I live in Idaho, the Gem State. So when thinking of things to do as a family that also require getting outdoors (the realm my kids know as “the place without electrical outlets and wifi”), rock hounding was low-hanging fruit. Still, no fruit hangs so low as to not require intentional parenting (ie. manipulation).
Several years ago, the process of imprinting my two sons began with the television show Prospectors. After priming the pump with a couple season’s worth of episodes featuring a colorful bunch of Colorado prospectors digging up topaz, smokey quartz, and aquamarine, my two sons where convinced rock-hounding was the junior path toward geological riches. At that point, I had to hold them back. Adventuring into the mountains with pick and shovel was totally their idea, and they had to do it now!
But I’m no chump. While this kind of enthusiasm can be intoxicating for a parent, I saw the flashing yellow lights. Caution was paramount. The first few trips into the wild had to produce results akin to fishing at a hatchery. The good news is, as I’ve mentioned, we live in Idaho.
I purchased an ebook complete with GPS coordinates leading straight to the treasure. I built some small screens for sifting material. The wife meticulously packed the snacks (critical for the success of any adventure), and we set out.
For the first few trips we stayed within 90 minutes of home. We found thunder eggs (little agate geodes), plume agate, opal, and quartz. By the conclusion of our “Season One,” the trap had been sprung. Now to ramp up the drama for season two.
The next summer we traveled further afield to locate chunks of purple and green fluorite, our first garnets (the only natural occurring dodecahedron), and some smokey quartz. Each summer got bigger and better. Would we strike it big? Or would we bust only to pack up the equipment and go home (after copious snacks)? Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion (when the snacks were seized by a rogue chipmunk)!
After five summers of digging, we’re grizzled veterans. A few days ago we made our second trip to Crystal Park in the Big Hole of Montana (it’s exactly what it sounds like). For most folk, the Big Hole is famous for its winter recreation and its mosquitoes. Matter of fact, those are the two seasons in the Big Hole: Winter and Mosquitoes. For rock hounds, the prize of the Big Hole is Crystal Park. (Envision a square mile of forest that looks like it’s inhabited by buffalo-sized gophers.)
Equipped with two different sized screens, shovel, pick, bucket, rock hammer, hand tools, camel backs, snacks galore, sunscreen, and a 3-gallon spray rig full of bug repellant, we set out. We spent the first evening scouting the area for “float.” My youngest son and I located the spot—pegmatite rich with crystal lattice and displaying the amber and smokey colors we were coveting. The next morning we returned ready to dig. And dig we did until we had dug all the digging we could do. (My wife provided critical snack, water, and bug repellant support from the shade of a pine and the comfort of her Kindle.)
Suffering only a few mosquito bites each, we came away with a handful of quartz crystals worthy of our display shelf back home. And the snacks were something to write home about. I’m already planning our next trip to the treacherous bogs of Dismal Swamp. (It’s a real place, and the only spot that has skunked us twice. Will we finally locate the mother-load? Or will our third strike be our last?)
New Things Are Coming Over the Next Weeks
This week marks the end of Outburst, Season One of the Green Ones. For the next 5 weeks I’ll feature Fistful of Reefer in this email as I endeavor to launch my Lost DMB Files streaming substack independent of this The Green Ones streaming substack. If you aren’t really into pulpy western adventures, simply stay tuned to this channel. After this brief intermission I will begin streaming Boundaries, Season Two of The Green Ones . At that time, the Lost DMB Files will be restricted to their own streaming substack and weekly update.
I’ll start posting daily content at https://lostdmbfiles.substack.com/ this Saturday (June 27, 2020). And I’ll include that content in this weekly digest next Friday. If you want to keep reading The Lost DMB Files after the 5 week intermission sign up for the separate email list here: https://lostdmbfiles.substack.com/.
Outburst: Ep.6, Scene 4 — Ep.6, Scene 9
[Click here to start at the beginning.]
“WHAT NOW?” OLIN STEPS in between Zorrah and me, taking our hands.
I desperately want to question Zorrah further. Centavo knew the drug would show up in Olin’s blood test, and he wanted its presence kept secret. But why? What is the drug? What had Izel done to the buds and leaves from my mother’s garden? Even more disturbing, what will the authorities do with us if One and Two fail to conceal the drug’s presence?
Olin squeezes my hand and focuses me on the moment.
I suppose he’s right. There will be time to pick Zorrah’s considerable brain later, assuming we don’t get detained in the next few hours. With effort, I shove the thought out of my mind and concentrate on our surroundings. “It looks like a gym or a training facility.”
Olin points toward the far wall. “What are those doors? The ones with registrant numbers above them.”
I shake my head. “Zorrah?”
She hesitates. “I’m not sure. This is supposedly when we would be interviewed, so I guess—”
“Those are the interview closets,” Olin finishes her sentence.
We cram into a small pocket of space as the gym continues to fill. The smell of human perspiration permeates everything, but living in Worker City means being accustomed to body odor.
Many of the people around us are focused on a large scoreboard mounted high up the wall. I watch it long enough to determine it’s flashing a short series of registrant numbers.
“When the numbers disappear from the scoreboard, they show up over one of the interview closets.”
I turn toward a strange voice speaking directly into my ear and am surprised by a smiling girl with an outstretched arm. She’s not quite as tall as me but with broader shoulders and a fuller figure—the sort of build all the boys drool over. She seems familiar, although I can’t place her face.
Most shocking is the total lack of suspicion in her eyes. Of the hundreds of teenagers we have passed, all of them either ignoring us or sizing us up, she is the only one who has made an attempt to be friendly. I accept her greeting, and we lock forearms.
“Cera,” she offers.
“Calli.”
“Bluehair,” the girl nods. “I recognize you from the market.”
The mention of the market jogs my memory. “Wild game. You’re the hunters’ daughter.”
Cera nods.
“I didn’t know you were registering,” I say.
“My parents didn’t talk about it. I’m the oldest, so I think it hit ‘em pretty hard.”
We both nod for a long awkward moment. If she knows me from the market, she knows I don’t have parents anymore. Then again, none of us have parents anymore.
She turns her attention to the scoreboard. “My number’s still a hundred away.”
I follow her gaze. The board shows a series of numbers starting with 628.
“But they go pretty fast,” she ads. “Who are your friends?”
“Oh,” I slap my forehead, “I’m sorry.” Turning around, I find Zorrah and Olin smiling politely and waiting to be included. “This is my brother, Olin.”
“Of course.” Cera grips his forearm. “I should have recognized you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Olin shrugs. “I don’t stand out much.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Cera winks while releasing his arm.
I continue the introductions, “And this is our friend, Zorrah.”
“Nice to meet you.” Cera grips Zorrah’s arm.
Zorrah stretches her lips into a thin smile.
I can’t tell for sure, but the tiny girl appears to shift her eyes back and forth from Cera to Olin, perhaps in an effort to mark her territory. Olin is already focused on the scoreboard.
Cera transitions, “Have you guys heard the rumors?”
“Which ones?” I’m not particularly interested in the answer, but the polite conversation is a welcome distraction.
“Huatiani isn’t overseeing the interviews this year.”
I nearly choke on my spit. “Oh? I hadn’t heard that.”
“Yeah.” Cera lowers her voice. “Some are saying he’s dead, that someone in Worker City killed him.”
“Really?” Zorrah pipes up. “How? I mean, how could a mortal kill someone like Huatiani?”
Cera shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was a psych-fighter who got lucky.”
Pretending to scratch my head, I glance at Olin. He meets my eyes, and I see fear there. I can’t blame him. This is bad news. If the rumor has spread this far, that might mean Huatiani’s replacement has begun the process of smoking out the ones responsible for the General’s death. Not to mention the possibility Huatiani identified us to others before…his disintegration.
Cera continues, “I talked to one guy this morning who says they plan on using the interview closets to trap whoever did it.”
Zorrah catches the flawed logic instantly. “How many psych-fighters are registering for Masa? Shouldn’t they be searching the underground for chadzitzin?”
“It seems to me at least a few fighters are registering.” Cera glances at the scoreboard where the numbers have reached 696. “I’ve even heard that the new champion, Yetic, is around here somewhere.”
Zorrah responds eagerly, “He is! We—”
I cut her off. “We saw him entering the stadium. But I think he’s from district three or four.”
“I was hoping to run into him before the placement tests.” Cera runs a hand along her particularly full braid. “You know,” she shrugs, “but I’m sure a guy like that already has plenty of friends.”
“And enemies too,” I raise a brow.
“Yeah,” Cera smiles, “you can hardly have one without the other I suppose.”
I nod. “Especially in a place like this.”
Cera glances at the scoreboard. She hesitates, a serious look on her face. “The gods know I could use more. Friends, that is.” She extends her arm. “I can tell you guys are smart, strong. I like to think I have a few talents. What do you say?”
I had seen her family’s wild game in the market. Top notch, never an arrow through the best meat. I know she can hunt, but there’s something more than that. She’s admitted her vulnerability without seeming weak. I’m not even sure why, but I like her. I glance at Zorrah and Olin.
Both of them are nodding.
I agree. Something about Cera’s easy smile is hard to resist. I grip her arm. “I heard a rumor Yetic’s going to claim the western hoop during the tests. We thought we might check it out.”
Cera grins wide enough to reveal shiny, white teeth. “Thanks for the tip. Maybe I’ll see you there.” She drops my arm and nods toward Olin and Zorrah. “My number’s almost up. It was nice to meet you.” Turning, she disappears into the crowd.
I check the scoreboard—729. The numbers are going fast.
Zorrah takes my hand. “I hope we meet more people like her.”
“Maybe it’s not as cutthroat in here as we’ve been told.” After comforting Zorrah, I lean close to Olin’s ear and whisper. “If the closet’s a trap, don’t you say a thing. Keep your mouth shut. I’ll find you. Remember, we’re in this together.”
He shakes his head.
“Don’t be axnohtic. You were right, Masa is my dream. If it turns into a nightmare, at least give me the chance to get you out.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Good. I’ll take that as a yes.” I watch as 741 flashes at the top of the board. “Let’s get a little closer.”
The three of us push our way forward as the numbers on the board tick ever higher. I’m glad I got my number last. This way I’ll be sure Zorrah and Olin at least make it into their interviews. I can only hope all three of us make it out the other side.
Zorrah shouldn’t be an issue. All she’s done is change her district. Olin and I are another matter. We’ve been residents of the underground for two years. We have ties to the most infamous criminal in Worker City. We were directly involved in a perimeter attack. Both of us have demonstrated illegal outbursts of telekinesis. Our records are complete forgeries. I’m wearing a regenerated braid. And Olin disintegrated a 1,000 year-old immortal.
I glance up as we near the wall lined with over fifty narrow doors. Zorrah’s number, 775, flashes. “Hey, what could possibly go wrong?” I say.
THE ROOM IS DARK until I close the door. Lights flicker on, revealing the closet to be even smaller than I had imagined. The walls and floor are bare cement. The ceiling is some sort of acoustic tile. A single grill cover, possibly for a speaker, and two florescent lights are the only features above me. There is nothing on the walls except for the door I just entered and an identical one opposite it.
I gaze at the floor beneath my feet. The most disturbing feature of the entire closet is a drain. Why would they need a drain in a room with no plumbing?
“Number 777, Calli known as Bluehair,” a voice crackles from the speaker.
I jump several centimeters before stammering, “Yes?”
“That was not a question,” the voice replies.
I frown.
“You have a brother.”
I hesitate. “Was that a question?”
“Would you like to declare your relationship to him?”
“Yes,” I respond forcefully. “I have a brother named Olin.”
After a short pause the voice continues, “Please stand still and wait quietly until the exit illumines. Green means acceptance. Red, denial.” The speaker clicks off, leaving the chamber completely quiet. Not a hint of the outside world is able to penetrate the thick cement walls.
That’s it? My initial relief evolves into panic. The only reason for my interview to be so brief is if they already know the truth. All that’s left is to decide what to do with me. Or maybe they’re grilling Olin, forcing him to confess.
They know he killed Huatiani. Now they know I will never give him up. That’s all they wanted from me, to test my allegiance to my brother. I should have said more. I should have confessed. I close my eyes. The room begins to spin.
I’m getting dizzy. I realize I’m breathing too fast. I open my eyes and focus on the door in front of me. On closer examination, it’s not like the one I entered. It’s rimmed with a narrow band of lights, maybe diodes.
The tiny distraction does its job. My breathing slows. I force my mind to focus. How could they know who Olin and I are? Calm down. Don’t blow it. I repeat the mantra while watching the door. Any second it will glow green, and I’ll be a masazin.
“Calli Bluehair.” The speaker jolts back to life, jolting me with it.
I wait, every muscle in my body tense.
“You don’t know who I am, but you will soon enough.” The voice is different from before. The inflection and intimacy behind this new voice tell me he is not a regular interviewer. “I have taken a special interest in you and your brother.”
The speaker clicks off, leaving me even more tense and confused. The voice had sounded tender, too much so. But the message…why would anyone be taking a special interest this soon, unless it be connected to our past?
“Oh,” the speaker pops on again, “good luck with your placement tests, although I doubt you’ll need it.”
I feel like I’m about to explode. Not knowing what else to do, I stare at the door in front of me and pray for it to glow green. Too many fragments of questions swim through my brain. I don’t even know how to piece them together, so I stare. If anyone were watching, they might assume me dead on my feet. Maybe I am. The last two years have all come down to this.
The trim of the door begins to illumine, initially too weak to determine the hue. In a quick pulse, it pops to life—green. And the door clicks open.
“CALLI!” ZORRAH’S VOICE FLOATS over the clatter and bustle of the long corridor on the back side of the interview closets. In a daze, I swim toward her and Olin. Registrants rush past. The tempo and the excitement level have risen ten fold.
I reach my brother and embrace him. “We’re masazin now.”
“You did it.” He squeezes me while including Zorrah. “We’re masazin, and we’re family.”
I look them in the eye in turn. “Family, now more than ever.” I blink away a tear. “Come on, let’s get above ground. Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the sun.”
The foot traffic heading toward the stadium moves at a fast walk. In less than fifteen minutes we reach the surface of the stone court. A fat drop of rain pelts the end of my nose. I gaze upward, and all I see is the top of the Palace Tower, the shield dome, and a blanket of rain clouds. “Well, at least it’s fresh air.”
“I’m sweating like a tapir.” Zorrah holds her arms out to her sides. “And some of it’s not even mine. Maybe the rain will wash it off.”
Olin puffs his shirt to fan himself.
After a moment of relief, I lower my gaze and focus on the next step of the process. We’re masazin now, but the day isn’t over.
The wide, level surface of the stone ōllamaliztli court is filling with new masazin rapidly. On the eastern and western sides of the court, people scramble up the steep slopes toward the high ground beneath the hoops. A good number of registrants have already reached the narrow flat area running along the top of the slopes. The stands are empty. During our time underground, the last of the registrants have begun the registration process.
The longer we wait, the harder it will be to find Yetic. Assuming he reached the ramp for district four about the same time we reached ours, he should be above ground now. He might already be staking his spot beneath the western hoop.
“Come on.” I signal for the others to follow, and we jog toward the middle of the court. The rain falls steadily, splashing off the stones beneath my feet.
“How many do you think there are?” Zorrah asks.
“Of what?”
“How many in our class?”
“Oh.” I shake my head while scanning the western slope for Yetic. “That’s a question for Olin. He’s better with that sort of thing.”
“Probably around 2,000,” Olin offers. “Some classes are a bit bigger. Some smaller.”
“And we’re all going to be competing?” Zorrah scampers beside me.
Olin laughs. The sound of it surprises me. It’s been a long twenty-four-hours since I’ve heard him laugh. I know Zorrah will be invaluable for that alone—for making my brother happy. We stop at the base of the western slope. I still haven’t spotted Yetic.
“Well, subtract four from the total number.” Olin holds out his fingers before pushing four of them down. “Me, Calli, Yetic, and you of course.”
“Oh, and then there’s the new girl, Cera,” Zorrah adds. “So that means 2,000 minus five.”
We all laugh at that.
“There.” I point toward the hoop at the top of the western slope. “That looks like Yetic to me.”
“No mistaking that swagger. That’s him alright,” Olin says.
I can think of another swagger that comes close to Yetic’s, but I don’t want to. I remind myself I’m a masazin now, not a chadzitzin. That part of my life is gone for good, along with everything and everyone in it. There’s no room for thinking of Neca now.
The rain increases, covering the court with a couple centimeters of standing water.
“It’s really coming down. Do you think we can still make it up there?” Olin nods toward the hoop.
I test the stone slope. The surface of each stone has been etched or stamped with the state seal of New Teo—a coiled snake with wings. The carving provides modest traction, but some spots have been worn smooth by years of ballgames. A quick glance left and right reveals dozens of other registrants struggling to traverse the slope with varying degrees of success. “We’ll have to be careful, but I think we can do it.”
“Good enough.” Olin slaps his bare foot against the stone surface and starts up.
Side by side the three of us take it slow, choosing stones with the least wear. The rain comes down harder. Three quarters of the way up, we’re forced to scale the slope on hands and feet. The drops explode off the stones in front of me, reducing visibility to nothing.
“Almost there,” I raise my voice over the all-encompassing rush of the rain. A second later I choose poor footing and slip. Bouncing off my stomach, I slide down the slope. Before I can point my toes and dig in my fingers, my right foot strikes something solid. I flex my ankle and realize someone is holding my foot in their hand. Over my shoulder and through the roaring rain I see the impossible. “Neca?”
NECA SMILES WIDE. “NEED a little help?”
“No.”
He raises a brow.
“Yes. I mean, what are you doing here?”
He helps me reestablish my footing. “Same thing as everyone else. I’m about to test for placement in Masa Academy.”
My brain sticks, as if submerged in a pool of molasses. Not sure what’s happening or what to do about it, I blink the rain out of my eyes and climb.
Neca keeps pace beside me.
“That’s impossible. You’re too old.” I tug at the reins of my mind.
“Did you ever ask?”
“What?”
“How old I am?”
There’s a long pause. I answer, “No.”
“Well, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Going to ask?”
All my romantic notions of Neca are dashed in fifteen seconds—the time it takes to have an infuriating conversation with the boy. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“That’s too old!” I scream.
“In eight days.”
I use the soaked sleeve of my uniform to mop the rain out of my eyes. “You’re two days younger than me?”
“Really?” Neca mocks surprise before winking. “Well then, happy early birthday.”
“Neca? Is that you?” Zorrah shouts across me.
“Zorrah!” Neca chimes back. “I never got a chance for a proper goodbye, and I owe you a mango.”
“Only half—”
“Welcome to Masa Academy, class of 2027!” An announcer interrupts. His voice booms across the stone court and cuts through the drowning rain. “And welcome New Teo’s newest masazin!”
Scattered cheers breach the rainy curtain as the more eager members of my class express their readiness. I keep climbing while helping Zorrah.
The announcer continues, “Half of you have now entered the playing court. In two minutes we will begin the placement tests determining your barracks for the entirety of your enrollment. Will it be the yellow of the Coyote Barracks? The blue of the Eagle Barracks? The red of the Butterfly Barracks? The black of the Jaguar Barracks? Or the Green of Serpent?”
As I push Zorrah up and brace her foot, someone from above pulls her onto the narrow landing. In her absence I see across to Olin. I’m about to call to him when the announcer interrupts.
“Stay on your toes, the gods are watching!”
Olin reaches the top the same moment a hand extends down to help me.
“Yetic.” I receive his hand gratefully.
He pulls me onto the ledge next to him. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“I don’t know.” All I can do is watch as Neca drags himself onto the ledge and stands, the western hoop directly above him.
“Neca! How come you didn’t tell us?” Zorrah rushes past Yetic and me and jumps into Neca’s embrace. “Now it’s 2,000 minus six!”
Neca laughs. “Nice to see you too, but I’m afraid I must have missed the joke. Am I the minus, or the six?” He puts Zorrah down.
Olin moves around me to grip Neca’s arm. “She means it’s now the six of us against the rest.”
“Six if you include Cera,” Zorrah adds.
“Enough.” Yetic steps forward and points a finger at Neca. “I’m the leader of this group, and I don’t remember inviting you.”
“I’m not saying you would remember if you had, but you didn’t. I’m just visiting friends.” Neca winks, flicking rain off his eye lashes.
“Enough with the jokes, Nightmare. You can’t possibly think there’s still a place for you here. Five legs makes an awkward table.”
“Not if it’s shaped like a pentagon,” Neca says.
Before Yetic can respond, the announcer’s voice booms across the court. “The first test begins now!”
A whistling sound overhead alerts us. Every neck cranes upward in time to watch dozens of heavy, rubber pelotas rocket toward the center of the court.
The announcer continues. “Every student to possess a pelota receives a mark. Every student in possession of a pelota when the buzzer sounds receives an additional mark. Physical contact with other participants, beyond the incidental, will result in loss of all marks.”
“That’s it?” Yetic stares at me.
I’m staring past him and Neca both, all the way to the game clock. “Three minutes and counting.”
“XOXOCHUEYI,” YETIC SWEARS, “ALL the pelotas are at the bottom.”
“You mean we climbed up here for nothing?” Olin’s cool demeanor cracks.
Neca interrupts, “Not all of them are at the bottom.”
We turn to see the dark-skinned masazin spinning a ten pound pelota on his finger.
“How did you—” Yetic lurches forward.
Neca blocks him telekinetically. “Let the games begin.”
Psychokinetic sparks fly between the two as they burst into combat over the pelota, nearly knocking the rest of us off the ledge.
After catching Zorrah, I huddle her and Olin away from the feuding idiots. “We’ve got more than two and half minutes. All we have to do is gather three pelotas and hold onto them.”
“Not a problem. I can do this.” Olin searches the curtain of rain concealing the majority of the court below us. “Except, I’ll need to see them first.”
I swear under my breath. “We’ll have to go down.”
“Wait.” Zorrah stops me before I take the leap. “It’ll be easier to defend the pelotas up here, in case others have telekinetic abilities.”
“She’s right,” Olin agrees.
“I can stay here,” Zorrah says. “You help Olin toss the pelotas my way, and I’ll secure them.”
I scan the rest of the top ledge. No one else is left. Even Neca and Yetic have disappeared.
“Agreed,” I nod to Olin.
He narrows his eyes, grins, and nods back.
“Here goes.” The two of us hit the slope on our butts and slide. In a spray of water, we quickly cover the thirty plus meters to the bottom. Striking feet first, we pop up and follow our momentum into center court. “There, ten o’clock.” An uncontrolled pelota skitters away from two people chasing it.
“Got it.” No sooner than Olin says the words, the pelota radically changes course, pops over the heads of those pursuing it, and rockets toward the western hoop. “I’ll make sure Zorrah gets this one. You find the next.”
“What if I lose you?”
“Listen to your thoughts.”
“Right.” I toss my braid and wipe rivulets of rain from my forehead. It’s going to take some time to get used to sharing even my thoughts with my brother. He disappears under the curtain of rain, and I focus on finding the next pelota.
The search doesn’t take long. They must have released a hundred. Then again, there are probably a thousand people fighting over them. I spot four or five, each tucked into the gut of different participants hoping no one with stronger telekinesis decides to rob them. At least two of them are going to be disappointed. Olin? I flash a thought toward my brother.
Instantly he responds. Zorrah’s got the first. I’m heading back.
I’m thirty meters north of where you left me. Do you have a problem with taking candy from babies?
Not if it’s in the form of ten pound pelotas.
While waiting on Olin, I sense a shadow looming behind me a split second before hearing its hum. I duck a rocketing pelota in the nick of time. “Coming right at you!” I shout the words out loud as the pelota splashes down and hydroplanes out of sight.
When Olin doesn’t respond, I decide to chase the stray pelota. I don’t mind stealing, but this seems a bit more honest. After a quick sprint, I find Olin in the process of floating the second pelota up to Zorrah.
“That was a close one. How much time?” He huffs.
I scan the upper rim of the court for a glimpse of the nearest game clock. “Thirty seconds, and remember we each need to be in possession of a pelota to get the extra marks. Can you hold on to that one and still give me a hand?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to stay within sight.”
“I doubt it. I bet you can see whatever I see if I think about it hard enough.” Catching my breath, I gaze up the slope and see Zorrah perched above us.
“I’m willing to try if you are,” Olin says.
Meanwhile Zorrah jumps up and down, waving her arms.
At first I think maybe I’ve misread the clock. Then I spot a flash of light amidst shattered rain drops and realize the dueling idiots are heading straight for us. “Olin!” I barely have time to shove my brother out of the way.
Rain blasts past me, pounds the stones, and flares away from the point of attack. A second later, I do the same. Repulsed by the shockwave as it rebounds off the slope, I tumble toward the center of the court. Striking the hard surface on my hands and knees, I roll several times and come to a stop.
Dazed, two thoughts run through my mind. Clock. Pelotas. Before I can get up, a blur resembling Yetic hurtles overhead. I decide to remain face down in the standing water.
Olin sparks my thoughts. I’ve got one. We still need another. There’s only six seconds!
Pushing onto my knees, I scan the section of the court I can see through the pounding rain. There. Shooting a rooster tail of water behind it, I spot a rogue pelota rolling away uncontested. I’ve got it.
I have to get it. This is for our future, all of us. I drill my focus into the center of the pelota and block out everything else. Be a leader, Calli. Be a leader. I repeat the words, even as I mentally latch onto the errant pelota. Now bring it in.
Two seconds! Olin shouts into my thoughts.
I reach out with both hands and strike my thoughts together like metal on metal. The pelota rockets toward me. Oh crap. I brace for impact as the heavy rubber strikes me in the gut and lifts me off the ground. While bouncing on my back, I hear the buzzer echo across the court. A moment later I slam into another participant.
Yetic reaches down to pull me up. He’s empty handed. “How did you, where did that…you took my pelota!”
Olin jogs over to join us, holding a pelota of his own. “Nice try, but it looks like the Golden Boy has lost his balls.”
Neca lands beside the group, puffing and flicking water out of his eyes. He’s empty handed as well. Both Yetic and Neca try to speak but are interrupted by a scream coming from the heights where I last saw Zorrah.
“ZORRAH!” OLIN DROPS HIS pelota and darts toward the western slope.
Before I can stagger after him, Neca bulls me over. A bolt of lightning strikes the ground were I had been standing. All over the court bolts sizzle and split the air.
“Probes!” Yetic crouches at the ready. Dark red flames creep across his back.
Neca rolls onto his feet and yanks me with him.
We all freeze as the announcer cuts through the action. “Congratulations. Now for the second test. Everyone who avoids being stunned receives a mark. Receive a bonus mark for every probe you disable.” The voice dies and is replaced by the roaring rain.
“Non-lethal, that’s a relief.” Neca smiles at me.
I punch him in the arm, hard.
He winces. “What was that for? I just saved you from being stunned.”
I kick Yetic in the back to get his attention.
“Hey!”
“Can it, both of you idiots.” I clutch them by their soaking wet uniforms. “Start thinking of someone other than yourself, or get the hell away from me and my brother.”
Stunned, both of them stare at me and then at each other.
Spitting rain from my lips, I continue, “Focus on the tests. You can kill each other later.”
The water filling the air around us starts to dance. Before I can bark a warning, both Neca and Yetic launch a broad telekinetic defense. The incoming bolt of artificial lightning fizzles harmlessly. They exchange grim smiles and nod.
“Good.” I shove them in the direction of the western slope. “First we have to check on Olin and Zorrah. Then we’ll figure a way to take out as many of these probes as possible.” Blinding bolts of energy flash across the entire court, high and low. By the sounds of the screams and moans, the second test is already a one-sided slaughter. “Olin!” I call for him but hear a girl’s voice in response.
“Over here, Calli.”
“Cera?” I slide to a stop next to the girl we met earlier that day.
“Yup.”
She’s holding Zorrah in her lap. Olin is propped next to her, his back against the slope. They’re both conscious, but dazed.
“What happened?” I ask.
Before Cera can answer, a probe zips within firing range. Yetic launches an attack at it, missing. Neca blocks the incoming bolt, and the probe zips away as quickly as it came.
“Wow, it’s nice to have you guys around.” Cera flips her braid onto her back while handing me Zorrah. “I was in the area when I heard the scream. I looked up and saw the little one careening head first down the slope. About the time I caught her, your brother here blocked an incoming bolt. Stunned, I reckon, but breathing.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
Cera shrugs. “It wasn’t much.”
“You cared when you didn’t have to. That’s a lot.” I brush my hand agains Zorrah’s cheek. “Now, as for these probes.”
Zorrah blinks away the rain and sits up on her own strength.
I give her space and ask the others for the time.
“Three minutes and counting,” Neca answers.
I focus on Zorrah. “You’re our best shot at attacking these things. Any ideas?”
Zorrah nods. “Sure, but you gotta get me one first. The more intact the better.”
“No problem,” Yetic retorts. “Why don’t I just snatch one out of the sky.”
“Not that I agree with Yetic’s attitude,” Neca says, “but these things are fast. They’re designed for psychokinetic warfare.”
Olin sits up. “Yeah, but are they designed for playing ōllamaliztli?”
A probe launches an attack and darts away. Yetic responds first, blocking the bolt less than a meter overhead. “We’ll be doing good to keep from getting stunned more than once.”
“Wait, ōllamaliztli?” I look to Olin. “What are you talking about?”
Olin takes over, “Neca, I need you to find me as many pelotas as you can.”
“Will do.” Free to utilize his full telekinetic abilities, Neca disappears in a flash. A few seconds later pelotas begin to roll into view.
Olin uses his abilities to gather and hold the heavy rubber balls in a tight pattern overhead.
“A minefield?” I ask.
“A net,” Olin smirks and turns to Yetic. “I need you to set the trap.”
“Swell,” Yetic grunts.
“Unless you don’t think you can outfly a few dozen probes.”
“Okay, okay,” Yetic relents. “No need for taunting. I’ll make myself a human lightning rod. What the hell.”
Tense, we wait several more seconds as the pelotas continue to roll and bounce in from every direction.
“Two minutes and counting,” Yetic announces.
“Alright, that should be enough.” Olin suspends the thirty-some-odd pelotas in the air several meters overhead, adding them as they come.
“So what exactly am I supposed to do?” Yetic cracks his neck. While the rain has let up slightly, it’s still heavy enough to blur his face from only meters away.
“Put on a show,” Olin says. “Draw the attention of as many probes as possible and lead them as close to the slope above us as you can. That’s were I’m gonna pin ‘em.”
“No problem.” Yetic bends his knees and bursts upward.
My breath catches in my throat. After living under the strict prohibition of telekinesis my entire life, such brazen displays are shocking. Before Yetic flies out of sight, a bolt of energy glances off of him. He spirals a few times. Recovering, he zigs and zags to avoid additional attacks.
“Get ready.” Olin looks to the three of us girls still remaining. “I’m going to need your help to catch the bugger once I get it down. I’ll fry it if I have to,” he and Zorrah stand together, “but I’d prefer not.”
The stream of incoming pelotas stops.
Controlling nearly fifty, Olin lifts them higher and angles the array toward the slope. He yells at me over his shoulder, “Centavo’s exercise of piecing the stone floor together is coming in handy already.” The gaps are less than a meter apart, difficult even for a probe to navigate.
“Here he comes,” I point toward Yetic as he slashes into view. Visibility has increased to nearly half the span of the court.
“Wow.” Cera positions herself next to me, ready to attempt a sprint up the slope. “It looks like he’s found quite a few.”
In fact, so many probes are pursuing Yetic their flashing bolts appear as a single blinding ball. “They’re coming fast!”
“I’m ready.” Olin crouches, his hands out to his sides. “Another few seconds.”
Yetic banks hard away from us before suddenly reversing direction.
I flinch. “He’s coming!”
“Now.” Olin yanks his arms forward. Following his command, the fifty pelotas shoot toward the slope as Olin tightens the net.
“Xoxochueyi!” Yetic swears as he blasts past us, barely clearing the barrage of rubber pelotas.
The probes scatter in a melee of blinding light and confusion. Some of them sense the trap, but they can’t get out of each other’s way. A few collide in a shower of sparks. A few more are struck with pelotas and driven into the stone slope of the court.
“Go!” Olin barks.
Cera, Zorrah, and I are already scrambling up the slippery slope, but the scene is total chaos—bouncing pelotas, ricocheting probes, and more than a few wild bolts of energy. I leap upward to catch a crippled probe, unsure what I’m going to do with it once I have it. I cringe as a careening pelota barely misses me. A split-second later, the probe hits me in the chest.
I clutch it, strike the stone slope on my back, and slide down. The probe jolts and buzzes, trying to escape. It spins its top and shines a red light into my face. In the nick of time, I direct the bolt of energy over my head. The probe continues to jerk and spin its eye in an effort to locate me.
“What do I do with this thing!” In a spray of water, I hit the level playing surface of the court.
Zorrah yells, “Toss it to me!”
I look up to see Zorrah sliding down the slope above me. Without a second thought, I chuck the probe at her, maybe a little harder than necessary.
Without flinching, she catches it. As she does so, a red beam of light flashes across my eyes. I cringe and wait for the inevitable stunning. When nothing happens, I open my eyes and find Neca standing there, his back to me.
He turns, a grin on his face. “Saved you again.”
All at once I want to kiss him and punch him and kick him in the totoltetls. Instead I jump to my feet and shove him out of the way in order to assess the situation. “Olin?”
My brother is lying with his back against the slope, laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I bark, still irritable from being saved twice by Neca.
“That!” Olin points while cracking up.
I follow his finger. To my right I spot Zorrah unleashing a torrent of energy bolts from her newly acquired probe.
“Die! Die! Die!” She chants the word with every shot.
As I broaden my attention, I realize she’s not only controlling the probe, but she’s doing so with deadly accuracy. Left and right, probes clatter onto the stone court. My lips curl into a smile. I can’t help it. Olin’s right. The scene is outright hilarious.
Only after a dozen probes fall at her feet do I realize the things aren’t even trying to get away. The probes are just stuck in midair. It occurs to me we might be overplaying our hand. Some talents are better kept hidden.
I rush up to Zorrah and put a hand on her shoulder.
She halts her chanting long enough to look at me.
I smile and wink. “We don’t want to give away too much too early.”
She pauses before nodding her head. “Oh.” She lowers the probe and smiles. “I guess I got a little carried away, but getting stunned really hurt.”
“Besides, time’s almost up.” I nod toward the game clock, clearly visible through the steady but no longer torrential rain. “Fifteen seconds.” I wrap an arm around her. “You did good.”
“I’ll say.” We turn to find Olin juggling three disabled probes. “I’m guessing no one’s ever done that before.”
Cera’s balancing another one of the orbs on her foot. Even Yetic and Neca are smiling. The momentary reprieve feels good. But as I watch the clock tick down, one question bubbles to the surface. “I wonder what’s next.”