The Future Fuels team worked vigorously in a chilling silence that was only penetrated by the hum of the engines. Drake recognized this as the calm before the storm. He had been in, and won, countless racecraft battles, but normally he was the hunter. He definitely had more experience than Oblize, but the fact that Ced was the one stalking made Drake uncomfortable. Drake rarely made use of his reverse cannons. These ‘inaccurate spitballs’, as Kraus liked to refer to them, were only put to use if Drake was closing in on a finish, and did not have time to turn around and fight. As it was, when the time came, Drake planned to turn around, using right thrusters, so that his racecraft would take a wide, counterclockwise motion, to the three o’clock position. This maneuver would make the number seven racecraft have to turn, while fighting cannons, making it easier for Drake to evade. The thirteen racecraft would then be positioned to the left of the number seven, facing it. Drake would then be able to put the visual on screen, and commence racecraft war.
They traveled for weeks, racing past planets, with the younger Oblize brother closing in, meter by meter, which is miniscule measurements, when in space. Drake made absolutely sure that someone was manning the cannons at all times, in case they found themselves in firing range. Drake, in the meantime, never left his navigational chair, or his manual control. He had to be ready to turn at any moment. That moment occurred in the third week of cat and mouse racing.
“They just entered range … we have incoming cannon fire,” Jaws said, with panic in his voice.
“Cut left thruster to fifteen percent.” Drake dodged the cannon fire, just in time, while beginning his wide, left turnabout.
“Incoming special weapon!” Jaws bellowed. It was an ice capsule, capable of growing to an enormous size, and freezing a racecraft’s components, but Drake was ready for it. He steered his racecraft up and over the mountainous ice area, barely skimming the top of it, with the bottom of his racecraft. Most of his racecraft was unharmed, but the bottom thrusters were frozen solid. Drake felt this happening while he was trying to dodge more cannon fire. He noticed the engine drop off, and slower reaction time, as the number thirteen was pelted with firepower.
“Shield one down to seventy percent,” Sammy exclaimed, while gaining his bearings.
“Fire right and left cannons now!” Drake now had the number seven racecraft on screen.
“Multiple right cannon hits, I’m not getting anything from the left.” Jaws was sweating, and visibly shaking. “They have four shields.”
“Is no fire … Is stuck … I go feex.” Bruvold got up, to go check on the left cannon. Drake had not expected this mishap. First, they are forced to fight with only two shields, and against four. Then, some thrusters get frozen, and now, the left cannon jammed.
Everyone, who was seated, was strapped in tightly now. They were hit with a series of more cannon fire, as Drake had increasing trouble avoiding it.
“Shield one at twelve percent,” Sammy said, as Bruvold regained his swiveling seat and began firing cannons.
“Kraus, use external S.E.D. cannons. Fire at will.” These were his special weapons. Drake did not think that the shield energy de-stabilizer would disable the number seven, but combined with cannon fire, it might take out a shield or two. Kraus launched the special weapon at precisely the same time they were blasted again. Uciferi was trying to fix the racecraft, as it was being damaged, with escalating difficulty.
“External shield gone … We have eighty one percent left,” Sammy said, calmly.
“The enemy shields are as follows: zero percent, thirty percent, two fully operational … and hold on … we have another racecraft approaching range, from behind,” Jaws added.
“I’m out… no more cannons!” Croxy screamed, while Brulold cast over a quick glance.
“What! Where‘s Juhaen, he should have reloaded by now.” Drake wasn’t sure what to do. They had no more external shield, which meant they had no more special weapons. He was trying to think fast, when Bruvold confessed.
“I go to feex cannon … Leetle guy no move out of Bruvold way, so I is grabbing him, and he is breaking.” He mimicked a twig being snapped in half, and finished, “He is weak man.”
“Well that figures.” Drake didn’t know what ‘he is breaking’ meant, but was sure Juhaen was injured. “Uceferi, stop what you’re doing, and go fill those cannons.” Drake had never been so frustrated in all his life. Bad news was mounting up, at an incredible rate. They would be surrounded soon, and there was nothing for it, he would have to give up the hard fought position.
Drake let out an infuriating scream that was silenced, by another series of Oblize cannon fire.
“Shield at two percent!” Sammy shouted, sounding scared for the first time.
“Why? Why can’t anything go right? We’ve lost! Stop all engines! I can’t beli …”
Jaws interrupted the captain enthusiastically, “Sir, yes Sir, something has gone right. The number twenty six racecraft has made visible contact, and is firing on the number seven heavily … they are positioning themselves directly in front of us.” A huge grin could be seen underneath Jaw’s big nose, after speaking.
It was Folders, and he went backwards in the race, from the looks of it, to rescue the number thirteen, from the jaws of defeat. Drake would have never done this, even for a teammate. He wondered what Folders did with only a crew of eight, to get so far in the race so quickly. Drake would find out, before long, by making mental contact with Folders, how they recovered so remarkably from their first encounter with Oblize. Folders had stated that it would take a full month to recovery for the number twenty-six racecraft.
Drake didn’t dare order his engines back on and move. The slightest bits of debris could disable the remainder of the shield and, consequently, his racecraft. He had no converter onboard his racecraft for transferring engine power to shields, because he considered it absurd to take power away from engines. They would, most likely, have to use impulse power to coast to the nearest planet for repairs. Drake loathed this idea, because the closest planet was behind them, and reportedly unfriendly to outsiders. He began to feel hopeless, as if things were slipping out of his control. Rather than staying for the duration of Folders dismantling of Oblize’s racecraft, Drake decided to go to the medical quarters to see, for himself, what exactly happened to Juhaen. He would find out, afterwards, the details of the ongoing battle from the crew, or from the captain of the number twenty six racecraft.
“Bruvold, join me.” Drake beckoned the security officer to accompany him, and together they left the navigation room. On the way to the medical quarters, Drake observed Uciferi having a cup of coffee, while leaning against a wall. Drake snuck up and confronted him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Drake asked the startled Ouldsid brusquely.
“I… I finished loading the cannons and … thought I’d get a coffee,” Uciferi mumbled apprehensively.
“Finish up and get back to work,” Drake grunted firmly.
Prior to continuing their stroll to the M.Q., Bruvold could have sworn he heard Drake utter something about ‘worthless’ under his breath. When they crossed the threshold into the medical room, Drake and Bruvold encountered Priscilla preparing instruments on a table, while Juhaen lay unconscious on a nearby module.
“What happened to him?” Drake asked the striking doctor.
“The F.B.R. has suffered a broken wrist. I am prepping for surgery now,” said Priscilla.
“Surgery? Couldn’t you just give him a shot, or something?” Drake inquired.
“I’m afraid not, captain. Now, if you don’t mind, please excuse me. I have work to do,” Priscilla said impatiently.
“How long will he be sidelined?” Drake had not moved.
“I’m going to go in and fuse the bone back together. He should be back to normal in no more than twenty four hours,” answered Priscilla.
“He is weak man,” Bruvold added innocently, after which, Drake nodded in agreement.
They both then exited to the main corridor. Drake elected to dispense himself out some coffee during their return trip up to the navigational command center. When they entered, it was to an ecstatic environment, full of laughter and joy.
“They did it! It ended just now,” chirped Freddie.
“Nothing left of the number seven but debris, D.J.,” confirmed the jovial Sammy.
Drake couldn’t help being pleased at the elimination of Ced Oblize. It was good news, indeed. He expected Ced’s brother Boxton would have a different view entirely. If Drake were Boxton, he would certainly want revenge. It would be some time before the older brother received news of his sibling, however, maybe even until the completion of the race. It was of no consequence at this point in time besides it was Folders who did in the number seven, not Drake. He had failed to secure his own position.
“Fantastic … Jaws, prepare to make mental contact and patch me through.” Drake placed the receiver on his head and awaited contact.
“This is Folders, I’m having fun over here. How about you? ”
“Not so much. I got a guy down with a broken something or other, a craft that’s falling apart, one S.E.D. left, and only two percent of one shield.” Drake thought.
“That sounds lovely … what’s your plan? ” Folders thought in inquiry.
“Only planet I can make it to is full of deviants and behind me … I’m screwed.” Drake noted.
“At least you’re alive.” Folders communicated.
“How in the universe did you get up here?” Drake contemplated.
“Time disrupters, of course. I owed you one for that shield mine disaster.” Folders responded.
“Yeah … of course. I appreciate the help; don’t know if I would have done the same. I better head back now I’ve lost enough time.” Drake was about to disconnect when Folders stopped him.
“I have an idea. I will need your shield security codes in order to pull it off. I’m going to transfer just enough shield power to get you to a place called Armos, they will give you a few extra hands … tehehe.” Folders suggested.
“Yes, thank you Folders I’m on it.” Drake ripped off his mental receiver and told Sammy to go ahead with the transfer. In the meantime Drake would look up this Armos on his gazers and set coordinates.
“Shields are now at eight percent, D.J.” Sammy smiled at his captain and tipped his team’s racing cap.
“We are going to a place called Armos, Folders says it’s great for stops. I’m going to take the same team, except I want Croxy instead of the M.O. Sammy you’re in charge, buddy. Take her down.” Drake got up, stretched, and told himself that at least this stop wouldn’t be as dreadful as the last one. He was quickly proven wrong when the landing party made their descent into the main corridor, where something horrific happened.
There was a sharp jolt, when the racecraft began its routine landing, causing a razor edged panel to come spiraling down from the top of the corridor. The panel unpredictably twisted in mid-air and embedded deep into Croxon’s skull, creating a fountain of dark, green blood that squirted and oozed out onto the deck. Iriarte fell to both knees, and then face forward, with the panel sticking out of the back of its cranium.
Drake was frozen in shock, as his long time friend lay motionless in a puddle of green excretion. Kraus ran over to the nearest intercom to call for the M.O., while Bruvold went to get a closer look. Jaws jetted to the cleansing quarters, apparently unable to stand the sight.
“The M.O. is not responding Drake … Drake … Drake!” Kraus grabbed the captain by his collar and shook him vigorously, to wake him from his trance.
“PPPRRRIIIISSSSCCCIIIILLLLAAAA!” This was the first time that Drake used the doctors name and he repeated shouting it as loud as he could, until she came storming out of the medical quarters.
“I’ll have you kn … Oh my!” She had caught sight of the appalling accident, and promptly approached the scene. She ordered Bruvold to help her move Croxon into the medical quarters and instructed the others to stay outside. By the time that Priscilla had locked the entrance to the M.Q., the racecraft had landed safely on the surface of Armos.
Sammy came down the ramp, almost immediately afterwards, to check on the disturbance. The S.S.T came across the green blood, stopped mid step and said, “No … no … not Croxy.” Drake nodded, ending with his head down.
Would Croxy die from this? Was it already dead? Would he, Drake, have to utter the phrase of the fallen? Folders had to say it twice already. Racecraft drivers everywhere disdained having to speak it. It would mean they had just completed a funeral for a team member, having just cast the body out into the universe. He would wait to go to the surface of Armos, until he established the condition of the best life support operator and doctor he had ever met. It didn’t take long, before his worst fears were confirmed.
Priscilla opened the door of the M.Q., with Bruvold beside her, and stated in a soft tone, “Iriarte Croxon is dead. There was nothing I could do.” She turned back around without another word to go finish operating on Juhaen, while Bruvold stayed behind.
Drake wanted someone held responsible for this tragedy. He felt strongly that this could have been avoided. He had no choice but to bring Croxy with the landing party, so it wasn’t his fault. He could blame the doctor for her late response, but Drake knew she already had a patient, the same reason Croxy was brought along, and it would not be wise to lock up their last doctor. He then thought of Uciferi, and how he dismissed himself to break, without justification. Uciferi was also the main person responsible for racecraft maintenance. This was the perfect man to pin it on.
“Bruvold, go find the M.S.C., Ouldsid Uciferi and escort him to isolation,” Drake commanded darkly. “I should’ve locked him up when he took his own break,” he added more to himself than Bruvold.
“Yes, yes am doing now.” Bruvold began searching the race-craft for the new prisoner.
“The rest of you start cleaning this mess up, we’ll have guests soon. I’m going out alone,” said Drake miserably.
The first thing Drake saw when exiting the loading zone, were three suns beaming down from above. The second was a large group of four armed beings, applauding and expressing their gratitude of Future Fuels and the number thirteen. He now understood Folders joke about extra hands, and almost smiled.
Drake was going through an emotional roller coaster the likes of which he never could have imagined. The Full Circle Six was truly a testament to his strength and endurance. He had experienced glory at the demise of Ced Oblize, depression from his dead friend, and now appreciation for the swarm of alien support, in successive periods. Drake wasn’t sure how much more he could take, but recognized that he must stay strong for his team, if not for himself.
Several of the four-armed beasts approached Drake, and extended one hand to greet the popular racer. The Armosan that Drake selected to meet first had a firm grip and, like all the others, was wearing only wrappings around his waist that drug to the dry desert-like ground. The Armosans in general all looked different, however, in size, hair color, skin tone, and age. Drake continued to dish out firm handshakes until they seemed satisfied and one of them spoke.
“On behalf of the people of Armos, welcome. We will be more than happy to assist you in any way. On one, small condition,” said the Armosan, in a deep hoarse voice.
“What’s the condition? Drake asked, expecting the worst.
“We require you to set up an autograph session, right over there.” The creature pointed to a nearby table complete with markers.
“Not a problem,” Drake said with liberation. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried back into the racecraft up to his personal quarters, to retrieve a box of images. Drake always kept this material on hand, for occasions that were usually initiated by Future Fuels.
He returned to the surface, ignoring crewmembers attempts to converse with him, and sat himself at the designated area. This session might just be what Drake needed to get his mind off of the upcoming funeral. He was thinking that dealing with all of these fans would put him in a better mood. They all appeared so blissful, as if this was the greatest day of their existence. He needed some of that joy to rub off. He thought of his daydream on the victory platform, with the feeling of absorbing power, and wished mightily it could be so.
Drake was just beginning to get lost in his signings, when he noticed the flash of a dimensional door rip open a portal in the distance. A stranger appeared from the door, before it disintegrated. Drake knew this was a stranger to this planet, because of the lack of appendages. The stranger observed Drake and began forcing his way through the queue of natives towards him. As he moved closer, Drake could distinguish more features of the intruder. He had bright, blue, cold, calculating eyes and a knowing smirk, with blond hair in a crew cut that stood up about ten inches. He was approximately five foot five without the hair. His weight was misleading though, as he moved like he was on a moon with little gravitational restriction. The male specimen was wearing furs of undiscovered animals, teeth and all. The mysterious being, upon reaching the autograph table, spoke in a taunting, deceitful voice.
“Hello commander, how nice to see you again. I have a few questions to ask,” he stated.
“Who are you?” Drake inquired.
“What do you know about that red key, specifically how to use it?” The man ignored Drake’s question and asked his own.
“How do you know about that key?” Drake was beginning to feel uneasy.
“I acquired it from you. Now tell me how to use it.” The man was not removing his smirk as he spoke.
“You’re talking nonsense. I haven’t figured it out anyway,” Drake said anxiously.
“That’s a shame,” he laughed, before reaching into his furs and then holding his hand out in front of him. He looked straight at Drake and continued, “Oh … I almost forgot … let’s see … what was it. Oh yeah, live always in space and time. See you later, you’re later that is.” With a twist of his wrist another dimensional door opened and he stepped through it, while waving goodbye.
Drake was stunned; it was the phrase of the fallen. How could this guy know about the key let alone the phrase? How could he have the information that Croxon was dead just an hour after it happened? What was going on? Was he to meet this guy in the future? Maybe he was another racer, but if that was the case, Drake would have surely recognized him, or his racecraft would have been reported. Was he a crazy fan with a subscription to the racing newsletter? That wouldn’t explain the phrase. The phrase had to be a complete coincidence. Then again, he himself might be going absolutely mad. One thing was for sure, that man had dimensional keys and had just used two.
Drake dispensed out a few more images, then left the box to go board his racecraft. He had to go talk to Sammy about what just occurred. Drake found Sammy instructing Armosans in the main corridor and asked him if he would come have a discussion in the consuming quarters. Sammy agreed and together they went to get a coffee.
Drake drank a cup of coffee, while recounting the story of what happened on the surface of Armos to his most trusted acquaintance. He found it difficult not to sound insane, but gave Sammy every detail.
“It’s like you said, an obsessed fan.” Sammy had some meat now and began to eat it.
“But what about the phrase?” Drake asked.
“It was probably in a recent newsletter. You know how stuff leaks out,” suggested Sammy, before dispensing out some bread. “Merely coincidence.” He confirmed Drake’s initial opinion.
If in his usual state of mind, Drake may still have been a little perturbed, but as it was, there was quite a significant amount on his mind at the time. The loss of a good crewman, and more than satisfactory companion, was beginning to weigh more heavily upon him. He still had to interrogate Uciferi, and didn’t know if he should do it before or after the memorial for his friend. What could he do to honor old Croxy? The very thought of ending it all with the traditional funeral and farewell brought back a little of the repressed rage and sorrow in his mid-section. Feeling that he owed the recently deceased, Drake came to a conclusion fairly expeditiously. He would build Croxon’s eternal resting box with his own hands. He would select the markings and inscription on the exterior, as well. Looking across the consuming module to Sammy, he also deduced that he would not be handling this emotional project on his own. Sammy was not only Drake’s friend, but was a good buddy to Croxy as well.
“I think I want to build the coffin … would you be able to assist?” Drake dispensed another cup of coffee, already knowing the answer to his question.
“There’s wood on Armos, I can gather up enough to do the job after I check up on the repairs,” Sammy hid a small smile as he continued, “I figured you want to talk to the isolated one anyway.” Sammy knew Drake better than anyone, and he did not envy the new, possibly former, crewmember.
Drake proceeded to march vehemently, carrying his cup of coffee, behind the consuming quarters to isolation chamber one. Drake and Bruvold were the only two onboard that had an entrance card to either of the chambers. He opened the cell, with a slide of the card, and began questioning Ouldsid harshly.
“How do you explain yourself, worthless waste of the Land Of Lazy?” Pointing his finger into the face of a very terrified Uciferi, who was not even quite sure why he was locked up like a common thief in the first place, Drake didn’t give him a moment to answer the irrational questioning. “Do you confess to the murder of Iriarte Croxon? Do you admit to ordering yourself to a refreshing cup of coffee during a battle for our very lives? The whole racecraft falling apart had to wait for your break? Well here, I’ve personally delivered to you a fresh cup of hot, reviving coffee!” Drake then hurled the hot coffee he had brought along at his prisoner, scalding his face, neck, and the exposed area of the hands he desperately flung up to his face in a feeble effort to protect himself.
“Are you enjoying your coffee, murdering scum? Has it given your coward stomach the courage to confess? You can sit here for the remainder of the race and consider it! I will not be lenient with this case. If you think me unfair not to hear your pathetic pleas, take it up with Croxy!” Drake furiously slammed the cell’s door, storming away from the isolation quarters before the pitiful Uciferi could make any sort of statement toward his behalf. Still baffled by this turn of events, Ouldsid crawled to the coffee cup lying on its side and, weeping distraughtly, attempted to slurp up the remains at the bottom.
Outside, in the docking and overhaul section of Armos, Sammy was watching in complete awe at the speed of which these funny little inhabitants carried out his orders for shield repair. He heard Drake approaching from the right, but could not rip his eyes away from the spectacle of service. He, Sammy, didn’t know if he was ready for what he knew Drake had come out here for. It was still difficult to get over the fact that Croxy was dead and would never again inject him with that magic in the needles. Showing weakness to Drake Judge was something that never really got away from you. Even in an understandable and extenuating circumstance, the captain would note and remember said display of weakness, and that would not bode well at all. Whatever the outcome, Sammy knew that he could not deny his friend the tribute filled privilege of constructing the time honored capsule themselves, as opposed to using a pre-manufactured model.
“So, where do we start looking?” Drake asked.
“I’ve sent a couple of the locals to find the best wood making trees and fashion eight sheets measured to my specifications. We shouldn’t have a problem slapping it together,” Sammy answered.
“Where can we build? Have you secured a private area?” It seemed to Drake that the closer they were getting to having to start this, the more likely he was to lose emotional control. He resolved in that moment not to show even the slightest sign of weakness, fear, or grief, though it was the only person he trusted. Also, he did not expect Samelak to express any of the same faults. Lack of focus and determination would keep them from what could be a much needed victory on Drake’s road to everlasting glory, and any form of failing that could cause a deviation from this road would be dealt with.
“Look around, D.J., it’s all desert, no cover. That’s why I sent these guys out to get the wood,” Sammy turned to face Drake and continued, “If you want privacy or seclusion, we could always trek out an impossible distance to follow without being seen. Or we could even ask the Armosans to transport us to a building they might spare.”
“Never mind,” Drake said with a sigh “We’ll use the rear of the ship where the launch booster will give us some cover from these insufferable suns.” With that said, Drake began moving toward his racecraft and bellowing at the four armed Armosans to clear out for the day.
Sammy watched his last friend with his special type of Sammy smile and shook his head. This would be an ordeal. He had been through a lot with this captain, but had never been in quite a poignant state of affairs as losing the other oldest member of their team to the hands of death. However, Sammy shared a differing opinion on where to place the blame of Croxy’s death than Drake. True, Uciferi was wrong in taking the coffee break at that time, but there was no way that he could have somehow prevented the blood fountain of their beloved friend. No, the M.S.C. was not responsible, but Sammy could not convey this fact to Drake while considering the driver’s current mood in the matter.
Within the hour, the two companions were hard at work on their tribute to the lost healer of old. Though the launch booster did provide some cover from the planet’s three suns, the heat was still more than stifling.
The job was not as easy as Sammy had initially anticipated. Not only did they have to contend with the heat, but also it proved near to impossible to fasten this type of wood together by conventional means. Drake became infuriated, which, expectedly, agitated Sammy and caused him to lose concentration and, on one occasion, bash his own hand with one of the tools borrowed from the Armosan craftsmen. They toiled laboriously for two hours before Sammy finally came up with a solution to the connecting problem.
Carving several notches at conflicting junctures in each slab of wood, he measured using his eyes, with precision at least equal to any measuring device, so that when integrated together, the notches had to be forced into a snug fit.
When all the hard work of putting the casket together was complete, Drake began inscribing an epitaph on the cover of this personal token of respect. Never before had a captain built with his own hands, the sarcophagus of a dead team member, let alone include an epitaph to be displayed on the outside. What Drake had done was unprecedented in all of racing history. The inscription was a farewell, it read:
HERE LIES OLD CROXY
BEST MEDICAL OPERATOR I EVER KNEW
SO IT IS WITH YOUR BODY
YOUR DREAMS DRIFT FOREVER
NEVER TO BE FORGOTTEN
Instantaneously after finishing, Drake stood and headed back to the loading zone without one glance back to Sammy or what they had just created. The horrible abomination of reality had settled over Drake and he did not feel he could carry the casket inside. He would send Bruvold out to help with that unthinkable chore of putting the body to rest and preparing it for final remembrance. Sammy broke the moment the hatch closed behind Drake. Uncontrollably, he wept in giant, hoarse, and gasping sobs. No one was around to see or hear him and he had every intention of taking full advantage of the time alone to vent some of his own rage and grief. Barely two minutes had gone by when he began to pull himself out of the blissful remorse process and regain composure.
Just then, Bruvold emerged from the racecraft and heartily greeted Sammy. “Captain is telling me to go with Sammy. I say is good. Sammy is real man … not for wearing dresses … is good for fighting and is strong, no weak.”
“Yeah … look, just take that end, and I’ll lead the way,” Sammy said, dismissing Bruvold’s boldness with a shrug.
In his personal quarters, Drake Judge prepared the eulogy speech he would give before uttering the dreaded phrase which would trigger the release of one that he loved into outer space to coast along aimlessly. When he vacated the quarters he still had not finished, but planned to speak the rest as it came to him. Old Croxy had always been straight with him.
Upon his entrance to the navigational command center, Drake ordered everyone to their positions to prepare for launch. He had previously had a gift of thanks made up of spare parts and various different other worldly items for the Armosans and had sent this out. The funeral would have to be quick so as to not lose any time, and this burned Drake even more, but nevertheless, he ordered Freddie to engage engines and launch booster, and Sammy to employ shields as he began preparations to navigate them toward the proper coordinates.
The funeral service was held in the recreational quarters where there was a great space of the wall made of transparent alloy that would permit them to watch the primary jettison into eternity. This would prove to be the most heart-breaking, soul wrenching experience of the current journey for all who were present. Drake entered the room and all fell silent. The coffin containing the body of Iriarte Croxon was in the ejection chamber.
“We are here to mourn the passing of an exceptional crew member and an amazing doctor who could cure anything with a shot.” Drake began. “Croxy was more valuable to me and this team than most of you here combined. Its death will not be for nothing. We will use this as a springboard to our victory.” He reached down to press the button that would forever remove his most trusted physician from his life. Nobody witnessed the single tear that became visible as it slowly trickled out from under Drake’s famous holochart gazers, and splashed onto the floor of the recreation quarters.
“Live always in space and time.” The mourning race captain stated clearly, and with pure respect, in the manner it was written in which to be spoken.
The crew watched silently as Croxon floated out of view. Bruvold then walked over to a cabinet and pulled out some more of his dark, smoking beverage.
“Is good time to drink when there is friend dying,” he said while passing out the infusion. Most of the crew turned it down, but Drake, Kraus, and Sammy each took Bruvold’s offering.
“To old Croxy.” The four of them said as a toast. They all polished off the substance in one long guzzle.
“Is good, yes? Is good for warming of the face.” Bruvold smiled proudly as he poured four more glasses for a second round. “Is good for race. Bruvold is knowing.” He said this last with his brow furrowed and his finger in the air as if making a profound point.
It didn’t take long for Bruvold’s home planet cocktail to take effect on those who had ingested it and soon, the four were choosing sides for a partnered round of friendly sparring. This meant that they were drunk and wanted to beat each other senseless, using nothing but brute strength and sheer power of will, until all of them could hardly move to get back to their personal quarters to sleep it off.