Drake, along with his entire crew, had finished mandatory cleansing and napping. After his very short snooze, Drake began to look over medical charts provided by Priscilla. She seemed to him to be a little too thorough. He discarded the bunch without really making an entire overview, and went out to the navigation center to order everyone back to positions. Drake had decided to work everyone on the same shift, but make the shifts intensely longer and more demanding. The shifts were increased even more, when the commander received news that the number thirteen was occupying fifth place.
“Can you guys believe this? My plan of over-shifting is working perfectly. We are in fifth place, people.” Drake was beginning to visualize himself being rewarded on the victory platform and then afterwards, retiring in front of everyone who happened to be watching. “We will work even harder now. We are right there so only two-hour naps from now on, until we take over the lead. Everyone stock their bellies full of coffee and meat.” Drake couldn’t wait to catch and pass the next four racecrafts; he wanted the secure feeling of being in the lead that was so familiar to him.
“We’ll have to wait on that belly stocking thing, we’ve got company up ahead a couple of quadrants.” Jaws reported reluctantly. His stomach was grumbling loudly enough to be heard even while he was talking.
“Decrease engines to half power,” Drake ordered. “See if we can find out who it is before we get within range.”
“I am reading parameters equal to those of the twenty six craft, sir.” Jaws thought that something was out of place, but chalked it up to hunger when he couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Are you saying it is Folders?” Drake asked Jaws while turning his chair to face him.
“Yeah, we’re approaching contact range, should I make contact, sir?” All Jaws wanted to do was devour a large chunk of meat.
“Affirmative. Get me a visual as well,” Drake responded. He was already thinking of how he was going to praise his teammate for helping to get them both into the top five.
“Contact made, cap … uh … they disappeared,” Jaws reported with fright. Drake had witnessed this spectacle on the visual screen in front of him. This caught him by surprise. If Folder’s had known it was Drake contacting, what would have made him run away? Drake surmised that the number twenty-six driver might have used a time disrupter, trying to lead his teammate to an even better position.
“He must have used a disrupter.” Drake spoke his thought aloud. “Anyone else for following?” Drake Judge would never have asked his crew’s opinion on anything to do with driving, and he used this point to his advantage in order to make them feel guilty for their temporary mutiny.
“Well,” began Freddie, foolishly. Sammy quieted him with a look, and Drake smiled smugly. Had he said another word, Drake would have told him he knew nothing of racing, and knocked him out cold.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” Drake barked at Freddie. “We’ll just leave the driving to me on this one. Is that ok with you, pretty boy?”
Freddie did have enough sense not to respond to this rhetorical question, having already been struck by the formidable captain on two separate, unrelated occasions, during this race.
“Kraus, let’s follow, E.F.O., all engines stop.” Drake was set on not calling Freddie by name.
Then, unexplainable by any of them, a thick, white fog began to spread out from seemingly nowhere, and it appeared that it had the sole purpose of engulfing the number thirteen, as a tsunami would a small fishing village with no levy to offer any level of protection.
Confused, Drake ordered engines back on, just as they had wound down to a stop, then he pushed into a nose dive, taking an oblique line to the left. Even Drake’s driving skills were not enough to outrun this cloud-like, gaseous substance. They were hit hard on the right by what could only be construed as cannon fire. Drake maneuvered into a back-loop with a half twist that sent him directly in the path of incoming fire. They were jolted; the force of the cannon fire had hit them head on, damaging their shield energy de-stabilizer.
“D.J., we got to get out of here,” Sammy screeched in a panic ridden tone that was very unlike him. “I’ve read about this before, it’s the number fifteen. Their specials make them undetectable to visual and sensory output, like some sort of stealth. If we do not find a way out of this, we’re going down. Our shields are dropping fast, and he won’t stop till we’re dead. He’s a rookie, but the crafts reputation is that its killed more teams than both Oblizes.”
“Any ideas, Sam?” Drake had no clue how to get out of this mess. Every move he made seemed to put him right into harm’s way. He was going as fast as possible, so he couldn’t out run it. If he stopped the engines, trying to use a time disrupter, they would be battered to death. He was open to suggestions from his trusted second in command.
“Now might be a pretty good time for a planetary stop,” Sammy replied, good-naturedly to Drake. If Drake had been testing him, which was not uncommon for the captain to do, then Sammy knew he had passed with flying colors.
Sammy was right in thinking he was being tested. Drake had noted the fear in his voice, and marked as weakness. The commander was trying to catch the S.S.T. in the moment and see if he would falter. As he suspected, Sammy came through in making the same decision that Drake himself would have made. Drake had already mapped a course in his holochart gazers to a planet nearby that was satisfactory for race stops. The planet Dooghin was not the best stop to plan, but this was, yet again, another unplanned stop, and would suffice in the current situation.
The life support on the planet was not ideal, but could be tolerated for short periods of time by most humanoid species. The natives of Dooghin were considered to be among the strangest and violently defensive of their culture, which consisted of assorted aspects from random differing times and dimensions. Dooghinians did not, in general get along with anyone but themselves, and their colonies were constantly at war with one another. The main way of lifestyle seemed to be the trading of hides cut from unknown beasts, and the commerce was disorienting, if not startling.
Another missile slammed into the number thirteen, this time in the back. It felt like it hit the rocket booster, for the racecraft was jerked to the right, without Drake controlling it. He was descending at a reasonable rate to enter the orbit of Dooghin, but was still being pummeled like they were still in the meteor shower. The enemy had smaller cannons, but was able to fire many more rounds than the Future Fuels team. At long last, or so it seemed to them, the racecraft slid into orbit and Drake accelerated the main thrusters, switched the controls off of manual operation, and rubbed his forehead. He just knew the shields were nearly gone and they would be forced, once again to give up time and position, in order to get themselves back in racing condition. This roller coaster of emotional peaks and distresses was making him sick. Furthermore, he wanted nothing more than to be done with the despicable Full Circle Six and, accordingly, his career. Drake was tired of all the wrong turns in making his decisions, and was even more exasperated at the fact that every time something started to go right, there was a force of some sort present to bring it all crashing down around him.
He got up, looked to Jaws, and ordered that the communications expert meet him in the consuming quarters. Zarocostas had never been dismayed and relieved at the same time, but could not begin to care at the moment. His stomach gave a roar inside that was heard by Priscilla, who scoffed and turned away from what she considered the doomed long nosed extraterrestrial. They had all heard Jozwiak report to the commander that the vessel being approached was the number twenty-six Energy Elixirs racecraft. It was suspected by all that the little liked communication guru would be occupying the other isolation chamber very shortly. Bruvold was even preparing to answer the call.
By the time Jaws reached the craft’s eatery, Drake had already pulled a loaf of bread from food storage and dispensed himself a large portion of meat and a serving of steaming hot coffee. Drake gestured to Jaws to have a seat across from him but, when the timid man reached for the keypad to order, knocked his hand away.
“I want your full attention,” he said around a mouthful of meat and bread. “You won’t be able to give it to me if you’re eating. So, wait till I’m through speaking, at least. Show a little respect for goodness sake.” It looked as if Jaws would cry. His face scrunched up tightly in a grimace as his gut moaned in heated agony.
Drake was enjoying this small torture, exploiting the weakness of a lesser man. It might even help Jaws to become a stronger man, but this was no concern to the commander of the Future Fuels transport racecraft. He relished the panic and hopelessness coming from the weakling in waves, but did not choose to terrify him any more than necessary, although that was what he truly wanted.
“Calm down, you’re not in danger,” Drake reassured Jaws. “All I want to know is, why you would tell me that death craft was Folders.” He then took a long, slurping sip of the fresh, aromatic coffee, nearly driving Jaws mad.
“Sir,” the small creature managed at last. “The parameters were identical …”
“You didn’t know it was the number twenty-six, so why did you tell me you did?” Drake interjected before wrapping the substantial amount of meat he had left in a wad of bread and tearing off a bite.
“I’m sorry, sir, I was hungry and …” again the communications expert was interrupted.
“That is no excuse to endanger the lives of the entire crew.” Drake was in the process of trying to figure out how to punish this little ugly miscreant, so wanted to stall a bit more. He began to make a dramatic display of how delicious his rations were, and how much he was enjoying each morsel. Jaws was near to fainting by the time Drake had stood and crossed to the coffee tube to replenish his already empty oversized mug.
“I’m going to dock your pay and divide it amongst the other members you almost killed today.” Drake said this as he was walking out of the consuming quarters and without looking at Jaws.
Before Drake was even out of eyesight, Jaws had ordered meat and was ravaging it as a wild animal will do to its recent kill. He was well aware of the severity of his mistake and was quite grateful for the light punishment, although it was not so light from his point of view. He tried to take too big a gulp of coffee and scalded his throat. The only thing for it, without going to the medical quarters was to ease the burn with bites of bread. Drake had eaten the last of the loaf that he had retrieved from food storage, so he just had to endure it until he got to the bread. Jaws felt the engines slowing and privately hoped there would be cold drinks on this stop. He couldn’t let any of the other crewmembers see him drink it, of course, that would only solidify his image as worthless in their eyes, but he would relish the delicious, crisp bite of cold coating his esophagus, which, at the moment, felt like an inferno. Jozwiak didn’t want to linger too long in the consuming quarters, so, stuffing bread into his mouth, he left to the personal quarters to await the landing.
Drake Judge was in his own personal quarters, trying to cope with the enormous load on his mind. He still had not had sufficient time to grieve the death of old Croxy, and this was the main problem he had in dealing with all of the difficulties he had been forced to endure at the hands of some cruel and spiteful power that was determined to keep him from the glory that he fought so hard to achieve. After this planetary stop, which hopefully would not be more than a couple of hours, he was thinking he would have to use another disrupter to make up lost time. It seemed to Drake that that was all he was doing in this race, yet, astoundingly; he had continued to gain position in spite of the entire catastrophe that had befallen him and his crew. Drake let out a pained sigh and picked up a photo of his first day as commander. His former medical operator Iriarte Croxon was grinning and shaking hands with the then brand new driver of the number thirteen racecraft, Drake Judge. The rest of the original, five-man crew of the racecraft was also in the photograph. Sammy, Kraus, and Freddie stood side-by-side, sporting matching race suits and grins of their own. He put the picture down and shook his head to clear it. Thinking of the body of the highly valued Croxy floating aimlessly through space would not help him right now. He felt helpless that he had to wait for repairs and refuel again. When he felt the engines slowing, he sulked back to the navigation center to find out how long it was estimated they would have to be here.
Sammy was overseeing the entrance into the planet‘s atmosphere, as he usually did, and, when prompted by Drake with the question, he guessed they would take around five hours to get back into the race. He was concerned for his friend, the commander, and was beginning to doubt his earlier opinion of Drake announcing his retirement as being an irrational outburst, brought on by extreme stress and taxing conditions. Also, he was still a bit overwhelmed at being offered the job of navigational commander, as well as half ownership of the racecraft itself. Samelak Riordin had never thought of the prospect of becoming a commander, but had to admit, the thought was not displeasing.
They were starting to commence the landing sequence and the Dooghinians were just becoming visible like little ants on the surface of the planet, when it occurred to Drake that something didn’t seem to belong in the scene of the planet’s horizon he was watching unfold. It wasn’t until they touched down that he figured it out. The surface of the planet had been inconsistent.
The area of the planet they had touched down upon was made up of mostly rock formations and cliffs. The vegetation around them was sparse, and what little there was, was dry and looked dead. There were large insects that may or may not have been pets to the natives, which scurried every which way. The ground was layered dust, but was smooth, not cracked. There were buildings erected sporadically, but it was not apparent whether these structures were personal habitats or businesses. The people dressed in clothing that was out of date, but could not be considered primitive, by any means. Many people carried large bundles of unrecognizable pelts, teeth, horns, and anything else that had struck the fancy of the one who carried the bundle, to cut them off of some creature. There were two suns so it was comfortably warm, but the oxygen was low and the gravity was slightly above average, which can be very difficult to deal with after some time. There were also high winds in this area of Dooghin, which added to the illusion that it would support life very well.
A small crowd was assembled, without much interest, outside of the racecraft to see if the driver was anyone they had ever heard of. They knew that the Full Circle Six was going on, but had not received any stoppers until now. In truth, they had not really expected to get racecraft stops, despite being right on the course. The eerily weird Dooghin was widely known and much feared, though nobody really knew why. A person from the age of reason could, very conceivably, be driven insane by spending too much time on the planet. It was not a small planet, but neither was it the largest planet on the course.
The place was considered so strange because the land changed without any pattern or measured way of going from one landscape to another. You could be walking along the foot beaten path in the dry, rocky desert, maybe taking in the scenery of the double sunset as you strolled along. Then, after you blinked, you would be treading on soft, rich soil, surrounded by plants that were lush and green. If you turned around, you would see the patch of land with the dead vegetation and the blowing dust stop right at the point this new and wonderful earth began, full of beauty and life, as if these two environments had every right in the universe to coexist alongside one another. This, combined with the omnipresence of stifling atmosphere, and a few other unpleasant aspects, kept the population low on planet Dooghin, and the inhabitants liked their seclusion, but were not outwardly unfriendly to those who happened to visit, especially if the visitor in question was a space racer.
Drake stepped through the loading hatch, with his crew in tow, minus Bruvold, who stayed behind to keep an eye on Uciferi, in isolation. The Dooghinians that made up the meager crowd were significantly more impressed and fascinated when they saw that the visiting race team was Drake Judge and the Future Fuels team. So, when Drake emerged, a dozen race fans asking for autographs encircled him. This was not an uncommon experience for the number thirteen team, so while Drake was signing pictures and racing magazines, the others just sort of meandered around, exploring. This was just the break from the pressures building up that Drake needed. He loved the appreciation and admiration of the fans. They always made him feel like the fighting and struggling to the top was worth more than just the monetary prizes, although those were, in some cases, worth it alone.
Thinking of prizes, Drake thought that the Dooghinians would obviously not be winning any intergalactic beauty prizes any time in the next four or five generations. They seemed to be a mixture of different breeds that were somehow mutated in the coupling of their ancestors. Drake took a magazine offered by a female whose hair only grew on the sides of her head. The girl’s mouth was off center to the right, and the excitement of seeing the famous racer caused her to grin incessantly, making her appear as a monster or demon. Drake pitied the creature and signed the magazine, depicting his last triumphant victory, with a personalized note, which he had done only a few times before on the occasions that he was caught by fans. It was just a small thank you for support, but it boosted the girl’s morale by at least ten fold. Drake took pride in being able to make his fans happy. For all he knew, it could be the excitement of a lifetime for a lucky fan to have the opportunity to meet his favorite star.
The mutated girl took her signed magazine, with the picture of Drake on the front, and scurried away to show it to her friends. They all squealed with delight when they saw that the famous racer had also written her a note along with his signature. For the next five minutes, they stood in a line, watching Drake and swooning.
Kraus, Juhaen, and Sammy wandered around a tent that was selling primitive weapons. Most of the weapons were very loud when demonstrated, but looked as if they would certainly get the job done. Kraus was amazed by what appeared to be a ball for play, but when the demonstrator, a tall thin creature whose nose would have made the people of Jozwiak’s home planet jealous for its size, pulled a stick out of the ball and threw it, the thing obliterated a wall made of stone, erected for this purpose only. He purchased three of these and resolved to store them with the rest of his private collection of hand weapons, stored in his personal quarters.
Freddie and Jaws were inspecting a quantity of quality made linens laid out on a table, with Priscilla on the other side. She was looking toward a barrel filled with a sweet smelling liquid.
With no warning, Freddie let out a blood-curdling scream that tore through the bustle of life surrounding him and caused several beings, including Drake, to look in his direction in order to find out what had startled them. Freddie was pointing at Priscilla, who was being dragged away by two very large Dooghinians toward a ground transport vehicle. One of the brutes had its hand over his beloved’s mouth and all that he could see of her face were her crystal green eyes, wide and terrified.
Sammy and Kraus sprinted full speed at the assailants, boots pounding up dust, and hands tossing aside any who tried to obstruct their path. Jaws could do nothing but stare in open-mouthed amazement. Drake nearly leapt from his crowd of supporters, which somehow had managed to stay around twelve, no matter how many times he had written his name. As he was running toward the commotion, he realized that none of them would reach Priscilla in time. The big animals were even now tossing her into the rear of the transport, as if she were nothing more than a plaything they had just tired of.
The four original crewman of the number thirteen stood alongside Jaws as they watched the vehicle speed away, leaving nothing but a trail of dust, and two perpendicular tracks, leading away from the scene of the horror.
“We have to do something! We got to go after her, we can’t let them get away!” Freddie screamed into Drake’s face.
“There is another of those ground transports,” Drake pointed Freddie’s attention by turning his head with his hands. “We can use that, if you know how to work it.”
Freddie’s eyes were puffed from crying and his chest heaved with his breathing. His movements seemed jerky and convulsive. He dropped to his knees, bringing his hands up to his face. There was nothing he could imagine that would be worse than having to watch his love dragged away to be sold into slavery or even worse. This thought slapped reality back into Freddie. He stood and walked calmly to the transport to inspect the engine. Never before had anyone seen Frederick Stallworth so serious. He found the engine underneath the paltry protection of a sheet of metal after a few minutes of searching. Just as he had expected, the engine was as rudimentary as the rest of it.
Solemnly, the engine and fuel operator turned to Drake and announced the vehicle was fit for transport. Drake sent the other three back to the racecraft. He determined that Freddie could go along with him in the effort to rescue Priscilla from these foul beasts. In truth, he needed Freddie in case the transport broke, and to instruct Drake on how to drive the thing.
The thing in question was called, on Dooghin, an automobile. There were other names for it on the planet they had stopped at for a forced visit, but according to the manual that Freddie had found inside, that was the name. Apparently made of steel, it sat upon four circles of rubber that were filled with air. The center of these circles was also filled with metal. On the front side of the vehicle, it appeared the manufacturer had constructed a face. On either side of the front, a circular bulb was placed, allowing the means of transportation to operate when the dual suns of the planet expired over the horizon. Slightly beneath and precisely in between the eye-lights, was wide, wickedly grinning mouth, made of a soft metal. There were also mirrors on both sides that gave the impression of ears. The rear had lights posted on both sides as well. These, however, were different from the lights in front in that they were covered in a red colored glass that was textured on the inside. As a whole, the automobile resembled a large bullet with glass surrounding those who would sit inside. It was even the color of a bullet.
Drake was doubtful of this contraption. It looked to be something used to kill, rather than something used to get around. He knew, though, that he could waste no time, so he opened the strange hatch and slid in behind the navigation controls. Everything was different and nothing made sense to him. There were not enough knobs, buttons, and switches in here. Drake was not sure he would be able to drive it. He was saved from trying however, when Freddie opened the door and told him it would be easier if he were the one to navigate on this mission. Drake slid over on the seat. There were two seats in the transport, one in front of the other, that had to be benches wrapped in animal skin.
Freddie had glanced at the operator’s manual, and knew the theory of how to drive this invention, but theory was incredibly different from real life. As he turned the key protruding from the ignition, the archaic style motor sputtered, choked, and then roared into life. Smoke discharged into the air, from behind, reminding Drake of the fog produced by the number fifteen craft. Freddie’s face was full of rage, something Drake had never seen, and did not really think to be possible until this moment. Determined to catch his beloved’s kidnappers, he slammed one of the two pedals on the floor with his foot. According to the manual he had just skimmed through, this was the accelerator. The engine howled, wailing in a high pitch, but the automobile stood still. The only change was the increase in smoke, coming from the rear.
“Why are we not moving?” Drake asked. He was intrigued by the mood Freddie was in. Normally, the carefree Freddie had an arrogant air about him that could not be disrupted by even extreme circumstances.
“It’s a basic motor, that uses a transmission,” Freddie replied without looking at Drake. “I’ve got to find a way to switch gears.”
“Gears?” Drake was even more confounded. “What about those sticks?” he inquired, pointing to the levers protruding from the shaft that connected the steering circle to the engine compartment.
Freddie grabbed the lever on his right and pulled. They could both feel the machine switch into a different gear, and Freddie gave Drake a look as if to say, good job. He again smashed his foot on the acceleration pedal, and the vehicle lurched backward, forcing both men to hit their heads. Freddie’s hit the steering wheel, and Drake’s crashed into the console separating him from the front window. Yelling in frustration, Freddie stomped both feet on the other pedal and they screeched to a stop, but not before demolishing the table of linens and cloth that some of the crew members had been examining just moments earlier. He noticed when he pulled the lever; there was a little screen that relayed to him the positions of the gears. Seeing one marked with a D, he pulled the lever into that position, thinking it to stand for drive.
This time, when he pressed the accelerator, they shot forward, and just in time. The owner of the table was flying at the automobile in a fury, flailing his arms, one on which was wielding a long piece of metal that looked like it could do some serious damage, and screaming loudly. This disturbance rose quite a bit of attention from the surrounding Dooghinians. Many of them assumed the man was being robbed and joined him in chasing the culprits. The owner of the weapons shop, that so fascinated Kraus, Sammy, and Juhaen, fired several shots from an ancient blasting device, and threw one of his exploding balls. The detonation was behind the rapidly receding vehicle, and the blast only helped their forward momentum.
Drake and Freddie let loose simultaneous sighs of relief as they drove over the rocky terrain, bouncing in their seats. Freddie followed the tracks of the kidnappers, keeping the pedal pressed as far as it could go to the floor. Soon, they were crashing through rows upon rows of tall plants. Drake recognized this as corn. It grew in many areas of his home planet, and he was quite fond of the vegetable. He made a mental note to remember it was here. If they could somehow procure some of this from the Dooghinians before they left, it would be a fine addition to the meat and bread they had been supplied with by the league. It would be almost a treat. The tracks made a sharp turn to the left, so Freddie followed suit. Bursting through the final row of corn, they entered a thick forest at too high of a speed. Freddie whipped the wheel to the right and the transport skid an entire rotation before taking off again though a path cut in the woods. The ride became increasingly more turbulent as they bounced over tree roots and uneven imperfections in the path. It was obvious the attackers had fled this way. The transport they had used was much bigger that the one chosen by Drake and Freddie, and left deep tracks that were easy to follow. There were animals of some sort leaping through the trees. In fact, everywhere there were creatures of various sizes and skin. Drake had never seen creatures such as most of these species. He wondered silently if any of them would be good for eating.
Sir Frederick saw nothing but the tracks left by Priscilla’s assailants. He had never felt this angry and did not have an idea of what he was going to do when he finally caught up to them, but he was not going to let them get away.
A few minutes later, the two-man rescue team emerged from the forest into civilization. Paved streets crossed each other at intersection of blocks full of tall structures made of metal and glass. Freddie saw their targets nine streets ahead of him take another left. Weaving around the other automobiles on the road, he continually accelerated, refusing to let up on the pedal. When he turned on the street he had seen the evil Dooghinians take, a primal growl started in his gut and worked its way upward, morphing into a snarl that escaped his sneering lips. Drake was more and more impressed by the minute. He had always seen Freddie as a pretty boy, not fit for violence or fighting. The rage and fury coming from the robe wearing, usually peaceful, man was telling a different story.
Drake thought to himself it would be prudent to keep quiet while Freddie drove. He didn’t look like he would handle distractions very nicely.
The city fell abruptly away and they were speeding through a meadow of flowers whose beauty could not be ignored, even in this dire situation. Brilliant purples, oranges, reds, yellows, blues, greens, and several colors beyond the spectrum of what Drake had ever seen, loudly demanded attention from any who wandered into their midst. Freddie tore through the gorgeous plants without so much as a glance toward anything but the now visible ground transport that held his darling against her will.
Flowers and fragrance gave way to an open field of lazily rolling hills, covered in grass. In the distance was something that even Freddie, in his temper, could not ignore. A gigantic castle with towers reaching toward the clouds was sitting on top of the largest hill in the area. Circling the castle in the sky was a prehistoric looking bird thing, with an enormous chain that stretched down to the roof embattlements of the castle. Even from this distance, they could see the beak of this monster was large enough to swallow both of them whole at the same time. Freddie approached to within a kilometer of the palace and stopped the engine. The kidnappers had gone into the castle by way of a drawbridge that closed as soon as they were over it.
The castle turrets were armed. There were rapid-fire lasers posted every six meters all the way around. In front of where the drawbridge came down, two ancient looking racecrafts, with large, out of date cannons were strategically set down, with their foundations buried in earth. Drake saw all of this through his holoscope, that he kept in the inside pocket of his leather Future Fuels jacket. The holoscope was little used since Drake had acquired, as a prize from his first race, the remarkable holochart gazers. It was a small device that unfolded to be about a meter in length. When Drake looked through the holoscope, he saw images projected with a forty five percent magnification.
They stepped out of the ground transport. Drake did not want them to be heard as they approached. To the left was a portion of the forest they had ripped through. Neither of the race team members could figure out how the woods could be so close, when they had gone over two different terrains since last seeing it. This was not the time to try to figure it out. They could see insects the size of small aircraft, sluggishly roaming the outside edges of the trees and the flowers. Drake wanted to get into a position to view whatever was flying around, chained by the neck to the castle, but he certainly did not intend either of them to be seen by it.
Drake ducked down low opposite the fortress behind the silent monster of transport, with Freddie by his side, sitting with his back propped against the transport, and raised his holoscope to his eye. The beast was approximately thirty feet long, but had no girth to it. Wide, leathery axe shaped wings beat continuously in the air to keep it aloft. Its tail appeared feathery, but scales glinted in the sunlight, some hidden in the layers of the feathers, and others grew on the outside, giving it look of having holes. The neck was the majority of the creature. Expanding nearly twenty feet, the skin was decorated in wavy patterns such as one might see on a serpent. The head was immensely disproportionate to the whole body. Out of the back of the cranium stretched a long, tapering spike-like horn. The eye was the only part on the upper portion of the face. It was so large; there was no room for anything else to grow. While the iris was diamond in shape, its pupil was vertical in the style of a feline or dragon. Its mouth began right below the eye. The teeth were too big for its beak, so that it could never close all the way, and were protruding a good length from the head at different angles. The tongue was also snake-like in appearance, and hung from the mouth between the teeth, dripping drool or poison, it was tough for Drake to tell which. The lower jaw was covered with more feathers, but the designs, continued from the neck, made it appear as if the monster had extra rows of teeth.
Drake lowered his holoscope to the base of the castle to confirm what he thought he had seen. There were some rich individuals who would purchase old racecrafts for decoration or, in some cases, sentimental value. The crafts posted where the drawbridge would come down had no markings, either sponsorships or otherwise. Then, something else caught his eye. There was a river blocking the front door. He could only assume that it encircled the entire castle. He relayed the information of what he saw to Freddie.
“What are the guns and the dragon-bird for, do you think?” Freddie asked Drake when the commander had finished speaking.
“I imagine the beast is just a pet, though I wouldn’t want to get near it,” Drake replied. “It doesn’t seem to have enough room for much of anything but the circle it’s flying in. The guns are probably there to shoot down anything that’s foolish enough to enter their range.”
Freddie paled at this, and looked crestfallen. He had not come all this way to be stopped by a river and some guns, however, and was confident that Drake would find a way inside. If he could not, Freddie would die trying. He intended that Priscilla would know how much he cared for her, even if it meant his sacrifice. He didn’t care about anything anymore, as long as she was aware of that. Freddie stood up and gave Drake a fierce glance. Drake knew that this was not directed toward him, but at their common enemy. Freddie was the one to initiate advancement on foot, Drake following closely behind.
They had covered half the distance, when the ground became sand. It was a relief to them both, for the sand had much more give, and was comfortable to their legs. Freddie had never seen sand before, and was momentarily curious, and a bit nervous, at the substance. Minute pebbles were all it seemed to be made of, and this fascinated him, but he did not feel like it should be a surface to walk on. Drake, on the other hand, knew sand quite well. There had been a beach not too far from his home growing up. He had forgotten the rough texture of it falling through his fingers. It even had its own scent that flooded him with memories. He quickly pushed them away, though. He had to concentrate on how to get inside that seemingly impenetrable fortress.
Drake had led them as close as he dared to the edge of the forest, and its huge butterflies, bigger than a horse. He also made out what he thought to be a bee, though it was twice as large as the ground transport that they had used to get here. Hoping they were not near that thing’s hive, Drake led them a little more distance away from the forest. After about a dozen more steps, Drake saw Freddie kneel down. Confused he called out.
“What are you doing?” Drake sounded incredulous. “There is no time for prayers, let’s go.”
“I’m stuck,” Freddie, said, nervousness turning to fright. He was slowly sinking into the ground, which was still covered in sand. Underneath this portion of the sand, there was a very thick, black, sticky substance that made movement difficult and escape by one’s own power impossible. The more he struggled, the quicker he sank, and the area of softness surrounding Freddie expanded. Drake was starting to become frightened himself, this was something entirely new to him, and he had no clues as to how to rescue his teammate. He had tried to approach Freddie to pull him out, but when he felt the suction pulling his boot, had to retreat even further away.
Drake ran to the forest, looked around, and sprinted back carrying a tree branch. He held it out as far as he could, while holding the very bottom of the branch, but Freddie had not ceased his struggles and was now waist deep. As a consequence, the area of black adhesive had expanded farther than Drake could hope to reach. The only options left were to watch sir Frederick Stallworth sink all the way down, or to try to carry on the mission himself. He could not, in good conscience, leave the race team member he had known for so long. Drake decided to stay and pay his respects. Out of the corner of his eye, Drake saw one of the gigantic butterflies fluttering directly toward Freddie.
“Hold your arms up!” He had to scream because Freddie was also yelling and may not have heard him. “Lift up your arms and grab that big bug!”
Freddie turned his face as much as the tar-sand would allow, and a spark of hope winked inside of him. He stopped moving and held his arms straight up. Already, he had sunk to his armpits. The butterfly was three meters away and idly covering the gap. Both men thought that there was not enough time. Freddie’s sinking had slowed, but was still steady. Freddie’s chin slowly dipped into the muck, and the insect had not yet come close enough to grab. Priscilla’s smiling face appeared in his mind, and a calm serenity enveloped him. Just as his eyes were following his nose down, he felt a powdery something brush against his left hand. Anxiously, he clapped both hands together and squeezed. Drake shouted a cheer and raised his fist in the air. Freddie was not so excited. He could feel the bottom of the butterfly’s abdomen wanting to cave in under his grip. When he tried to loosen his hold, his hands wanted to slide all the way off. The extraction was an even slower process than the plummeting was. Freddie gasped frenziedly as his chest ascended above the level of the killer sand. To his utter amazement, and his extreme disbelief, his rescuer started into the sky. He was weeping with joy and relief when his feet finally emerged.
When he finally dropped back onto solid ground, the grass resumed after only eight meters of sand, Freddie had held on past the point of ground change, his robes were black with muck and sparkled with light shimmering off of sand.
“Now you’re pretty, boy,” Drake laughed. “That was an adventure, huh?”
Freddie only glared at Drake in response as he attempted to brush himself off while continuing uphill to the castle. He had gone thirty paces when Drake tackled him to the ground. “Don’t be a fool,” Drake warned. “Those lasers will cut you up like a loaf of bread.”
“I have to try!” Freddie did not yell, but his tone threatened just that, were he to be pushed.
“Look,” Drake offered while picking up a stone. “This is what you’re walking in to.” He threw the rock to within ten meters of the castle, and instantly, three of the rapid fire lasers, mounted on the turrets, opened up and disintegrated the target. “Won’t be very pretty after that,” he finished gravely.
“Well, what do we do?” Freddie looked as if he could explode with irritation. Drake looked thoughtful for a moment. He had a great deal more respect for Freddie now than he did before they had landed here, and could sympathize with him more. The current situation, with which he was faced, presented a bigger problem than he had dealt with so far. If they couldn’t get near the thing, how could they possibly get in? He thought briefly of going around to the backside of the castle to investigate, but was sure that he would find the same set up. Drake was at a loss and, if they didn’t do something quickly, they may very well lose the only medical personnel left to take care of their injured.
While Drake was thinking things over, Freddie was watching two beetles, in the region of the size of little houses, battling each other. They would alternately try to crush each other with the large pincers that looked to be their mouths. The only other attack that Freddie saw from either of them was a spontaneous head ram that produced a sharp, loud clack, echoing off the castle walls. Neither of the creatures seemed to be gaining any ground on the other. The beetles were slowly going up the hill to the castle. All of a sudden, lasers began to fire repeatedly toward the giant bugs. Drake and Freddie both saw what happened next. The lasers were only shooting at one of the trespassers, while the other scurried away to safety.
Freddie turned to Drake and asked, “You thinking what I’m thinking?
“Bait.” Drake chuckled darkly when he replied. “I’ll keep the guns busy, you look around for any break in the wall.”
“Good idea,” Freddie shot back. In truth, he was only thinking that the cooked insect might be a tasty meal, but now that he knew Drake had a plan, he was more at ease. It was a short-lived relief, though, for he still had to try to find a way into the castle, before his captain was killed.
Drake jumped into the lasers’ range and spun a cartwheel to the left, dodging four blasts from two different guns. He then jumped to avoid fire coming in from the left. Hitting the ground, Drake tucked into an immediate somersault, narrowly missing a shot to the head. He was already running by the time he reached his feet, and could hear the lasers hitting the ground behind him, following in succession.
In the meantime, Freddie could only think of one thing to do. He stripped off his dressy robes and dived into the river. Forget the danger, he thought, Priscilla’s still in there, and she might not yet be hurt. Freddie was familiar with castles, had grown up in one, and knew that there must be an entrance to a sort of sub-cavern or sewage system.
“NOOOOO!” Drake bellowed. “There are things in there!” Indeed, there were shadows moving around in the water. Drake pulled his own laser as he sprinted across the edge of the water and began firing it into the river at the swimming dark shapes. He could not see where Freddie went, but had no opportunity to slow down and look. With a great leap, Drake put himself out of range from the covering artillery and waited to see if the little man would be successful or not.
Freddie, who was once an avid swimmer, quite easily maneuvered around the water monstrosities, and saw at once what he was looking for. There was a pipe opening about a meter and a half below him. Not believing his good fortune, he swam to it and pulled himself in. This was indeed a sewage pipe, and Freddie was hard pressed to keep his breath through the stench of it all. In addition to the fact that he now wore only undergarments, so he felt every little thing that passed over his skin all over his body, he could not see where he was going, as he needed to keep his eyes closed. As the pipe moved steadily upward, Freddie’s resolve would not relent. He would reach his love if it killed him; a little waste was nothing in contrast to her safe return. When Freddie’s head broke the surface, he persisted floundering until his hands slapped solid ground. He pulled himself up and cleaned off his eyes as best as he could before opening them.
He was in a mammoth pipe that was roughly as big around as the inside of the racecraft he had grown to be so adapted to. It was dark, but some of the stone on the floor was incandescent and he could see the staircase to his right and behind him. Cautiously, he took one stair at a time. Freddie’s heartbeat increased as his vision cleared the top of the stairs. He inhaled deeply and cut sharply to the left, running all out for a dark corner that he had sighted. Pressing back into both walls, he let out his breath. He had seen nobody in any direction, but was too suspicious to feel any sort of relief for that.
Once his eyes were fully accustomed to the darkness, Freddie spied something to make him even more leery of his good luck. Down the right hallway, he saw the mechanism that was used to lower the drawbridge. Not caring if he was walking into a trap or not, Freddie trotted to the crank and began to loosen the resistance, dropping the bridge little by little, so that Drake could come inside straightforwardly.
As the drawbridge lowered, more light crept in, and Freddie saw someone coming at him. It was evident that he was male, from Dooghin, and huge. The man wore metal plating on his chest, and what looked like a skirt of sword, with sandals that laced all the way to the knee. He was brandishing a long sword in one hand, and on the other arm, supported a golden shield. Etched in the shield’s center was the animal, if one could call it that, from the top of the castle.
Instead of mounting fear, which would have been the norm, Freddie’s blood boiled in anger. He let out a passionate wail that pledged vengeance for the offenders. Outside, Drake heard the yell and recognized it as Freddie, although he was used to Freddie screaming like a woman, not roaring like a lion. He jogged backward a few paces and made a running dive, catching hold of the bridge that had halted its decline. Pulling himself up with his incredible upper body strength, Drake looked down on a scene no one could have convinced him would ever take place.
Freddie was in his skivvies, fighting with an armed and armored warrior, with only an iron bar. He was yelling wildly and striking with all of his force in each blow. His face was screwed up in a grimace and he looked to be the epitome of rage. No matter how the ancient-looking soldier came at him, Freddie had a dodge and counter waiting for him.
Drake vaulted himself the rest of the way over the semi-open drawbridge by throwing his top weight to the left and swinging his legs over. He let the momentum carry him down the bridge like an amusement park slide. While coming down, Drake again pulled his weapon. This time he only fired one shot. The laser went completely through the man’s head, dropping him quickly and noisily to the stone floor.
During the same time Drake and Freddie were infiltrating the Dooghinian palace, the rest of the crew, with the exceptions of Jaws and Uciferi, were trying to deal with an increasingly irate public. The natives had taken it as a personal affront to them when the stolen automobile had crashed into an honest shopkeeper’s table.
Jaws had ran back inside the racecraft to tell Bruvold that the team was under attack, while Sammy, Kraus, and Juhaen stood rear the loading zone with their laser guns pointed at the advancing crowd. Upon hearing the news, Bruvold brightened noticeably. This was the kind of excitement that he had been looking forward to. Smiling, he marched proudly to his personal quarters, to a strongbox covered by a blanket.
The big security officer opened the chest and revealed an arsenal fit for a small army. Inside, were more guns than any one person should own by himself. There were medium handguns which, fired shrapnel in a scattering pattern, hitting anything less than twenty meters in front, or to either side of whoever had fired. The size and strength, not to mention the quantity, of the weapons were congruent with the violent nature of the proud Aristando. He even had a number of bombs that, when detonated, would release a deadly gas, called Vaporcide, killing all who inhaled. Vaporcide was a very rare gas that came from a planet made up of the lethal poison. Land mines, space mines, timed mines, firebombs, and numerous accessories that Bruvold had accrued over the years to add to the collection made the box look to be a mess inside. Bruvold however was quite aware of the location of each weapon or defensive device, which was few. A metal looking net, that had the power to contain thirty men without breaking lay underneath it all.
He loaded himself up with two extra rapid fire laser pistols, making it three total on his person, thought for a moment, and decided to add a couple of the Vaporcide bombs as well. They might be able to retreat to the racecraft after he had thrown them to escape their deaths. Then he picked up a large gun with a barrel bigger than his arm. This came equipped with a strap that draped over the owner’s shoulder, helping to support the weight of the firearm. It would blow a hole in anything it was fired at. Boxes of ammunition, which were really just battery packs for the lasers, lay on top of the net at the bottom, scattered about the many devices of destruction and he collected a few of these to take with him. His smile became broader as he got closer to the loading zone and exit hatch.
Bruvold stepped out to see Juhaen take a hit to the shoulder and go down. A waft of smoke rose from the wound. He aimed the hefty hand cannon at a group of five Dooghinians, who held archaic weapons. When he fired it, a pulse of energy burst from the barrel, looking like a big ball of electricity, the force of the blast slammed his back against the racecraft. Sammy and Kraus both turned around with amazed disbelief in their expressions. The five attackers were no more.
“Bruvold is liking,” the big man cheered. Kraus and Sammy looked at each other, smiled, and turned back to the fight at hand. Four more groups were now closing in on the number thirteen team. One group of three, that had been advancing when Bruvold opened fire, was retreating back to the safety of the weapons shop. Sammy took down two enemies that were swinging a rope tied to weight above their heads at the same time that Kraus kindly removed the head of one Dooghinian, who had been struggling to put on a helmet.
Bruvold had let go of his pulse cannon and had drawn two of his rapid-fire laser guns, to which he had attached extra battery packs. These he fired seemingly without aiming, although every shot found a target, laughing so hard and maniacally that he was nearly screaming. When the flurry of laser shots streamed past Kraus, he ceased fire and proceeded to drag Juhaen back into the racecraft, out of harm’s way.
The Dooghinians had stopped their advancement, after witnessing the extremity of Bruvold’s firepower, and were conferring with each other on how to plan an attack, that didn’t end up with their men dying.
Bruvold looked at Sammy and said, “You is for going inside, now. I is for using death smoke.”
Sammy stared at the man, confused. He understood when Bruvold brought out one of his Vaporcide bombs. Although not extensively knowledgeable with artillery, Sammy knew these for what they were. The notoriety of the deadly gas was not unknown to Sammy’s family, which had lost a great number of members to racing and wars. He gave Bruvold a little salute then quickly ducked back inside, a little less concerned about the attackers. Bruvold pressed a button on the device and it sounded off a series of beeps. He then tossed it over the heads of the Dooghinians closest to him and ran back inside, closing the hatch straightaway.
Right as Bruvold was following Sammy into the racecraft, Freddie was picking up the sword dropped by the slain soldier. He would have taken the uniform as well, but the man was much bigger, so he left it alone. He tried picking up the shield, but that proved too heavy to carry. So, for now, he was armed with a sword and had no clothes but the undergarments that were now too filthy to be kept. A steely glint shone from his eye as he began making his way to the other hallway.
“I always thought you were too pretty to fight,” confessed Drake. “Where did you learn those moves?”
“Fencing,” Freddie replied evenly. He continued down the hall until he saw a heavy wooden door on his left. Even tugging with all of his strength, Freddie could not budge the door and stepped aside to let the powerful commander try. In the end, it took both men, straining to open the door. Nothing could have prepared either of them for what was inside.
“What … how … this can’t be …” Drake started softly, looking around the room, but he could not find the words to finish. Freddie froze solid where he stood, behind and to the left side of Drake’s own statuesque figure. He too saw the room but could manage not even a stutter.
In the center of the room stood what was unmistakably, a racecraft. What was frightening about this was the fact that this particular racecraft had been reported missing before the end of the last season. Drake remembered the sponsor offering an irresistible reward for the return of the driver. There was a brief period in which drivers were dropping out of races, or failing to enter them, for this prize, which was substantially bigger than the proceeds of any race, except for the infamous Full Circle Six.
Hanging from all four walls were race team hats and jackets beyond counting. These people had been a main contributor in the ‘deaths’ and disappearances of racers for generations. Drake had a sudden, powerful urge to search for his great grandfather’s gear. He would know this when he saw it; for Drake raced the number thirteen in dedication to the estranged J.W. Judge, former driver of the same team, but had a different sponsor by the name of Fazeir’s Fine Roast Coffee.
Chaotically, his eyes darted over random, sporadic jackets and hats. Drake bolted to the nearest wall and started tossing hats to the left and right and then his heart stopped. He had found the Future Fuels hat, worn by the previous sponsored racecraft. The number thirty-eight was stitched into the hat. Drake’s blood ran cold. How long had they been doing this? How many racers kidnapped and killed, with their uniforms stripped and stolen as trophies, not to mention the racecrafts. Thinking of racecrafts, he recollected the ancient crafts he had seen in front of the castle. A rare shudder made its way up his spine. Those things had to be some of the first models.
Suddenly, he no longer felt like looking for his great granddad’s gear. Shoving the hat inside of his jacket, he turned around and ran for the door. Freddie was still standing with his mouth open, gawking at the renowned craft in the middle of the room.
Drake slapped him on the arm on the way by and said, “Come on, killer, we got to get Priscilla.”
This snapped Freddie out of his trance as nothing else could. He ran beside Drake step for step, his face twisted in a grimace. Drake thought about making a bet with Sammy when he got back, about whether or not Freddie had a dark side. If any of the other crew could see Freddie in this character, he, or she, would forget everything they ever knew of him.
Further down the same hall, they came upon a squat, wide steel door and stopped to investigate. Freddie was the one to pull the door open, and when he did, anyone and everyone in the castle must have heard the scream he produced. It was not fitting for the mood he had been in. Drake walked to stand beside Freddie and see what had shaken him so badly.
Immediately, he jumped back and pulled Freddie with him. A jagged, pincer-like claw swiped the spot in which they had been standing. The sound it created moving through the air was all Drake needed to know about how impressive the power of this beast was. They could not fight this, he thought. He could barely even stand to look at the thing.
It was only about five foot high, but was at least twenty wide in circumference, and primarily red in color. It supported itself on eight legs, covered in thick, coarse, long hairs. The abdomen was also covered in this hair, but the neck and head looked to be shelled, as were the claws and adjacent appendages. The things eyes were tiny and pitch black. They stared blankly out of a fiat skull, in a pyramid formation and numbered somewhere in the vicinity of the fifties. If this were not scary enough, the twelve-foot, upward curving tail was. It was scaled to the point of being armored, and tipped with a sharp point. This tip was dripping, and there was no question with this creature whether or not it was poison. The thing’s mouth was filled with several rows of tiny, pin-like teeth, which held bits of old and faded cloth. The stench was overwhelming, almost unbearable. Its movements were fluid and so fast that they blurred. After the initial strike, it scurried around the small room, over the walls and through the massive webbing it had spun. There was no sign of any other life, no waste, and no bodies, not even an insect. The creature ran full speed at the shocked observers. Freddie dropped the sword in his hand and cowered against the wall behind them. Drake slammed the door onto the oncoming monster, then bent and picked up the sword. He was reaching to open the door again when it crashed open before he could reach it. The thing’s tail struck at Drake with blinding speed, but Drake was already swinging the sword horizontally through the air and, with a maddening sound of steel on scale, he cut the tail off to land safely to his left. He ducked and rolled as a claw swipe swept in at his head, and as he was regaining his footing, slashed in a downward stroke, to bring the edge of the sword to meet this abomination’s eye pyramid. There was a horrible, earshattering scream, and this time, it was not from Freddie. The scream slowly subsided, as Drake stabbed the terrible beast’s head repeatedly.
Breathing heavily, Drake walked over to the detached tail and picked it up. He was meaning to throw the tail on top of the body, when the pointed end stretched of its own accord and stabbed him in the bicep of his left arm. He threw the thing far down the hall with a startled and furious yell. He then ran to the dead body and kicked with all of his might, splattering a boot sized hole in its shell.
Freddie put a hand on his shoulder and warned him that there may have been a few floors of people to hear that commotion. There were no more hallways to look for, so they went into the room to search. The sight of the extravagant web work was very distracting, but they found a door hidden behind one angle of the webbing. Freddie’s heart dropped. If these Dooghinians had given Priscilla over to that thing, he didn’t think he would hold himself responsible for his actions. Not thinking of his fear, Freddie slapped the webs away and pulled the door open.
Priscilla turned quickly when the light entered the little room, her face dirty and stricken with horror. It took a few seconds for her to recognize Freddie, and when she did, the look of horror melted away into surprise and disbelief, mingled with a small dose of adoration.
“Come on, quickly my darling,” Freddie rushed. It sounded as if he had rehearsed this scene the entire way.
“I thank you, Frederick.” The medical operator was not cold when she spoke, but was more business than personal. She grabbed her medical bag that she had taken off of the racecraft with her, and took Freddie’s hand to lead her out of her cell. She halted when she saw Drake, who was kneeling on the floor, doubled over, holding his left arm in pain, and swaying from side to side.
“I should have a look at that wound, captain,” she said as she squatted down and opened her bag.
“I’ll be fine, I don’t need you,” Drake slurred. Even as he protested, the dizziness increased and he removed the hand covering the wound. “Unless maybe you have a shot for me like Croxy used to?”
“Actually, in this case, I do happen to have an injection for you.” Priscilla had seen the injury and established that it was poison. “This is an antidote to most poisons,” she went on to say, “It should help you feel better in no time.”
Drake was doubtful, but had no choice, and the fact that she had a shot led him to believe that she may not be so bad after all. There was no hissing sound, sure, but everyone had different styles. The inoculation was working its full abilities in sixty seconds.
Meanwhile, Bruvold was feeling very proud of himself for gassing the Dooghinians. He would have had good reason to be proud, had the wind not blown the puff of gas that came from the bomb away. At the time, he did not know this, and was telling Sammy and Kraus that all was safe. Kraus suggested taking Juhaen to the medical quarters and prepare him as best as they knew how for Priscilla. He had no doubts that Drake would bring back the craft’s M.O. The three teammates carried the unconscious Juhaen on their shoulders to Priscilla’s examination module.
After a few minutes of debating on what to do, if anything, further, Kraus agreed to stay beside the injured while the others went back out to prepare to leave. Before Sammy and Bruvold could get out the door the racecraft rocked as an explosion rattled the loading zone area. Nobody saw the six Dooghinians board the craft and split into different directions to bring justice to the thieves that had tried to ransack their planet.
Bruvold was the first to see the trespassers. As he stepped into the main corridor, he saw three of the intruders coming toward Sammy and himself. The former weapons operator fell to one knee, while pulling a rapid-fire laser unit, and opening fire. Samelak Riordin stood, legs spread, behind Bruvold with a laser unit of a different type. It did not have a rapid-fire option, but was efficient all the same. The three deformed humanoids went down one after the other, in sequence.
Sammy ran along the main corridor to the navigation center to check on things, and Bruvold sprinted across to the loading corridor to do likewise to the loading zone. Bruvold received the biggest surprise. There was a hole in the side of the racecraft that was almost as large as the loading zone and storage area itself. Furious, he brought the pulse cannon from behind his back and walked out of the hole, blasting at every Dooghinian group and individual that he could see, either moving or standing still. The force of each round knocked him back a step and a half, but he barely noticed. Shouting in a foreign tongue, he killed enough of the surrounding natives to start a population concern on this portion of the planet, made up of mostly outlaw rogues, thieves, murderers, and various criminal types, that somehow seemed to live amongst themselves without as much trouble as such a thing suggested.
Panicked, the people scattered in all directions, forgetting all plans of taking over the racecraft and delivering it to the castle. This would give them a generous reward from the governing body of the planet, which all lived in the castle with their army. They all loved space racing more than anything else, and were always very pleased with the delivery of a new racecraft. Many inhabitants of the poorest sections of populated areas would have enough money to barter and sustain themselves for months with the reward. This was not worth losing all of their lives to them; evidently, money has no value to the dead. The area was clear within two minutes of killing, screaming, and bodies blowing up.
Uciferi heard shuffling outside of his chamber, and felt hunger and anxiety strike his torso. Finally Bruvold was bringing him another meal! He didn’t know how long it had been since he had eaten, but hunger cramps had come and gone since the last time. His mouth watered as he stood and faced the slide window carved into the door.
“What happened?” Uciferi was referring to the collision that had swayed the craft. “Is everything alright?” He didn’t really care, and had to yell to be heard through the door, so decided to shut up and wait for the food.
There was a scratching sound at the door and Ouldsid started to get curious. Bruvold had never knocked before. In fact, not even Priscilla had knocked when she visited him, as he liked to think of it. Then, this wasn’t exactly a knock either. He decided to wait it out, thinking that Bruvold was just teasing him.
The slide window slammed open and the prisoner was eye to eye with the most grotesque face he had ever seen. The eyes were uneven, the nose was off center, and the thing’s crooked teeth, gave the impression of a mutated human staring in. Uciferi screamed. The Dooghinian yelled louder. As Uciferi was watching, the creature’s head blew up, the neck gushing blood like some macabre geyser erupting. He screamed even louder and more shrilly than before. It almost sounded like Freddie. Sammy told him this, and to keep quiet while he looked for the other two enemies aboard.
Little did Sammy know that Kraus had found the last of them in the consuming quarters, and did away with them by using the waste compactor in the food storage area. He had shoved them in while they were picking rotten remains and putting the garbage in their pockets.
Drake, Freddie, and Priscilla were all running over the freshly dropped bridge, courtesy of Freddie, when the mounted lasers opened fire once again. This time, it was as if the guns were off target, as none of the rounds hit even close to any of them. Drake was the only one not to feel discouraged when he saw how far away the ground transport still was. They had reached the sand and, so far, had not been followed, but the real danger of the moment lie ahead of the adventurers, not behind them.
Out of the sand, slowly rose more than twenty of the huge beetles that Drake and Freddie had seen fighting. Priscilla and Freddie both shouted and tried to slow their pace, but Drake, without slowing a step, scooped one of his teammates up with each arm, and hopped across the sand on the beetles’ backs. Just as he was jumping back onto green grass, feeling reassured for not having to look out for the sinking sand areas, Drake risked a look behind him and saw four men running out of the castle, all were dressed like the soldier in the entrance hall, but two carried pistols instead of swords.
Drake set his crewman on their feet a few meters away from the transport they had stolen. They all dashed inside, and soon Freddie was speeding away again, adrenaline pumping heavily and quickly through him.
“Head toward the forest,” Drake instructed. He had been a navigator for longer than the others had been in racing, and was sure he could pilot Freddie back, cutting through the forest, which would lead them to the corn. If, that was, this was the same wood. He liked his odds on the risk.
Freddie plowed through the low shrubs and foliage in the dense copse of trees and strange plants. He had no tracks to guide him, so was going only where the captain ordered. His mission had been met, in Freddie’s opinion. He and Drake had rescued Priscilla.
The automobile bounced and shuddered while going through the forest, but Freddie handled it rather well. He followed Drake’s directions perfectly, but was dumbfounded when the commander told him to stop the vehicle. The natives were still chasing them, and Freddie wanted to waste no time getting back to the racecraft, which should be repaired and ready to launch by now.
Drake had seen the first glimpse of corn, and he had already come up with a way to dupe the fools trailing them. He led Priscilla and Freddie to the safety of the cornrows. Then, he strutted back to the automobile, picking up a medium sized dead branch on the way. He started the engine the way that he had seen Freddie do it, with the key, and then looked behind. The attackers were not in visible range, but he could hear them. Quickly, he wedged the branch between the acceleration pedal and the seat, and then pulled the transmission lever to the D. The transport took off, pointed directly toward the city streets.
Drake dived into the corn just in time to miss being seen by the followers. The Dooghinians yelled and hooted, one of them fired his gun into the air. They believed that they were going to catch their prey again, this time with bonuses. The famous Drake Judge would make a nice addition to their leader’s statue collection.
While making their way back to the rocky terrain that marked the area where they landed, Drake collected as much corn as he could carry, and ordered the others to do likewise. He would take care of payment personally.
“You want us to eat this stuff?” Freddie could not believe that the captain ever ate anything other than meat and bread, even in the off-season.
“Just wait until you bite into one of these ears, when they’re steaming hot and bursting with juices in your mouth,” Drake said, with a wistful tone. “You’ll be thanking me for it.”
“Yeah,” retorted Freddie, while Priscilla looked on with a smirk. “That’s easy for someone with clothes to say! Just look at the state of my beautiful skin and body!”
This produced a snicker from both Priscilla and Drake, but the smiles quickly died when they stepped out of the corn and saw the number thirteen racecraft in the distance. There was a gaping hole where the loading zone should have been. Also, it looked like someone was standing outside the craft holding a small cannon, which would explain the astronomical amount of Dooghinian bodies lying about.
Drake hurried to his ship, not looking to see if his crew-members had followed. The only thing alive within sight was Bruvold, standing pompously and frowning in the general direction of what made up the marketplace of Dooghin.
“There had better be a good explanation for this,” Drake said ominously.
“They is attacking, and I is killing … is for team and for you … is for living.” Bruvold responded, looking defensive and discombobulated.
“Keep your post. You’ve done well. Raise an alarm if anyone comes near, but do not shoot!” Drake brushed past him, after making sure that Bruvold had understood his commands, and continued to the racecraft. Freddie and Priscilla had caught up by this point, and Bruvold eyed Freddie suspiciously, but said nothing. They too, rushed to the craft.
Freddie ran directly to the cleansing quarters. Kraus immediately confronted Priscilla and told her about Juhaen, lying on the module, waiting to be healed. She wasted no time in getting to the medical quarters. Drake was already talking to Sammy about what had happened while he was gone, and was becoming more furious by the second. He, in turn, told his friend about the racecrafts, and the gear that he and Freddie had found. Drake punctuated this story by showing Sammy the number thirty-eight Future Fuels cap that he had pilfered in the same room.
While the two old friends were conferring and changing stories, Jaws had reappeared. The return of his captain had eased his nerves enough to become visible again. As soon as Drake spotted the communications expert, he called the long nosed man over and told him to send a contact message to league officials, concerning this planet, and the practices of its natives in the castle.
Drake marched back outside right before Bruvold had turned to call for him. An assembly of about fifteen Dooghinians was cautiously approaching the racecraft. As they moved closer, their silence lessened and they began to chatter and mumble amongst themselves.
“You people have been living as slaves to the tyrants of the castle in the west!” Drake’s booming voice was heard without him having to shout, and all stopped their advance. He was telling them nothing that they did not know, however, and all of the deformed faces stared toward Drake, wanting to know where he was going with this.
“I have sent a message to the Intergalactic Challenge Circuit on your behalf, and very soon, your liberation will be at hand!” He was close to shouting this last, and it had the effect that he had aimed for. The Dooghinians around him all cheered and clapped and chanted his name, which faintly brought him back to the memory of the victory platform and the dual crowd, but he realized soon that it was nowhere close to his phantom fans.
He talked for a time with the leader of the small rebellion that was left to stand up against the malevolent leaders of the planet, and worked out an arrangement that allowed him to keep all the corn that he had stolen, in addition to helping them repair the racecraft that their people had destroyed. In exchange for all of this, Drake would pay one hundred thousand space credits, which were good for currency anywhere in this dimension. Drake then retired to his own personal quarters for some much needed rest.