A few more hours passed with Drake and Fred reminiscing on old times, and starting to feel the effects of the fire-drink. Folders decided that it was time to head back to his own personal quarters for some much needed rest and, consequently, Drake began preparing for the cleansing quarters before checking on the repairs of the racecraft.
A knock at the door startled Jaws, forcing him to spill his ice-cold bubble drink on the front of his uniform. In a panic, he unceremoniously tossed the bottle into the contraband refrigeration unit and yelled for the knocker to hold for a moment. Having no better ideas with any time, Jaws snatched a towel from his counter and draped it over his chest.
The crack in the open door gave view to the exhausted face of Juhaen. Already Jaws was beginning to regret his decision to answer the door. No doubt, the food and beverage regulator was looking for some kind of help with some kind of tedious chore. Jaws would prefer to sit and enjoy his leisure time, but if he refused to help the gung-ho Juhaen, he would surely be reported and punished just as severely as Ouldsid Uciferi.
“What do you want?” The set of Jaws’ eyes and the quiver of his nose suggested that he knew exactly what was wanted. The hopeful look in Juhaen’s eye told him all he needed to know.
“I need your help. The tubes and motors and the cleaning and the coffee and the corn and meat and bread and the coffee it is just too much! I have not rested … I can’t do it all” Juhaen knew he was taking a long shot, but it was worth the risk.
“Well,” Jaws once again thought of the commander’s predicted reaction to a report stating he had denied help when asked. “What exactly did you want me to do?”
“I … well … you could …” Juhaen was just as surprised by Jaws’ response as Jaws was by the knock on the door. “How about helping me in the consuming quarters?” “By the way, what’s with the towel?” Juhaen’s curiosity had finally got the better of him.
“Alright, I’ll help you, just give me a minute.” Jaws closed the door to the quarters and quickly changed into a new uniform. He would not trust anyone to the secret of his cold drinks. They may want to share.
On their way to the consuming quarters, they passed Sammy, who had found Drake and was currently going to check on fuel for the racecraft. Sammy was speaking and part of the conversation drifted over to Jaws and Juhaen.
“I was thinking of asking him to stick around as well,” they both heard Sammy’s voice say. “I mean this is his first Full Circle, and he seems to be handling himself ok.”
“It’s of no concern to me,” Drake responded. “I’ve already told you, do whatever you want with the craft and crew after I’m gone, I have full confidence the Future Fuels team will continue to win championships.”
“Yeah, I know, I just wish you would reconsider …” the rest of what Sammy said trailed away and became inaudible as he and Drake continued into the loading corridor while Juhaen and Jaws started down the consuming corridor.
“Did you hear that?” Jaws looked as if he’d just discovered teleportation, or something equally amazing. “The new commander wants to make me a member!”
“First of all,” Juhaen retorted with a stern, teacher-like tone. “He’s not the commander yet. We still have to get through this season. Secondly, you have no way of knowing that he was even talking about you.”
Jaws merely stood still, staring blankly at the door to the consummation quarters, his reflective expression portraying knowledge of a fantasy come to life. Juhaen internally shrugged his shoulders and continued on to the work at hand. It took about thirty minutes to properly train Jaws how to repair and stock the delivery dispenser tubes. Most of this time was spent trying to explain the process of fusing together the broken tubes.
Outside, Drake and Sammy had come up against a roadblock that could potentially put them out of the race beside Folders. Planet Furgit had no fuel that could run the league appointed crafts. Their fuel was burnt for light and heat. These people had no knowledge of engines or thrusters.
Sammy had brought up to Drake the fuel problem by knocking on his door just as Drake was heading out for the cleansing quarters. The big problem was that they had used most of their reserve fuel trying to unfreeze themselves from the ice when the racecraft was stuck on that floating iceberg in space. The supply of fuel was now not sufficient to make it to even close to the end of the race. With Furgit having no fuel, the predicament became a crisis. They departed to the surface in order to inquire further. There must be something somewhere on the whole planet. The forthcoming answer was not as pleasant as they had hoped.
“Wonderful!” There was more than a little sarcasm in Drake’s booming voice. “Out of gas! We are going to lose the race because of lack of fuel! What do I say to our sponsor?” The fact that Future Fuels sponsored the number thirteen was blatantly obvious with the racecraft sitting not one hundred feet away.
The native who had just conveyed this disturbing news to Drake made the horrible mistake of picking that moment to chuckle at the irony of the situation. Drake’s hand shot out and wrapped around the front of the man’s throat quicker than Sammy could even widen his eyes in surprise. The fierce scowl on Drake’s features revealed that he would have little remorse or restraint from killing the poor soul.
“If you so much as smile in my direction again, I will snap your puny neck … this is not funny!” The volume change in Drake’s voice was extreme from start to finish, almost whispering building into a shout. He dropped the man and walked away while Sammy turned his head and became very interested in a vendor selling cakes that were made from corn.
Inside the consuming quarters, Jaws was becoming very frustrated with the directions that Juhaen was giving. It wasn’t that the orders were difficult to perform, but the fact that Juhaen was the one giving them that bothered Jaws. At some length, Juhaen told Jaws to work on the corner dispenser tubes, which Jaws eagerly obliged to do. With this privacy, he could sneak a cold drink or two while Juhaen scalded his throat with hot coffee. He could not have had worse timing.
Just as Jaws was raising his bottle of ice blue liquid to his lips, Drake was storming into the consuming quarters. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the communications expert, eyes widening behind his ever-present holochart gazers.
“What is this contraband?” Drake’s voice was low and soft spoken, but it struck fear into both of the other men in the room with its deadly timbre.
“I … it’s just … I was …” Jaws stammered, while his floppy nose quivered.
“Prepare for a personal quarters inspection,” Drake warned. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Jaws hurried away to straighten up his shared personal quarters, a feeling of deep dread locked inside his chest. Drake sat down, after dispensing a mug of steaming coffee, and through all of it Juhaen stood staring, like an animal in oncoming traffic.
Drake didn’t even notice him for a full minute. His mind was reeling with the fact of Folders retiring, among a hundred other worries … the red key … the Full Circle … his grandfather … and the impertinence of one Zarocostas Jozwiak, and even if he had seen Juhaen, he probably would not have cared one way or the other. His main problem right now was to figure out how to get fuel for his racecraft. Failure would not go over well with Drake regardless of how it came to be. No matter how right or wrong it felt, Drake Judge would not sit idly by while some force pushed or pulled him to its will.
Drake drained his coffee and left the consuming quarters without a word, or even a glance toward Juhaen. The annoyance that he had felt at seeing Jaws with a bottle of smuggled goods was slowly building to the point of rage. He did not remember that he himself had brought along a small bottle of fire-drink, which was also illegal as far as race standards went.
Drake tore through Jaws’ personal quarters like a tornado through a new trailer park. Papers, clothes, hats, and other personal items flew throughout the air as if stirred by whirling typhoon. Jaws was in a dangerous situation. So far, the commander had found the rest of his cold drinks, some herbal twine, used for burning, matches, and an old captain’s chair that was supposed to be left behind before they started the race.
“I have bigger problems to deal with right now,” Drake said coldly without facing Jaws. “I’ll deal with you when I find the time. Until then, report to Bruvold for punishment duty.”
Jaws left without a word, head hanging and nose waggling. He knew that if it were going to start with punishment detail, whatever was to follow would be a very terrible experience. The fact that he was more than slightly afraid of the often-violent C.S.O. made his mood even more sullen.
Meanwhile, Sammy had worked out a deal with Folders to give them some fuel. It wasn’t but a mere fraction of what they really needed, but in this situation, every little bit of gas they could get would be of some help. Also, Folders was insistent upon doing all that he could to help his teammates win. It seemed that he was an entirely different person since he had announced his retirement.
Without delay, he began the necessary procedural steps to transfer the fuel between racecrafts. He hired several Furgits to help with the job, for speed was of the essence. Just like Drake, he wanted this over with as soon as it possibly could be.
Drake came outside about the same time that Folders reentered his own racecraft. The small bit of fuel they were able to obtain was enough to appease Drake in measure enough to calm his anger. Slightly. There was still too much going on in his head for him to really settle down much. He wanted to get off of Furgit immediately.
“I found a planet on my gazers not too far from here, but a good ways off course, so we need to hustle.” Drake did not look at Sammy as he said this, but walked by him to the number twenty-six to say his final farewell to Fred.
“I’m not sure this whole quadrant has any league friendly planets, D.J.,” Sammy was trying to get Drake’s attention back, but all the commander did was shrug his shoulders and kept his stride.
Sammy hurried to the navigational center to call everyone back to duty, and get things ready for start up and take off. This was much to the relief of Jaws, who was being forced by Bruvold to clean the isolation chamber that was holding Uciferi. The prisoner was transferred to another chamber during the cleaning process. Jaws was so overjoyed when Sammy interrupted the job that he sighed heavily and threw his towel hard enough to knock over the cleaning bucket. Bruvold kept them both an extra five minutes for this little mishap. He also squeezed Jaws’ nose hard enough to make the little man wheeze for a solid minute.
Bruvold and Jaws were the last to arrive at their stations, and Drake was still not back. The Furgits were finished with the small fuel transfer, and all systems were ready for start up. They would waste no fuel whatsoever. The bit that they had would get them to where Drake wanted to go, if it wasn’t too far, but if they found no fuel at the next stop, they would lose any chance of getting back into the race. Right now they may not have lost any position, but were getting further behind by the minute.
Fred Folders was in his personal quarters when Drake came in. Although the long time commander of the twenty-six craft was not in tears, it was obvious by his features that he soon would be. It had been a great career for Folders, and he could hardly bear to see it coming to a close. He had been so close to finishing the Full Circle Six after all this time just to be destroyed in a crossfire battle from hell. The frustration only intensified when he turned to see Drake standing just inside his door. He found it hard to face his teammate. Folders felt that he had let Drake down. He had failed to assist in a victory. Drake had a different view, and brightened Fred’s mood just a bit when he spoke.
“I appreciate all you’ve done to help us get this far. I hope I can finish at the top to make it all worth the while.”
“That’s a nice sentiment, Drake,” Fred started. “But I’d hardly say it was me that got you here, I mean, you’ve pulled yourself out of some catastrophes.”
“You saved us with the mine field way back when, and you’ve helped in key battles that could have left us without a chance.” Drake was firm on forcing his friend to accept the gratitude.
“You would have done the same,” Fred answered. He could tell that it wouldn’t be long until his voice started cracking and he broke down. “You’ve wasted enough time here, though don’t you think?”
“I’ll be in touch with you as soon as the race is done. With any luck, it will be after I step down from the victory platform.” Drake knew his friend and would not embarrass him. There had been enough emotions. He turned with a nod and a wave and left to prepare for takeoff.
When Drake arrived at the navigational center, everyone was in position at their respective stations, and the racecraft was ready to power up and take to space. With a burst of pride, he gave his crew a nod of thanks, and as he sat down, Freddie powered up. Drake was more than ready; he took manual control of the craft and smoothly ascended altitude and speed at a steady, constant rate. Speeding toward the planet Foughden, and further away from the course to the race finish, Drake was hopeful of making it a full purchase, a full tank and several reserve barrels. The information that the holochart gazers gave him said there was fuel and population on the planet. He had in mind that he would use another time disrupter after the purchase to make up for the lost time, and perhaps even catch up to the leader.
To reward his crew for their quick and decisive actions, he sent them to break, with the exception of Jaws, who he decided to punish by taking over Juhaen‘s duties for the rest of the day. Drake was confident of the fact that he could navigate to Foughden and land by himself. It was his racecraft, after all, and he was the best navigator alive.
Sammy returned from break after about ten minutes, bringing with him two large, steaming mugs of coffee. He set one down beside Drake and walked over to the scanners to see what he could find out about where they were going. On the scanners, he found that the inhabitants were numerous, but the activity from biological organisms was nil. Machines manufacturing products and factories that were apparently running themselves caused the only commotion. Sammy decided that he would wait for landing to voice any opinion of this oddity. He tried to make some small talk with Drake, but it was the wrong time. Drake had his hands full of racecraft, trying different maneuvers to help save the fuel.
When the planet Foughden came into view, both Sammy and Drake were taken aback by what they saw. The entire planet seemed made of metal. Even carefully landing, the racecraft shook with the impact.
“The scanners say that there are natives … but I don’t see any,” Sammy said to Drake, while staring out at what looked to be metal trees.
“We’ll find them,” Drake responded as he stood and stretched, “go find Kraus, Bruvold, and Freddie. We are way off course and I want to get back. We can use a time disrupter to make up for the lost time.” With that, Drake exited to the surface alone.
What he saw when he stepped out was enough to make him stop and stare. Every direction that he could turn, were the “metal trees”. Outside the racecraft, they appeared much taller than from inside. Reaching to the sky, these had to be sculptures of metal. Some were shiny, some were dull, some thick, and some thin, some leaned obtusely, some acutely, some had a few branches, others had dozens, and even metallic roots appeared. They were not set close together, as in a forest, but sporadically sprung from the metal ground and, though they varied in height, most of the tops were not visible without magnification. The intense heat of the planet made slight, wavering lines in front of everything, so that it seemed the trees were swaying, though there was no wind.
Drake became suddenly aware of a noise that he had been hearing all along, a high-pitched squealing sound. He turned to investigate and saw an enormous conglomerate of gray, metal buildings, all connected by metal tunnels. Drake saw the telltale smoke rising slowly, and his holochart gazers confirmed that was where they kept the fuel. He began to walk in that direction, vaguely curious that his steps were very quiet. He bent to knock on the ground and found solid metal meeting his knuckles. By the time he stood up, Kraus, Sammy, and Bruvold were coming out to meet him. The only one not staring around in wonder was Bruvold.
“Kraus, Sammy, I want you two to get the craft ready to refuel while Bruvold and I try to find the fuel. If you finish soon, come and look for us at that factory.” They all nodded their agreement, and Drake and Bruvold set off to find someone to sell them the fuel. Bruvold had brought along a transport cart for the barrels.
“Clock?” Bruvold’s voice broke the silence as he and Drake were headed toward the factory. He had stopped walking and was looking down at the ground.
Drake breathed a sigh and walked over to see what he was talking about. Just another delay as far as Drake was concerned. Probably, it was the heat getting to his weapons officer. He followed Bruvold’s eyes to the ground and his breath stopped short. It was a timer. Drake’s experience with timers was limited to bombs, but it was obvious even to him that this was not an explosive. The timer was set into a large trapdoor in the metal ground. The handle of the door was plainly visible. There was writing below the timer, but it was a language, which Drake could not distinguish. One thing was clear to him, though. There was only two hours left on the timer. Drake didn’t know what would happen, but he didn’t want to be around when the time expired.
“We have to be quick, let’s double time to get that fuel!” Bruvold ran off with the cart at a rate fast enough to impress Drake.
Bruvold was again the first to stop. Drake was close behind him and, this time saw the reason. The only way to go further was to climb a small, arched, metal walkway to a very large platform. This platform was the central connection to seven different walkways that stretched to various parts of this monstrous, multi-structural manufacturing machine.
The reason they needed to use the walkways was painfully clear. Tiny slivers of shiny metal spikes covered the ground all the way around the establishment. With the league issued boots that they were wearing, one step onto that metal grass would shred the bottom of a foot.
“We start at opposite ends and work our way to the middle.” Drake would not hesitate for an instant. Even as he spoke, he was briskly trotting his way over the arched connector to the platform. He continued to the walk ramp on the furthest left, while Bruvold followed closely, turning to the rightmost path.
Drake’s route took him into one of the tunnels connecting the buildings together. He tried left first, knowing that this was one of the corner buildings. He found only a large storage area, filled with boxes lettered with the same type of writing found on the trap door. He opened one of the boxes and out spilled millions of little metal pellets. Drake could not catch a clue as to what these could be for, and did not try to waste the time to figure it out. He ran back the way that he came and into the next building. He entered so quickly; he did not notice what this building was storing. Everywhere around him were metal men. They all looked exactly the same, and were all the same height. They towered over Drake. About three steps into the room, he dropped to the ground, using his momentum to roll into a double somersault, coming to rest in a defensive crouch, ready to spring.
Nothing changed. All of the men stood dead still, all heads facing forward. Cautiously, Drake stood and looked around at them. They were inanimate, but still made him slightly uneasy. A hurried search of the room showed no promise of fuel, and no other exit. The only thing of interest that caught his eye was a piece of metal pipe, narrow on one end, with tiny spirals curling a fraction of the way down the pipe. This was set on a large pedestal, with a light shining upon it as if it were some sort of trophy.
As fast as he could, Drake made his way back to the main platform, where he found Bruvold, with what resembled the crafted apparatuses the crew had used to free themselves from the ice planet harnessed to his shoulders, beaming excitedly. He had had more fun than Drake.
When Bruvold reached the end of his ramp and entered the building, he had found any former weapons operator’s dream. It was a virtual weapons warehouse. Everywhere were weapons that even the experienced Bruvold had never seen. A few of the smaller ones, he put into his pockets or his boots to figure out later. Some, he already owned. The weapon that he was strapped to when Drake caught up with him, he had found on a large pedestal, covered in planet Foughden’s native language. He was so excited that he had forgotten to look for fuel, which was just as well for there was none here to be found.
“What is that, and where did you get it?” Drake demanded.
“Is weapon … is good, no?” Bruvold’s smile had gotten even broader.
“Take it back to where you found it,” Drake ordered. “We’re here for fuel, and we are not pirates or thieves.”
“Is very good.” Bruvold sighed disappointedly. Still, he followed the captain’s orders and started slinking back down the ramp to the weapons storage.
As Bruvold was returning the super-weapon, Drake used the available time to search the path second from the left. From there, he could see that it was the middle walkway he should have inspected in the first place. It led directly to the rising smoke, which meant it led to the fuel. He quickly turned around jogged back to the main platform to await Bruvold’s return with the fuel cart.
Suddenly, Drake was struck with a thought. Glancing down at his watch, he saw that there was only one hour remaining on the timer Bruvold had discovered in the ground. Despite the heat bouncing off of all the metal and turning the entire planet into a giant oven, Drake felt a chill ran up his spine. They had to get out of here before that timer went off.
Bruvold, while his commander was figuring out where to get the fuel, was having a lot of trouble deciding whether or not to follow the orders he was given. This was not something that he was used to, so the difficulty, combined with the heat emanating from the surrounding metal, was enough to put him into an even slower state of mind than usual. The feeling that Bruvold was struggling with was the same that Drake had been experiencing since the duality of crowds on the victory platform after winning the last race. He felt as if some unseen, powerful force was urging him not to put the weapon back, but to hide it underneath the fuel cart, where Drake could not see it. In fact, this force was so strong that for the first time under Drake’s command, Bruvold deliberately disobeyed a direct order and fell prey to his instinct.
With his head clear, and an oddly relaxing mood, Bruvold ran full speed back to the main platform to meet his captain. Impatiently, Drake told him about the limited time they had left, and both men walked as quickly as they could toward the rising smoke. At the end of the walk ramp, they came upon two enormous metal doors, without handles, but filled with medium sized holes, about the size of the dispenser tubes. In the place where the keyhole would be in a normal door, a small, metal coupling with fine threads on the inside, spiraling outward.
“The trophy …” Drake muttered to himself. Bruvold was clueless and stared at Drake in confusion. As far as he could see, nothing around them had anything to do with trophies or winning. He was half convinced that the captain had gone mad with the heat.
“I saw something that we need. Wait here I’ll be back.” With that, Drake took off at a trot back to the main platform, in order to go back to where he saw the pipe on the pedestal, leaving Bruvold to stand and stare in wonder.
Entering the room of the metal men, Drake was cautious. Things were going a little too smoothly to trust. Carefully eyeing each of the standing figures, he slowly crept up to the platform that held the pipe. Trepidation turned to suspense as Drake reached his hand toward the pipe. In a blur, he snatched the pipe and backed away from the pedestal. At first, it seemed as before. Nothing changed. But that wasn’t quite true. He saw that now, every one of the metal men had a timer on its mid section. They were simultaneously counting down from one hundred and sixty. At the same time, he became aware of a low, ominous humming sound, gradually increasing in pitch and decibel.
Drake experienced a split second of horrified shock before turning back and running as if for his life. He knew now that there was going to be big trouble in just over two minutes. As his boots pounded over the walk ramp back to the main platform, Drake was struck with inspiration. If he could destroy the ramp that he was on, it would be impossible to follow him back. When he hit the platform, he turned and withdrew from his racing jacket, a round disk with flashing lights and one small button. When he depressed the button, the lights started flashing in sequence, and Drake threw the disk back down the ramp he had just vacated. The aim was impeccable. At the apogee of the curve in the ramp, the disc impacted and exploded. The result left a large gap in the ramp. Not even Drake could jump it.
Feeling triumphant and proud, he ran again back to Bruvold, who had a grin on his sweaty face once more. Without delay, Drake twisted the metal pipe into the coupling, and pulled with all of his might. Slowly, the gigantic door on the right started to swing open. Right before they barreled into the doorway, Drake heard the distinct sound of metal hammering upon metal, somewhere to his left. He could not suppress a small, knowing smile as he slid into the room behind Bruvold.
The amusement was quite short lived for Drake, however, for as the men advanced a few steps into the room, they heard a loud, metallic scraping. Looking up, they saw a big cage falling to cover them. There was no time to escape. They were trapped. Directly in front of the cage was another of the metal men, but this one was at least forty feet tall with crude metal features crafted on its face. The eyes looked to be large bulbs that gave off a faint glow. The top of its head was releasing the pillar of smoke that was visible from outside. On both sides of the neck, fuel lines were pumping into the giant. The cage had obviously fallen from the outstretched arms of the metal monster. From their viewpoint in the cage, both members of the Future Fuels number thirteen, race team could clearly see several barrels of fuel. Drake, whose strength was phenomenal, tried to grab the bars and bend them in his grasp, but was given a low dose of electrical current for his efforts.
“Is hot?” Bruvold misunderstood the look of surprise on Drake’s face. He then turned and grabbed the bars in his own hands. “Is ok, Bruvold will break.”
“No!” Drake tried to warn him, but there was no time. In his strong grip, Bruvold could not immediately let go of the bars. In the end, he was thrown to the ground, and became instantly irate. Without thinking of the present company in his vicinity, he then reached into his pocket and brought out a blue sphere that he had picked up in the weapons storage area. He threw the sphere as hard as he could, and it hit the bars with a loud, resounding crackle.
It did not seem to have any affect at first, but after a moment, frost began to spread out from the point of impact. As the frost spread, it seeped into the bars, literally changing the metal’s molecular structure into ice. Drake looked suspiciously at Bruvold and made a mental note to ask him about it. At the moment, he was relieved to find a quick solution. Time was running out, as the timer now had just less than one half of an hour.
Drake smashed the ice bars and they were just able to squeeze their large bodies through the opening. They were wary of the giant metal man, but it did not seem to be interested any longer. At Drake’s command, they both set to loading barrels of fuel onto the transport cart. Drake was well aware that they would not make it back to the racecraft before the timer went off and whatever was going to happen, happened.
Getting around the cage to get back out of the doors was a slight chore, but they managed to do it single file, both pulling and pushing the cart. Halfway down the walk ramp to the main platform, Drake saw that the ramp he had destroyed was filled with the metal men from the factory. The timers had expired, but the men were not even close to standing still. It looked as if they were forming a bridge over the gap that Drake had made by holding on to one another.
Now that he was on the outside, Drake noticed that the planet’s huge sun was setting on the horizon. The time it would take for it to disappear coincided with the time left on the ground timer.
One of the metal men turned to look at Bruvold and Drake. It detached one of its own legs and pointed the top end of the thigh directly at Drake. With an amazing velocity, a small, spiked metal ball slammed into the side of the fuel cart, missing one of the barrels by a fraction. Neither man had to tell the other to hurry. The heat, however in combination with the weight of the fuel, made rapid progression implausible. A few moments later, the air around the two humans was filled with fast flying, spiked, metal balls.
At the end of the walk ramp, where it intersected with the main platform, Drake risked a look back amid the incoming fire. The metallic men had completed their bridge and were now advancing quickly toward the pair. As soon as they had cleared the short arch-ramp to the platform, Bruvold withdrew a shining green rod from his boot and tossed it nonchalantly over his shoulder.
Drake glanced quizzically at Bruvold, but his question was stopped before it escaped his lips as a warbled screech erupted. He turned and saw a green, hazy wall surround the main platform, once more slowing the metal men, and halting the torrent of missiles.
While they were advancing across the searing metal surface of the planet Foughden, the sun slipped its remaining curve of brilliant red light down beyond the rise in the distance. In the same instant, the trap door on the ground opened slowly, with a hiss.
Behind them, they could hear the distant clanking of metal marching, giving delayed chase. Out of the opening in the ground, metal was pouring upward and out, like an upside-down pitcher pouring water. They stopped for a second in surprise. A vague sense of vertigo plagued Bruvold. He had never seen metal water before, and it looked like it was falling upward, which raised even more confusion.
As the liquid fell to the ground, it separated and solidified into liquid men. They resembled men only in that they were vaguely man shaped. They had no faces, no eyes, and no distinguishing features of any kind. The hands did not even have fingers. They formed by the dozens, and the stomping from behind was getting much louder.
Drake and Bruvold continued by cutting a sweeping path, trying to go around the newly forming liquid men. They could both see that this tactic was futile, but stopping was not an option. Drake was beginning to get the feeling things had gotten much worse than he had imagined.
Before the fuel thieves could get another six meters, an army of liquid soldiers stood blocking their path. From behind, the army of solid metal soldiers was closing the distance more quickly.
Suddenly, Bruvold stopped. One of the liquid men shot forward, it’s midsection elongating until it snapped like elastic straight toward Drake. Drake ducked and the attacker flew over his head and slammed into the foremost of the metal soldiers, welding it to the metal surface of the planet.
Bruvold turned, drawing his rapid-fire laser unit and firing. The next three advancing metal men were dropped, smoking and crackling with electricity. Drake grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the ground just as another length of liquid passed overhead, incapacitating another two of the advancing attackers.
The security officer then belly crawled over to the fuel cart and ripped out from underneath, the weapon he was supposed to have returned to the storage area. Without strapping it on, he aimed at two liquid missiles already in the air, and released a stream of what looked like smoke. When the smoke contacted the liquid, the latter stopped moving and fell to the ground, shattering to pieces.
Understanding dawned in Drake’s face. He took hold of the fuel cart and continued as fast as his depleted strength would allow, and Bruvold joined at his side, firing the smoke everywhere that he could see the metal water. A metal hand grabbed Drake from behind, and Drake pulled his weight to the ground, holding the arm and flipping the assailant onto the fuel barrels. He then pushed the metal man forward off of the cart and ran him over with it, severing the head.
They could now see the racecraft behind the liquid beings. The fuel hatch was open, and the hosed funnel was ready for receiving. Kraus and Sammy were standing side by side, firing lasers into the liquid, which only absorbed the attacks. It seemed as though all of Foughden was concentrated on Drake and Bruvold. The fuel was valuable, and they would not let it go without a fight.
Sammy watched in amazement as one of the liquid men facing away from him first froze solid, and then blew apart. Drake was coming full speed with the loaded fuel cart, Bruvold behind him, releasing smoke from his new toy in a sweeping motion. When he had visually confirmed that the refueling had started, he threw the weapon, harness and all toward the middle of the oncoming mob of mixed metal mayhem. Before it could fall down all the way, he hit it with a laser. The ensuing explosion was massive. It froze a majority of the liquid, and the solid metal army was down to about eight total.
Even working at the top of their game, Sammy and Kraus could not keep up with Drake. Panic was beginning to work its way into the equation. Bruvold madly fired his laser unit, obliterating anything that was frozen by the blast.
The heat that was stored by the metal ground was quickly melting some of the ice, and the liquid was re-shaping itself.
“Back on the craft!” even in Drake’s voice, the panic could be evident. The crewmembers all rushed into the loading zone without bothering to bring the cart, or the few barrels of fuel that were left.
The second the hatch closed, a wet thud reverberated through the corridor. The four men were already sprinting for the navigational center. Freddie began power up as soon as the instruments indicated that the door to the loading zone was latched. Jaws had the shields charged.
Drake practically jumped into his chair and slammed the controls to manual. Taking off was slower than it should have been. The liquid had surrounded the rear thrusters and was trying to hold the racecraft to the ground. On the exterior, the spiked metal balls bounced off of the craft’s shields and fell to the metal ground. With a burst of energy, from the rocket booster, they were finally free and rising into the atmosphere.
“I’m going to take this planet out,” Drake spoke quietly, but deadly.
“That’s going to be tough, cap,” Jaws put in. “Scanners indicate that most of the population is underground, and that is a very thick ground. The middle of the planet is hollow. Research on the subject of Foughden shows that they are solar powered people.”
“Solar?” Bruvold asked innocently. “Is for blowing up sun?”
“Ridiculous,” stated Drake. “How would you propose we blow up a sun?”
“I am having very old bomb,” the security officer replied. “You is for trusting Bruvold. I will load, you will shoot, and sun will die. Then we are for leaving fast, or we are for dying with sun and metal water.”
“We could use a time disrupter to escape the blast, but are you sure you can blow up a sun? I mean, that seems like it would be one big bomb.” Freddie was more than a little skeptical of Bruvold possessing any such weapon.
“I will load, and you will shoot in thirty minute,” Bruvold retorted, pointing at the left cannon. He then marched out of the navigation quarters.
Kraus sat down at the left cannon while Drake navigated around the hated planet Foughden angling the left cannon toward the sun. Kraus was also having doubts about his friend’s plan. He did trust Bruvold, but had never heard of anything that could be loaded into a craft cannon and destroy a sun.
“Jaws, find out how long it would take for an impact at this distance,” ordered Drake. “I want to know how much time we’ll have to power down engines and detonate the time disrupter.”
Kraus’s sensor indicated that Bruvold was now unloading the chamber for the left cannon. Four minutes later, it was loaded again. Drake had the perfect distance from the sun, according to Jaws.
“Fire left cannon,” Drake was calm and sure, brimming with confidence in his newly appointed crewmember. “Power down engines.”
What came out of the left cannon was like no artillery Drake had ever seen. It moved slowly, and was in the shape of a rocket. As it floated to its destination, it picked up speed, and Drake was poised to detonate the second of three time disrupters.