The race began with Drake ordering the engines back to maximum power, an unfruitful strategy in most long distance races given the immense strain it can have on racecraft engines. Drake was well aware of this strategy’s failures, but knew he started farthest from the destination. He felt it was absolutely necessary to maintain full speed longer than he would have normally been inclined to. Drake ordered the F.B.R., Juhaen, to study shield operations with Sammy, for his second official Full Circle Six command. Within five hours into the race, Jaws received his first set of coordinates.
“I got one, sir!” Jaws seemed too excited for just being contacted. Drake said nothing and immediately transferred the coordinates in his navigation command center, as well as in his holochart gazers. It would be some time until they came across the mines, but no mistake could be tolerated.
Drake Judge felt the exhilaration begin to work its way through his limbs and his torso. He finished off another cup of coffee and straightened his denim hat. This was the big time for him. The largest challenge he’d ever faced and the sheer eagerness of the hazardous conditions, competition, and actuality that he could finish this race season in first place was near to the point of overwhelming. For a long time, Drake had stayed away from long races, and especially this race, because they didn’t coincide with his full speed, all out style of racing. He was unsure of when to cut the engine power, but he knew that he did not want it to be too soon, although being too late would ultimately be worse. At any rate, Folders was not the only racer with tricks. Drake wanted desperately to try a few of his own on any potential targets that would get in his way. On the eve of the first day, one such opportunity came Drake’s way.
“Cap, we are closing in on racecraft number twenty, and she’s moving slow.” Kraus, who was working with Jaws on communications and sensors, was the one to pick up the sensor and report it.
“Ok, all weapon hands in position … Bruvold, take left cannons … Croxy, take right cannons … this will be a good lesson for you … Kraus, I want you on special weapons control in case anything gets out of hand.” Drake’s heart was pumping now; he finally had action. He scooted up to the edge of his seat and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the conflict.
“In range momentarily.” Jaws reported contently “Are you intending to destroy them?” He continued in a humane tone.
“If it’s necessary, yes I will take every measure to ensure we pass them. It’s my job.” Drake looked like a lion ready to pounce on his prey. “Right cannon, lock and load. Fire at will … Left cannon stand by to follow suit on my command … I want those shields of theirs disabled in sixty seconds.”
“Firing right cannons, sir.” Croxy was pushing his buttons inside of his spinning cannon control booth.
“Scanners report multiple hits and misses. Enemy racecraft shields as follows: Forty two percent, one hundred percent … Only two shields on this one.” Jaws explained.
“Right cannon, get down to the loading chamber begin load of right cannon stand by for load of left … Left cannon, fire all rounds, take those shields down.” Drake ordered nastily.
“Incoming, reverse fire, closing in on upper left section of shield.” Jaws almost sounded worried.
“Thank you, C.E … Preparing for evasive maneuver, cut engine to eighty percent right thruster and watch me work.” Drake had a malicious grin on his face.
“Left cannons, all direct hits … Enemy shield reports as follows: Zero percent, twenty four percent … Evasive maneuvers accurate, enemy fire evaded.” Jaws actually looked stunned, if he had only worked with Drake before, he wouldn’t be. “Enemy engines have come to a complete halt, we have an incoming contact.”
“Deny contact, and return full power to engines … They pose no more threat, so we will just pass them by.” Drake leaned back in his all of sudden more comfortable navigation chair, knowing that in under a day he had just moved out of last place. He began to wonder if the number twenty-six racecraft had worked out a way to take out another, giving him two positions in the first day. The fact that no contact had been made, led Drake to believe that there had been no confrontation for his teammate, as of yet. “Croxy, after loading those cannons, go on break and you too, Kraus … I want you two ready first thing after coffee.”
“That was a tough one, boss, huh?” Sammy joked. “By the way, our shields are ninety nine to a hundred.” Drake smiled back and stuck his chin out demonstrating his take no prisoner style.
“More coordinates from the number twenty six, four more to be accurate.” Jaws patched them over to Drake as he had done previously. Drake noticed that the coordinates were in very strategic places. They would make Drake have to use a little more time going around them, but other racecrafts would probably navigate right in their path if they didn’t know. A position is slightly more important than completing the race faster, a fact Drake despised, but respected.
More breaks were dispersed throughout the night, and in the morning Drake decided he deserved a private, congratulatory coffee as well. He made his way to the consuming quarters, ordered some coffee and bread from the delivery dispenser tubes, and came to rest at the module nearest the door. After a few bites of bread, Drake decided to have some meat to go along with it. He drank and ate in silence, listening to the purr of the thrusters at full speed.
He let his mind wander to his favorite races in the past. Races that he ran at full speed for the duration, and others that required skillful change of speed and weapons tactics. In one particular race, Drake had started in the first position, dropped back into second to last, and then proceeded to dismantle every racecraft between himself and the finish line. This frightened the last place racecraft so much, that instead of trying to pass Drake for the win, they cut power from their engines and settled for second place. He would not stop at any cost to ensure victory, and he hoped his entire crew understood at least that much of him. Drake finished off another cup of coffee, his bread, and his meat, and then returned to the comfort of his navigation chair.
After the first week, the crew had settled in nicely to Drake’s standard. The number twenty-six racecraft had employed several more mines, and even reported decommissioning the number eighteen racecraft. Drake now had the information that two of the twenty entrants were of no more concern. The mine total was at fourteen, and they only registered one more in their banks. Once Drake had these last coordinates, he would be able to finish plotting his navigation through them. He wasn’t entirely sure Folders wouldn’t keep that information to himself, in order to place himself on the victory platform. Drake knew that he would do the very same in his position. Thinking of positions, Drake was still slightly irked at his current position in this event, but it was still early and he had moved up two places already. He also had every intention of gaining more, and as quickly as he could manage. This could not concern him much at the moment; however, things were going well as far as he was concerned, in spite of Freddie on his case about the engines.
The following week, the number twenty-six did not send coordinates, but instead sent news of disaster in the form of the younger Oblize brother number seven racecraft. According to the contact message, a battle occurred, whereas it appeared Folder had damaged two of four enemy shields. The Oblize captain had equipped a space freeze capsule, however, that transformed to the size of a mountain when released, and froze all instruments in the twenty-six. They reported a full month to recovery, along with two dead and only one half of a shield remaining.
This tragic news sent most of the crew a dampening image, that it could have been any one of them in their stead. For Drake, it meant that his teammate not only didn’t give him the information about the mine he desired, but would not be of any further assistance from in front of his own racecraft. Drake concluded that had Folders employed the last mine, he would have sent the coordinates in his message. That kind of information would be too important to forget to communicate with a teammate. So far he was navigating through the mines with no difficulty, and Jaws had reported some debris on the scanners that could have been another racecraft finding a well placed mine by Folders.
Two things of consequence started off day thirty-nine. The first was a contact from league officials with their estimated times and positions. The second was another Freddie confrontation, this time with Drake.
“Sixteenth, you pathetic wimps, sixteenth place. If any of you think you’re doing good enough to win, think again. Why, I …”
“Cap, we aren’t winning anything if you keep running these engines so hot. We are going to explode one of these days.” Freddie had been joking this point for some time, but this time seemed to say it with a flare of anger.
“Full speed is what I ran for most of the last race, which lasted over ninety days. SO, our engines will be fine for now.” Drake had twirled his navigation chair to where it faced Freddie.
“I must insist, D.J., that you tell me how long you warrant leaving these engines on max?” Freddie continued.
“I will leave then on max until my navigation controls start melting into the Racecraft, pretty boy! Do you understand that we are in sixteenth place?” Drake stood up and over Freddie as he screamed at him.
“You are going to kill us all… You won’t be sat…” A blow from Drake to the back of the head silenced Freddie.
“He seems so worried … Hmmm … Sammy, convert half of shield two’s power to engines … Bruvold, accompany Freddie here to the medical quarters. Tell the M.O. to treat his head and give him something to help him relax … Kraus, I want you to take his post… I apologize, people, but I don’t threaten your lives. Every member of this team has made a commitment to this race … and therefore a commitment to me.” Drake repositioned himself in his navigation chair and started manual navigation to avoid the last known mine, after making the commands.
“Transfer complete, shield two at fifty percent.” Sammy pronounced, before asking Juhaen to fetch him a cup of coffee.
It took Drake a little over four hours to complete his manual navigation, after which he decided to give the engines a tiny break.
“Kraus go ahead and tone the engines down one level.” Drake was standing and roaming the deck as he gave his order, with his hands behind his back. Kraus obeyed the captain without response, while Drake returned to his chair.
“Ok, sir … it looks as if we have a faint signal from enemy racecraft, maybe three quadrants ahead … It looks like one quadrant right, as well.” After hearing these words from Jaws, and his little spat with Freddie, Drake was more than ready for another battle.
“Activating manual navigation … I want that racecraft on my visual screen, Jaws, patch it through when pinpointed … I am not letting this one go … Croxy, go get Bruvold and get in the same positions as last time … I want Juhaen down in the loading chamber. Kraus, stay where you are, if I need you on special weapons I’ll let you know.” Drake was manually trying to follow the racecraft from behind its course, and found it easier when he could visibly see it. He would like nothing more than to move up a position just hours after getting the message that said he was a lowly sixteenth.
“I have it, sir, patching over now.” Jaws proceeded to do as stated, looking focused.
“Yes, I can see it… I cannot tell which one. It’s too far out of range. Looks like you’ll have to max those engines again, Kraus … We have to catch it … What do you got on the scanners, Jaws, tell me about those shields?” Drake was zeroing in on his target with the addition of the visibility.
“The scanners read only vessel … I’m not picking up any engine or shield, but its moving forward.” Jaws began to look confused at the instruments in front of him.
Meanwhile, Drake broke concentration from navigation for a moment to assure himself that all weapons operators were in their respective positions. Once he was satisfied, he returned to navigating with great precision. As he closed in on his victim, he began to feel that undeniable lust for destruction again.
“Just a little bit further … All weapons at the ready … Fire on my command.” Drake was at the point of drooling for the prospect of action. He figured he had gone too many days without destroying something more than a runaway asteroid. “I want all cannons left and right to be ready to send everything you got on my command, and I need Juhaen to be on the ready to reload. We are going to eliminate that enemy racecraft no matter who it is.”
Drake was secretly hoping it was the younger Oblize brother’s number seven racecraft, which would make for sweet justice in his mind. “Fire Fire Fire!” Drake yelled with ferocity, as he had just entered into firing range. “Tell me some good news boys … Jaws get me a report on those shields … The racecraft still looks good from my view.”
“Sir, I am getting no scan of life, engine, or shield on the vessel signal.” Jaws turned to face Drake at the helm when he spoke.
“It’s gone … It’s off my screen. Wait, it … but no.” Drake turned in direction of Kraus with horrified expression. “It’s a Holocraft being dragged! Stop all engines!”
Before Kraus could fully react, the number thirteen racecraft was blasted with an enormous burst that shook Drake’s hat right off his head, and sent crew members flying in all directions. There was a whole lot of commotion for a brief period. Then, the only sound that could be heard was that of the engines. Kraus lifted himself off of the surface of the deck and proceeded to cut engine power. The medical operator, Priscilla, along with Freddie, and Juhaen, came into the room to check on everyone a few minutes after the blast occurred.
“Status.” Drake said softly. He wanted to confirm what he thought just happened.
“There is no other racecraft in the area. Um … OH … uhh, it looks like a shield mine was detonated. Shield report as follows: Shield one, zero percent, shield two, zero percent, and shield three, twenty four percent. And it looks like we have a recorded contact message from the number seven racecraft.” Jaws looked completely exhausted while speaking, but managed to get up and help Juhaen and Croxon clean up.
“Play the contact message.” Drake was still subdued.
“This is Ced Oblize, navigator of the number seven racecraft. AHHAHAHAHAHA!” This was an infuriating cackle that Drake hated hearing, especially at this time. “I confiscated and used one of your own partner’s shield mines against you, with the help of my trusty holocraft …
Drake had worked his way over to communications and disconnected the transmission with authority. “I am going to my quarters to try and locate the closest planet to stop.”
Drake was showing weakness and felt he had to dismiss himself before he exploded in front of them. How could he have been so ignorant? Following a holographic racecraft, and for his own personal vindication. If he wouldn’t have been so quick to pull the trigger, if he hadn’t been in that awful mood, if he wouldn’t have converted shield power, maybe it could have been avoided. Now, they would have to make an unplanned planetary stop, on a planet that is populated with who could know what. As far as he could tell, the nearest planet was not one he had ever been to, or heard of. It went by the name of Lorte, and it looked unpleasantly under populated. The worst part about the whole experience is that he not only did not move up a position, as expected, but also set his entire team back. They could possibly lose positions as a result. This idea made Drake shiver with a disappointment he found he could not relate with anything recently. Why didn’t he, Drake Judge, have these weapons? He had no freezing capsules or shield mines. He had no holocrafts to deceive with, although he was sure not to be fooled by it again. It would be a long time before Drake would let himself live this down. He had just pretty much said the crew was in no immediate harm from his direction, earlier. Then, on his order, he comes twenty five percent away from destroying his own racecraft, and its entire filling. Drake quickly realized he was wasting valuable time, and returned at once to his navigational command booth, where he would be able to take his mind off the blunder, via barking more orders.
“We are going to be making a planetary stop at the nearest convenience, which happens to be place called Lorte. What information do you have on that planet, Jaws?”
“Let me check … Hold on … I’m not finding anything but low oxygen, low population. No previous racecraft has had a planetary stop there, by the looks of it … I’ll keep looking for something else on it.” Jaws began doing research in his communicational booth, glad of work to do.
“No matter. Kraus, put engines to three levels below max, while I prepare a course for Lorte. When we land, I’m going to take Bruvold, Kraus, Jaws, and the M.O. out to meet the locals. The rest of you should stay here and clean up what you can. Do whatever repairs you are able to. Sammy, I will put you in charge. The moment I leave, I expect you to get these people making the appropriate repairs. Make sure our rocket booster is filled up for the next launch, and you will also need someone to do a planet scan, in order to drop us off in the most populated area.” Drake put a forceful hand on Sammy’s shoulder and directed him toward the navigational command chair, then motioned for the four others, included in the stop party, to follow him to the equipment chamber.
They would need to arm themselves with the right gear for breathing, and protection. This was based on the lack of oxygen at Lorte, and the unknown inhabitants of the seemingly wretched place. There was one thing for sure they, nor anyone else for that matter, would ever stop here under normal circumstances. Drake dressed the quickest, and noticed through his holochart gazers that they were nearing their destination. There was an uncomfortable silence among the five, as they waited for the time to come that would place them in a highly unanticipated world.
The five could feel the vibrations of the racecraft, when it shook, as it always did, during the landing process. Drake was thinking about getting this over with, with quick, efficient, teamwork, and hopefully the locals could muster a great deal of help. It would be beneficial to Drake getting his racecraft back in the sky without delay.
The first thing they noticed, while exiting the support racecraft, was the widespread vegetation and sweltering heat. There were yellowish purple, yellowish red, and yellowish blue pods, with stems covering large portions of the ground, all of varying sizes and shapes. The non-yellow color of the pods was located primarily in the stem. The other vegetation was spread between the pods, and was tall and bushy. These plants acted as cover, blocking any sort of visibility, beyond the current area any of the crew happened to be occupying.
The group proceeded slowly, with Drake in the lead toward the smoke stacks they saw in the sky. This was not a promising sign. Smoke stacks often times meant primitive life forms, but Drake was still hopeful. They had gone maybe fifty meters when, suddenly, they were boorishly halted by a band of attacking natives. Drake was the first to engage, he grabbed one and kneed it in its abdomen, then was blindsided by another, wielding a club. Priscilla took cover under nearby brush while Bruvold and Kraus each selected an opponent. Drake was still dueling with his combatants. He had managed to disarm the club, and was using it against his foes, as two more enemies joined the fray. The rapid fire laser weapons, they were yielding, would not be worth using in this vegetation at anything but close range, and even that was too risky, on account of not knowing if some of the succession fire would harm a mate. Jaws had activated some sort of chameleon disguise and was cowering in the vegetation behind Priscilla, without anyone being the wiser. Bruvold had just unleashed a devastating combination on his opponent, finishing with a powerful double axe handled smash that left the creature incapacitated. Drake appeared to have clubbed a couple into submission as well, but one of them on the ground grabbed a pod and threw it directly at Drake’s feet. The pod exploded, leaving a large puff of yellow spores spreading all around Drake’s intimidating physique. After a few moments, he collapsed with a low grunt, and fought no more. Priscilla was the only one who noticed, and immediately took action. She tried to get Bruvold’s attention to help her carry Drake back to the racecraft, but it was Jaws who reappeared conveniently to help. He was looking for any excuse to leave the battle at hand. They managed to get away without any of the beasts seeing them, by taking somewhat of an alternate course. This took more time, but as it was, they needed to be as covert as they could manage.
Kraus did, however, notice some of the party leaving out of the corner of his eye, and felt it was probably safe to start using real firepower. He communicated to Bruvold to yell out his position, so he would not fire in his direction, and pulled his rapid-fire laser unit out of his holster. The sound of rapid laser fire resonated throughout the sticky air, as three of the aliens were hit, and instantly killed, while the remaining attackers fled. Bruvold and Kraus grinned at each other, and made their way hastily back to the transport racecraft, with well done written all over their faces.
By the time Kraus and Bruvold had finished changing and made their way back to the navigation center, Jaws was just finishing recounting what he saw on the surface to the others.
Croxon was already in the medical quarters, preparing for the arrival of the wounded, when Pricilla opened the door, trying to drag the heavy captain with what little help the injury transport cart could give. Iriarte was holding a large syringe filled with a glowing blue liquid. Having been in many events with Drake before, Croxy knew what Drake, or anyone else, would need had they gotten themselves in any trouble. It seemed as though Pricilla had different ideas for treating the captain.
“What, may I ask, are you doing in my quarters?” Priscilla exclaimed, while moving Drake onto an operation module.
“I was sent here by Sammy earlier, to clean up the medical quarters, and prepare for any wounded, and I am the medical assistant, after all, these are my quarters too.” Croxon answered diligently. “What happened to him?” It then asked looking down at Drake.
“I will be able to take care of the wounded, please wait outside while I attend to the commander, assistant.” Priscilla did not even look as Croxon left the quarters. She began to wash Drake clean of the spore dust, believing this to be the source of his infliction. This process, she deemed effective when Drake started coming around. She noticed a fever and turned around to retrieve the proper compound, when Drake let out a terrifying, nightmarish scream.
“AHHHHH … AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH … NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Drake started jerking violently, and when Priscilla got near to calm him down he grabbed her by the dress and uttered one word before going into a rage again. “Crrroxxy.” Priscilla began to try and assure the captain that she could take care of him. “NOOOOOOOOO, bring me Croxon! Now!” With Drake jerking even more violently, Priscilla had no choice but to summon Croxy.
The assistant came back through the door to the medical quarters, again holding the large syringe. It moved toward the M.O. and the injured with slow, determined, calculation.
“Here now, cap.” Croxon soothed. “This will make it all better.” When the needle slid into Drake‘s shoulder, Croxy pressed the plunger with his thumb. A small, high pitched, hissing sound ensued.
“What in the …” Pricilla was looking at her new assistant and seemed bewildered.
“Shhhhh” Croxy interrupted, though it was tough to tell whom it was trying to silence, as it was looking toward nothing in particular. The contempt and shock on Pricilla’s face went unnoticed as well. Once the injection was complete, Croxon then walked to a corner of the quarters that held its ‘medic case’. Here, it picked up the case, inspected its contents, and calmly carried it back to place on the floor beside Drake. One by one, with a slightly demented look in its eyes, the former racecraft medical operator selected the needles and injected Drake seemingly at random, injecting the last two at the same time. All of the other syringes also made that small hissing noise.
“What in the name of medicine do you think you are doing? Are you insane?” Priscilla was frightened to the point of tears. Frantically, she began to scramble across to Croxon and Drake.
Croxy finished re-latching its medic case and locked a serene gaze onto Pricilla’s panic stricken face, while replying, “I do nothing in the name of medicine. The captain will be fine now.”
Just as Croxy finished speaking, Drake raised an arm and clapped his long time healer on the back.
“Just what I needed.” He managed to croak. “I should have taken you, old Croxy … I should have taken you.”
At this, Pricilla became indignant and, with a disgusted look at both of her teammates, she turned to storm away. Before getting through the door, she glanced to her left and happened to notice a shelf that belonged to Croxon. With a downward swing of her fist, she brought the shelf and all of the items on it, cascading down to crash to the floor.
Drake looked at Croxy and said, “I know you wouldn’t have hid in the bushes, old Croxy. Wouldn’t have given me a bath, either.” After speaking, Drake rolled to his side and began to sleep, for the first time since before the start of the race.
Drake woke up no more than two days after falling asleep. When he awoke, he found that most of the repairs and refueling had been taken care of while Sammy was in charge. They used equipment from the spare parts chamber, and were able to refuel all boosters from the fuel vault, using hoses. They had only a few hours until Sammy himself completed the final repairs on the shields, at which time they would be able to launch back into the race. Drake wished badly that the natives had been friendlier. It is so much easier to repair and refuel with a lot of extra hands to do the work. As it was, only nine members were able to fix it by themselves in under three days time.
Drake went to his personal quarters as he was mulling things over in his head. Retrieving his usual attire, he was anxious to get back to the navigation quarters, and his seat, to resume his command of the race. It was time to do something about his lowly position.
Within the last hour, before launch, Drake felt his stomach grumble. He took the familiar route to the consuming quarters, and ordered his usual coffee and edibles. Discovering he was immensely famished, he dispensed out, and ate five more helpings, before returning to the navigational chair. The launch deliberated smoothly and, after no more than ten minutes back in space, Drake decided to formulate his next strategy into reality.
“Alright … Freddie, I want you to stop all thrusters.” Freddie looked through Drake as though he was transparent, after the order was stated. This was the last command he expected to hear from Drake.
Freddie obeyed, but he was confused. “I … uh … ok, sir.”
“Now Sammy… I will need you to transfer shield power again.” Most of the crew was fixed in the direction of Drake now. “Only this time, you’re going to transfer all of shield two to boosters at the same time, instead of gradually … Freddie,… at the exact moment Sammy transfers power, … You’ll need to put engines to maximum capacity … This will create a super speed burst, resulting in a gain of over a week … If we do it properly, of course.” Drake rotated his head slowly while speaking to gauge his crew’s reaction. “We will have to be on the same page … I believe that won’t be a problem.” Drake finished excitedly.
Drake had not performed this procedure in over a decade. The strategy has high rewards, but it has equally proportional risks. Once in hyper speed, it is difficult and demanding to navigate. Manual navigation must be utilized, and as a result you could end up completely off course, gaining little or no time at the cost of a shield, or smash into an obstruction killing everyone onboard. This was going to take every ounce of Drake’s concentration and tactical maneuvering skills. The outer shield will take more damage at this velocity than normal flight speeds. Drake had already concluded that the positive outweighed the negative in this particular situation. He was also notorious for taking calculated risks.
“I want everybody strapped in before we propel.” Drake didn’t want one of the other members to be jolted around to the navigational controls. One of them could conceivably bump into Drake, or the controls, creating a disastrous catastrophe.
“I … uh… guess I’m ready when you are Sammy boy,” Freddie squeaked nervously.
“Ok … we’ll go on three.” Sammy held up three fingers and they both began counting down in unison.
“Three … Two … One!” They coordinated perfectly and instantly an immeasurable force propelled the racecraft.
The sound was like that of a large, hungry machine, bulldozing trees, cracking and snapping its path. Drake could feel the navigation controls rattling his every bone, as he tore through the universe with blazing acceleration. Nothing could be heard but the deafening vibrations, echoing thunderously, about the racecraft. To Drake, the stars and planets in his holochart gazers looked like rapid fire lasers, shooting all around him. He must avoid them at all cost, even if it meant pulling off course. If he hit one, that would be the end of everything, of the race and all of their lives.
The strain was becoming unbelievably unbearable, still Drake was able to steer the racecraft with uncanny ability. Finally, he noticed the rapid-fire lights starting to decelerate in his gazers, which meant they were slowing, and they were now at the end of a seemingly successful tactic. The crackling slowly subsided, leaving several of the team hard of hearing.
When they calmed back down to conventional engines, Drake flipped the controls off of manual and let out an enormous sigh of relief. They had made it, and the racecraft was as close to the proper course as Drake could have ever hoped for. He could only guess how many positions he might have moved up. Drake was beginning to calculate this in his head, when the communications expert distracted him.
Jaws turned to face Drake, with his nostril flaring, and said, “We have a racecraft approaching from behind. It appears to be just out of range!” He was speaking unnecessarily loud, in order to hear himself.
“There’s no need to yell, Jaws,” Sammy assured him.
Drake knew his engines had probably lost a step after his excursion into hyper speed, but he didn’t know what shape the other racecraft was in. This notion, coupled with the fact that he only had two operational shields, made Drake’s decision easy. He would simply have to try and stay out in front and out of range for as long as possible. There was always a chance that the other racecraft would make a planetary stop soon, if it hadn’t already, that is.
Drake flipped his controls back to manual, because he would need to use evasive maneuvering, if the racecraft that was following fired on them, and said, “Full speed ahead … we’re going to see if we can out run it.” If Drake couldn’t succeed in outrunning the racecraft, he was prepared to do everything in his power not to give up a position. That would mean another fight, if necessary. “Everybody get into battle positions and stand by … We will fight as a last resort to secure this position.” He pointed to Bruvold, Kraus, and Croxon, then turned to Jaws and asked, “Are we pulling away?”
“We do not appear to be gaining distance … if anything they’re closing the gap … although it’s tough to tell right now,” Jaws replied, with his big nose glued to the scanner screen.
“Maintain max engines … maybe we can outlast those guys.” Drake was wary of another confrontation, because if the racecraft got damaged too much, they would have to make an unplanned planetary stop once again. If he was forced to stop, he was determined to travel as far forward as his racecraft would allow, avoiding the addition of lost time.
“They are attempting mental contact … sir, it’s the number seven racecraft,” Jaws announced, bitterly.
“Deny,” Drake whispered audibly. The racecraft belonged to Ced, the younger Oblize brother.
Oblize, the very name made Drake’s blood boil. He wanted to turn his racecraft around and destroy the number seven vessel, with extreme prejudice, but he was sure he lacked the shields to match. He would not act out of anger this time. If Drake could only go back to when the younger Oblize brother tricked him, he would act with a more level head, and they would be in the top ten at this point. Sure, he could use the time disrupter to go back to the time it happened, but it would be un-beneficial. His current racecraft would be right here in this spot, while his past ship would be back towards the beginning of the race, running into a shield mine. Drake’s most crucial motto is to never run backwards on a racecourse. Traveling back in time is fine, as long as you continue racing forward, besides the Oblize brother, undoubtedly, has his own time disrupters, and would just follow pursuit. Drake would just have to continue hoping Oblize needed to stop and refuel.
“Steady as she goes … let’s keep that racecraft out of range.” While he was saying it, Drake was thinking this strategy would ultimately end in a showdown with Ced. As long as they were moving diminutively slower, Drake understood they would not be able to stay out of weapons range forever.