Free Wheels by Lorijo Metz Page B

eye view of the bark. “We have arrived. Amazing how much change takes place over the course of four loonocks. It must have been an especially wretched loon .”
    McKenzie looked around nervously. “Loon? As in bird?”
    Pietas frowned. “Shame on Bewfordios for not educating you properly before plopping you on our planet. Loonock is the name of the dead, dark moon that circles our planet, cutting off the light of our sans and reeking havoc with our weather for a period lasting twenty-one rotations. A dreadful period we call the loon.
    Between the dead moon and the spitting creatures, Circanthos was proving to be a less than hospitable planet. Although… McKenzie glanced from her wheels to the moss. It was definitely easier to maneuver here.
    Pietas continued. “The loon occurs every three hundred fifty-six rotations, or seven hundred thirty epoks . In addition, there are seven hundred thirty epoks in a loonocks—not to be confused with Loonock, our dead, dark moon. According to Wells, your planet rotates on much the same schedule.
    McKenzie was lost. Epok? Loonock?
    “I, myself, have been alive for three hundred fifty loonocks. Why anyone would celebrate the loon…then again, I suppose the young do enjoy their celebrations. Pietas sighed. I only hope there are enough young Circanthians left to celebrate it.”
    “So, what you’re saying,” said Hayes, sounding very serious, “is that a loonocks equals about one Earth-year.”
    Pietas nodded.
    Hayes’ forehead creased in even deeper concentration. His left eyebrow rose. “But that would mean you’re like—THREE HUNDRED FIFTY YEARS OLD!”
    “Give or take a few loonocks.”
    “And when you said you slept for four loonocks, you actually slept for—
    “Four years,” said McKenzie. Hayes wasn’t the only one who could count.
    “I was exhausted.” Pietas yawned, stretching out one arm and ruffling her curls with the other. Can’t seem to sleep more than four loonocks anymore.”
    “Four loonocks,” murmured Hayes. “You slept for four years?”
    “Concentric, help me,” exclaimed Pietas. “You do talk a lot. Now, let’s hope I’ve managed to judge the distance correctly. I’m not up to doing this twice in one epok.”
    “Epok,” echoed Hayes. “That’s half a day.”
    “Shush!” said Pietas, pointing up and motioning them to be quiet. Her sphere deflated slightly and she rocked back into a sitting position. “King Charles,” she whispered taking the poonchi from Hayes and stroking the top of his head with her wrinkled old fingers. “You may be stuck with that silly human name, but thanks to me, you’re no longer stuck with H.G. Wells.”
    McKenzie frowned. So, H.G. Wells was different from Principal Provost. He must be a Tsendi, she thought.
    Then, why does his name sound familiar? And the poonchi… The poonchi had a human name.
    “Close your noofotos and be still.” Pietas’ voice dropped to a whisper. “Movement will draw the tsootbas.”
    Seconds later, an opening the size and shape of a large door began to blur and form in front of them. A tunnel of swirling particles materialized, much like the portal that had brought them to Circanthos. This time, however, they were not being sucked into it.
    “Practice makes perfect,” said Pietas, sounding pleased with herself. “Four loonocks ago I could not leave the forest, save for the power of my own sphere. Now I can weave myself over to the farthest Lapis shore. If you look closely, you will glimpse the Lapis Sea .”
    “Excuse me,” said Hayes. “If you were asleep for four years—I mean loonocks…” his face was contorted as if he was doing some serious thinking again, “when did you practice?”
    Pietas gave a short harrumph and rolled into the portal. Shaking his head, Hayes followed.
    As McKenzie rolled into the portal behind them, a whiff of something that could only be described as overripe garbage made her pause. Something bumped into her and she turned—horrified to