Eli continued to stare at this array of items that were both familiar and foreign at the same time when Malcolm again cut in.
“Gentlemen, I welcome you to the third trial. This is perhaps the most straightforward, yet complicated, challenge that anyone will face in this Game.”
Perhaps to avoid the repetition of the questions from the participants, Malcolm also added, “You will be able to communicate with me, but you two contestants are otherwise alone in this trial.”
Eli looked over and saw that Pelden, on the other side of what appeared to be a giant kitchen, was also standing at a table that had the identical set of ingredients laid out in the middle. Something, though, looked different.
Eli stared down at his own set of ingredients and saw that next to it sat a giant cookbook. He knew it was a cookbook because that was what it read in large, white letters in the middle of the front cover. It also looked very similar to the cookbook his mother had sometimes used—though the edges of this one were an alternating series of blue and red squares, not red and white like his mother’s.
He picked up the cookbook, which was quite heavy, and then opened it up in front of him. There was a series of tabs featuring labels such as poultry, fish, and side-dishes. Within each tab was a quarter-inch of pages offering the various recipes. Eli used his thumb to quickly parse through some of the offerings.
In the back of the book, under a tab labeled desserts, a page seemed to glow red. He used his fingernail to peel back the pages in front of the one that glowed, and he flipped them over. His first attempt failed to flip all the pages. He repeated the process and found himself staring at a glowing page devoted to the creation and baking of a cake: “creamy carrot cake.”
Eli looked up and made eye contact with Pelden, who had apparently absorbed all of Eli’s now departed confidence. Pelden’s grin was so large, so obnoxious, that Eli felt compelled to speak.
“Why are you so happy?”
Pelden just shook his head, continuing to smile, and then stared down at the creamy carrot cake recipe in his book, which glowed blue. Eli finally recognized what was different about his opponent’s table—Pelden had an entire row of cookbooks of various colors and sizes.
“As you both can see, your task is to prepare the recipe highlighted in your respective books. Eli, due to the nature of your team, you must follow the recipe exactly or face elimination. Pelden, you are free to create this cake however you wish, and can, of course, also follow this same recipe or any recipe found in the books before you, as long as the end result is a creamy carrot cake.”
Pelden nodded, already busily laying out the ingredients and cooking instruments on his table.
“You each have an oven with which to bake your finished cake.”
Eli looked to his right, past the end of the knotty, imperfect planks of his table, and saw a large, modern-looking oven sitting against the far wall. The oven looked nothing like the one in their kitchen back home, but it immediately reminded Eli of his mother, and how she constantly warned him to stay away from the knobs and switches that could turn on the gas and, according to her, blow up their house.
Their mother, before her death, had ruled the kitchen with an iron spatula. It was her domain, not to be tampered with. After her death they had gone through a long period of eating either microwavable frozen dinners, sandwiches or cereal. Big Ed had, once upon a time, loved to use their outdoor grill to prepare meats to go with the amazing dishes their mother turned out from the kitchen for family meals. That had stopped with her death. The large grill now sat unused and rusty in a corner of their porch.
Eli had, eventually, learned to use the stove to the extent that he could boil water, or even heat up a frozen pizza. He had not, however, ever ventured into the world of baking.
“Malcolm?” Eli asked. “How do you decide who wins? Is it who finishes first?”
“Excellent question, Eli. No, it is a combination of three factors. Thirty percent of the score is determined by the time needed to produce the finished product. Another thirty percent is decided by the appearance of the finished product—in your case, Eli, points will be deducted here if the exact recipe has not been followed. The final forty percent is decided by the actual taste.”
Pelden spoke for the first time. “Who will judge the appearance and taste of the cake? You?”
“No, though that’s also an excellent question. I am here solely to assist and monitor but do not have an actual form. You will each place your finished product in the case at the far end of the table and what you would know as a computer program will finish the judging process.”
Eli and Pelden both looked at the clear case which sat in between the tables at the end farthest from the ovens. The case, about the size of a large fish tank, sat on sturdy, black metal legs but had no obvious cameras, connections or cables that would indicate it could perform an evaluation.
“How is that container going to judge anything? There’s nothing in it!”
“Eli, if you are able to suspend your disbelief and grasp the fact that you were teleported to Mexico, then to Costa Rica, and are now standing in a one-off dimension while you participate in a Game that will decide the fate of your particular world for the next few thousand years and, eventually, the fate of civilizations in the known universe, it seems reasonable that you should be able to accept that the judging will occur as stated.”
Eli took that all in and, internally, agreed that this might be an odd place to make a stand. He looked over to Pelden, who though deep in his own thoughts, nodded. Eli sighed and nodded as well.
“Very well, begin!” exclaimed the voice of Malcolm in their heads.
Eli began by scanning the list of ingredients shown on the recipe and rearranging the items in front of him, before realizing this was pointless, as everything needed was already there. What he needed to do was figure out what to do with the ingredients, not put them in a line. He used his finger as a guide against the page, which felt oddly slick, and followed it down to the directions. Aha! he thought. How hard can this be? I’ll just follow the directions. I’ve got just as good a chance at winning as Pelden. Do monks eat cake?
His confidence returning slightly, he snuck a look over to Pelden’s table and saw that the first set of ingredients was already being mixed in the large, metal mixing bowl with a large spoon that Pelden wielded with glee. Pelden felt his stare, looked up and grinned.
Eli’s guts clenched. Pelden looked quite at home with his cooking and was barely even looking at the recipe!
Eli stared at the instructions.
Mix the granulated sugar, oil and eggs in a large bowl.
Eli stared again at the list of ingredients, trying to figure out how much of each item he needed. Pelden began humming, which did not help him concentrate. Per the list, he needed two cups of sugar, one cup of vegetable oil, and four eggs. Ok, just stick with the recipe. Ignore Pelden. Stop doubting yourself. You can do this. You HAVE to do this!
He grabbed a measuring cup and a mixing bowl, then methodically grabbed the other items. Of what was listed he had the most experience with eggs, so he started by slowly, carefully, cracking each egg on the side of the bowl, producing a metal ting, then a crunch, then dumping the contents into the bowl, making sure that no stray bits of shell were included.
That done, he measured a cup of oil, then put it into the bowl atop the eggs. This yellow, gooey mess did not look terribly attractive, but it would get better.
Finally, he tore open a sack labeled sugar and poured it into another dry measuring cup. He really didn’t need the measuring cup as it turned out that the entire sack equaled the two cups required. He had to wave his hand in front of his face to keep the sugar dust out of his nose. That’s strange. I didn’t know sugar could be a powder.
He dumped the sugar into the bowl, then began stirring it vigorously with a wooden spoon, modeling his angle and his stroke on what he had seen Pelden do.
He deliberately did not look in the di
rection of the still-humming Pelden, but instead continued to peruse the recipe for what would come next. He was still very nervous, and more than a little nauseated at what failure would bring, but at least he was making progress. He read down the instructions a little farther under the “icing” portion and then felt the bottom fall out of his stomach.
Under the directions in the icing section the recipe specifically called for powdered sugar. Powder. Like dust. Powder.
He stopped stirring and looked back up to the directions for the cake itself and saw that the recipe specifically called for granulated sugar. He hurriedly put the mixing bowl down, not caring that the spoon tipped out and spilled a bit of goo on the table, and he ripped open the other bag labeled sugar in front of him. A few grains of sugar spilled out from the opening he had made, and fell to the table.
He stared at the spilled sugar—which he now knew to be granules—and then back at the recipe. The icing required powdered sugar, but no eggs or oil. The cake itself was what needed granulated sugar, but nothing else that was listed under the icing. He frantically went through all the supplies again. There were no more eggs, oil or extra sugar of either variety.
Eli’s head drooped.
“Malcolm?” Eli called.
“Yes, Eli,” Malcolm immediately responded.
“I think I made a mistake.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “I’m sorry to hear that, Eli.”
Eli leaned down so low that his forehead was resting on the table. “Is there a way that I can restart and get some kind of penalty?”
“No, I’m afraid not. You must use the ingredients you have and follow the recipe the best you can.”
Eli looked up, and then again at the gooey mess in the mixing bowl. “I don’t think powdered sugar is the same thing as granulated sugar, is it?”
“No.”
“Will it make a big difference in how the cake turns out?”
“Yes.”
Eli gritted his teeth and a tear leaked out of his right eye. He slammed his fist down against the table, then grimaced in pain, grabbing his now hurt hand with his good one. “It’s not fair! We’re going to lose and I’m never going to see anyone again because I mixed up the two kinds of sugar? This is stupid!”
“I encourage you to channel your energies into the preparation of your cake. There is always the chance that your opponent might make a mistake at some point in the process. Giving up is not a solution.”
“Fine!” Eli yelled, grabbing the spoon off the table and using it awkwardly with his throbbing hand to try and blend in the mess of powdered sugar.
Talking stopped at that point. Pelden, who went quickly through the preparation with barely a glance at the recipe, even stopped humming—for which Eli was grateful.
Pelden’s cake had long been in the oven by the time Eli opened the door to his oven and prepared to insert the cake pan. As he stared at the black void inside the oven, another sickening thought occurred to him. The oven was the same temperature as the rest of the room—slightly cold. I forgot to pre-heat the oven!
Eli slammed the oven door shut, started to walk away, then bit down hard on his bottom lip. Throwing a tantrum won’t help. It’s my mistake.
He took a deep breath to try and calm himself. The recipe had instructed to preheat the oven to 350 degrees. He put the cake pan on top of the oven, then turned the large dial on the front to 350 degrees. He clicked on the button to the side to ignite the gas, and he let loose a long, unhappy sigh.
Eli risked a look over to Pelden and saw that he was putting the finishing touches on his icing. Pelden again felt his gaze and this time put down the bowl and bowed deeply to Eli.
Eli nodded in return. There was no point in getting angry now. He’d been defeated by his failure to follow basic directions. Unless Pelden’s oven exploded, there was no way his mixed-up, late cake was going to win anything. These might be his last moments as himself, in his present form.
With nothing to do but wait, Eli sat down and put his back against the oven. He took a few deep breaths, then made himself think about all the good things that had happened in his life—particularly things that involved his mom, his dad, and Peter. He had no idea if it would work, but he tried to send his good thoughts to everyone on his team, as well as Big Ed, to let them know that he had tried, and failed, but that he would always love them.
He folded his arms over his knees and rested his head atop them. The oven slowly warmed his back—just like an embrace from his long-departed mom.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Jenny
Peter looked at Jenny, who was quietly hunched over hugging her knees, and she returned his gaze.
“He lost,” she said.
“I know.”
Peter had felt the sorrow in the connection that Eli formed—a connection that also apparently involved Jenny. He had also felt the unusual, strong outpouring of love.
Malcolm’s voice boomed over them with the latest news, “Another victory for Team Cube, who now leads 2-1. Team Orb needs to win both remaining trials or Team Cube will retain control of earth.”
Peter largely ignored the announcement. He tried to reconnect with his brother and find out what had happened. He reached out with his mind—probing—but found only silence in return.
Jenny was sniffling, fighting to contain her grief, and Peter found that he was doing the same. He stole a look at the other team and found them to be calm, serene. True, their news had been good, but Peter got the feeling that these monks were in complete control of their emotions. They did not get too happy or too sad. They did not rattle. This was probably the reason they had been chosen to represent Cube.
He wondered again about why Orb had chosen him. I know I am easier to control than Eli, but it seems like Orb could have gathered a group of adults that would have a better chance to compete. At that moment Jenny reached over and squeezed his hand, and Peter better understood Orb’s logic. We’re kids, yes, but we are kids that will do anything for one another. That is our strength.
He turned back to Jenny and tuned out Malcolm’s announcement regarding the next trial. Since Peter and Jigme had to go last, there was no mystery in who would go next—the only other two players available. Peter recognized it might not be well-received, but he wanted to talk to Jenny before she had to leave. What can they do to me at this point that’s worse than what’s already been done?
Jenny stood, largely out of nervous energy. Peter stood as well and tried to comfort her.
“Jenny?” Peter spoke softly. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”
She pushed her hands against her face, struggling between rage and grief. “He’s gone, Peter! They’re all gone!”
Sobs racked her thin frame, and Peter quite awkwardly tried to put his arm around her to comfort her—which would have been a lot easier had she not been six inches taller than him.
“No, Jenny. They’re not gone. They’re waiting on us. It’s up to us now to save them, everyone.”
Orb, who had largely left them alone during the earlier trials, chose this moment to hover closer to them while Malcolm called out a warning for the delay.
“Not now, Orb!” Peter declared as he stood and pointed toward the other side of the room. “I’m talking to Jenny. You can go wait over there, or anywhere. I don’t care.”
Peter sat back down, then blew his breath out angrily. Jenny finally looked up.
“You think that’s a good idea, telling off superior life forms?” Her words were muffled and nasally from the crying.
Peter smiled in spite of himself. “What else can he do to me? If we lose he’s stuck with my form, or essence, or whatever wrapped around his final receptacle for a couple of thousand years. We’ll have plenty of time to talk it through.”
Jenny smiled too, if only a little.
“Go win, Jenny. Go win and then I’ll do my best to win my round. We will all see each other again if I have anything to say about it.”
Jenny used h
er hands to attempt to smooth out wrinkles that had collected on her shirt, and she took a couple of deep breaths as Malcolm called out, “It is time, Jenny. You will face Chime in the fourth round.”
Peter nodded at her encouragingly, and she leaned down and gave him a kiss on his cheek. Peter felt the kiss, which was his first—besides those he had received from his mother—all the way down to his toes. He absently touched the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him. So that’s what all the fuss is about!
As Jenny approached her opponent, Chime, Peter called out, “Win, Jenny! Win and then I’ll win for all of us!”
Jenny turned her head slightly, a little embarrassed at his outburst, and snuck in a small smile.
“We begin!” Malcolm exclaimed.
***
Jenny opened her eyes wide. Her mind scrambled to process where she was, and why she was there.
Slowly she became aware of the fact that they were in a large building. Where enough light existed, the walls glimmered dully. Probably one of those metal, prefabricated buildings.
There was no light coming in from outside—and no windows she could see where light could enter. The sole illumination came from large, canister spotlights dangling from one of the rafters.
The spotlight on the left, closer to her, shined down on a large mound of hay. The spotlight on her right, which was nearer to Chime (who she just discovered was there), focused on another, seemingly identical, mound of hay.
Beyond the circles made by the spotlight, it was dark and dry in the building. Jenny walked up to the mound of hay in front of her, then took a short walk to the nearby wall. A long board had been nailed across part of the metal wall, and shovels, rakes, saws and other farm equipment hung from now rusty nails hammered into that board.
The Promise of the Orb Page 21
