Oblize, the very name made Drake’s blood boil. He wanted to turn his racecraft around and destroy the number seven vessel, with extreme prejudice, but he was sure he lacked the shields to match. He would not act out of anger this time. If Drake could only go back to when the younger Oblize brother tricked him, he would act with a more level head, and they would be in the top ten at this point. Sure, he could use the time disrupter to go back to the time it happened, but it would be un-beneficial. His current racecraft would be right here in this spot, while his past ship would be back towards the beginning of the race, running into a shield mine. Drake’s most crucial motto is to never run backwards on a racecourse. Traveling back in time is fine, as long as you continue racing forward, besides the Oblize brother, undoubtedly, has his own time disrupters, and would just follow pursuit. Drake would just have to continue hoping Oblize needed to stop and refuel.
“Steady as she goes … let’s keep that racecraft out of range.” While he was saying it, Drake was thinking this strategy would ultimately end in a showdown with Ced. As long as they were moving diminutively slower, Drake understood they would not be able to stay out of weapons range forever.
CHAPTER FOUR
Live Always in Space and Time
The Future Fuels team worked vigorously in a chilling silence that was only penetrated by the hum of the engines. Drake recognized this as the calm before the storm. He had been in, and won, countless racecraft battles, but normally he was the hunter. He definitely had more experience than Oblize, but the fact that Ced was the one stalking made Drake uncomfortable. Drake rarely made use of his reverse cannons. These ‘inaccurate spitballs’, as Kraus liked to refer to them, were only put to use if Drake was closing in on a finish, and did not have time to turn around and fight. As it was, when the time came, Drake planned to turn around, using right thrusters, so that his racecraft would take a wide, counterclockwise motion, to the three o’clock position. This maneuver would make the number seven racecraft have to turn, while fighting cannons, making it easier for Drake to evade. The thirteen racecraft would then be positioned to the left of the number seven, facing it. Drake would then be able to put the visual on screen, and commence racecraft war.
They traveled for weeks, racing past planets, with the younger Oblize brother closing in, meter by meter, which is miniscule measurements, when in space. Drake made absolutely sure that someone was manning the cannons at all times, in case they found themselves in firing range. Drake, in the meantime, never left his navigational chair, or his manual control. He had to be ready to turn at any moment. That moment occurred in the third week of cat and mouse racing.
“They just entered range … we have incoming cannon fire,” Jaws said, with panic in his voice.
“Cut left thruster to fifteen percent.” Drake dodged the cannon fire, just in time, while beginning his wide, left turnabout.
“Incoming special weapon!” Jaws bellowed. It was an ice capsule, capable of growing to an enormous size, and freezing a racecraft’s components, but Drake was ready for it. He steered his racecraft up and over the mountainous ice area, barely skimming the top of it, with the bottom of his racecraft. Most of his racecraft was unharmed, but the bottom thrusters were frozen solid. Drake felt this happening while he was trying to dodge more cannon fire. He noticed the engine drop off, and slower reaction time, as the number thirteen was pelted with firepower.
“Shield one down to seventy percent,” Sammy exclaimed, while gaining his bearings.
“Fire right and left cannons now!” Drake now had the number seven racecraft on screen.
“Multiple right cannon hits, I’m not getting anything from the left.” Jaws was sweating, and visibly shaking. “They have four shields.”
“Is no fire … Is stuck … I go feex.” Bruvold got up, to go check on the left cannon. Drake had not expected this mishap. First, they are forced to fight with only two shields, and against four. Then, some thrusters get frozen, and now, the left cannon jammed.
Everyone, who was seated, was strapped in tightly now. They were hit with a series of more cannon fire, as Drake had increasing trouble avoiding it.
“Shield one at twelve percent,” Sammy said, as Bruvold regained his swiveling seat and began firing cannons.
“Kraus, use external S.E.D. cannons. Fire at will.” These were his special weapons. Drake did not think that the shield energy de-stabilizer would disable the number seven, but combined with cannon fire, it might take out a shield or two. Kraus launched the special weapon at precisely the same time they were blasted again. Uciferi was trying to fix the racecraft, as it was being damaged, with escalating difficulty.
“External shield gone … We have eighty one percent left,” Sammy said, calmly.
“The enemy shields are as follows: zero percent, thirty percent, two fully operational … and hold on … we have another racecraft approaching range, from behind,” Jaws added.
“I’m out… no more cannons!” Croxy screamed, while Brulold cast over a quick glance.
“What! Where‘s Juhaen, he should have reloaded by now.” Drake wasn’t sure what to do. They had no more external shield, which meant they had no more special weapons. He was trying to think fast, when Bruvold confessed.
“I go to feex cannon … Leetle guy no move out of Bruvold way, so I is grabbing him, and he is breaking.” He mimicked a twig being snapped in half, and finished, “He is weak man.”
“Well that figures.” Drake didn’t know what ‘he is breaking’ meant, but was sure Juhaen was injured. “Uceferi, stop what you’re doing, and go fill those cannons.” Drake had never been so frustrated in all his life. Bad news was mounting up, at an incredible rate. They would be surrounded soon, and there was nothing for it, he would have to give up the hard fought position.
Drake let out an infuriating scream that was silenced, by another series of Oblize cannon fire.
“Shield at two percent!” Sammy shouted, sounding scared for the first time.
“Why? Why can’t anything go right? We’ve lost! Stop all engines! I can’t beli …”
Jaws interrupted the captain enthusiastically, “Sir, yes Sir, something has gone right. The number twenty six racecraft has made visible contact, and is firing on the number seven heavily … they are positioning themselves directly in front of us.” A huge grin could be seen underneath Jaw’s big nose, after speaking.
It was Folders, and he went backwards in the race, from the looks of it, to rescue the number thirteen, from the jaws of defeat. Drake would have never done this, even for a teammate. He wondered what Folders did with only a crew of eight, to get so far in the race so quickly. Drake would find out, before long, by making mental contact with Folders, how they recovered so remarkably from their first encounter with Oblize. Folders had stated that it would take a full month to recovery for the number twenty-six racecraft.
Drake didn’t dare order his engines back on and move. The slightest bits of debris could disable the remainder of the shield and, consequently, his racecraft. He had no converter onboard his racecraft for transferring engine power to shields, because he considered it absurd to take power away from engines. They would, most likely, have to use impulse power to coast to the nearest planet for repairs. Drake loathed this idea, because the closest planet was behind them, and reportedly unfriendly to outsiders. He began to feel hopeless, as if things were slipping out of his control. Rather than staying for the duration of Folders dismantling of Oblize’s racecraft, Drake decided to go to the medical quarters to see, for himself, what exactly happened to Juhaen. He would find out, afterwards, the details of the ongoing battle from the crew, or from the captain of the number twenty six racecraft.
“Bruvold, join me.” Drake beckoned the security officer to accompany him, and together they left the navigation room. On the way to the medical quarters, Drake observed Uciferi having a cup of coffee, while leaning against a wall. Drake snuck up and confronted him.
“What do you think you’re doing
?” Drake asked the startled Ouldsid brusquely.
“I… I finished loading the cannons and … thought I’d get a coffee,” Uciferi mumbled apprehensively.
“Finish up and get back to work,” Drake grunted firmly.
Prior to continuing their stroll to the M.Q., Bruvold could have sworn he heard Drake utter something about ‘worthless’ under his breath. When they crossed the threshold into the medical room, Drake and Bruvold encountered Priscilla preparing instruments on a table, while Juhaen lay unconscious on a nearby module.
“What happened to him?” Drake asked the striking doctor.
“The F.B.R. has suffered a broken wrist. I am prepping for surgery now,” said Priscilla.
“Surgery? Couldn’t you just give him a shot, or something?” Drake inquired.
“I’m afraid not, captain. Now, if you don’t mind, please excuse me. I have work to do,” Priscilla said impatiently.
“How long will he be sidelined?” Drake had not moved.
“I’m going to go in and fuse the bone back together. He should be back to normal in no more than twenty four hours,” answered Priscilla.
“He is weak man,” Bruvold added innocently, after which, Drake nodded in agreement.
They both then exited to the main corridor. Drake elected to dispense himself out some coffee during their return trip up to the navigational command center. When they entered, it was to an ecstatic environment, full of laughter and joy.
“They did it! It ended just now,” chirped Freddie.
“Nothing left of the number seven but debris, D.J.,” confirmed the jovial Sammy.
Drake couldn’t help being pleased at the elimination of Ced Oblize. It was good news, indeed. He expected Ced’s brother Boxton would have a different view entirely. If Drake were Boxton, he would certainly want revenge. It would be some time before the older brother received news of his sibling, however, maybe even until the completion of the race. It was of no consequence at this point in time besides it was Folders who did in the number seven, not Drake. He had failed to secure his own position.
“Fantastic … Jaws, prepare to make mental contact and patch me through.” Drake placed the receiver on his head and awaited contact.
“This is Folders, I’m having fun over here. How about you? ”
“Not so much. I got a guy down with a broken something or other, a craft that’s falling apart, one S.E.D. left, and only two percent of one shield.” Drake thought.
“That sounds lovely … what’s your plan? ” Folders thought in inquiry.
“Only planet I can make it to is full of deviants and behind me … I’m screwed.” Drake noted.
“At least you’re alive.” Folders communicated.
“How in the universe did you get up here?” Drake contemplated.
“Time disrupters, of course. I owed you one for that shield mine disaster.” Folders responded.
“Yeah … of course. I appreciate the help; don’t know if I would have done the same. I better head back now I’ve lost enough time.” Drake was about to disconnect when Folders stopped him.
“I have an idea. I will need your shield security codes in order to pull it off. I’m going to transfer just enough shield power to get you to a place called Armos, they will give you a few extra hands … tehehe.” Folders suggested.
“Yes, thank you Folders I’m on it.” Drake ripped off his mental receiver and told Sammy to go ahead with the transfer. In the meantime Drake would look up this Armos on his gazers and set coordinates.
“Shields are now at eight percent, D.J.” Sammy smiled at his captain and tipped his team’s racing cap.
“We are going to a place called Armos, Folders says it’s great for stops. I’m going to take the same team, except I want Croxy instead of the M.O. Sammy you’re in charge, buddy. Take her down.” Drake got up, stretched, and told himself that at least this stop wouldn’t be as dreadful as the last one. He was quickly proven wrong when the landing party made their descent into the main corridor, where something horrific happened.
There was a sharp jolt, when the racecraft began its routine landing, causing a razor edged panel to come spiraling down from the top of the corridor. The panel unpredictably twisted in mid-air and embedded deep into Croxon’s skull, creating a fountain of dark, green blood that squirted and oozed out onto the deck. Iriarte fell to both knees, and then face forward, with the panel sticking out of the back of its cranium.
Drake was frozen in shock, as his long time friend lay motionless in a puddle of green excretion. Kraus ran over to the nearest intercom to call for the M.O., while Bruvold went to get a closer look. Jaws jetted to the cleansing quarters, apparently unable to stand the sight.
“The M.O. is not responding Drake … Drake … Drake!” Kraus grabbed the captain by his collar and shook him vigorously, to wake him from his trance.
“PPPRRRIIIISSSSCCCIIIILLLLAAAA!” This was the first time that Drake used the doctors name and he repeated shouting it as loud as he could, until she came storming out of the medical quarters.
“I’ll have you kn … Oh my!” She had caught sight of the appalling accident, and promptly approached the scene. She ordered Bruvold to help her move Croxon into the medical quarters and instructed the others to stay outside. By the time that Priscilla had locked the entrance to the M.Q., the racecraft had landed safely on the surface of Armos.
Sammy came down the ramp, almost immediately afterwards, to check on the disturbance. The S.S.T came across the green blood, stopped mid step and said, “No … no … not Croxy.” Drake nodded, ending with his head down.
Would Croxy die from this? Was it already dead? Would he, Drake, have to utter the phrase of the fallen? Folders had to say it twice already. Racecraft drivers everywhere disdained having to speak it. It would mean they had just completed a funeral for a team member, having just cast the body out into the universe. He would wait to go to the surface of Armos, until he established the condition of the best life support operator and doctor he had ever met. It didn’t take long, before his worst fears were confirmed.
Priscilla opened the door of the M.Q., with Bruvold beside her, and stated in a soft tone, “Iriarte Croxon is dead. There was nothing I could do.” She turned back around without another word to go finish operating on Juhaen, while Bruvold stayed behind.
Drake wanted someone held responsible for this tragedy. He felt strongly that this could have been avoided. He had no choice but to bring Croxy with the landing party, so it wasn’t his fault. He could blame the doctor for her late response, but Drake knew she already had a patient, the same reason Croxy was brought along, and it would not be wise to lock up their last doctor. He then thought of Uciferi, and how he dismissed himself to break, without justification. Uciferi was also the main person responsible for racecraft maintenance. This was the perfect man to pin it on.
“Bruvold, go find the M.S.C., Ouldsid Uciferi and escort him to isolation,” Drake commanded darkly. “I should’ve locked him up when he took his own break,” he added more to himself than Bruvold.
“Yes, yes am doing now.” Bruvold began searching the race-craft for the new prisoner.
“The rest of you start cleaning this mess up, we’ll have guests soon. I’m going out alone,” said Drake miserably.
The first thing Drake saw when exiting the loading zone, were three suns beaming down from above. The second was a large group of four armed beings, applauding and expressing their gratitude of Future Fuels and the number thirteen. He now understood Folders joke about extra hands, and almost smiled.
Drake was going through an emotional roller coaster the likes of which he never could have imagined. The Full Circle Six was truly a testament to his strength and endurance. He had experienced glory at the demise of Ced Oblize, depression from his dead friend, and now appreciation for the swarm of alien support, in successive periods. Drake wasn’t sure how much more he could take, but recognized that he must stay strong for his team, if not for himself.
Several of the four-armed beasts approached Drake, and extended one hand to greet the popular racer. The Armosan that Drake selected to meet first had a firm grip and, like all the others, was wearing only wrappings around his waist that drug to the dry desert-like ground. The Armosans in general all looked different, however, in size, hair color, skin tone, and age. Drake continued to dish out firm handshakes until they seemed satisfied and one of them spoke.
“On behalf of the people of Armos, welcome. We will be more than happy to assist you in any way. On one, small condition,” said the Armosan, in a deep hoarse voice.
“What’s the condition? Drake asked, expecting the worst.
“We require you to set up an autograph session, right over there.” The creature pointed to a nearby table complete with markers.
“Not a problem,” Drake said with liberation. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried back into the racecraft up to his personal quarters, to retrieve a box of images. Drake always kept this material on hand, for occasions that were usually initiated by Future Fuels.
He returned to the surface, ignoring crewmembers attempts to converse with him, and sat himself at the designated area. This session might just be what Drake needed to get his mind off of the upcoming funeral. He was thinking that dealing with all of these fans would put him in a better mood. They all appeared so blissful, as if this was the greatest day of their existence. He needed some of that joy to rub off. He thought of his daydream on the victory platform, with the feeling of absorbing power, and wished mightily it could be so.
Drake was just beginning to get lost in his signings, when he noticed the flash of a dimensional door rip open a portal in the distance. A stranger appeared from the door, before it disintegrated. Drake knew this was a stranger to this planet, because of the lack of appendages. The stranger observed Drake and began forcing his way through the queue of natives towards him. As he moved closer, Drake could distinguish more features of the intruder. He had bright, blue, cold, calculating eyes and a knowing smirk, with blond hair in a crew cut that stood up about ten inches. He was approximately five foot five without the hair. His weight was misleading though, as he moved like he was on a moon with little gravitational restriction. The male specimen was wearing furs of undiscovered animals, teeth and all. The mysterious being, upon reaching the autograph table, spoke in a taunting, deceitful voice.
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