed-out gastropod mollusks stuffed with fried mold. I’d called them “Xotonian burritos.”

  “Core-of-Rock is an amazing city,” said Nicki, still marveling at Dynusk’s Column. “Xotonians have some really impressive technology. So far I’ve seen super-realistic holograms, handheld blaster weapons, and that weird purple energy field, which I assume somehow cloaks this entire place. It uses tachyonic wave dilution, right?”

  “Uh . . . yeah. Of course it does,” I said.

  “In a lot of ways,” said Nicki, “your civilization is much more advanced than ours.”

  “They don’t have Wendy’s,” grumbled Little Gus quietly. He wasn’t enjoying his Xotonian burrito quite as much as Becky was.

  “On the other hand, you guys don’t have space travel. I mean, besides those three antiques we found back in the . . . secret chamber,” said Nicki, lowering her voice for the last two words. “Heck, you guys don’t even have cars.”

  It was true. Xotonians moved around Core-of-Rock by walking. The most rapid transit available was riding on the back of an usk-lizard. And only guards and fungus farmers did that. (Usk-lizards are temperamental, and they stink something awful.)

  “It’s this weird mix of super advanced and kind of medieval,” said Nicki. “Like, how come you have that crazy cloaking shield, but you don’t have industrial agriculture? Why are all of your buildings made of simple stone blocks?”

  I shrugged.

  “Well, who makes all the energy blasters and those little dealies you put in your ear cavity to spy on radio transmissions?”

  “Nobody makes them,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Hollins. “Then where do they come from?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “We don’t really make those things. We just . . . have them.”

  I could tell that all the humans were deeply confused.

  “We can make a stone dwelling or a fence. Well, a stonemason or a carpenter can. But we only have thirty-one Nyrt-Snoopers. We have two hundred fifty-six energy blasters,” I said. “We used to have two hundred fifty-seven, until one of them broke two years ago. It really bummed everyone out.”

  “So you can’t even repair the stuff you already have?” asked Becky.

  “Sometimes we can,” I said, “if it’s a simple problem. A few Xotonians have some understanding of the ancient devices.”

  “But you can’t manufacture anything new,” said Nicki.

  I shook my head. “These things all come down to us from the Time of Legends. They’re special relics that were bestowed upon us by Jalasu Jhuk and its lieutenants. It would take heroes as great as them to make any more. That’s what the elders say, anyway.”

  “Maybe when our parents come back,” said Nicki, “we can share some human technology with you. Help you figure out how some of this stuff works.”

  “Maybe,” I said. I’d nearly forgotten the adult humans altogether. If our two species went to war, I doubted that they would want to share anything with Xotonians.

  “You know, it’s been four days. They should be coming back to Gelo soon,” said Hollins. “Do you have any idea what the Council will decide? Will they let us go? If I could just get a message to my mom somehow. Let her know we’re safe. It might make things easier. . . .” He trailed off.

  “I wouldn’t hold out much hope,” I said. “My originator is a very tough individual. And Kalac is probably the most compassionate member of the Council—”

  “Gah-gah-gah-gah-gah,” yelled someone in crude imitation of human speech. “Why don’t you talk like a real Xotonian instead of a dirty hoo-min?”

  I turned to see, of course, Zenyk. It was standing in the plaza with its usual aspiring bully entourage.

  “Hello, Chorkle, old buddy,” said Zenyk. “I just came to greet our honored guests.”

  “Zenyk,” I said, “glad to see you. Thank you so much for welcoming them. As always, you are as polite as you are clever.”

  “Cer’em!” Zenyk yelled, right in Little Gus’s face. It startled him and prompted the obligatory joyless laughter from Zenyk’s cronies. Hollins and Becky stood up, their fists clenched at their sides. More Xotonians were watching now. Zenyk was making a scene.

  “Wow, you seem to be less frightened of humans than your originator was,” I said. “You know, Sheln was absolutely terrified.” Zenyk scowled.

  “Yeah, well, I figured that since you brought them to Core-of-Rock,” it said, strutting toward Hollins, “they ought to get the full Xotonian cultural experience. You know?”

  Hollins scowled. Though he didn’t know what Zenyk was saying, its tone was abundantly clear. The two of them glared at one another. Zenyk was huge for its age, about as big as Hollins.

  I put a thol’graz between them, trying to defuse the situation. An interspecies brawl in Ryzz Plaza would be most unwise. If humans were seen fighting with Xotonians—no matter who started it—things would turn ugly pretty quickly.

  “Just say what you mean,” I said to Zenyk. “What do you want with us?”

  “I think,” said Zenyk, poking Hollins right in the chest, “we should all play a friendly game of oog-ball.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Zenyk wants to play oog-ball,” I sighed as I translated to the humans.

  “What’s that?” asked Nicki. “I’m usually not so good at anything with the word ‘ball’ in the name.”

  Oog-ball is, perhaps, the dumbest sport in the history of the universe. Its object is simple to the point of absurdity. Its method of play is brutal in the extreme. Big Xotonians, like Zenyk, dominate the game. Small, thoughtful ones—like myself, just to pick a random example—have no chance. Among my people, it is insanely popular.

  Just how does one play oog-ball? You start with an oog—that’s the biggest digestive organ of an usk-lizard. You dry it out, rubberize it, weight it, and inflate it. Now it is a giant ball (an oog-ball, if you will), bigger and considerably heavier than a full-grown Xotonian.

  The oog-ball is then placed inside the pel—a tall, circular ring of stalagmites that are spaced so closely together that the ball can’t fit between them.

  Two opposing teams of five players squeeze through the spaces between the stalagmites and into the pel. Whichever team manages to get the oogball out of the pel is the winner.

  That’s it. That’s the whole game.

  If it sounds easy (or, Jalasu Jhuk forbid, fun), trust me, it isn’t. The oog-ball barely bounces and, as I said, is incredibly heavy. The teams must work together to climb up the stalagmites and, using their combined strength, hoist the oog-ball over the top.

  This would be difficult enough on its own. But it is made considerably more difficult by the inconvenient fact that the other team is pummeling you the whole time. And if you don’t want to lose, your team is, of course, pummeling them back.

  Oog-ball is a stupid game (that a couple of Xotonians die playing every year). But for whatever reason, it is the great Gelo pastime. My species can’t get enough.

  I explained all this to the humans as Zenyk and the assembled goons stood by.

  “So, yeah,” I said, “that’s what the game is. And in case I’m not making myself clear: I hate oog-ball.”

  “I say we play ’em,” said Hollins, glowering at Zenyk. “I was captain of the basketball team, the baseball team, and the soccer team at my school. I think I can handle a little ‘oog-ball.’”

  “I want a piece of these punks,” growled Becky.

  “Wait, wait,” said Nicki. “Aside from getting the ball thingy out of the ring thingy, is there anything else we should know?”

  “Each team gets two timeouts,” I said.

  “C�
��mon, are you gonna play or what?” cried Zenyk. “I know the big hoo-mins already fled in fear. Maybe these little baby ones are too scared.”

  “Calm down!” I said. “I’m just explaining the rules.”

  “Rules?” laughed Zenyk. “Oog-ball doesn’t have any rules.” I translated this back to the humans.

  “Fair enough,” said Becky, cracking her knuckles.

  “Let’s do it,” said Hollins.

  “I’m down,” said Little Gus. “We get kneepads and helmets and stuff, right?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I think this is a very, very bad idea,” said Nicki quietly.

  “Me too,” I said.

  And so we all walked together to a public pel, just off Ryzz Plaza. The crowd of spectators swelled as we went. A human-Xotonian oog-ball match was bound to attract a lot of interest.

  “Chork-a-zoid!” cried one of the many Xotonians following us.

  “Linod-tron!” I called back.

  “Chorkle, you’ve got to tell me everything,” said Linod as it pushed its way through the crowd toward me. “Sneaking aboard the human spaceship! A daring trek through the Unclaimed Tunnels! Getting interrogated by the Xotonian Council!”

  “Sounds like you already know everything.”

  “Plus, you’ve got four pet humans now!” said Linod. “Oh please, can I please have one, Chorkle? Please, please, please? I’ll even take that little red one.” Linod pointed to Gus.

  “Sorry, Linod. Afraid I can’t spare a single human. You’re going to have to find your own.”

  Linod took me aside and started to whisper. “Fine. Okay. But Chorkle, I came here to warn you. You know how Arani is friends with Chrow’s sibling Ukelu, but not like real friends. Like ‘sometimes’ friends? Anyway, Arani and Ukelu were talking about Chrow, and Chrow said—”

  “C’mon, Linod. Get to the point.”

  “Okay, okay, okay. The word on the street is that this match is just a glorified excuse for Zenyk’s team to beat the guano out of all of you. They aren’t even going to try to win. In fact, they want to keep the match going forever, just so they can put the hurt on all of you for as long as possible.”

  “Hmm. Yeah, that sounds about right,” I said.

  “So . . . you’re obviously going to call the game off, right? Unless you want to die. In which case, can I have your humans?” said Linod. “Except . . . they’ll probably all be dead too.” Linod sighed.

  I explained the situation to the humans. “So the match is a setup,” I said. “Zenyk’s not even playing to win. I really don’t think we should do this.”

  “Can’t back down now,” said Hollins, eyeing the crowd. “Too many folks watching. We have to represent humanity. And anyway, it sounds like this creep Zenyk needs to learn a lesson.”

  “Yeah. There’s nothing more satisfying than giving a bully exactly what it deserves,” said Becky.

  “You don’t mess with Earth!” yelled Little Gus, thumping his undersized chest.

  “I would really, really prefer not to do this,” said Nicki. “If the rest of you suffer a brain injury, no big loss. I mean, except in your case, Hollins. You’re obviously really smart too. But I’m a straight-A student! I’m planning to go to Harvard, or at least Dartmouth. Think it through: We don’t even know how to play oog-ball. . . .” She trailed off as she realized that her three companions had already made up their minds.

  “Oh fine. But when this is done, we are all going to go to the advanced mathematics museum. No arguments,” she said. “Can somebody please hold my glasses?”

  I gave them to Linod for safekeeping.

  Our team tried to meet our opponents on the field of play, but only Little Gus could easily pass between the tightly spaced stalagmites that formed the pel. After much squeezing and tugging—which recalled our journey through the Unclaimed Tunnels and prompted snide jibes from Zenyk and laughter from the crowd—the humans eventually made it inside. It was not an auspicious beginning to the match.

  There, in the center of the pel, sat the oog-ball. A big, ugly black spheroid sagging under its own weight. Even rolling an oog-ball was a tough task, much less getting it up over the top of the pel.

  Zenyk, Chrow, Skubb, Slal, and Polth were already inside, trying to look tough.

  “Good luck,” sneered Zenyk to Hollins in Xotonian.

  “I’m going to enjoy beating you at your own stupid sport,” said Hollins to Zenyk in human.

  A rapt sea of Xotonians surrounded the pel now. The atmosphere was electric. Some were merely curious. Most, I suspected, would love nothing more than to see a bunch of humans get ground into the dirt trying to play our most popular native sport. I heard a few distinctly antihuman chants (“Up with Gelo! Down with Eo!”). Somewhere I heard Linod faintly trying to start a counter-chant of “Oog-ball sucks!” only to be shouted down.

  Each member of the other team put a thol’graz on the oog-ball. This was customary. When the last player touched it, the match would begin. Hollins put a hand on. Then Becky. Then Little Gus. Then Nicki.

  “Ready?” I said.

  They all nodded. I put my thol’graz on the oog-ball—

  Suddenly I was in the middle of a chaotic scrum of flying fel’grazes and human elbows and black rubber. I was getting shoved and gouged and kicked away from the center of the ring and toward the pel.

  Now my back was crushed against the stalagmites, and my front was crushed by the oog-ball itself. From somewhere a thol’graz slapped me. Several stink-glands were discharged—a standard opening gambit in every match I’ve ever seen. I pushed back as hard as I could against the ball, but it was no use. I wasn’t strong enough.

  I could barely breathe now. Someone slapped me again. Was that a human hand? Slowly, painfully, I turned my head. I could see Becky beside me. She was also getting crushed between the ball and the pel, but even worse, Chrow had her in a sort of headlock. Two of its thol’grazes were wrapped tightly around her neck.

  “Or’on aush!” I called, Xotonian for “timeout.”

  Whoever was pushing the oog-ball at me stopped. I slumped to the ground and gasped for air.

  Our team slowly regrouped on the other side of the pel. After only a few minutes of “play,” we looked terrible: already bruised, battered, clothing torn. Hollins even had a bloody nose.

  “So this is supposed to be fun . . . how?” asked Little Gus, flexing his shoulder. He seemed to have forgotten his “nobody-messes-with-Earth” persona.

  “Did one of you slap me?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry. It’s really hard to tell all of you apart without my glasses,” said Nicki. To her, we Xotonians were now the duplicates.

  Becky rubbed her neck. “What’s that one called?” she snarled and pointed.

  “Chrow,” I said.

  “Chrow is dead,” she said darkly.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” said Hollins. “This is just the first few minutes of our first time playing this game. We’re still learning the ropes. We’ll get ’em. Don’t you worry.” He was leaning his head back and holding a rag to his nose to try to stop the bleeding.

  “You’re lucky you got hit in the nose,” coughed Nicki. “I think somebody sprayed stink on me!”

  “Not so funny when you’re on the receiving end, is it?” asked Becky. Nicki shook her head and started to retch.

  “So do we have a plan?” asked Becky.

  “Maybe we can get them to slip on our blood and fall down,” said Little Gus.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Hollins. “When the match starts, just let them have the ball. It’ll confuse them. At least for a minute.”

  “That’s when we hit them back hard,” said Becky, spitting in the dirt.

  “Exactly,” said Hollins. “Becky, you and I can get in there and scrap with all five of them for a minute.
While they’re distracted, that’s when you three take the ball over the top.”

  “Wait. Two of you are going to handle all five of them?” asked Nicki.

  “Yup,” said Hollins. “I was captain of the wrestling team at my school.”

  “How many teams did your school have?” asked Little Gus.

  “A lot of teams. Look, it’s simple, guys: Divide and conquer. We can’t lose.”

  When he said it like that, it certainly sounded like a plan!

  “Ti’zeg aush,” I said. Time in.

  Nicki, Becky, and I instantly stepped aside, and Zenyk’s team shoved the ball hard. They got no resistance from us and nearly fell forward. The ball rolled against the pel and rolled back at them, throwing them further off balance.

  Just as Hollins predicted, this confused them for a split second. Becky took the opportunity to stamp on Chrow’s fel’graz and knee it hard in the z’iuk. Chrow slumped to the ground with a gentle groan.

  Meanwhile, Hollins flew through the air like some crazed animal. He took a startled Zenyk, Slal, and Polth down with him.

  “Okay, this way!” cried Little Gus from somewhere (he was smaller than the oog-ball, so it was easy to lose track of him). Then he, Nicki, and I began to awkwardly roll the oog-ball back toward the pel. Nicki grabbed hold of one of the stalagmites.

  “Too slippery!” she said. I had a sinking feeling as I realized that I was the only member of our entire team who was capable of climbing up a three-meter stalagmite. I quickly scaled the pel.

  From my vantage point, I could see Hollins. He was on the ground with Polth and Slal in two separate chokeholds and Zenyk in a leglock! Elsewhere, Becky was literally biting Chrow’s fribs as it tried to get away from her.

  “Hoist it,” I yelled. Little Gus and Nicki—probably the two weakest humans—began to lift the oog-ball. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, the ball rose up the pel; it was above their heads now. I gripped the stalagmites and tried to help from above. Little by little, the oog-ball kept rising! Was there a chance this plan was actually going to work?