Free For the Love of Gelo! by Tom O'Donnell Page B

Becky, and I stood on the edge of the crowd. As always, Ydevi and Nar were nearby, watching. A tiny Xotonian hunched beside me, leaning on a gnarled cane, the hood of a ratty old cloak pulled up over its head. It would have been incredibly suspicious for my grand-originator not to show for a Sheln-heckling opportunity.
    The Chief of the Council took the stage to a hearty chorus of boos. I was glad to see the general malaise in Core-of-Rock finally focused on a worthy target.
    â€œAll right, all right!” yelled Sheln over the din. “Everybody shut your gul’orps! It’s speech time! Happy Zhavend, you pack of dirty ingrates!”
    â€œWhere’s Kalac?” cried someone.
    â€œNot here!” Sheln yelled back.
    â€œSheln ate the Chief!” called someone else. The crowd snickered.
    â€œEnough!” cried Zenyk, standing among the guards in its ridiculous Commissioner’s uniform. “The first one of you who throws something is going straight to jail!” Zenyk was young but, like its originator, physically imposing—bigger and stronger than many adult Xotonians. Its threat managed to quiet the hecklers down a little. Sheln continued.
    â€œRespect,” said Sheln. “It’s something that has been sadly lacking on this asteroid of late. When participating in the public discourse, I have
always
treated others with respect.”
    At this, the crowd roared in anger and surged forward, and the guards shoved them back.
    â€œThe next one of you who disrespects my office is going to face dire consequences!” cried Sheln. “You will listen to my whole speech about being nice, or I’ll have you executed!” A few of the guards turned back toward Sheln, their faces confused, horrified. This was not how they wanted to spend their holiday.
    The crowd murmured darkly but made no further attempt to rush the stage. Meanwhile, across the city, a faint noise was growing louder by the second. I gave a subtle nod to the humans. They nodded back.
    Sheln continued. “I believe it was Jalasu Jhuk’s famous lieutenant, Wonok, who once said, ‘Always do as you’re told and you need never think for yourself.’ Wise words. Folks, this is why you have leaders. So you don’t have to waste time and energy worrying your little microbrains over things that shouldn’t concern you . . .” Sheln trailed off as the sound—now a whining roar—had begun to drown out its misinterpretation of the famous quote. The crowd looked around uncertainly.
    â€œWhat is that noise?” bellowed Sheln. “I’m giving a historical speech here! This is one for the ages—what? What in the name of Morool are you all looking at?”
    The collective gaze of the crowd had drifted to a point high above and behind Sheln. Indeed, as the Chief of the Council turned, it was the last to see what they were all staring at.
    A lone masked figure sailed over Ryzz Plaza on a frightfully loud alien vehicle—those who attended “human school” might have recognized it as the rocket-bike they had reassembled in class. The Xotonian who steered it—shakily and uncertainly, it must be said—wore a hideous mask, indeed this year’s Morool. Behind the rocket-bike there trailed a huge flapping banner, phosphorescent human letters glowing on black parchment: “Sheln Sucks!”
    â€œWhat?” shrieked Sheln. “What does that banner say?”
    And at this, the crowd exploded in laughter. Sheln had deliberately avoided learning any human language at all. Most of the crowd, on the other thol’graz, attended human school and understood perfectly well.
    The rocket-bike began to fly in low, dangerous figure eights above the plaza, just a few meters over the crowd. The Xotonian people cheered with each roaring flyby.
    â€œShoot! Shoot! Shoot that traitor!” commanded Sheln. “This is ruining my otherwise perfect speech!”