“This is cool,” she said. It took a couple minutes to coax her hair into a soft, and dry, frame around her face. “Hey,” she said as she finished, “Get the fashion photographer. I look like a model.” Her eyes flitted from her hair to her face. “Oh, but I’m unfashionably pale and swollen.” She slapped her cheeks. Renzen, Makril, and the next girl to join them, Sama, did the same. Somehow Sama’s hair was twisted back up and around her head like a tight scarf. Selina stopped pinching her cheeks to stare. There was something unearthly about Sama.
CHAPTER 5
♫ … everybody dance now … ♫
I KNEW THAT the flow of time varied from one place to another, hence Einstein’s law of relativity. Not that I understood it, but I was now familiar with time-bending and time-pacing as practiced by Selina, Coreg, and me. Right now, however, was another breed of time flow, for sure. Coreg took me, guard in tow, down to the underground transportation system. We rode for twice the distance as before and ascended into a bright green jungle. It seemed like I’d been plopped smack dab in the middle of a time warp. Mayan ruins on Klaqin? I guess anything was possible. Slimy green moss clung to half the stone surfaces of pyramid-shaped structures. Impressively tall. Hundreds of steps. I half expected a dinosaur or a caveman to appear next. What I saw instead was a jet contrail streaking across the cloudless and translucent blue sky.
We walked single file through a narrow arched passageway. It was dank, dark, and musty, then opened into a large park dotted with stone mounds. Tables were set with piles of food. Colorful. Aromatic. Oh, I was so ready for this. The whole setup struck me as maybe an ancient Klaqin tradition. This planet had produced a space-exploring, alien-fighting, technologically advanced society and yet this place and this primitive feast were poles apart from what I’d already experienced here. Rather like the difference between classical music and rap.
People stood lined up around the tables, not eating, and not filling the large plates they held to their chests. Plenty of hushed conversations were under way, but some groups remained quiet, heads bowed, with not a single smile to brighten those round faces. This was a solemn feast, and it was apparently off to a somber start.
“It is customary,” Coreg said, sticking with English, “that we regularly participate in feasts, eating the raw and cooked foods of our planet as our ancestors did so as not to lose certain biological functions.”
I scrunched my face up at that. He continued, “Our well-hidden factories expertly extract nothing more than what we need to survive. That is what we usually eat. The liquid you had earlier would have been enough for your sustenance for one or two double-moons’ time. We have perfected long-term nutrition.”
I didn’t want to hear a science lecture. “Just tell me when we can dig in … you know, can we start eating right away or is there somebody we have to wait for?” I eyed the first table which held an assortment of colorful fruits which, though I had no idea what they’d taste like, made my mouth water to look at them.
“They are waiting for you. As the son of the lost warrior Enrimmon and nephew of Second Commander Lexal, you will receive first pick from each table.”
“Awesome.” I studied the faces of the dozens of Klaqins gathered around. There were ten times as many men as women and not a single child. “Which one is my Uncle Lexal?” I felt funny asking, as up until mere hours ago I had no idea my father came from here or had a brother for that matter. I scanned the faces again and settled on Rander who stood next to a posture-perfect man who couldn’t have been more different from my father. “Is that him?”
Coreg looked where I nodded and confirmed my guess. “Yes. You will greet him first. Speak Klaqin.”
“Oh, crap, this is a funeral feast, isn’t it? What do I say? I don’t know the words for I’m sorry.”
Coreg repeated a phrase, short and easy, and I practiced under my breath a couple of times as we strode past that first tempting fruit table and approached my uncle. I’d seen his son’s spaceship implode; I knew he’d named him Enrimmon after my father; I knew Enrimmon had been a time-pacer, like me, but I didn’t have the slightest idea how to console a grieving father—if it even was grief that played across his face.
“I’m so sorry, uncle, for your loss.” I hoped to high heaven that I pronounced it close enough; I knew I’d left out a cluck or two. I must have done all right because he reached for my shoulders and pulled me against his chest. It was the tightest hug I’d ever had. A slew of Klaqin expressions fell from his lips onto my inexperienced ears. I caught maybe one word in five, but his emotion explained a lot. He missed my dad and I looked a lot like him, and who knows, maybe I looked like Enrimmon too.
Finally he let me go and I moved back quickly, and stepped on the toes of my guard. That brought a grunt from him and a chuckle from my uncle, probably because I excused myself with the same I’m-sorry-for-your-loss Klaqin phrase. At least the ice was broken. Rander chanced a smile and so did I. Coreg handed me a large plate and pushed me toward the first table. I tried not to take too long deciding, so I took a sample of nearly everything. The voices of the others were less solemn now and though it wasn’t a party it was pleasant enough.
“Sit here,” my uncle said in Klaqin, indicating, as soon as my plate was full, a spot where we could sit on flat mossy rocks. “Tell me of Enrimmon.” It took me a second to decide he meant my father and not his son. I had a juicy oval of sparkly blue fruit halfway to my mouth, but I stopped and struggled with the Klaqin words. My uncle kept nodding and showing interest as I summarized in sparse narrative the fact that dad had escaped on a Gleezhian pod, landed on Earth, and lived happily ever after. Sort of. I popped the dripping blue orb into my mouth and crushed it into mush between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Salty! I swallowed. The blue fruit had tasted somewhat like liquid Doritos. Not bad. My tongue wanted to dance.
♫ ♫ ♫
SELINA, CLEAN AND decked out in green painted nails, silken curls, and a borrowed shoulder covering of yellow lace, walked between Renzen and Makril. The guard fell in step behind the three girls, clearing his throat in a threatening manner as they left the girls’ center and headed for the underground transportation.
“Any reason why my shoulder thingy is yellow and you two get green?” Selina asked in slaughtered Klaqin. Her question was the equivalent of why this yellow why that green, but her meaning was clear enough and Renzen managed to convey a simple answer in English that assured Selina there was no particular reason, that both colors were pretty. Makril said much the same in her raspy voice and added that she was honored to accompany Selina to an art ritual.
They went down the steps and the guard took over, ushered them into a transport vehicle, and spoke in fast Klaqin to Renzen. When all were seated he pressed his ring into the appropriate indentation and touched a spot on the map. Selina was ready, braced herself for the pressure that pushed her head back, and whispered a quick stage cue to herself to stay calm.
“I feel a little queasy,” she informed Renzen as they barreled down the tunnel. Renzen repeated the word queasy and smiled, ignorant of its meaning. “Queasy, like sick.” Selina gulped as she realized that she hadn’t learned the words for queasy, sick, or any other term that might have conveyed her predicament. And apparently neither had Renzen. She tried to focus on a spot on the floor and not the blurring walls they passed. But her eyes were drawn to the occasional lights and she noticed the walls appeared wet in some areas they passed; the oily lard smell was stronger then, and not helpful to her nausea. “Please stop the train.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. If only she could pace instead of bend. She didn’t want to make these intolerable moments go any slower. She was going to barf if this vehicle didn’t stop weaving right and left. Through gritted teeth she asked, “Why so many turns?”
Renzen understood. “Lakes everywhere. Klaqin is a water planet. Open eyes. We are at the ritual place.”
Selina relaxed her grip on the edge of the seat, but the vehicle slowed too q
uickly, and in a final lurch to a complete stop, her head swung forward. She vomited the small amount of liquid she’d drunk that day onto her knees.
“Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” she groaned. At least she felt better despite the putrid odor filling the car. The guard leaped out, but Makril and Renzen rubbed their sleeves across Selina’s knees, mopping up the mess.
“Good butter,” Renzen said. “Good for clothes.”
Selina knit her eyebrows together, shocked that they would soil their own clothes with the runny barf, and disgusted that they considered it a good thing. Then she watched in awe as her knees dried, and her clothing and their sleeves lightened, shimmered, and returned to their previous state. “Biological materials? They ate my barf? Is nothing wasted here?” The smell vanished.
Her new friends smiled and Makril took her hand to help her out. Selina swallowed hard, wished for a breath mint, and avoided looking directly at the guard’s smirking face. She scurried out of the cab, glancing back in time to see a few gross drops melt into the floor.
♫ ♫ ♫
THERE WERE FEW sounds except for the musical cadence of Klaqin speech, the clinking of plates and the sloshing noises of colorful liquids being sipped. A large cat-like creature pounced on my knees. I raised my plate over my head and jumped to my feet. The cat slid down my legs as if the bio-materials refused to let its sharp claws get embedded. The animal’s ears twitched flat against its head, its fur more wiry than soft, but it was definitely feline. My uncle rose, too, and so did Rander who stuttered out a few words that sounded a bit panicky and not at all intended to ease my concern. Rander shooed it away and I was surprised to notice there were several others of its kind walking among the people. Some were quite large, like cougars, and some were as small as kittens.
The funeral vibe of the occasion changed tempo as all the feral cats emitted high C screams and the people dropped their plates and scurried under the tables or back to the stone passageway. Someone grabbed my arm, I lost the grip on my plate, and then my new uncle and my cousin Rander rushed me toward the protection of a stone arch with Coreg and my guard close on my heels.
The sky erupted in a pyrotechnic display far superior to any Fourth of July fireworks I’d ever seen.
“Those are xanxes. They warn us without fail.” Coreg spoke low, an inch from my left ear. We were tightly huddled beneath the stones, a dozen of the creatures circling cautiously about our knees, their faces stretched in what seemed like monkey smiles. “Xanxes give us time to seek shelter.”
Raindrops of fire dropped everywhere, burning brighter as they devoured the more combustible things like the gnarly roots that curled up from the ground, but fizzling out on the rocks and smoldering on the slimy moss.
“Gleezhians?” I gurgled the first syllable to match the speaker in the language cab.
“Who else?” Coreg sneered. “And my time-pacing does us no good in this situation.”
So mine wouldn’t either though I hadn’t given it a thought. For such a devastating rain of fire it was surprisingly quiet. No booms or quakes or loud blasts. There were, however, plenty of other noises: heated cursing, along with whimpers, clucks, whistles, and, from the cats, an eerie bawling.
The attack ended after what was, to my way of thinking, about ten minutes. Long enough to wish I hadn’t come to this planet and twice as long as I needed to start worrying about Selina.
“What the hell,” I said, “was that all about?” I looked around. “No casualties, it looks like.”
Coreg gave me a glare. “Not here. We were subjected to the fringe effects. That attack no doubt took out half the city of Pinab.” He pointed in the direction opposite from where we came.
A sharp whistle, flat in tone, made Rander, my uncle, the guard, and Coreg and half the adult men move as one toward an official, a First Commander I remembered from earlier. They lined up in front of him and listened as the man gave obvious orders. My Klaqin was nowhere near good enough to catch much more than the general idea. The party, or funeral, or feast was over. Man your stations.
♫ ♫ ♫
SELINA UNDERSTOOD WHAT an art ritual was as soon as Renzen ushered her through the doorway. Circles of people, three to five in each group, were moving in graceful synchronization to the musical vibrations coming from cages hung from the ceiling.
“What are those?”
Renzen called them xanxes in her language. They looked much like cats, but their vocal endeavors blended as beautifully as any earthly human choir. Though there were no words to the songs, harmonies wove their way into an un-orchestrated symphony of sorts. Selina wished Alex could have heard and seen the unusual performance.
There were hundreds of seats encircling the area but no one was seated. A row of shelves along the walls held trays of edible-looking objects Selina hoped included her favorite flavor.
“Are we early? Where’s the audience?”
For an answer Renzen took Selina’s hand and led her between the swaying groups to an empty spot. There she, Makril, and the guard coaxed her into mimicking their subtle dance moves.
“Hashtag SYTYCD,” Selina mumbled then added, “Dancing is not my thing.” She copied a few of the easier steps as she backed her way toward the seats keeping her eyes on her guard’s especially large ears. She didn’t remember his name, but she thought of him as Dumbo.
Abruptly, a piercing whistle blew, followed by a concussive boom that shook the floor. Selina lost her balance. She dropped to the floor, grasping her ears. The cages flew off the ceiling and nailed the dancers beneath them, followed by the ceiling which exploded into thousands of pieces. Selina rolled herself under the seats and hid her face.
Several brutal time beats later she uncovered her eyes and wished she hadn’t. The roof was gone and hovering above in the clear blue sky was a spacecraft. She feared it looked more like the Gleezhian crafts they’d annihilated on their journey here than Coreg’s sleek Intimidator or Marcum’s chunky Galaxer or even her dad’s ancient Fighter Five.
The memory of Alex’s comforting voice during that frantic situation echoed in her head—“Bend, Selina”—and so she did. She’d only recently learned the name of her incredible skill, though she had unknowingly employed the time-stretching physics of it for as long as she could remember, making innumerable moments of humiliation, awkward encounters, or humble experiences lengthen unbearably. It was an unconscious habit, followed by a bout of hiccups, but this time she consciously pressed the bounds of time around her and pushed against the inevitable consequences of a Gleezhian ship so close at hand.
She heard Renzen’s slow and labored breathing mere inches away, a pathetic sob cutting the thickness of the terrible blast. Other sounds, elongated clicks and clucks and quiet cries of pain, punctuated the growing signs of panic. Selina pushed harder, hoping that she was slowing whatever bleeding, whatever suffering, that the bombing had caused these Klaqin people. And the animals. She was suddenly—frighteningly—aware that the previously caged animals were sneaking about the room, apparently unaffected by the limits she had put on the passage of time.
One cat-like xanx brushed against her side and she wobbled in her control of time-bending. It seemed to warn her not to move, though she felt no desire to run. She could have stayed locked in the xanx’s eyes for hours, she thought. The xanx flicked her ears—she didn’t know how she knew it was female, she just did—and pressed her front paws against Selina’s knees. Then it shook its furry head as though dismissing her and circled her.
If Selina could hold on longer she thought perhaps the Klaqin military would arrive, fight off the Gleezhians, rescue her and Renzen and the others, and … and … her thoughts rushed ahead and she battled to keep her focus, ignored the soft brush of perfumed fur against her cheek, and worked hard to bend … bend.
CHAPTER 6
♫ … this is my fight song … ♫
“DUDE!” I SAID, pulling my hand out of Coreg’s. What the heck? But then I noticed all the men clasping hands and ru
nning forward, through the arched tunnel single file, pulling each other along. And Coreg was obviously doing the time-pacing thing. I wondered if I should help with that.
Rander grabbed my other hand and a flash of song lyrics about hand holding, from musicals to pop to rap, jumped and jiggled between my ears. I imagined Selina telling me to go with the flow. She’d add a hashtag something or tell me to cue the parade. I smiled to myself, but felt that awful pang of dread. Where was she? Was she being attacked too?
Rander dropped my hand as we squeezed out of the end of the passageway into the bright green jungle and headed straight for one of those moss-covered humps of land that had earlier reminded me of pyramids.
My uncle Lexal and the First Commander sent men toward one or another of the various structures, which slowly changed shape before my eyes. Of course. They were spaceships. They were not much different from the two that Coreg and Marcum had hidden with the same incredible camouflaging ability in the woods back home. There they had mimicked mounds of snow.
I leaped into the first one behind my uncle and my cousin. The First Commander directed Coreg away to the next one and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Nervous wasn’t an adequate enough word and probably didn’t cover my anxiety and apprehension. I might have felt a whole lot less uneasy being dropped in the middle of China without a phone or a translator than I felt here—at least I’d be on Earth and not twenty light years away.
Rander pulled out several drawers that were seats like the one I’d used on the Intimidator. As more people entered the cabin it was apparent that there was room enough for twenty-five or thirty. This was an air bus. Apparently while I’d been brought here by underground means, most of the Klaqins had arrived by air.
I wondered if there were weapons on board. There was a place for the pilot to stand and my uncle took that spot. The screens popped on, white then blue. Rander took the seat that controlled the weapons, like on the Galaxer and Intimidator, and right away I saw similar controls and joysticks move into easy access for him. Oh, great, we weren’t just escaping to some safe spot, we were going after the enemy. The oily emissions from the ship’s bio-metals assaulted my nostrils as Rander leaned forward and pressed his hands against more controls. I swear I felt a tingling in my seat, like my clothes were vibrating where they touched the bio-metals.
The Time Pacer: An Alien Teen Fantasy Adventure (The Time Bender Book 2) Page 5
