Jimmy tore out of the observation deck and back into the corridor. I’ve got to tell Grandpa about the location of the next race, he thought. Cabbie would need to be adapted for the sandy terrain.
He ran to the workshop, where technicians and engineers were going crazy, running about and falling over each other in a mad panic to try and get their robots ready in time.
“Looks like someone’s already told them about the desert!” Jimmy muttered to himself. He walked over to Grandpa, who was hopping and dancing around Cabbie like someone had dropped a lit firecracker down his trousers.
“You’ve heard, then?” said Jimmy, ducking out of the way as Grandpa whizzed past him carrying a giant antenna. Grandpa turned to smile at him, his moustache bobbing up and down excitedly.
“Of course I have! The word got around in seconds!” he beamed. “The Sahara desert! Just think of it, Jimmy!”
“We’ve just been down to the observation deck to take a look, Grandpa. It’s so big!” Jimmy said. “It’s massive! Vast! Enormous!”
“Brilliant!” said Cabbie, cheery as ever. “I love a bit of sand surfing. Bring it on!”
Grandpa continued rushing around Cabbie, making last-minute checks. Jimmy kept getting in the way, so Grandpa chucked a parcel at him. “Here, open this. Came this morning on the post plane.”
Jimmy recognized the address label. “Great! It must be my new race suit. That’s Shallot! promised me one ages ago.” It was the first good thing that his rubbish sponsors had done for him. While all the others had cool sponsors like Luke’s Lasers and Robotron Rocket Boots, the only people that had wanted to sponsor Jimmy and Cabbie when they started racing were a fruit and vegetable shop, That’s Shallot!. Jimmy struggled to unwrap the large box, and wondered why it was so bulky. The jumpsuit he had wanted was made of flame-retardant, heat-reflective foil microfibres. It was super-shiny and extra lightweight, but the suit that eventually popped out of the box wasn’t what he had been expecting.
“What the...?” he muttered, mystified.
“Try it on, then!” said Grandpa.
Jimmy pulled on the suit, which was large and made of plastic. It was completely brown, with some black stripes and a small tag that said ‘pull here’. He tugged at the tag and a loud hissing sound came from somewhere inside the suit. It was expanding!
By now everyone in the workshop had heard the strange noise. They had stopped work and were looking at Jimmy in his strange new suit, which was inflating by the second. It stopped, leaving a perfectly round suit with his legs, arms and head poking out.
“It’s ... it’s ... an onion!” he said, baffled. The technicians around him gave a laugh and even Grandpa and Cabbie couldn’t stop their giggles. Grandpa reached into the box and pulled out a strange leafy green helmet, which he placed on Jimmy’s head. Jimmy wasn’t impressed.
“Aw, come on Jimmy! It’s nothing to cry about!” said one of Horace’s NASA technicians through the laughter.
“He’s not crying – that’s the onion making his eyes water!” joked another.
Jimmy took off the suit, pulled out the stopper and chucked it into his locker in disgust. The onion deflated with a slow farting sound. “There’s no way I’m wearing that on TV,” he mumbled.
A few minutes later, they landed in the heart of the desert. Jimmy could feel the heat rising already as he made his way to the exit hatch with the rest of the racers and their teams. He was glad to be back in just his everyday clothes – an old grey T-shirt, shorts and tatty trainers – rather than that horrible, hot vegetable suit. At this temperature, I’d have been a roasted onion! he thought to himself as the gigantic hangar doors began to inch their way open.
“Everyone gather round!” Joshua Johnson, the robot co-ordinator yelled. “Lord Leadpipe has a special announcement to make.”
“What does Loonpipe want now? Is it not enough that he steals us away from our homes—” Grandpa muttered.
And makes us live in the lap of luxury, thought Jimmy.
Jimmy knew Grandpa hated Lord Leadpipe. They had worked together as inventors when they were young men. But when Grandpa had invented the first-ever robot, his designs had been stolen and Leadpipe had set up his own robotics company. Lord Ludwick Leadpipe had gone on to become a multi-billionaire, while Grandpa had spent years as taxi driver, before he dusted off his workshop to make Cabbie for Jimmy.
They stepped through the exit hatch onto the ramp that took them down to the desert floor. Jimmy was hit by the dry desert heat as he moved out of the air-conditioned atmosphere of the airship. It struck the back of his throat, making him instantly thirsty.
Lord Leadpipe stood at the end of the ramp on a small stage that had been hastily set up. Somehow he was still wearing his usual formal suit and tie, even though Jimmy was roasting in just a T-shirt. As the racers came down the ramp, Leadpipe welcomed them all in his usual jovial manner.
“Come, come! Gather around! I trust you have had a good trip?”
“I’ve had worse!” Missy answered back.
“Good, good!” Lord Leadpipe waited until everyone was silent and a couple of Robo TV camerabots were hovering in front of him. He liked an audience, especially an audience of hundreds of millions, eagerly awaiting his every word. “Welcome, one and all, to the Sahara desert, among the harshest environments on Planet Earth! Tomorrow’s race promises to begin one of the toughest events of your lives.”
“Can’t wait,” whispered Missy.
“You will travel from this point across the sands to a finish line that we have set up on the other side of the desert. The eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed a difference in this leg of the competition.”
Horace surprised Jimmy by being the first to notice. “Where’s the track?” he asked.
“Precisely, Mr Pelly!” yelled Lord Leadpipe. “This time there will be no track! Your robots will have to trek across the sands to the finish line at a beautiful little oasis I know of. In fact, it’s where Lady Leadpipe and I had our honeymoon. The water is crystal clear and the palm trees are just lovely at this time of year—”
Joshua Jackson coughed and Lord Leadpipe seemed to remember they were all there.
“Anyway,” he continued. “The finish line is nearly twelve hundred miles away, but this race there will be no pit stops and no communication with your pit teams!”
The assembled racers and teams murmured in surprise and panic.
“Your robots will have to be fully adapted to carry all the fuel they need. Our own robot teams will check over the vehicles and rewire the Cabcoms so you can only communicate with each other. One of the checkpoints will act as your overnight stop, but you will not be allowed to change anything on your robots while you are there.”
Horace looked up at his dad, Hector Pelly. Hector looked exactly like his son, with perfectly aligned white teeth, a straight nose and glossy hair.
“This should be a piece of cake, Father. Zoom’s laser guidance system will work out the quickest route in no time!” he boasted.
“Ah! That reminds me,” Lord Leadpipe overheard. “To make things a bit more interesting, our technicians will be removing any automated navigation systems.”
“What?” said Horace and Mr Pelly in unison.
“All Global Positioning Systems, sat-nav, mapping software and laser-guidance systems will be removed before the race. Instead, competitors will follow a set of clues from checkpoint to checkpoint, which will then lead you to the finish. You’ll be able to find the checkpoints by looking for the usual Leadpipe Industries’ logo, and following the clues you’re given. Each clue will provide you with a set of co-ordinates to the next checkpoint, and eventually lead you across the finish line at the other end of the desert.”
“What!” exclaimed the Pellys again.
“What sort of race do you call that?” added Horace.
Jimmy grinned with delight and exchanged a look with Grandpa, who was looking a little smug. “I know what I call it,” said Jimmy to Grandpa. “A treasure hunt!”