For the Love of Gelo!

by Tom O'Donnell

  “I don’t care if you’re Jalasu Jhuk itself! There’s no fried mold left. And if you don’t like it, I’m happy to serve you up a nice thol’graz sandwich!”

  Dyves gritted its ish’kuts and blinked back tears.

  Tension was building in Core-of-Rock. Regardless of losing the Stealth Shield, our broken reactor was making everyday life much more difficult. Air and water circulation had slowed. All the occupations and hobbies that required power were curbed. Public sanitation, medical care, and agriculture suffered the most. Rumors of the departing Vorem trireme didn’t help matters.

  “Hold on, I’ll catch up with you guys,” said Little Gus, and he peeled off and headed toward the butcher’s stall. Then he stopped. “Wait. Can somebody lend me ten x’yzoth crystals?”

  The humans looked at one another, then at me.

  I sighed. “Ten x’yzoth,” I said. “That’s an awful lot. How about . . . none?”

  “Gotta be at least ten, Chorkle,” said Little Gus. “Prices have really gone up!”

  When he met us later at the usk-lizard stables near the city guardhouse, he was carrying a wrapped parcel.

  A young guard named Ixoby nodded and opened the gate. Inside, dozens of the huge, dull-eyed usk-lizards placidly chewed dried lichen in their stalls. The humans and I set about bridling two of the great beasts that we knew well: Goar and Gec.

  “Well, they may not be the swiftest usk-lizards . . . ” said Hollins, holding his nose and patting Gec’s haunches.

  “Or the smartest,” said Becky as she watched Goar chew on an old piece of rope for a minute before determining it wasn’t food and spitting it out.

  “But Goar and Gec definitely stink the least,” I said.

  Gec snorted as Hollins and Nicki climbed onto its back. Becky, Gus, and I climbed onto Goar’s.

  “Ha!” cried Hollins.

  “What’s funny?” I asked.

  But before anyone answered, we were galloping through the streets of Core-of-Rock and out into the Unclaimed Tunnels. It was unnerving not to see the Stealth Shield, the traditional Xotonian boundary between civilization and wilderness.

  We traveled onward into the cavern system. Behind me, Gus squinted and shined his flashlight around in the darkness. I suspected he was hoping for a glimpse of his phantom Vorem.

  The usk-lizards carried us through a thick scrub of spiny dralts, past fields of pulsing purple geodes. At one sharp bend in the tunnel, we disturbed a huge flock of rockbats. For a minute, the air was thick with them as they flew past by the thousands.

  “Whoa, careful, Nicki,” said Hollins as he made a protective gesture to cover her from the flapping mass of gray wings.

  “They’re just rockbats,” said Nicki, frowning. “They’re totally harmless.”

  After an hour of riding, we came to the place called Flowing-Stone. It was nine turns from Core-of-Rock, and even the humans knew the way by now. Flowing-Stone was a gnarled old philiddra forest growing on the site of what had once been a thriving city. Long ago, Flowing-Stone had been completely destroyed in a Xotonian civil war. An occasional stone ruin poked through the mist like a broken bone, the only remnants of its existence. The whole place had an eerie, haunted quality. With the death of our reactor, I wondered if Core-of-Rock would end up like Flowing-Stone.

  Goar sniffed the air and slowed to a walk. Then it stopped altogether. Becky yanked on the reins as the usk-lizard began to shake its head from side to side and tried to back up, bumping into Gec, who bellowed.

  Now both the usk-lizards were snorting and stamping and making low whining noises in the backs of their throats. They smelled something out there in the forest. Something that scared them.

  “Oh, here we go,” said Becky, shaking her head.

  I checked my own skin. It had turned the same dappled gray and black as the forest around us. This was a Xotonian camouflage reflex, the unconscious reaction to a nearby predator. I sighed.

  Suddenly a blue six-legged beast—a thyss-cat, the apex predator of Gelo’s ecosystem and just about the most terrifying sight a Xotonian could hope to see—came tearing out of the darkness toward us. Becky and Hollins fought the reins as their usk-lizards howled in distress and tried to flee. The thyss-cat hunched and sprang high into the air. It landed right on top of Little Gus, knocking him out of the saddle.

  Gus and the cat rolled over and over on the ground, a ball of blue fur and human limbs. I heard a high-pitched mixture of yowling and giggles.

  “Pizza, heel! Heel, dude! C’mon, Pizza!” said Little Gus, wrestling with the young thyss-cat, which was now much bigger and far stronger than him. “When are you going to learn how to heel?”

  “Maybe when you stop carrying raw meat in your pockets,” said Becky.

  “Good call,” said Gus, pulling out the parcel and unwrapping it: two fresh usk-lizard flank steaks from the butcher’s stall. Pizza bolted them down in a gruesome and bloody display. Goar and Gec stamped nervously.

  “And that’s why Pizza’s got to live way out here,” said Hollins, shaking his head and suppressing a gag.

  When he was a mere thyss-cub, Pizza was grudgingly tolerated by the Xotonian populace of Core-of-Rock. After all, the humans were heroes, so perhaps they should be allowed to have exotic (terrifying, dangerous) pets? But as Pizza grew, this tolerance gave way to fear. Every day Pizza looked less like a harmless blue furball and more like a nightmarish killing machine. Eventually, the Xotonian Council held a vote. It was decided unanimously that Pizza had to go. After some of our neighbors complained that Pizza had trampled their puffball garden and eaten three welcome mats, even Kalac was for it.

  So Little Gus had released the beast—then about the size of an Earth housecat—back into the wild. We had chosen a spot near the waterfall where we’d first found him. It was a tearful scene. At the time, Hollins had said the whole thing was very Born Free, referring to some ancient human film.

  But that wasn’t the end. Each time we passed through Flowing-Stone, Pizza would bound out of the philiddra forest and give Little Gus a forcible tongue bath. Sometimes he even brought us a bloody shugg carcass as a “present.” And Little Gus brought presents of his own: leftovers, fresh meat, brand-new welcome mats purchased just for Pizza to shred. I was loaning Gus a lot of x’yzoth crystals.

  “You guys go on,” said Gus. “I can ride on Pizza, my faithful mount and battle companion.” Then he tried to climb on top of the thyss-cat’s back. Pizza immediately shook him off into the dirt.

  “You heard him,” said Becky, and she spurred Goar forward. Gus stayed behind, wrestling with his self-declared best friend.

  The other humans and I left the usk-lizards to graze on moss above and descended the long stone staircase to the only intact part of the ancient city, a place we simply called “the hangar.”

  The hangar was a huge iridium chamber, empty save for a couple of spaceships and one messy corner. This small area was cluttered with human things. After the battle, we had brought all that could be saved from their crashed pod: a televisual screen, a dilapidated yet comfortable couch, a stained area rug, and a ping-pong table with one wobbly leg. This ping-pong table was the bloody field of competition for Hollins and Becky. Their high-speed grudge matches made oog-ball look civil by comparison.

  It was a little slice of Earth, right here on Gelo. And I suspect that this—even more than solitude or the chance to work on actual spaceships—was why the humans enjoyed spending time in the hangar. In fact, we made the trip to Flowing-Stone nearly every day.

  “So, who’s up for some ping-pong?” asked Hollins. “What do you say, Becky? You haven’t been humiliated in a while.”

  “I feel humiliated every time I’m seen with you in public,” said Becky, heading for the storage locker where we kept the snacks.

  “No ping-pong for me. I’ve got ships to fix,” said Nicki.

  Two of
the starfighters had been badly damaged in the great battle, shredded by Vorem laser fire. Nicki, Hollins, myself, and Becky (when she was in the mood) gathered here to patch the holes in their hulls and repair their malfunctioning systems, using replacement components from the crashed human pod or the mining equipment the humans had left behind.

  Eventually the three Xotonian starfighters had been given names to tell them apart. Little Gus’s suggestions—Guswing Zero, the U.S.S. Gus-terprise, and Little Gus: The Spaceship—had all been vetoed. Hollins suggested we call one the Roosevelt after an ancient human leader (or maybe two ancient human leaders? I was never sure). Becky christened another Phryxus II after the human mining vessel. I felt that at least one of the starfighters should have a Xotonian name, so I called the third T’utzuxe after the red planet we had left behind.

  There was a fourth starship in the hangar that had no name. Not content with trying to master just one type of advanced alien technology, Nicki also spent time working on her “special project”: repairing a disabled Vorem trireme. This ship had been shot down on the surface of Gelo but remained largely intact. She hoped that it could be salvaged. So far, progress on this ship had been minimal. Its sleek black contours were still twisted and charred from the battle.

  On some days, the hangar was abuzz with activity—Hollins and Becky had been actively training Xotonians to pilot their own ancient ships. Today, though, we had the hangar all to ourselves. Every sound we made echoed endlessly through the cavernous space.

  “A negatively charged induction coil,” said Hollins as he started to work on the Roosevelt. “I never would’ve thought of that. Good thing one of us is smart.”

  “I’m not just the smart one,” said Nicki. “I can do other stuff.”

  “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 d
irectly 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.

  Chapter Three

  “Kyral,” 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.