Chapter Six

“I CAN’T BELIEVE it!” the TV announcer, Steel Daily, crowed in surprise. The bright flash of his shark’s-teeth as he hid a grin at landing on a breaking story was more real than his faux shock. “The missing Aster Stafford has been located, and he’s putting a miniscule robot down at the starting line! Was his name associated with any of the entrants, Lisa?”

The camera turned to reveal a second TV announcer, a woman who shook her head, her heavily sprayed and fluffed hair not moving in the slightest. “Not to my knowledge, Steel, but then Starr F. is the owner of the Ladybug.”

“Lisa, you can’t mean…” Steel trailed off, his eyes gleaming in anticipation as the story grew.

“But I do. Porn actor, Starr—we’ll leave the rest of his name alone for any young ones watching—is listed as owning a robot in this year’s mecha race. Recent investigation has proven that Aster Stafford and Starr are, in fact, the same person!”

“I wonder who his robot’s pilot is?” Steel Daily asked mysteriously as the image of Starr leaving behind a tiny ladybug robot on the starting line faded away from the TV.

Tarle snorted at the TV from where he was safely tucked away in one of the VIP rooms. Starr, or rather Aster Stafford, had gotten the room when they arrived at the showcase complex. Adding Starr's name as co-owner to the registration had been ridiculously easy, although they had used Starr’s pseudonym to try and keep anyone from noticing too quickly.

Tarle was currently sharing the room with a team of lawyers, an interested galaxy police chief, and a judge, all of whom had accepted Aster’s carefully worded invitation to attend. The police chief had recognized Tarle, but that had only made him seem more interested, so Tarle hadn’t gotten worried.

The door slid open, and Starr stepped inside. “Sorry I’m late,” Starr said as he took a chair next to Tarle. “The reporters are going a bit crazy out there for some strange reason.”

“People don’t often reappear after being missing for so long,” the judge rumbled, his voice a deep bass tone.

“Yes, well, people don’t spend most of their adult lives living in fear,” Starr replied firmly. “Which is why I’ve brought my lawyers in. If you would, gentlemen and lady,” he added to his team of lawyers.

Data pads were handed out to the police chief and the judge. For a few long moments, the only sound was a quiet beep as pages were turned, but finally the police chief set down the packet of compiled information.

“Those are two very serious accusations you’re trying to make,” he said with a frown. “First, that Oliver Stafford has been trying to kill you, and second, that he’s been cheating on the mecha races by sabotaging his opponents, including five years ago when the tragedy happened.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Starr replied firmly. “The tragedy was in fact yet another attempt of Oliver trying to kill me.”

“This is going to require quite a bit of investigation before I can agree to a grand jury hearing, you realize,” the judge said stoically.

Starr smirked. “I believe that an investigation won’t be necessary,” he said smugly. “I’ve come with Tarle Nusquamesse, the first victim of Oliver’s maliciousness, in to win this year’s race. I firmly believe Oliver will rush in here to confront me about it and will confess to everything.”

“I’d like to see that happen,” the police chief snorted in disbelief.

“You will,” Starr reasserted.

“And now, the one-hundredth showcase mecha race is set to begin!” Steel Daily’s voice interrupted. “All the robots are in their starting places. We’re just waiting on the race announcer to appear. Of course, the biggest surprise is the entrance of Aster Stafford, racing Ladybug against his older brother, Oliver Stafford’s, Titan.” The TV flashed a picture of Tarle’s tiny robot next to a gigantic old-world-style monster truck with flames up the sides and gigantic tires that served no other purpose except to be intimidating.

The camera panned across the starting line, showing robots of all shapes and sizes. Tarle was impressed with the technological advances of the orca-shaped robot and the sheer manufacturing that had gone into the frog as it hopped in place impatiently.

In the center of the track, just in front of the robots, a hologram flickered to life. “Welcome to the centennial mecha race!” the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium. “The entries this year are all especially talented, and I expect this to be a great race! The rules are as follows: Each robot must pass every obstacle using only the technology inside the robot. No robot may help another, and no robot may purposefully obstruct another. The robot that is able to successfully pass the obstacles and cross the finish line the fastest is the winner. Are you ready to race?” he roared in finale.

The crowd yelled and cheered, both happy and eager for the spectacle to begin. Tarle started to input the startup sequence into his data pad.

“Then let’s get started!” the announcer continued after the cheering had died down a bit. “On your marks!”

The red light flashed through the stadium, warning the racers to get ready. The sounds of the announcer and of the other people chatting in the private room faded away as Tarle’s concentration blocked them out. The yellow light flashed, and Tarle tensed, drawing in a shaky breath as his finger hovered over the button on his data pad.

The green light flashed, and Tarle touched his data pad. With a whir, the launch protocols engaged. Down on the track, robots of all shapes and sizes took to the sky. The frog hopped into the air, and the thrusters on its feet sent up a plume of smoke. Tarle’s Ladybug slowly floated upward, the tiny wings on its back flapping furiously. After the sheer work that had gone into the tiny gears and cogs that made flight possible, it was gratifying to see the Ladybug working so well.

Only once the starting line was clear did Tarle hit the switch for the black-hole simulator. The Ladybug erupted, growing to impossible size in mere moments as his humanoid robot was revealed from within the black hole the Ladybug had barely contained. Tarle’s robot dwarfed the Titan and every other competitor, and once its thrusters engaged, it caught up to and passed everyone with a head start.

The first challenge was easy, a slalom around a length of flags for a half mile. Missing a flag meant a competitor had to go back, but Tarle didn’t miss a single one. Next was an up-and-down challenge, which required a competitor to successfully pilot their robot above and below a set of obstacles. Tarle had a bit of trouble trying to get through a tunnel that was smaller than his robot, but eventually the metal won out over the dirt, and he carved a path through.

The second mile in the two-mile track got harder. Tarle needed to dodge jets of fire or suddenly swinging obstacles. It put his robot and his own reaction time to the utmost test. Getting hit by one of the obstacles, even though his robot would survive, was an automatic disqualification.

“Keep a close eye on those two robots,” Starr murmured to the other people in the room. The noise didn’t faze Tarle as he dove below the sudden appearance of a car driving in front of him.

The two robots Starr was talking about were the second- and third-place ones, flying along in Tarle’s wake. The frog was one of them. Out of the corner of his eye, Tarle could see one of the frog’s legs freeze suddenly, as if it had a stiff joint in need of oiling. For a limb that had been working remarkably well only a moment before, the change was certainly odd. It could be attributed to pilot failure, but both Tarle and Starr knew better. The hacker had struck again.

The frog was unable to dodge in time as the car came swooping into its path. The one broken leg hit the roof and the frog was disqualified. A few seconds later, a flaming hunk of metal almost hit Tarle’s robot as the third-place robot lost control and hit the ground with a resounding thud of screaming metal and broken parts.

The Titan, Oliver Stafford’s robot, easily slid into second place. Only Tarle’s robot was between Oliver and the finish line.

“Start recording,” Tarle instructed without looking over his shoulder to make sure Starr heard him. There was still a full half mile to go; plenty of time for any sabotage to occur. Sure enough, just after a beep sounded to let Tarle know his data pad screen was connected to the recording device, someone tried his defenses. Tarle let the hacker work, gathering data on his coding style for the police forensics unit to take apart later.

“With only a quarter mile to go, these last two robots are really putting on a show for us this year! The Ladybug is currently in first place, with the Titan right on its heels. Will Oliver Stafford win again, or will the surprise entry of younger brother, Aster Stafford, take the gold?”

“We’ve got enough, Tarle. Shut him down,” Starr said gently from behind Tarle where he wouldn’t break Tarle’s concentration.

Tarle couldn’t stop a small, evil grin from growing across his face as he quickly input a new command onto his data pad. A skull and crossbones image, for many generations the crest of the Nusquamesse family, floated across his screen and landed squarely into the coding of the enemy hacker. Tarle turned his attention back to the race as his robot rounded the last curve and reentered the stadium. Somewhere nearby a hacker’s computer was going up in smoke, but all Tarle could see was that finish line.

The Titan was just rounding the turn when Tarle activated his black-hole simulator. The gigantic robot began to shrink again, still propelled onward by its own momentum. The tiny, little Ladybug flitted across the finish line only milliseconds before the Titan.

“We won!” Starr crowed, jumping up and down behind Tarle. Tarle input one last command into his data pad before turning it off.

“Of course, we won,” he said scathingly at the fact that any disbelief in his abilities still lingered, although he couldn’t stop a wide smile from blooming. Starr reached down to grab Tarle’s hands to pull him to his feet. They were standing close, too close, and it was without a thought that Tarle tilted his head just so. Starr didn’t hesitate, swooping in to press his lips to Tarle’s. The kiss was short and sweet; Tarle remembered they had an audience and pulled away before his body melted against Starr and he was lost to the feel of those warm lips against his own.

The Ladybug flitted through an open window and came to rest in the middle of the conference table, where the lawyers, police chief, and judge couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Where did you hide that gigantic robot?” the judge asked incredulously. He dragged his eyes away from the bug to look at Tarle, where he was standing with Starr’s warm arm over his shoulders.

“It’s a black-hole simulator,” Tarle explained. “I can hide away infinite things inside a region of space that doesn’t technically exist. Mass goes in, but it doesn’t come out the other side.”

“A black hole never releases the mass it absorbs!” one of the lawyers gasped. “You’re talking about impossibilities.”

“It’s not a true black hole, only a simulation,” Tarle tried to explain. His didn’t have any gravitational pull; rather, it was an empty space that could hold a lot of mass. “Anyway, have we given you sufficient evidence to open a case against Oliver Stafford?”

“I can certainly agree that there was something strange about those other two robots suddenly being out of the race so conveniently,” the police chief murmured thoughtfully. “I’ll have some officers look into past races as well.” He pulled out his phone and got up out of his chair to walk over to the window. He was talking to someone on the other end a few seconds later.

“Any minute now,” Starr said into Tarle’s ear. His warm breath brushing against Tarle made a shiver go down Tarle’s spine.

“Should we start a countdown?” Tarle snarked in reply.

There was no need. Everyone in the private room could hear the yelling and stomping outside as it grew closer. The police chief ended his call and retook his seat at the table just moments before the door was flung open.

“What is the meaning of this?” Oliver Stafford snapped as he stepped into the room. “I was supposed to win the race, and you show up and steal it from me?”

“Steal it from you, Oliver?” Starr asked in a voice Tarle knew he was purposefully keeping mildly curious in order to infuriate his brother. “It was a fair race. The better robot won.”

Oliver was normally a handsome man. He shared similar features with Starr. They both had blond hair—although Starr’s was much longer—and bright-blue eyes. Their noses were the same sharp blade, but while Starr’s nose complemented his high cheekbones, Oliver’s nose was held just a touch too high in the air. He affected what he thought was an air of aristocracy, but instead, he perpetually looked like something smelled bad and the extra height to his face gave his eyes deep shadows. He looked dark and tired because of it. Of course, Tarle was admittedly a little biased about the brothers.

“My robot should have won,” Oliver repeated, as if that were the most important part of their entire conversation. “It had the latest technology, the best Stafford Industries could engineer, and I paid my pilot handsomely to win.”

“You have the most current technology,” Tarle sneered, forcing Oliver to notice him standing next to Starr; Oliver had barely acknowledged that there were other people in the room. There wasn’t even the slightest ounce of recognition in Oliver’s eyes as his furious gaze switched from Starr’s face to Tarle’s. Tarle had to fight off the urge to punch him. “A known weakness of Stafford Industries is that they only have current technology. Their innovation for future technologies is lacking. I am a pioneer in forward thinking, and my Ladybug proved that,” he finished with a wide gesture toward where the Ladybug was still sitting harmlessly on the table.

Oliver’s face was red with suppressed rage, and he sputtered for a long moment as he tried to force words out. “I don’t know how you hid that gigantic robot beneath the stadium, but I will find out, and you will pay.”

“Are you saying I cheated?” Starr asked softly, his voice low and sounding slightly dangerous.

“You must have!” Oliver hissed, his own voice gaining volume with every word. “I will see you disqualified! I will have your name stricken from the list of participants and will have you blacklisted throughout the galaxies. You’ll never build a robot again, and your name will be an embarrassment for all your peers!”

“You seem to have some experience with this,” Starr replied dryly. Tarle could tell he was very purposefully not looking over at Tarle by how his neck muscles tightened.

“It is only right and proper,” Oliver insisted, seeming to regain some of his senses as his voice modulated again. “I should have won the race, and I will prove that to everyone. I will have you removed!”

He probably meant removed from the standings in the race or the mecha world itself, but Starr took the opening Oliver had provided.

“Removing someone you find inconvenient seems to be your regular mode of operation,” Starr mused almost thoughtlessly, as if his words were mere speculation. The sharp gleam of intelligence in his eyes, which Tarle was used to seeing, was in full force, so Tarle rocked back on his heels and settled in for the show. “Did you know I tracked down one of your personal secretaries? A man named Marsh who, according to his credit card account, had bought a poisonous viper the day before one was found nesting at the foot of my bed. The really funny part about this story is that Marsh went on a week-long vacation to an outer planet three days before he allegedly bought the viper in town. He was found dead in his spaceship three months later from a leak in the hull. Foul play was suspected.”

Oliver’s face had gone stonelike, unmoving with a hard scowl that only made him look petulant. His eyes were flickering back and forth, from Starr’s eyes to his moving lips as he spoke, as if Oliver didn’t know what to look at to stop Starr’s words.

“How long have I been an inconvenience you’ve been trying to get rid of, Oliver?” Starr asked softly, real pain making his voice hitch. “The security cameras at the pet shop were recording that day. They got a clear shot of your face, and when I had a handwriting analysis done on the signature on the receipt, I was told that Marsh’s didn’t match, but yours was a 90 percent match.”

“What are you doing?” Oliver snapped. His tone was harsh, but his hands were shaking where they were clenched into fists at his sides.

“Now I have proof that you’re illegally enforcing the outcome of the mecha races, starting from your unfair manipulation of Tarle Nusquamesse.” He still didn’t glance at Tarle as he spoke, trying to keep Tarle’s identity a secret for a little longer. “And ending with today.”

“You can’t have proof,” Oliver hissed, his face white from fear.

“If I combine all of your attempts to kill me, your sabotage of the mecha races, and how you purposefully killed two hundred twelve people five years ago…” Starr trailed off; the rest of the sentence didn’t need to be said. Prison was the least of Oliver’s worries.

Oliver’s chest puffed up, and his voice lost the pitiful whine. “I have the full might of Stafford Industries and the Stafford family name behind me!” he snarled, some of his rage returning. “You are a dirty porn star, and Tarle Nusquamesse is a pirate. You can’t prove any of the things you said, and if you try, I’ll destroy you!”

He spun on one heel, grabbed the door handle, and flung the door open with as much drama as he could muster. Waiting just outside, microphone in hand and a camera crew at his back, was Steel Daily. His eyes looked sharp, and if he were a dog, Tarle knew his nose would be sniffing the air as if the most wonderful scent had just drifted his way. The walls were thin in the VIP rooms, and by the gleam in Steel’s eyes, Tarle could tell he had heard every word.

“Get out of my way,” Oliver sneered. He pushed past the crowd, the camera following him as he stomped away.

“Do we have a sore loser?” Steel asked Starr with a wide smile that showed every one of his perfectly white teeth.

“Just an old family spat,” Starr replied, many of his own teeth showing as he returned the smile. “If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll say goodbye to my guests, and you can have an interview.”